ow knock at the door caught his strained ear. His hand held a thick
time-table; _New York, New Haven and Hartford_ stared him in the face.
The leaves fell apart as his hand for the first time shook, and between
them--ah! there they were! "Memoranda, etc.," was written on the top
paper. Thrusting the slender sheaf into his pocket, he threw the
time-table on the desk and drew the bolt slowly, peering out between
the bronze curtains with caution.

"How is he--gone?" whispered Dupont, the dead man's brother-in-law,
tiptoeing across the room. "Heart, I suppose. Henry's called the
doctor, but he said he guessed it was no good, from your face. Nobody
has an idea of it--you managed very well, Mr. Weldon."

He glanced at the body and said a few perfunctory words.

"Well, well, we all have to go. Sixty-one, I think. Has any one sent
for Webb? I think Webb should be sent for."

Weldon glanced curiously at the mild, unimportant brother-in-law. He
was always thought of and mentioned in his capacity of brother-in-law.
Why should he think of Webb? Common-sense answered, why not? Webb was
immeasurably the head of them all. Opening the door to discover if
there were yet any disturbance in the bank, he confronted Potter, a
fat, red-faced, many-millioned man, who puffed excitedly by him.

"Terrible thing, isn't it, Dupont? Great shock to you. Naturally.
Has--has Webb been informed? Quite right, quite right."

He dropped into a chair and wiped his pink, fat forehead, looked once
sharply at the body on the floor, then obstinately at his knees. He
appeared very excited to Weldon; more so than the death of his
associate could properly explain, perhaps? No, no: what folly!
Probably it made them all feel rather shaky--overfed, weak-hearted old
fellows, all of them. They saw their end.

A soft tap on the door followed, and as the two older men looked with
one accord at Weldon, he pushed aside the portieres and admitted Mr.
Fayles, a thin, aristocratic, iron-grey man, who made himself one of
them without a word. Stepping to the body he looked a moment, then
sank into the chair Weldon had occupied during his interview, fitted
his gloves into his top hat, dropped it beside him, and with an
extraordinary convulsion of countenance buried his face in his hands.
After a moment's annoyed contemplation of his motionless figure, Weldon
met Dupont's eyes inquiringly. The brother-in-law shook his head, no
wiser, evidently. Weldo