hey were made payable to cash and presented by
Rochester on the day of Turnbull's death."

Ferguson whistled as a slight vent to his feelings. "So you suspect
Rochester of being a forger?" Kent made no reply, and he added; after
a moment's deliberation, "What bearing has this discovery on
Turnbull's death, aside from Rochester's need of funds to make a clean
disappearance?"

"If it is true that Rochester was financially embarrassed and forged
checks on the Metropolis Trust Company, it establishes another motive
for the killing of Turnbull," argued Kent. "Turnbull was cashier of that
bank."

"I see; he may have discovered the forgeries--but hold on." Ferguson
checked his rapid speech. "When were these forged checks presented at
the bank?"

"Tuesday afternoon."

Ferguson's face fell. "Pshaw! man; that was after Turnbull's death--how
could he detect the forgeries?"

Kent did not reply at once; instead, he glanced keenly about the living
room. The detective had only switched on one of the reading lamps and
the greater part was in shadow. It was a pleasant and home-like room,
and Kent was conscious of a keener pang for the loss of Jimmie Turnbull
and the disappearance of Philip Rochester, as he gazed around. The
lawyer and the bank cashier had been, until that winter, congenial
comrades, sharing their business success and their apartment in complete
accord; and now a shadow as black as that enveloping the unlighted
apartment hung over their good names, threatening one or the other with
the charge of forgery and of murder. Kent sighed and turned back to the
silent detective.

"I can best answer your question by telling you that the day after
Jimmie Turnbull died Mr. Clymer sent for me," he began. "I found Colonel
McIntyre with him and was told that the Colonel had lost valuable
securities left at the bank. These securities had been given by the
treasurer of the bank to Jimmie Turnbull when he presented a letter from
Colonel McIntyre instructing the bank to surrender the securities to
Jimmie."

"Well?" questioned Ferguson. "Go on, sir."

"That letter was a forgery." Kent sat back and watched the detective's
rapidly changing expression. "And no trace has been found of the
Colonel's securities, last known to be in the possession of Turnbull."

"Great heavens!" ejaculated Ferguson.

"Which was the forger--Turnbull or Rochester?"

Kent shook a puzzled head. "That is for us to discover," he said
soberly. "Colonel M