until Saturday night to find the securities and either clear Turnbull's
name or admit his guilt; there remain two days and a half before I take
the affair in my own hands and make it public."

"I hope to establish Turnbull's innocence before that time," retorted
Kent coolly.

Inwardly his spirits sank; had not every effort on his part brought but
further proof of Jimmie's guilt? That McIntyre would make no attempt to
hush up the scandal was obvious.

"Keep me informed of your progress," McIntyre's manner was domineering
and Kent felt the blood mount to his temples, but he was determined
not to lose his temper whatever the provocation; McIntyre was Barbara's
father.

Clymer, aware that the atmosphere was getting strained, diplomatically
intervened.

"Dine with me to-night, Kent," he said. "Perhaps you will then have some
news that will throw light on the present whereabouts of the securities.
I found, on making inquiries, that they have not been offered for sale
in the usual channels. Come, McIntyre, I have a directors' meeting in
twenty minutes."

McIntyre, who had been swinging his walking stick from one hand to
the other in marked impatience, turned to Kent, his manner more
conciliatory.

"Pleasant quarters you have," he remarked. "Does Rochester share his
room with you?"

"No, Colonel, his is across the ante-room where you waited a few minutes
ago," explained Kent as he accompanied his visitors to the door. "This
is my office."

"Ah, yes, I thought as much on seeing only one desk," McIntyre's manner
grew more cordial. "Does Rochester's furniture duplicate yours, safe and
all?"

"Safe--no, he has none; that is the firm's safe." Kent was becoming
restless under so many personal questions. "Good-by, Mr. Clymer."

"Don't forget to-night at eight," the banker reminded him before
stepping into the corridor. "We'll dine at the Club de Vingt. Come
along, McIntyre."

Sylvester stopped Kent on his way back to his office and handed him the
neatly typewritten copies of his brief, and with a word of thanks the
lawyer went over to his desk and, gathering such papers as he required
at the court house, he thrust them and the brief into his leather bag,
but instead of hurrying on his way, he stood still to consider the
events of the morning.

Helen McIntyre, during their interview, had not responded to his appeal
for her confidence, nor vouchsafed any reason for her belief that Jimmie
Turnbull had been the victim o