But the emblem of good luck must have soon lost its potency. The bank
force was surprised one day by an unexpected examination of the books.
"What's the trouble?" asked Martin of another worker in the bank.
"I don't know. Ask old Buehlor. He acts as though he knew."
Martin approached the gray-haired president, who was stamping about his
place like an angry dog on leash. "Anything the matter, sir? Can I help
in any way?"
"Why, yes, there seems to be," he snapped. "Come in, Landis." He opened
the door of his private office and Martin followed him inside. He gave
one long look into the face of the young man--"I'm going to tell you.
Perhaps you can make things easier for us to adjust in case there's
anything wrong. An investigation has been ordered. One of our heaviest
depositors seems to have some inside information that some one is
spending the bank's money for personal use."
"Good guns! In this bank? A thief?" Horror was printed on the face of
Martin.
The man opposite searched that face. "Yes--I might as well tell you--I
feel like a brute to do so--if it's false it's a damnable trick, for
such a thing is a fiendish calumny for an honest man to bear--you're
the man under suspicion."
Martin sat up, his eyes wide in horror, then his chest collapsed and
his neck felt limber. "Oh, my God," he whispered, as though in appeal
to the Infinite Father of Mercy and Justice, "what a thing to say about
me! What a lie!"
"It's a lie?" asked the older man tersely.
"Absolutely! I've never stolen anything since the days I wore short
pants and climbed the neighbors' trees for apples. Who says it?"
"Well, I can't divulge that now. Perhaps later."
Martin groaned. To be branded a thief was more than he could bear. His
face went whiter.
"See here," said the old man, "I almost shocked you to death, but I had
a purpose in it. I couldn't believe that of you and knew I'd be able to
read your face. You know, I believe you! It's all some infernal mistake
or plot. You're not a clever enough actor to feign such distress and
innocence. Go out and get some air and come back to-morrow morning.
I'll stand for you in the meantime. I believe in you."
"Thank you, sir," Martin managed to blurt out between dry lips that
seemed almost paralyzed. "I'll be back in the morning. Hope you'll find
I'm telling the truth."
He walked as a somnambulist down the street. In his misery he thought
of Isabel Souders. He would go to her for comfort. She'd understand and
believe in him! He yearned like a hurt child for the love and
tenderness of some one who could comfort him and sweep the demons of
distress from his soul. He wanted to see Isabel, only Isabel! He felt
relieved that no older member of the household was at home at that
time, that the colored servant who answered his ring at the bell said
Isabel was alone and would see him at once.