ent. We must
compromise with him, if we can find him in time. Of course, even if the
bank closed, we would pay everything when there was time to realize.
But that is not the point. It would mean trouble and disaster, and
would probably result in other failures all through one man's
rascality."

"Then it all resolves itself to this. Staples must be found quietly and
negotiated with. Mr. Temple, let me undertake the finding of him, and
the negotiating, also, if you will trust me."

"Do you know him?"

"Never saw him in my life."

"Here is his portrait. He is easily recognized from that. You couldn't
mistake him. He is probably living at Montreal under an assumed name.
He may have sailed for Europe. You will say nothing of this to
anybody?"

"Certainly not. I will leave on to-night's train for Montreal, or on
the first train that goes."

Young Mr. Brown slipped the photograph into his pocket and shook hands
with the banker. Somehow his confident, alert bearing inspired the old
man with more hope than he would have cared to admit, for, as a general
thing, he despised the average young man.

"How long can you hold out if this does not become public?"

"For a month at least; probably for two or three."

"Well, don't expect to hear from me too soon. I shall not risk writing.
If there is anything to communicate, I will come myself."

"It is very good of you to take my trouble on your shoulders like this.
I am very much obliged to you."

"I am not a philanthropist, Mr. Temple," replied young Brown.

* * * * *

When young Mr. Brown stepped off the train at the Central Station in
Toronto, a small boy accosted him.

"Carry your valise up for you, sir?"

"Certainly," said Brown, handing it to him.

"How much do I owe you?" he asked at the lobby of the hotel.

"Twenty-five cents," said the boy promptly, and he got it.

Brown registered on the books of the hotel as John A. Walker, of
Montreal.

* * * * *

Mr. Walter Brown, of Rochester, was never more discouraged in his life
than at the moment he wrote on the register the words, "John A. Walker,
Montreal." He had searched Montreal from one end to the other, but had
found no trace of the man for whom he was looking. Yet, strange to say,
when he raised his eyes from the register they met the face of William
L. Staples, ex-cashier. It was lucky for Brown that Staples was looking
at the words he had written, an