"It’s too big a subject," said McKenna, smiling. "I shake hands every day with gentlemen who ought to be breaking rocks. Now, let’s get back to business. Mr. Beecher, what did you notice of any kind last night that would make you suspect any one? I don’t mean opinions, but eyes." Beecher hesitated an interval that did not escape the notice of the detective. "Nothing," he said at last, unwilling to mention the name of Nan Charters. He added, to cover the hesitation: "I suspected Garraboy, but I admit there’s no proof—personal dislike." "Why do you dislike him?" Beecher shrugged his shoulder and his glance went to one side. "Mr. Gunther, will you get me my office?" said McKenna, suddenly looking at his watch. "You know the number." Gunther disappeared in the hall in search of the telephone. "Now, Mr. Beecher," said McKenna, smiling, "I’m like a doctor, you know. There’s no use calling me in unless you give me all the facts. What’s the name of the lady who excited your suspicion, whom Mr. Garraboy was so attentive to, and on account of whom, I rather guess, you got interested in this case?" The startled look Beecher gave him amply gratified McKenna, who continued: "What’s Miss Charters’ position in this business?" Beecher admitted the correctness of the surmise with a laugh, and, Gunther being absent, quickly recounted the different moments of Nan Charters’ agitation and the conversation in the cab. At this moment Gunther returned. "I say, McKenna," he said, "some one’s trying to get you on the wire." McKenna passed to the telephone, and almost immediately returned. "Look here, gentlemen," he said, "if you want to try your hand at deduction, here’s something to work on. The Clearing-house has just refused to clear for the Atlantic Trust, Majendie’s resignation has been accepted, and tomorrow there’ll be a run on every bank in the city—and God help those who’re caught in the stock market!" *CHAPTER VIII* The two young men and McKenna descended by the elevator into the lobby of the hotel. The news of the Clearing-house’s drastic action against the Atlantic Trust was already in the scare-heads of the evening papers, though Majendie’s resignation was still unknown. The halls were crowded with a fleet of newspapers, spread out, fluttering feverishly. Everywhere was a suppressed murmur and nervous tension, which occasionally exploded in exclamations when acquaintances met. The news was indeed staggering to the little man of the Street; the great Atlantic Trust with its hundreds of millions of deposits was on the verge of collapse and this at the end of a period of depression and alarm! As they proceeded toward the carriage entrance, Gunther stopped to speak to one of the clerks at the desk, who, with a frightened face, came out to seek his advice. McKenna profited by the moment to say to Beecher: