"How do you know the cashier did it?" she said in a low voice.

The Doctor laughed. "Well--he's run away, for one thing. The bank
examiners found the deficit. Bailey, the cashier, went out on an
errand--and didn't come back. The method was simple enough--
worthless bonds substituted for good ones--with a good bond on the
top and bottom of each package, so the packages would pass a casual
inspection. Probably been going on for some time."

The fingers of Dale's right hand drummed restlessly on the edge of
her settee.

"Couldn't somebody else have done it?" she queried tensely.

The Doctor smiled, a trifle patronizingly.

"Of course the president of the bank had access to the vaults," he
said. "But, as you know, Mr. Courtleigh Fleming, the late president,
was buried last Monday."

Miss Cornelia had seen her niece's face light up oddly at the
beginning of the Doctor's statement--to relapse into lassitude
again at its conclusion. Bailey--Bailey--she was sure she
remembered that name--on Dale's lips.

"Dale, dear, did you know this young Bailey?" she asked point-blank.

The girl had started to light a cigarette. The flame wavered in
her fingers, the match went out.