Was Charles safely away? he asked himself. If only he had one more day between him and discovery how much better it would be! But that was out of the question. The thing that was to be done must be done at once. After all, what was there so terrible about it? Charles would make his way in some fashion, and the family disgrace would be avoided. Suicide? Nothing could be worse than suicide. Ah, but Charles might be followed and detained! In that case he would be put on trial for the crime, and of course he could no longer play the part he had undertaken. Then it would be suicide for himself; yes, suicide was even yet a possible contingent. He shuddered; the sunlight lost its charm, the air its bracing quality. He plunged on now, glancing neither to the right nor to the left, and his step was heavy as he entered the bank. It was open for business, and very active in the counting-rooms. Typewriting and adding machines were clicking. In the office of the president, a raised voice could be heard dictating a letter in studied paragraphs. William hung up his hat in the little anteroom and sat down at his desk. Automatically he felt in his pocket for the note Charles had written. He understood the afterthought which had inspired its writing, but he shrank from availing himself of it. He must appear to be busy, he told himself, and yet what could be done by a man in his state of suspense? Could one dictate a letter or add a column of figures while momentarily expecting the verdict of a jury as to whether he should live or die? The bank examiners would soon come. The ordeal of meeting their experienced scrutiny would be impossible in his present state of mind. How could he escape it? The note! Ah yes, the note! With the revelation once made to the president, his privacy would be respected. It was a terrible thing for a brother to do, but as a matter of sheer self-preservation, it had to be done. The dictating in the president's office had ceased. The girl stenographer, with her notes in hand, was hurrying past his open door. Now was the time, but he must first set the scene for the drama. He got up, went to the vault, drew open the massive door, busied his distraught brain over a combination, opened an inner safe. He remained there for a moment and then came out. A clerk glanced up from a big book of commercial reports, bowed respectfully, and then stared almost in alarm at his superior. "My God!" he heard the banker say. "My God!"