could not see her face."

"No, but I heard her laugh in court," Mrs. Sylvester spoke in deep
earnestness and Kent placed faith in her statement in spite of his
outward skepticism. "And I heard her laugh in this corridor this morning
and I placed her as the same woman. I asked Mr. Sylvester who she was,
and he told me. I'd been reading this account of the Turnbull inquest,
and I recollected seeing Mrs. Brewster's name, and my husband and I were
just reading the account over when you came in."

Kent gazed in perplexity at Mrs. Sylvester. "Why did Mrs. Brewster laugh
in the police court?" he asked.

"When Dr. Stone exclaimed to the deputy marshal--'Your prisoner appears
ill!'" declared Mrs. Sylvester; she enjoyed the dramatic, and that
Kent was hanging on her words she was fully aware, in spite of his
expressionless face. "Dr. Stone lifted the burglar in his arms and then
Mrs. Brewster laughed as she laughed in the corridor to-day--a soft
gurgling laugh."

CHAPTER XIV. PAY CASH

It was the rush hour at the Metropolis Trust Company and the busy
paying teller counted out silver and gold and treasury notes of
varying denominations with the mechanical precision and exactness which
experience gives. Suddenly his hand stopped midway toward the money
drawer, his attention arrested by the signature on a check. A swift
glance upward showed him a girl's face at the grille of the window.
There was an instant's pause, then she addressed him.

"Do hurry, Mr. McDonald; father is waiting for me."

"Pardon me, Miss McIntyre." He stamped the check and laid it to one
side, "how do you want the money?"

"Oh, I forgot." She glanced at a memorandum on the back of an envelope.
"Mrs. Brewster wishes ten tens, five twenties, and ten ones. Thank you,
good afternoon," and counting over the money she thrust it inside her
bag and hurried away.

She had been gone a bare five minutes when Kent reached the window and
pushed several checks toward the teller.

"Is Mr. Clymer in his office, McDonald?" he asked, placing the bank
notes given, him in his wallet.

"I'm not sure." The teller glanced around at the clock; the hands stood
at ten minutes of three. "It's pretty near closing time, Kent; still, he
may be there."

"I'll go and see," and with a nod of farewell Kent turned on his heel
and walked off in the direction of the office of the bank president. On
reaching there he saw, through the glass partition of the door, Clymer
seated