discussed the case, his case, with those in the office, commented on
it, condemned the swindlers, and carried it off, he felt proud to
say, as well as Constance herself might have done had she been in
his place.

Another day passed. His account of the first day, reassuring as it
had been to her, did not lessen the anxiety. Yet never before had
they seemed to be bound together by such ties as knitted their very
souls in this crisis. She tried with a devotion that was touching to
impart to him some of her own strength to ward off detection.

It was the afternoon of the second day that a man who gave the name
of Drummond called and presented a card of the Reynolds Company.

"Have you ever been paid a little bill of twenty-five dollars by our
company?" he asked.

Down in his heart Carlton knew that this man was a detective. "I
can't say without looking it up," he replied.

Carlton touched a button and an assistant appeared. Something
outside himself seemed to nerve him up, as he asked: "Look up our
account with Reynolds, and see if we have been paid--what is it?--a
bill for twenty-five dollars. Do you recall it?"

"Yes, I recall it," replied the assistant. "No, Mr. Dunlap, I don't
think it has been paid. It is a small matter, but we sent them a
duplicate bill yesterday. I thought the original must have gone
astray."