by the fireplace near the door of the billiard room.

Miss Cornelia turned to her with a thousand questions on her tongue,
but before she could ask any of them, Billy was ushering in Doctor
Wells.

As she shook hands with the Doctor, Miss Cornelia observed him with
casual interest--wondering why such a good-looking man, in his
early forties, apparently built for success, should be content with
the comparative rustication of his local practice. That shrewd,
rather aquiline face, with its keen gray eyes, would have found
itself more at home in a wider sphere of action, she thought--there
was just that touch of ruthlessness about it which makes or mars a
captain in the world's affairs. She found herself murmuring the
usual conventionalities of greeting.

"Oh, I'm very well, Doctor, thank you. Well, many people at the
country club?"

"Not very many," he said, with a shake of his head. "This failure
of the Union Bank has knocked a good many of the club members sky
high."

"Just how did it happen?" Miss Cornelia was making conversation.

"Oh, the usual thing." The Doctor took out his cigarette case.
"The cashier, a young chap named Bailey, looted the bank to the
tune of over a million."

Dale turned sharply toward them from her seat by the fireplace.