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The manager let slip the whirling handle and the pole of the hurrying
curtain thumped the platform. Vona had leaped, risking her life, and was
able to dodge under the descending pole. For a moment, sick with horror
and unutterable woe, she stood there alone against the tawdry curtain,
as wide-eyed and white-faced as Tragedy's muse.

Men, women, and children, all the folks of Egypt, were struggling to
their feet; the sliding settees squawked and clattered.

She saw Tasper Britt, fighting a path for himself, Starr following.
Britt's face, above his blackened beard, was yellow-pale.

Panic was piling the people at the narrow rear doors; the weight of
those who were rushing forward wedged all the mass at the exits.

"Vona!" called the manager, pulling at the edge of the curtain to give
her passage. "This way! The side door."

The summons helped to put away her faintness; her strength came back
to her. Her goal was the bank! In the frenzy of her solicitude for her
lover she took no thought of herself.

The others stopped to find their wraps. Vona ran down the street as she
was, bareheaded, the ribbons of her stage finery fluttering. She was
close behind the first arrivals at the open door of Britt Block. All the
other portals were wide open, bank door and grille door. But the door of
the vault was closed.

She thrust herself resolutely through the group of men and made a
frenzied survey of the bank's interior. Her single quest was for
Vaniman; he was nowhere in sight. The books of account were open on the
desk, mute evidence for her that he had been interrupted suddenly.

She voiced demands in shrill tones, but the men had no information for
her. She called his name wildly and there was no reply.

"I found the outside door open," said Dorsey, raucously hoarse. "I came
in, and all was just as you see it."

"But you said that he--that Frank--" Vona pressed her hands against her
throat; she could not voice the terrible announcement that Dorsey had
made.

"Well, if it ain't that, what else is it?" insisted the watchman.

Then Tasper Britt arrived in the room, followed by the bank examiner;
they entered, breathing heavily and running with the tread of
Percherons.

"If it ain't murder and robbery, what is it, Mr. Britt?" Dorsey bawled,
evidently feeling the authority was then on the scene and was demanding
report and action.

"I don't know--I don't know!" the president quavered, staggering to
the gril