The Challenge of the North | Page 8

the street, a daring scheme was half-formed in
his brain--a scheme which, if successful, would work the utter ruin of
Hedin, and leave him a clear field with the girl. At the first corner he
excused himself.

Hardly was the girl's back turned when Wentworth dodged around the
corner and entered McNabb's store by another door just in time to see
old John rush from the building, bag in hand, and hurry down the street
in the direction of the station.
McNabb's was the only big store in Terrace City, and being a
department store, it kept city hours, so while on Saturday evenings all
the other stores remained open for business until a late hour, McNabb's
closed at noon. Passing unnoticed down the aisle, Wentworth's eyes
darted here and there in search of a place of concealment, until at
length he took up a position close beside McNabb's private office, the
door of which, he noted with satisfaction, stood slightly ajar.
Watching his opportunity, Wentworth slipped unnoticed into the
private office, closed the door softly behind him, and sank comfortably
into McNabb's desk chair.
A gong sounded, and was repeated, dimly, upon the floors above.
Wentworth could hear the tramp of feet in the aisles as the clerks
poured from the building through a door that gave on to a side street. In
a few minutes the rush was over, and then they came scatteringly,
singly, and by twos and threes. He could hear the opening of the door,
and the click of the lock as it closed behind them. The footsteps ceased.
He drew his watch and waited. Noises from the street reached him,
sounding far off and muffled, but the store was silent as a tomb.
Twelve minutes ticked away. A footstep sounded. Wentworth could
trace it descending the stairs, and walking the length of an aisle.
Followed the sound of the opening door, and the click of the latch.
Some belated department head, he thought. Possibly Hedin,
himself--and he grinned at the thought.
In the silence of the great building Wentworth suddenly realized that he
was nervous. It was all well enough to plan a thing, but the carrying out
of the plan was quite another matter. He took a silent turn or two the
length of the office, his footsteps making no sound upon the soft carpet.
He waited twenty minutes and, hearing no sound, closed his watch and
dabbed at his forehead with the handkerchief which he drew from his
sleeve. Turning the knob, he stepped out upon the uncarpeted floor.

The sound of his footsteps upon the hardwood seemed to reverberate
through the whole building. He walked a few steps on tiptoe, and then
decided that in case anyone should see him, the tiptoeing would look
furtive. So he walked to the foot of the stairway, his footsteps sounding
in his ears like the ring of a hammer on an anvil. As he ascended the
stairs he called out, "Hey, isn't there any one here? I am locked in, and
can't get out! Hello! Someone show me the way out!"
Swiftly he ascended to the third floor and crossed to the fur case.
Silently he slid back the door and lifted the baum marten coat from its
place, and stepping to a counter upon which was fixed a huge roll of
wrapping paper, he proceeded to make the coat into a package. This
done, he hastened toward the stairway with the package under his arm.
Down the stairs he flew, taking them two and three at a time, down the
next flight, and across the floor, until he brought up panting at the door
with the spring lock by which the employees had left the building.
Thought of material gain had not until this point entered into the
scheme. He had merely plotted the undoing of a rival, but at the sudden
realization of his status in the eyes of the world, a new thought struck
him. "If I can get away with it--why not? A Russian sable! Why, it's
worth thousands!"
It took a concentrated effort to open the door a tiny crack and peer
through. Swiftly opening the door, Wentworth stepped onto the
sidewalk, closed the door behind him, and clutching his package tightly,
hurried down the street. He had entirely gained his composure by the
time he reached his hotel, and hastening to his room, placed the
package in his trunk and turned the key. He glanced at his watch. It
lacked three minutes of one, and remembering his appointment with
Orcutt, he hastened to the Wolverine Bank.

VI
Orcutt greeted his caller without enthusiasm. For despite the assurance
over the telephone that Wentworth wanted no money, he felt that he

was in for a touch.
The younger man was quick to