That night Nance shed more tears than she had ever shed in the whole course of her life before; but whether she wept for Mac, or Dan, or for herself, she could not have said. She heard the sounds die out of the alley one by one, the clanging cars at the end of the street became less frequent; only the drip, drip, drip from a broken gutter outside her window, and the rats in the wall kept her company. All day Sunday she stayed in-doors, and came to the office on Monday pale and a bit listless. Early as it was, Mr. Clarke was there before her, pacing the floor in evident perturbation. "Come in here a moment, Miss Molloy," he said, before she had taken off her hat. "I want a word with you." Nance followed him into the inner room with a quaking heart. "I want you to tell me," he said, waiving all preliminaries, "just who was in this room Saturday afternoon after I left." "Dan Lewis. And of course, Mr. Mac. You left him here." "Who else?" "Nobody." "But there must have been," insisted Mr. Clarke, vehemently. "A man, giving my name, called up our retail store between two and two-thirty o'clock, and asked if they could cash a check for several hundred dollars. He said it was too late to go to the bank, and he wanted the money right away. Later a messenger brought my individual check, torn out of this check-book, which evidently hasn't been off my desk, and received the money. The cashier thought the signature looked queer and called me up yesterday. I intend to leave no stone unturned until I get at the truth of the matter. You were the only person here all afternoon. Tell me, in detail, exactly what happened." Nance recalled as nearly as she could, the incidents of the afternoon, with careful circuits around her own interviews with Mac and Dan. "Could any one have entered the inner office between their visits, without your knowing it?" asked Mr. Clarke, who was following her closely. "Oh, yes, sir; only there wasn't time. You see Mr. Mac was just going out the factory yard as Dan come in here." "Did either of them use my telephone?" "Both of them used it." "Could you hear what was said?" "No; the door was shut both times." "Did Lewis enter through the other room, or through the hall?" "He come through the other room and asked me if you had left a telegram for him." "Then he came in here?" "Yes, sir." Mr. Clarke's brows were knitted in perplexity. He took up the telephone. "Send Lewis up here to my office," he directed. "What? Hasn't come in yet?" he repeated incredulously. "That's strange," he said grimly, half to himself. "The first time I ever knew him to be late." Something seemed to tighten suddenly about Nance's heart. Could it be possible that Mr. Clarke was suspecting Dan of signing that check? She watched his nervous hands as they ran over the morning mail. He had singled out one letter and, as he finished reading it, he handed it to her.