The outer door was closed and locked, as it should be. Nevertheless, his hands shook so that he could hardly work the mechanism. Finally, the tumblers obeyed him, and he swung open the thick twin slabs, unlocked the inner door with the key which he carried along with other keys on his key ring--and then fetched a sigh of relief that was half a sob. Everything was as it should be--cash, paper money, books, files and securities. As he backed out of the vault the door of the president's office opened and Mr. Blair stood there in the opening, confronting him with an accusing glare. “Young man,” said Mr. Blair, “you're late!” “Yes, sir,” said Emanuel. “I'm very sorry, sir. I must have overslept.” “So I judge!” Mr. Blair's accents were ominous. “So I judge, young man--but where?” “W-where?” Emanuel, burning with shame, stammered the word. “Yes, sir; that's what I said--where? Twenty minutes ago I telephoned to Mrs. Morrill's to find out what was keeping you from your duties, and they told me you hadn't been in all night--that your bed hadn't been slept in.” “Yes, sir; I slept out.” “I gathered as much.” Mr. Blair's long white chin whiskers quivered as Mr. Blair's condemning eyes comprehended the shrinking figure before him from head to foot--the rumpled hair; the bloodshot eyes; the wrinkled clothes; the soiled collar; the skewed necktie; the fluttering hands. “Look here, young man; have you been drinking?” “No, sir--yes, sir; that is, I--I had a little beer last night,” owned Emanuel miserably. “A little beer, huh?” Mr. Blair, being popularly reputed to keep a private quart flask in his coat closet and at intervals to refresh himself therefrom behind the cover of the closet door, had a righteous contempt for wantons who publicly plied themselves with potables, whether of a malt, a spirituous or a vinous nature. “A little beer, huh?” He put tons of menace into the repetition of the words. “Forever and a day traipsing off on vacations seems to breed bad habits in you, Moon. Now, look here! This is the first time this ever happened--so far as I know. I am inclined to excuse it this once. But see to it that it doesn't happen again--ever!” “No, sir,” said Emanuel gratefully. “It won't.” And it did not. So shaken was Emanuel as to his nerves that three whole nights elapsed before he felt equal to practicing on his new clarinet. After that, though, in all his spare moments at the boarding house he played assiduously. For the purposes of this narrative the passage of the ensuing fortnight is of no consequence. It passed, and that brings us to a Friday afternoon in mid-October. On the Friday afternoon in question the paymaster of the Great Western Crosstie Company deposited in the Commonwealth Bank, for overnight safeguarding, the funds to meet his semimonthly pay roll due to contractors, subcontractors, tow-boat owners and extra labourers, the total amounting to a goodly sum.