sness.

"Yes, sir," he stammered, "it is. I'll attend to it at once."

"Ah!" there was a peculiar drawl in the cashier's voice as he spoke;
"ah, I had a communication from Mr. Porter yesterday, asking if the note
had been paid."

Mortimer felt his knees shake-something was choking hire. Had the
devil of mischance taken the salvation of Alan's good name out of his
hands--had his work been for nothing.

"I couldn't understand it," went on the cashier. His voice sounded like
the clang of a fire bell to the listening man, though it was evenly
modulated, cold and steady in its methodical precision. "I thought
Porter knew the money was here to meet the note," said Lane, still
speaking, "but my attention being called to the matter, I looked up the
papers. I found one thousand dollars missing!" He was looking steadily
at Mortimer; his eyes were searching the young man's very soul. There
was accusation, denunciation, abhorrence in the cashier's gaze.

Mortimer did not speak. He was trying to think. His brain worked in
erratic futility. The slangy babble of Old Bill thrust itself upon him;
the roar of the race course was in his ears, deadening his senses; not
a sane, relevant word rose to his lips. He was like a child stricken by
fear. In an indistinct way he felt the dishonor that was Alan Porter's
being given to him. The cashier waited for Mortimer to say something;
then he spoke again, with reproach in his voice.

"I at once sent a messenger to ask you to return from your home at
Emerson to clear up this matter; he discovered that you had not
been there; that your mother was not ill. May I ask where you were
yesterday?"

"I was at Gravesend, sir--at the races," answered Mortimer, defiantly.

This speech broke the lethargy that was over him; his mind cleared--he
commenced to think sanely.

"Can you tell me," proceeded Lane, "where the balance of Mr. Porter's
three thousand dollars is?"

"It's in the box."

"That's a--it is not."

"It's in the box," repeated Mortimer, firmly.

"We can soon settle that point," declared the cashier, going hurriedly
into the vault and reappearing instantly with the box in his hand.

He opened it and stared at the package of bills that rose up when
freed from the pressure of the lid. With nervous fingers he counted the
contents.

"I beg your pardon," he exclaimed in a quick, jerky way. "The three
thousand dollars is here, but these bills have been put in the box this
morning; the