then or to offer
any sort of explanation; in his amazement he could not think of any
possible explanation. He could not convince himself that Vona needed
other protection than her own thoroughness and rectitude gave her;
however, he wanted to extend his protection.

"If anything is wrong with the accounts, you may most certainly look to
me, Mr. Starr. I assume full responsibility. I have found Miss Harnden
to be most accurate."

"I ought to have been through with this small bank and away by night,"
grumbled the examiner. "But I'm going to give you a fair show, Vaniman,
by waiting over. You've got this evening--and to-morrow is a holiday,
and you can take that day, if you need it, to get this tangle
straightened out. I'm stopping my work right here." He slammed the
ledger shut and tossed it on the girl's desk. "There's no sense in going
through your cash in the vault till I can check by the book accounts.
But, bless my soul! I can't understand by what rhyme or reason those
figures have been put into the muddle they're in. It's coarse work. I'll
be frank and say that it doesn't look like a sane man's attempt to put
something over. That's why I'm lenient with you and am not sticking one
of my closure notices on to your front door. Now get busy, so that you
can be sure it won't go up on the door day after to-morrow."

He took down his coat and hat and when he left the room they heard him
go into Tasper Britt's office across the corridor.

The stricken lovers faced each other, appalled, mystified, questioning
with the looks they exchanged.

"Frank," the girl wailed, "you know I haven't--"

"I know you have been faithful and careful, in every stroke of your pen,
dear. Whatever it is, it's not your fault."

"But what has happened to the books?" she queried, winking back her
tears, trying hard to meet him on the plane of his calmness; he was
getting his feelings in hand.

"I propose to find out before I close my eyes this night," he told her,
gravely.

CHAPTER XIII

MISFORTUNE MEDDLES

Shortly before the supper hour, Britt and Starr came into the bank;
they wore their overcoats and hats, and were on their way to the tavern,
evidently.

"How are you making it, Frank?" the president inquired, with solicitude.

A sympathetic observer would have found a suggestion of captives, caged
and hopeless, in the demeanor of the cashier and the bookkeeper behind
the grille.

Vaniman peered through the lattice into the