"I'm perfectly aware, Mr. Dunne," he said, "that all good banks protect their depositors' interests to the limit, so I'll just put my cards on the table. Miss Blake has disappeared, and her sister also, under most peculiar conditions, and I have been employed to try to trace them. I was summoned to their apartment by Mr. Donald Morris." "Stephen Morris's son?" asked the cashier, quickly. "Yes," said Peter, and seeing that the well-known name had its effect, he added, "Perhaps you'd like me to get him on the wire, and assure you that----" "I don't like to seem to doubt you in any way, Mr. Clancy," the cashier interrupted. "I'd be very glad to be of service to any friend of Mr. Morris's. He has an account here. Suppose I get him on the wire." This suited Peter perfectly. Knowing that Morris would be at home, waiting for news, he realized that there would be little delay, and waited imperturbably while the cashier verified his statements. In a few minutes Dunne turned away from the telephone. "So far, so good, Mr. Clancy," he said, smiling. "Now bring on your problem." "Well, this is the way it stands," said Peter, with an answering smile. "It looks as if Miss Blake's apartment has been robbed. Of course we can't be sure, because we don't know what was there originally, but things were tossed about a lot, bureau drawers and desk drawers opened, and that sort of thing. And both the sisters have disappeared." "All right. I get that," said the cashier. "Now what do you need to know about them?" "First of all, do you know Miss Blake by sight?" asked Peter. "H'm'm--I've seen her on the stage, yes. But I don't recollect ever having seen her in the bank here." "Perhaps one of the tellers----" "One of them might have, of course, but I doubt it. You see, I was paying teller, myself, up to a month ago, and as far as I can remember, it was always Miss Anne Blake who came to the bank." "You know her, then, by sight," said Peter, eagerly. "Oh, yes. She comes in almost every week. Quiet, retiring sort of woman, with a bad birthmark." Peter nodded. "When was she here last, Mr. Dunne? Do you think you could find out for me? Would the tellers know her?" "Think they would. In fact, I'm sure Parsons knows her. He was my assistant and is paying now. I'll ask him. Just a moment." He left his desk, and went through a glass door at the back of the metal-latticed cages. Peter could see him, through the grille, talking to first one man and then another. Presently he came back. "Miss Anne Blake was in the bank and cashed a check on Saturday morning," he informed Peter. "On Saturday morning," Peter repeated, thoughtfully. "Do you know how much she drew?" "I do," said the cashier, with a twinkle in his eye.