“Cashier Vaniman, I don’t want to hurt this young lady’s feelings any more than I have.  There’s no sense in blaming her until I understand the which and the why of this thing.  I have found column after column added wrongly.  Perhaps she has done her work, originally, all right.  But the pages of this ledger are pretty well speckled with erasures.  The two of you will have to thresh it out between yourselves.  I’m looking to you as the responsible party in this bank, Vaniman.  I’ll do the rest of my talking to you.  After you have found out what the trouble is you must explain to me.”

“There can be no trouble with our books!” But the cashier stammered; his incredulity would not permit him to discuss the matter 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.