The first thing Corrie did on being left to himself, was to snatch from the floor, under the shadow of the desk, a five-pound note. Holding it stretched between his hands, he stood transfixed, while the clock ticked nearly a hundred seconds. Then his hands began to shake and sweat appeared on his face. . . . Two minutes later he left the office to take care of itself, going out by the public way. Keeping close to the wall he passed round behind the office and shop and into the yard at the back of the house. The place was not overlooked by neighbours, but he glanced keenly about him before he turned his gaze upwards. Above the ivy an attic window was wide open. He tiptoed to an out-house; he tiptoed back with a ladder. He placed the ladder in position and climbed a few bars, halted, and made a show of doing something to the ivy. Ascending further, he repeated the performance. At last he was at the window. For a few seconds he remained with his body bent and stretched into the room, then he withdrew, descended the ladder, replaced it in the out-house, and returned to the office. At 12.30 his niece appeared. He moved towards the shop, seemed to change his mind, and came back. He cleared his throat, and said— “I’ll check the cash.” Hitherto the formality had always taken place after business hours, but the girl, too sick at heart to be surprised at anything, without hesitation or remark handed him her keys. Before long Miss Corrie called him to dinner. “It’ll ha’ to wait,” he returned, apparently immersed in his task. At the end of twenty minutes he spoke. “Here!” She came over. “Anything wrong?” she asked wearily. He pointed to the open drawer. “Ye’re short!” “Nonsense! Twenty-seven pounds—that’s been the only money order business to-day.” “Well, there’s only twenty-two.” “You’ve made a mistake,” she said, with reviving alertness. “Three fives and twelve singles.” “Was that how Torrance gave ye the money? Be very sure now!—Three fives and twelve singles? Eh?” “I’m perfectly sure,” she returned impatiently. “The notes must have stuck. How much do you make me short?” “Count for yourself.” She took them out and laid them on the counter. There was a short silence broken only by the rustle of the paper and the ticking of the clock. Suddenly she raised her head and looked him straight in the eyes, without a word. He stood her gaze for a brief space, then turned it to the notes. His fist banged the counter. “Five pound short—a five-pound note—where is it?” Still she stared at him silent. “Can ye no answer?” he snarled at last. She answered with an odd, slow smile. It maddened him. He strode across to the passage and shouted for his sister. Miss Corrie came at once. “What’s the matter, John? Mind, the lad’s in the shop.” “Send him to his dinner.” Kitty spoke. “No. I want a witness.” “A witness!” screeched the woman. “What for?” Corrie pushed her aside, and bawled—