"See here," Braceway said as they were ready to leave the table; "you look all in, done out."
Bristow did not deny it.
"I didn't sleep very well last night. It was close in my room, and this morning the humidity's oppressive. You know what that does to us of the T. B. tribe."
"Suppose you get some more rest. It's going to be a sweltering day."
"Oh, I can stand it. I want to go with you. I'm not going to feel any worse than I do now."
But the other was insistent. Bristow at last gave in. He would take the rest if Braceway would report progress to him at noon.
Returning to his room, the sick man swore savagely.
"Friday!" he said aloud. "Damn it all anyway!"
Braceway lingered several minutes on the steps outside the Anderson National Bank. He felt reluctant to go inside and start the machinery that would ruin Morley. It wasn't absolutely necessary, he argued, with something like weakness; he could, perhaps, find out all he wanted to know without——
He thought suddenly of the bizarre performances of the thing men call Fate. Because a woman is murdered under mysterious circumstances in a little southern city, evidence is uncovered showing that a panic-stricken boy has been stealing money from a bank hundreds of miles away; a detective is employed by the dead woman's husband; the detective is thrown again into contact with the victim's sister and realizes more clearly than ever that he loves her.