ent, drawing imaginary lines on the table
top, finally looking up at me with a narrowing of the lids, a tightening
of the lips, which gave an extraordinary look of power to her young
feminine face.

"In that case, Clayte would inevitably be one of the wonderful men of
the world," she repeated her characterization with the placid, soft
obstinacy of falling, snow. "Didn't you stop a minute--one little
minute, Mr. Boyne--to think it wonderful that a man so devoid of
personality as that--" she slanted a slim finger across the description
of Clayte--"Didn't you add up in your mind all that you told me about
the men disagreeing as to which side he parted his hair on, whether he
wore tan shoes or black, a fedora or derby, smoked or didn't,--
absolutely nothing left as to peculiarities of face, figure, movement,
expression, manner or habit to catch the eye of one single
observer among the sixteen or eighteen you questioned--surely you added
that up, Mr. Boyne? What result did you get?"

"Nothing," I admitted. "To hear you repeat it, of course it sounds as if
the man was a freak. But he wasn't. He was just one of those fellows
that are born utterly commonplace, and slide through life without
getting any marks put on 'em."

"And is it nothing that this man became a teller in a bank without
infringing at all on the circle of his nothingness? Remained so shadowy
that neither the president nor cashier can, after eight years'
association, tell the color of his hair and eyes? Then add the fact that
he is the one clerk in the bank without a filed photograph and
description on record with your agency--what result now, Mr. Boyne?"

"A coincidence," I said, rather hastily.

"Don't, please, Mr. Boyne!" her eyes glowed softly as she smiled her
mild sarcasm. "Admit that he has ceased to be a freak and becomes a
marvel."

"As you put it--" I began, but she cut in on me with,

"I haven't put it yet. Listen." She was smiling still, but it was plain
she was thoroughly in earnest. "When this cipher--this nought--this
zero--manages to annex to himself a million dollars that doesn't belong
to him, his nothingness gains a specific meaning. The zero is an
important factor in mathematics. I think we have placed a digit before
the long string of ciphers of Clayte's nothingness."

"Nothing and nothing--make nothing." I spoke more brusquely because I
was irritated by her logic. "You called the turn when you spoke of him
as a zero. There are dig