Though two men were watching her going-away, and though she must have been conscious of the fact, she did not turn her head to glance behind her.

At any rate, the thing was over, whatever had happened, the cashier reflected with relief.  Nevertheless, curiosity was nagging at him; he felt an impulse to go in and inspect the condition of Tasper Britt by way of securing a hint.

Vaniman, however, shook his head and dropped into the routine of his duties.  The ruts of life in Egypt, especially in the winter, were deep ones.  The cashier had become contented with his little circle of occupation and recreation.

He carried the books into the vault.  He wound the clock that controlled the mechanism of bolts and bars, and pushed the big outer door shut and made certain that it was secure.

Having finished as cashier, he became janitor.

Egypt had no electric lights.  Vaniman trimmed the kerosene reflector lamp and set it on the table so that the front of the safe would be illuminated for the benefit of the village’s night watchman.

Then he put on his cap and overcoat and locked the grille door and the bank door after he had passed each portal.  His last chore of the day was always a trip into the basement to make sure that the dying fire in the wood furnace was carefully closed in for the night.

The basement stairs led from the rear of the corridor.  When Vaniman returned up the stairs he had settled on a small matter of business which would serve as a valid excuse for entering the presence of President Britt.  But he did not need to employ the excuse.  Britt stood in his open door and called to the cashier and walked back to his chair, leaving Vaniman to follow, and the employee obeyed the summons with alacrity; he was consumed with desire to get a line on the situation that had been troubling him.

An observer would have called the contest of mutual inspection a fifty-fifty break—­perhaps with a shade in favor of Britt, for the usurer’s face was like leather and his goggling marbles of eyes under the lids that resembled little tents did not flicker.

“What can I do for you?” Britt demanded, and the query made for the young man’s discomposure.

“Why, you called me in, sir!”

“Uh-huh!” the president admitted, “but somehow I had the impression that you said you wanted to see me after the bank closed.”  He was taking account of stock of Vaniman’s personality, his eyes going up and down the stalwart figure and dwelling finally and persistently on the young man’s hair; it was copper-bronze in hue, it had an attractive wave, there was plenty of it, and it seemed to be very firmly rooted.

“I don’t remember that I mentioned it, Mr. Britt, but I do have an errand with you.”

“All right!  What is it?” Mr. Britt was not revealing any emotions that Vaniman found illuminating in regard to his particular quest.