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“An attractive girl, Gilsey, your stenographer,” remarked Nick carelessly.

“Miss Braddon?” queried the banker, smiling complacently. “So she is, Nick, and as capable and charming as she is showy.”

“I did not say showy,” laughed Nick dryly. “I said attractive.”

“Much the same, Nick, when applied to a woman.”

“Has she been long in your employ?”

“About four months.”

“Of course, she came well recommended?”

“Decidedly so,” bowed Gilsey; then he added, with a smile and headshake: “You professional detectives are habitually suspicious of everybody, I really believe. That girl is all right, Nick, take my word for it. Her uncle, with whom she lives, is one of our largest depositors.”

“Ah, I see,” smiled Nick, a bit oddly. “Now, my dear Gilsey, why have you sent for me? What can I do for you?”

The banker became grave in an instant.

“There are two reasons, Nick, why I have appealed to you,” said he. “First, because we are old friends, and I know that you will do just what I require upon this case, and no more than I require.”