he absence of a leader its anger would pass
like a storm overhead. If a leader should appear, it would be time to
interfere; and then it would be necessary to do so before the crowd got
into action.

A half hour passed with nothing more exciting than the frantic appeals
of the janitor of the building for police protection. Failing to obtain
it he implored the depositors to leave. He might as well have appealed
to the ocean tide to change its course.

Britz consulted his watch.

"I wonder whether I've miscalculated this time?" he remarked.

Greig, having but a vague idea of Britz's plan, vouchsafed no reply. He
remained close to the other's elbow.

Another ten minutes passed and Britz began to look uneasily at the door.
A shade of disappointment crossed his face, and did not go unobserved by
his assistant.

The crowd was growing unwieldy. It began to exert a slow, steady
pressure against the door of Ward's office. The mob was composed
entirely of creditors, for the merely curious had grown tired and
departed hours ago. Those who remained were beyond discouragement; they
hung on with the persistency of despair.

"Oh, let's tear down the blamed door!" shouted someone in a voice more
determined than had been heard thus far. "I'm not going home to-day
until I learn just what's happened to my money."

"Yes, break it down!" echoed a dozen voices.

But suddenly the attention of the mob was diverted from the door. A
woman had torn into the corridor and was struggling frantically to make
a lane for herself. There was something compelling about her, something
in her pale, distraught face that commanded the respectful surrender of
the crowd. They made a passage for her, through which she passed
hurriedly.

"Mrs. Collins--Ward's sister!" said Britz aloud.

The words penetrated the serried ranks of creditors like an electric
spark. Instantly their attitude changed. Closing in on her, they forced
her against the door of the office as though she were a lay figure. All
their better instincts, all their upbringing was forgotten in the
inarticulate fury aroused by her presence.

She stood, palpitant, a dull stare in her eyes, her frame throbbing
violently.

"Where's your brother?" someone broke the silence. "Where is he? Where's
our money? You were interested in the bank! You were one of the owners.
What did you do with our money?"

At first she seemed not to have heard. Then, a wave of understanding
swept over her, and