Without parleying he stepped to the exchange window, which was free at the moment, and spoke to one of the clerks. The girl opened her reticule and when he turned round she handed him the bills. While the clerk went for the new currency Burgess spoke of the weather and remarked upon the menace of worn bills to public health. They always meant to give women fresh bills, he said; and he wished she would insist upon having them. He was a master of the art of being agreeable, and in his view it was nothing against a woman that she had fine eyes and an engaging smile. Her voice was pleasant to hear and her cheeks dimpled charmingly when she smiled. “All money looks good to me,” she said, thrusting the new bills into her satchel; “but new money is certainly nicer. It always seems like more!” “But you ought to count that,” Burgess protested, not averse to prolonging the conversation. “There’s always the possibility of a mistake.” “Well, if there is I’ll come back. You’d remember----” “Oh, yes! I’d remember,” replied Burgess with a smile, and then he added hastily: “In a bank it’s our business to remember faces!” “Oh!” said the girl, looking down at her reticule. Her “oh!” had in it the faintest, the obscurest hint of irony. He wondered whether she resented the idea that he would remember her merely because it was a bank’s business to remember faces. Possibly--but no! As she smiled and dimpled he put from him the thought that she wished to give a flirtatious turn to this slight chance interview there in the open lobby of his own bank. Reassured by the smite, supported by the dimples, he said: “I’m Mr. Burgess; I work here.” “Yes, of course--you’re the president. My name is Nellie Murdock.” “You live in Vevay Street?” He dropped his voice. “I can’t talk to you here, but I’ve been asked to see a young man named Drake at your house. Please tell him I’ll be there at five-thirty today. You understand?” “Yes, thank you. He hasn’t come yet; but he expected to get in at five.” Her lips quivered; she gave him a quick, searching glance, then nodded and walked rapidly out. Burgess spoke to another customer in the line, with his eyes toward the street, so that he saw the red feather flash past the window and vanish; then he strolled back to where the detective sat. On the banker’s desk, face down, lay the memorandum he had sent to the bookkeeper. He turned this up, glanced at it and handed it to Hill. “Balance $178.18; Julius Murdock,” Hill read. “How much did Nellie draw?” “An even hundred. I stopped to speak to her a moment. Nice girl!” “Gray eyes, fine teeth, nose slightly snub; laughs easily and shows dimples. Wears usually a gold chain with a gold heart-shaped locket--small diamond in center,” said Hill, as though quoting. “Locket--yes; I did notice the locket,” frowned Burgess. “And you didn’t overlook the dimples,” remarked the detective--“you can’t exactly. By-the-way, you didn’t change any money for her yourself?”