Let us be a trinity of faithful friends." And thus it came to pass that Mr.Arthur Ferris lingered, shunned by all his old associates, and busied about his private affairs.
Wandering about New York, he never knew of the ceaseless watch upon him, his restless heart awaiting some new blow of the hostile influence whose veiled stroke had ruined his brilliant prospects in life! To his astonishment, he learned from Senator Dunham that the entire secret programme of the company's vast interests had been successfully carried out.
He veiled his defeat, in very shame, from the prosperous statesman, and, a new disgrace, he now carried the brand of cowardice upon him, for Witherspoon passed him daily with a contemptuous scorn.
And still, he dared not abandon his uneasy flitting about the neighborhood of the company's office.

His haggard face was now known, even to Mr.Adolph Lilienthal.
The startled proprietor of the Newport Art Gallery had sealed up all his vague suspicions in his guilty breast.

He never dared to confide even in Robert Wade, sneaking in furtively to the "private view" gallery.
On one or two occasions, the anxious Ferris had buttonholed the reinstated Wade, when the careful manager visited the "Art Gallery." "Do they know anything ?" muttered the frightened scoundrel.

He dared not even breathe Fritz Braun's name.

After nights of weary cogitation, Lilienthal had buried Irma Gluyas' baleful memory forever.
"She cleared out a month before this strange murder," he was forced to admit, "and Fritz Braun was off for Europe before this deed.