room.

But in spite of her second of preparation she started when she saw Henry
Pollard's face. She had known that it could look hard and cruel, that it
could grow dark and threatening. But she saw now a look in the hard
eyes, about the sinister mouth, which sent a spurt of terror up into her
heart. Here was a man who could kill, would kill if he were driven to
it. She read it in his eyes in that flash of a glance as she might have
read it in big printed letters. If he came to believe that there was
actual danger to him from her knowledge he would find a way to keep her
silent.

"Well?" Pollard said steadily.

He came into the room and closed the door softly behind him. Now there
was no tell-tale expression in his tone and all expression had gone out
of his eyes.

Even then, though her heart beat quickly and the colour wavered in her
cheeks, she managed to look at him steadily and to answer collectedly:

"It looks like I'd been playing Paul Pry, and that you'd caught me,
doesn't it?"

She even laughed softly, and went on:

"I came down for a book. Then I noticed this." She picked up the
envelope again, holding it out toward him. "You see I recognized it!"

"There are lots of yellow envelopes," he answered colourlessly, his eyes
sharp points of light upon hers. "What about it?"

"I am not a lady detective," she smiled back, taking a sudden keen
delight in the knowledge that she had taken the right tack, and that she
was puzzling Pollard. "But it is quite obvious that you've got your
money back! Why didn't you tell me?"

"There are lots of yellow envelopes," he repeated, speaking slowly, and
she knew that his brain was as busy as her own. If the moment held
danger for her, then it held danger no less for him. "They are common
enough. What makes you think that this one..."

"Oh, but I know," she broke in lightly. "You see I remembered Mr.
Templeton getting this smudge of ink on it. He called my attention to
it, the dear, precise old banker that he is, and wanted to give me a
clean one. Did Mr. Thornton get frightened and bring your money back?"

For a moment he did not answer. She knew that he was measuring her with
those shrewd eyes of his, looking for a false sign, just the twitch of a
muscle to tell him that she was playing a part. And she gave no sign.

"No," he said at last. "Thornton did not bring it back. And even if you
were a lady detective you might make a mistake now. I haven't seen a
cent of th