Were it known that Osmun had vanished--were it believed he had died--the trust company which was his executor would seek to wind up his estate. In which case not only his own insolvency but his theft of the $50,000 must come to light. He trusted to time and to opportunity to make good this shortage and to cover its tracks so completely that they could not be discovered by officious executors or administrators. A few coups in the stock market would do the trick. But until such time he must continue to stay alive as Osmun. After that it would be time enough to get rid of his Osmun-self in some plausible way and to reign alone as Clive. Thus it was, after his return, he strove in every way to enhance his Clive popularity at the expense of Osmun. And in a measure he succeeded. But almost at once he struck a snag. That snag was his inability to counterfeit Clive’s glowingly magnetic personality. He could impersonate his brother in a way to baffle conscious detection. Yet, while outwardly he was Clive, he could not ape successfully Clive’s lovable personality. Folk did not warm to the supposed Clive as they had warmed to the real Clive. They did not know why. Vaguely they said to one another that his war-experiences had somehow changed him. They liked him because they had always liked him and because he did nothing overt to destroy that liking. But he was no longer actively beloved. Most of all Osmun could see this was true with Doris Lane. He felt he had lost ground with her and that he was continuing to lose it. She still received him on the old friendly footing. But she showed no faintest sign of affection for him. Conceited as to his own powers, Osmun would not admit that the fault was with his impersonation. He attributed it wholly to the fact that Thaxton Vail had come back from France some months earlier than himself and had thus cut out Clive. Hence Osmun set his agile wits to work to get Vail out of his path. With Thaxton gone or discredited he believed his own way to Doris would be clear. He believed it absolutely and he laid his plans in accordance. Always he had hated Vail. This new complication fanned his hate to something approaching mania. Sore pressed for ready cash or collateral to cover his stock margins and pestered to red rage by Thaxton’s increasing favor in Doris’s eyes, the chance of making public the “hotel clause” in Osmun Vail’s will had struck him merely as a minor way to annoy his enemy. Then, learning by chance that Doris and her aunt were to take advantage of the clause by going to Vailholme, he arranged adroitly to be one of the houseparty in the guise of Clive. At once events played into his hands. On inspiration he robbed the various rooms that first evening, while, in his rôle of invalid, he was believed to be dressing, belatedly, after his hours of rest.