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The last I’d looked, I’d had about three thousand dollars in that account. I told the man so rather bluntly.

“Oh, no, sir. That is, you did until last week. But all these checks you’ve been cashing have emptied the account.”

He flashed the checks on the desk screen. My signature was on every one of them.

“What about my special account?” I’d learned long before that an account Marge didn’t know about was sound rear-guard strategy.

“That’s been closed out for two weeks.”

I hadn’t written a check against that account for over a year! I glared at the ceiling and tried to think things through.

I came up with a horrible thought.

Marge had always had her heart set on a trip to Bermuda. Just to get away from it all, she’d say. A second honeymoon.

I got a list of travel agencies from the business directory and started down them. The third one I tried had a pleasant tenor voice. “No, sir, not Mrs. Faircloth. You bought two tickets. One way. Champagne flight to Bermuda.”

“When?” I choked out.

“Why, today, as a matter of fact. It leaves Idlewild at eleven o’clock—”