e
object of my search; the cashier was there, working overtime, as he did
so often nowadays.

I had my key in my pocket and I unlocked the big door and entered
quietly. The door of the directors' room was open a little way and I
tiptoed over and peeped in through the crack. Taylor was seated in a
chair beside the big table, his elbows upon the table and his head in
his hands. As I stood there, watching him, he took his hands away and
I saw his face. Upon it was an expression of abject misery and utter
despair. I opened the door and entered.

He heard the sound of the opening door and leaped to his feet. His chair
fell backward on the floor with a clatter, but he paid no attention to
it.

"Good God!" he cried, wildly. "Who's that?"

He was deathly pale and trembling violently. His appearance startled and
alarmed me.

"It's all right," I said, hastily. "It is I--Paine. I saw the light and
knew you must be here. What ails you? What IS the matter?"

For a moment he stood there staring. Then he turned and picked up the
fallen chair.

"Oh, it's you, Ros, is it?" he faltered. "I--I--Lord, how you scared me!
I--I--"

"George! what IS the matter with you? For heaven's sake! stand up, man!"
He was swaying and I thought he was going to faint. "George! George
Taylor! Are you ill? I am going for the doctor."

"No, no! Stay where you are. I ain't sick. I'll be all right in a
minute. You--you scared me, creeping in that way. Sit down, sit down."

He steadied himself with one hand on the table and with the other
reached to shut a drawer which had been open beside him. The drawer was
almost full of papers, and, lying upon those papers, was a revolver.

CHAPTER XVI

Before he could close the drawer completely I caught his arm and held
it.

"George," I cried, "George, what is the matter? Tell me; you must tell
me."

He tried to pull his arm free. Finding that I would not let him do this
he gave up the attempt and, with a poor attempt at a laugh, answered,
"Matter? Why, nothing is the matter. I am tired and nervous, same as
I've told you I've been for the last two or three months, and you scared
me, tiptoeing in like a sneak thief, this time of night."

"Time of night! It is but a little after nine. What is the matter with
you?"

"Nothing is the matter, I tell you. Let go of my arm, Ros. What do you
mean by holding on to me like this?"

"What do YOU mean, George? What does THAT mean?"

I pointed to the drawe