President Britt went away to his own office.

Examiner Starr, confining himself to his announced policy of grabbing in on the running operations of the bank at the moment of his entry, studied the petty-cash accounts and checked up the daybook with thoroughness.  He found everything all right and grunted his acknowledgment of that discovery.

Then he began on the ledgers, assuring Vona with ponderous gallantry that he wouldn’t get in her way; he averred that he had a comparison system of his own, and showed the pride of “the new broom.”

After a time it was apparent that Mr. Starr was having trouble.  He added columns of figures over again and scowled; his system was plainly trigged.

“Young lady, where’s your comptometer?” he demanded, after he had made a quick survey of the office.

“We have never used one, sir.”

“One is indispensable these days in a bank—­especially when a bookkeeper can’t add a column of figures correctly by the old method.”

She flushed and her lips quivered.  “I’m sure I do add correctly, sir.  My books always balance.”

“Add that column, young lady!” He indicated the column with the plunging pressure of a stubby digit, and stood so close to her, while she toiled up the line of figures, that his breath fanned her hair.

Vaniman looked on, sympathizing, feeling sure that the bluff inquisitor had made a mistake of his own.

Her confusion under Starr’s baleful espionage sent her wits scattering.  She jotted down the total, as she made it.

“Wrong!” announced the examiner.  “And your figures are different, even, from the wrong total you have on the books.  Try again.”

She set her lips and controlled her emotions and went over the work once more.

Starr exhibited figures which he had jotted on a bit of paper that he had palmed.  “You’re right, as the figures stand!  But your book total doesn’t agree with those figures.  Now what say?”

Vona was distinctly in no condition to say anything sensible; she stared from the figures to Starr, showing utter amazement, and then she mutely appealed to the cashier.

“I’m sure that Miss Harnden is remarkably accurate in her work, Mr. Starr,” asserted the young man.  “I have been in the habit of going over it, myself, and I have found no errors.”

“Oh, you go over it, do you?  That’s good!” But Starr’s tone was not one of satisfied indorsement.  He picked up the big book and carried it to the center table.  He fished from his waistcoat pocket a small reading glass, unfolded the lenses, and studied the page.  He turned other pages and performed the same minute inspection.  Then he took the ledger to the window and held page after page against the glass, propping the book in his big hands.

When he turned, Vona was sitting in a chair, trembling, tears in her eyes, apprehension ridging her face.