Thank you, good afternoon," and counting over the money she thrust
it inside her bag and hurried away.
She had been gone a bare five minutes when Kent reached the window
and pushed several checks toward the teller.
"Is Mr. Clymer in his office, McDonald?" he asked, placing the bank
notes given, him in his wallet.
"I'm not sure." The teller glanced around at the clock; the hands
stood at ten minutes of three. "It's pretty near closing time, Kent;
still, he may be there."
"I'll go and see," and with a nod of farewell Kent turned on his
heel and walked off in the direction of the office of the bank
president. On reaching there he saw, through the glass partition
of the door, Clymer seated in earnest conclave with two men.
Happening to glance up Clymer recognized Kent and beckoned to him
to come inside. "You know Taylor," he said by way of introduction.
"And this is Mr. Harding of New York - Mr. Kent," he turned around
in his swivel chair to face the three men. "Draw up a chair, Kent;
we were just going over to see you.
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