Dugald Forsythe smiled with the impersonal amusement of one who watches himself struggle in the grip of fate and has grown tired of resistance. He locked the door of his cage behind him and, with his suit-case in his hand, started for the door of the bank. He had almost reached it when a hand was laid on his shoulder. Forsythe looked up into the kindly face of Mr. Smith, the manager.

      "Will you come into my office a moment, Mr. Forsythe?" asked the latter.

      Forsythe followed him. He was conscious now that his heart was palpitating wildly. A mad desire for instant flight made his knees tremble.

      "Mr. Forsythe," said Smith, "Mr. Swain died suddenly this morning. We thought he would be able to return to duty, but the end came unexpectedly. It is very sad."

      Beads of moisture stood out on Forsythe's forehead. He could have shouted in his relief that this was the burden of Mr. Smith's remarks and not — something else.

      "We have decided to give you his position," continued the manager kindly. "You have worked for us faithfully and efficiently for seven years. Your present salary is —?"

      "Fifteen hundred sir," answered Forsythe, swallowing dryly.

      "You will start on Monday morning at $2,500," said Mr. Smith. "That is the assistant manager's regular salary. Please let me have your key. I shall turn it over to Griggs, who will succeed you. Report to me on Monday at nine o'clock. Thank you! Good day!"

      A minute later Forsythe was standing on the curb in front of the bank, breathless and bewildered. It was a Saturday afternoon, and in his suit case he had a ticket for Pensacola and $5,000 in bills, the property of the bank.

      He had been driven to it. On $30 a week he had tried to keep Maud and their little girl in comfort. He had plunged deeper and deeper in debt. Loan sharks threatened him with a "bawling out," which would mean the loss of his position. And Maud lay sick in a southern sanitarium, and Muriel was staying with a relative. Maud had undergone a desperate operation successfully, but it would be weeks before she was well. The news of his defalcation would not reach her in Atwater, Fla. And he meant to contrive to get her away as soon as possible, by some scheme or other, and take her west to start life anew.

      The crudeness and impossibility of his plan had not troubled him. When a man is surrounded by creditors and sharks his life becomes such a night mare that he grasps at any release. So he had taken $5,000 that morning, knowing that the theft would not be discovered till Monday.

      And now — his brain swam, his senses reeled. Twenty dollars a week more! Why, that would appease all his creditors and pay them off in little more than a year, and on the other $30 he would be as well off as in the beginning!

      He must get the money back into the safe!

      But he had not the combination of the safe. Only Smith and Swain had known that, and during Swain's illness Smith had opened the safe regularly at 8:45 each morning. On Monday he, Forsythe, would know it. But not until the safe had already been opened.

      He could not even slip the bills back into a drawer in his cage. To do that would be an admission of criminal carelessness, and might lose him his position. But at any rate it would acquit him of dishonesty. But now Smith had the key of the cage.

Pondered Over the Situation

      He could not even enter the bank building, much less open the safe. Sturges, the watchman, was not allowed to admit anyone but the manager and his assistant, except during hours.

      If only he had not yielded to that hideous temptation! Forsythe spent the whole afternoon at home, in the cheap little flat, pondering over the situation. At one time he thought of making a confession to Mr. Smith but if he did that — why then he might as well take the $5,000 and bolt.

      He was as honest as most men; he saw his conduct in all its enormity. But Maud lay sick 500 miles away, and he was fighting for her.

      Next day was Sunday. Every time he was outside his apartment building his footsteps seemed to turn in the direction of the bank, which lay only a matter of a few blocks distant. At eight o'clock that evening he was standing outside for the fourth time that day. He shook his fist in fury at the windows, through which could be seen the manager's mahogany table, and, near it, the desk he was to occupy if he could get the money back that now reposed in the inside pocket of his coat.

      At midnight he was still pacing the street. In nine hours more the discovery would have been made. He should have taken yesterday's train for Florida. Now his delay had made his apprehension immeasurably more probable. And yet he was torn between the impulses of confession and flight, and he could not decide.

      One o'clock boomed from the church steeples. Forsythe turned homeward. He would confess upon the morrow. He would go to Mr. Smith and —

      A tiny flicker of light inside the bank attracted his attention. It was the blue flame of a sulphur match. It vanished instantly, and there were only the electric lights to be seen, burning unwinkingly within. But that flame told a story. Somebody was within the bank.

      It could not be the watchman, for Forsythe had met him, making his rounds, a few minutes before. And Sturges was not supposed to enter the bank. That was protected by bars of steel, and the safe, below, by the hardest canadium and chrome metal. Then that flicker meant — thieves!

      Forsythe thought swiftly. If thieves had gained access it must have been from an adjacent building. On the north and south ran two of the principal thoroughfares of the city; to the east was an empty lot. It must have been through that office building on the west.

      If that were the case, they would emerge from either the front or the rear door. They could not leave by and other building, for this one stood alone, much higher than any building in the block. By which entrance would they emerge, then? Not by the front door; by the cellar, with its weak wooden gateway, protected only by a single padlock.

      Doubtless they had burrowed through here; probably one of them was in league with the furnace man, or the furnace man himself. Forsythe scanned all the possibilities. He felt that this must be the case, he hurried round to the cellar door that gave upon the rear street.

      He crouched behind a pile of lumber and waited. He saw Sturges pass twice, a policeman strolled by, humming. It was two o'clock. The street was empty, except for an occasional prowler of the night. All at once Forsythe heard the faintest sound behind him.

      It was the sound of a padlock being very cautiously unfastened.

      A moment later a man came stealthily up the stairs, followed by another. The two hesitated. They looked round anxiously, and one of them caught sight of Forsythe behind the lumber pile.

      Instantly they flew at him. Forsythe saw the gleam of a steel blade in the hands of one of them. He dodged and struck the fellow with a length of timber, felling him to the ground. The other closed with him. They wrestled wildly into the street, and fell to the curb.

      Forsythe was no match for this giant. He could not defend himself adequately in any event, for his hands were full of paper. Five thousand dollars in his hands, and this fool wildly hammering at his face! How much more did he have on him? Whatever he had taken from the safe was now increased by $5,000, for with his last atom of strength Forsythe crammed the man's pockets full of the bills. Then he fainted.

      When he opened his eyes he was lying in a darkened room. A woman stirred beside his bed.

      "Where am I?" he asked, feebly, and his hands went automatically feeling for the money.

      "Forsythe! Don't you know me?" asked a man who rose from his bedside.

      "Mr. Smith!" Forsythe exclaimed, and the events of the past night surging through his brain again.

      "You have saved the bank $50,000," said the manager with emotion.

      Fifty thousand! And he had taken only $5,000.

      "It was a miracle," the manager continued. "The bank will not forget it. But tell me, Forsythe, how in the world did you happen to be upon the spot when the thieves came out with their plunder, and what led you to suspect them?"

      Forsythe never remembered his answer.

(Copyright, 1913. by W. G. Chapman.)