“He did not even come home for supper,” she said. “Stayed over to Nellie's probably. You'll most likely find him there.” But I was pretty certain he was not at the Deans', for as I passed their house, I noticed the windows were dark, indicating that the family, like most of respectable Denboro, had already retired. I walked on to the Corners. Eldredge's store was closed, but the billiard room was radiant and noisy. I could hear Tim Hallet's voice urging some one to take a new cue, “'cause that one ain't pocketed many balls yet.” I looked across at the bank. The front portion of it was black enough, but the window of the directors' room was alight. I had located the object of my search; the cashier was there, working overtime, as he did so often nowadays. I had my key in my pocket and I unlocked the big door and entered quietly. The door of the directors' room was open a little way and I tiptoed over and peeped in through the crack. Taylor was seated in a chair beside the big table, his elbows upon the table and his head in his hands. As I stood there, watching him, he took his hands away and I saw his face. Upon it was an expression of abject misery and utter despair. I opened the door and entered. He heard the sound of the opening door and leaped to his feet. His chair fell backward on the floor with a clatter, but he paid no attention to it. “Good God!” he cried, wildly. “Who's that?” He was deathly pale and trembling violently. His appearance startled and alarmed me. “It's all right,” I said, hastily. “It is I--Paine. I saw the light and knew you must be here. What ails you? What IS the matter?” For a moment he stood there staring. Then he turned and picked up the fallen chair. “Oh, it's you, Ros, is it?” he faltered. “I--I--Lord, how you scared me! I--I--” “George! what IS the matter with you? For heaven's sake! stand up, man!” He was swaying and I thought he was going to faint. “George! George Taylor! Are you ill? I am going for the doctor.” “No, no! Stay where you are. I ain't sick. I'll be all right in a minute. You--you scared me, creeping in that way. Sit down, sit down.” He steadied himself with one hand on the table and with the other reached to shut a drawer which had been open beside him. The drawer was almost full of papers, and, lying upon those papers, was a revolver. CHAPTER XVI Before he could close the drawer completely I caught his arm and held it. “George,” I cried, “George, what is the matter? Tell me; you must tell me.” He tried to pull his arm free. Finding that I would not let him do this he gave up the attempt and, with a poor attempt at a laugh, answered, “Matter? Why, nothing is the matter. I am tired and nervous, same as I've told you I've been for the last two or three months, and you scared me, tiptoeing in like a sneak thief, this time of night.” “Time of night! It is but a little after nine. What is the matter with you?”