CHAPTER IV
It was Wednesday night. William Browne had not come home to dinner. Charles looked into the dining-room. Celeste and Ruth were in their places at the table.
"William telephoned that he could not come up," Celeste said, as he sat down. "He says he has work to do at the bank to-night."
"Yes. I'm going back myself at once," Charles answered. "In fact, I am not a bit hungry. I had something late this afternoon—sandwiches and tea. If you will excuse me, I won't stay."
As he rose, Celeste lifted an odd stare to his face, but simply nodded as he was leaving the room.
"Don't go, Uncle Charlie," the child protested. "Stay for your dinner."
"No, I must go." He came back, bent over her chair, and kissed her on the cheek, and then hurried away.
It was eight o'clock when he reached the bank. The outer doors were closed, but a dim light could be seen through a plate-glass window in front. Softly inserting his key, he turned the bolt and entered.
"My God! he may not be here, after all!" Charles thought, as he shut the door noiselessly. Then he saw a light in the direction of his brother's private office and went toward it, now more hopefully. He was near the office door when he heard a sound like the hurried closing of a desk drawer.
"Who is that?" a startled voice called out.