“I don’t think so.” Dale’s voice was strained. Where was Brooks? What had happened to him? Anderson puffed on his cigar, pondering. “Know the Flemings?” he asked. “I’ve met Mr. Richard Fleming once or twice.” Something in her tone caused him to glance at her. “Nice fellow?” “I don’t know him at all well.” “Know the cashier of the Union Bank?” he shot at her suddenly. “No!” She strove desperately to make the denial convincing but she could not hide the little tremor in her voice. The detective mused. “Fellow of good family, I understand,” he said, eyeing her. “Very popular. That’s what’s behind most of these bank embezzlements—men getting into society and spending more than they make.” Dale hailed the tinkle of the city telephone with an inward sigh of relief. The detective moved to answer the house phone on the wall by the alcove, mistaking the direction of the ring. Dale corrected him quickly. “No, the other one. That’s the house phone.” Anderson looked the apparatus over. “No connection with the outside, eh?” “No,” said Dale absent-mindedly. “Just from room to room in the house.” He accepted her explanation and answered the other telephone. “Hello—hello—what the—” He moved the receiver hook up and down, without result, and gave it up. “This line sounds dead,” he said. “It was all right a few minutes ago,” said Dale without thinking. “You were using it a few minutes ago?” She hesitated—what use to deny what she had already admitted, for all practical purposes. “Yes.” The city telephone rang again. The detective pounced upon it. “Hello—yes—yes—this is Anderson—go ahead.” He paused, while the tiny voice in the receiver buzzed for some seconds. Then he interrupted it impatiently. “You’re sure of that, are you? I see. All right. ‘By.” He hung up the receiver and turned swiftly on Dale. “Did I understand you to say that you were not acquainted with the cashier of the Union Bank?” he said to her with a new note in his voice. Dale stared ahead of her blankly. It had come! She did not reply. Anderson went on ruthlessly. “That was headquarters, Miss Ogden. They have found some letters in Bailey’s room which seem to indicate that you were not telling the entire truth just now.” He paused, waiting for her answer. “What letters?” she said wearily. “From you to Jack Bailey—showing that you had recently become engaged to him.” Dale decided to make a clean breast of it, or as clean a one as she dared. “Very well,” she said in an even voice, “that’s true.” “Why didn’t you say so before?” There was menace beneath his suavity. She thought swiftly. Apparent frankness seemed to be the only resource left her. She gave him a candid smile. “It’s been a secret. I haven’t even told my aunt yet.” Now she let indignation color her tones. “How can the police be so stupid as to accuse Jack Bailey, a young man and about to be married? Do you think he would wreck his future like that?”