He pointed to the grate. The fireplace was filled with half-burnt playing cards. “They’ve asked me to rejoin the board as chairman. What is the matter, Kenny?” Kenneth was sitting on the opposite side of the table, and his father had seen his face. Briefly he told his story, and George McKay listened without comment until he had finished. “Wentford, eh? He is going to be a curse to me to the end of my days.” Kenneth gasped his amazement. “Did you know him?” Old George nodded. “I knew him all right!” he said grimly. “Reeder was here this morning----” “About me?” asked the other quickly. “About me,” said his father. “I rather gathered that he suspected me of the murder.” Kenneth came to his feet, horrified. “You? But he’s mad! Why should you----” Mr. McKay smiled dourly. “There was quite a good reason why I should murder him,” he said calmly; “such a good reason that I have been expecting the police all the afternoon.” Then abruptly he changed the subject. “Tell me about these banknotes. Of course I knew that you had borrowed the money from Stuart, my boy. I was a selfish old fellow to let you do it--how did the money come to you?” Kenneth’s story was a surprising one. “I had it a couple of days ago,” he said. “I came down to breakfast and found a letter. It was not registered and the address was hand-printed. I opened it, never dreaming what it contained. Just then I was terribly rattled over Stuart--I thought head office might get to know about my borrowing money. And when I found inside the letter twenty ten-pound notes you could have knocked me out.” “Was there any letter?” “None. Not even ‘from a friend.’” “Who knew about your being in debt?” One name came instantly to Kenneth’s mind. “You told your Margot, did you… Wentford’s niece? His real name was Lynn, by the way. Could she have sent it?” “It was not she who drew the money, I’ll swear! I should have known her. And though she was veiled, I could recognize her again if I met her. Kingfether’s line is that no woman came; he is suggesting that the cheque was cashed by me. He even says that the cheque was out of a book which I keep in my drawer for the use of customers who come to the bank without their cheque books.” George McKay fingered his chin, his keen eyes on his son. “If you were in any kind of trouble you’d tell me the truth, my boy, wouldn’t you? All this worry has come through me. You’re telling me the truth now, aren’t you?” “Yes, father.” The older man smiled. “Fathers have the privilege of asking ‘Are you a thief?’ without having their heads punched! And most young people do stupid things--and most old people too! Lordy! I once carried a quarter of a million bank at baccarat! Nobody would believe that, but it’s true. Come and eat, then go along and see your Margot.” “Father, who killed that man Wentford?” There was a twinkle in McKay’s eyes when he answered: “J.G. Reeder, I should think. He knows more about it than any honest man should know!”