“I was just going up to your room,” he said. “I happened to see your name on the register while I was looking for an out-of-town customer of ours who was due here to-day. Down for long?” “I can't say--I railly can't say,” Hoag floundered. “It all depends--some few matters to--to see to.” “I was going to write you,” the banker continued, his face elongated and quite grave. “I regard you as a friend, Mr. Hoag--I may say, as one of the best I have. I'm sure I've always looked after your interests at this end of the line as carefully as if they had been my own.” “Yes, yes, I know that, of course.” Hoag's response was a hurried compound of impatience, indifference, and despair. Peterson threw an eager glance at some vacant chairs near by and touched Hoag's arm. “Let's sit down,” he entreated. “I want to talk to you. I just can't put it off. I'm awfully bothered, Mr. Hoag, and if anybody can help me you can.” Hoag allowed himself to be half led, half dragged to the chair, and he and his companion sat down together. “It's about Miss Ethel,” Peterson went on, desperately, laying an appealing hand on Hoag's massive knee. “The last time I saw her at your house I thought she was friendly enough, but something is wrong now, sure. She won't write often, and when she does her letters are cold and stiff. I got one from her mother to-day. Mrs. Mayfield seems bothered. She doesn't seem fully to understand Miss Ethel, either.” “I don't know anything about it.” Hoag felt compelled to make some reply. “The truth is, I haven't had time to--to talk to Eth' lately, and--” “But you told me that you _would_.” Peterson's stare was fixed and full of suppressed suspense. “I've been depending on you. My--my pride is--I may say that my pride is hurt, Mr. Hoag. My friends down here consider me solid with the young lady, and it looks as if she were trying to pull away and leave me in the lurch. I don't see how I can stand it. I've never been turned down before and it hurts, especially when folks have regarded the thing as practically settled. Why--why, my salary has been raised on the strength of it.” Hoag's entire thoughts were on the communication he had just received. He expected every moment to see his assassin stalk across the tiled floor from one of the many entrances and fire upon him. Peterson's voice and perturbation were as vexatious as the drone of a mosquito. Of what importance was another's puppy love to a man on the gallows looking for the last time at the sunshine? He rose to his feet; he laid his hand on the young man's shoulder. “You must let me alone to-night,” he bluntly demanded. “I've got a matter of important business on my mind and I can't talk to you. You must, I tell you; you must!” “All right, all right!” Peterson stared and gasped as if smitten in the face. “I'll see you in the morning. You'll come around to the bank, won't you?”