LITMIR.BIZ

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than ever.

      "Miss Cresswell?" asked one of the strangers.

      "That is my name."

      "May we come inside? I want to see you."

      She led the way to her little sitting-room. Mr. White followed in the rear.

      "Your name is Oliva Cresswell. You were recently employed by Punsonby's, Limited, as cashier."

      "That is true," she said, wondering what was coming next.

      "Certain information was laid against you," said the spokesman, "as a result of which you were discharged from the firm this morning?"

      She raised her eyebrows in indignant surprise.

      "Information laid against me?" she said haughtily. "What do you mean?"

      "I mean, that a charge was made against you that you were converting money belonging to the firm to your own use. That was the charge, I believe, sir?" He turned to Mr. White.

      Mr. White nodded slowly.

      "It is a lie. It is an outrageous lie," cried the girl, turning flaming eyes upon the stout managing director of Punsonby's. "You know it's a lie, Mr. White! Thousands of pounds have passed through my hands and I have never—oh, it's cruel."

      "If you will only keep calm for a little while, miss," said the man, who was not unused to such outbreaks, "I will explain that at the moment of your dismissal there was no evidence against you."

      "No definite knowledge of your offence," murmured Mr. White.

      "And now?" demanded the girl.

      "Now we have information, miss, to the effect that three registered letters, containing in all the sum of £63–"

      "Fourteen and sevenpence," murmured Mr. White.

      "Sixty-three pounds odd," said the detective, "which were abstracted by you yesterday are concealed in this flat."

      "In the left-hand bottom drawer of your bureau," murmured Mr. White. "That is the definite knowledge which has come to us—it is a great pity."

      The girl stared from one to the other.

      "Three registered envelopes," she said incredulously; "in this flat?"

      "In the bottom drawer of your bureau," mumbled Mr. White, who stood throughout the interview with his eyes closed, his hands clasped in front of him, a picture of a man performing a most painful act of duty.

      "I have a warrant–" began the detective.

      "You need no warrant," said the girl quietly, "you are at liberty to search this flat or bring a woman to search me. I have nothing in these rooms which I am ashamed that you should see."

      The detective turned to his companion.

      "Fred," he said, "just have a look over that writing-bureau. Is it locked, miss?"

      She had closed and locked the secretaire and she handed the man the key. The detective who had done the speaking passed into the bedroom, and the girl heard him pulling out the drawers. She did not move from where she stood confronting her late employer, still preserving his attitude of somnolent detachment.

      "Mr. White," she asked quietly, "I have a right to know who accused me of stealing from your firm."

      He made no reply.

      "Even a criminal has a right to that, you know," she said, recovering some of her poise. "I suppose that you have been missing things for quite a long while—people always miss things for quite a long while before the thief is discovered, according to the Sunday papers."

      "I do not read newspapers published on the Lord's Day," said Mr. White reproachfully. "I do not know the habits of the criminal classes, but as you say, and I fear I must convey the gist of your speech to the officers of the law, money has been missed from your department for a considerable time. As to your accuser, acting as—ah—as a good citizen and performing the duties which are associated with good-citizenship, I cannot reveal his, her, or their name."

      She was eyeing him curiously with a gleam of dormant laughter in her clear eyes. Then she heard a hurried footstep in the little passage and remembered that the door had been left open and she looked round.

      The new-comer was Dr. van Heerden.

      "What is this I hear?" he demanded fiercely, addressing White. "You dare accuse Miss Cresswell of theft?"

      "My dear doctor," began White.

      "It is an outrage," said the doctor. "It is disgraceful, Mr. White. I will vouch for Miss Cresswell with my life."

      The girl stopped him with a laugh.

      "Please don't be dramatic, doctor. It's really a stupid mistake. I didn't know you knew Mr. White."

      "It is a disgraceful mistake," said the doctor violently. "I am surprised at you, White."

      Mr. White could not close his eyes any tighter than they were closed. He passed the responsibility for the situation upon an invisible Providence with one heaving shrug of his shoulders.

      "It is awfully kind of you to take this interest, doctor," said the girl, putting out her hands to him, "it was just like you."

      "Is there anything I can do?" he asked earnestly. "You can depend upon me to the last shilling if any trouble arises out of this."

      "No trouble will arise out of it," she said. "Mr. White thinks that I have stolen money and that that money is hidden in the flat—by the way, who told you that I had been accused?"

      For a moment he was taken aback; then:

      "I saw the police officers go into your flat. I recognized them, and as they were accompanied by White, and you had been dismissed this morning, I drew my own conclusions."

      It was at this moment that the detective came back from the bedroom.

      "There's nothing there," he said.

      Mr. White opened his eyes to their fullest extent.

      "In the bottom drawer of the bureau?" he asked incredulously.

      "Neither in the bottom drawer nor the top drawer," said the detective. "Have you found anything, Fred?"

      "Nothing," said the other man.

      "Have a look behind those pictures."

      They turned up the corners of the carpets, searched her one little bookcase, looked under the tables, an unnecessary and amusing proceeding in the girl's eyes till the detective explained with that display of friendliness which all policemen show to suspected persons whom they do not at heart suspect, it was not an uncommon process for criminals to tack the proceeds of bank-note robberies to the underside of the table.

      "Well, miss," said the detective at last, with a smile, "I hope we haven't worried you very much. What do you intend doing, sir?" He addressed White.

      "Did you search the bottom drawer of the bureau?" said Mr. White again.

      "I searched the bottom drawer of the bureau, the top drawer and the middle drawer," said the detective patiently. "I searched the back of the bureau, the trinket-drawer, the trinket-boxes–"

      "And it was not there?" said Mr. White, as though he could not believe his ears.

      "It was not there. What I want to know is, do you charge this young lady? If you charge her, of course you take all the responsibility for the act, and if you fail to convict her you will be liable to an action for false arrest."

      "I know, I know, I know," said Mr. White, with remarkable asperity in one so placid. "No, I do not charge her. I am sorry you have been inconvenienced"—he turned to the girl in his most majestic manner—"and I trust that you bear no ill-will."

      He offered a large and flabby hand, but Oliva ignored it.

      "Mind you don't trip over the mat as you go out," she said, "the passage is rather dark."

      Mr. White left the room, breathing heavily.

      "Excuse me one moment," said the doctor in a low voice. "I have a few words to say to White."

      "Please

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