There were no children, and for the past ten years the old Magnus house on Twenty-third Street had been for her a kind of hermitage from which she seldom issued.  Great business blocks sprang up on either side of it, but she would never permit her husband to sell it and move farther uptown.

For Magnus, on the other hand, the house became in time merely a sort of way station between the busy terminals of his life.  I dare say he grew indifferent to his wife.  That however, has nothing to do with this story.

Mrs. Magnus usually entered my office as one intrenched in conscious strength, but this morning it was evident that something had occurred to disturb her calm assurance.  Her lips seemed more shrunken than ever; there were little lines of worry about her eyes, and dark circles under them, and as she dropped into the chair I placed for her, I saw that her hands were trembling.  As I sat down in my own chair and swung around to face her, the conviction struck through me that she was badly frightened.

“Mr. Lester,” she began, after a moment in which she was visibly struggling for self-control, “I want fifty thousand dollars in currency.”

“Why—­why, of course,” I stammered, trying to accept the demand as quite an ordinary one.  “When?”

“By eight o’clock to-night.”

“Very well,” I said.  “But I suppose you know that, to secure the money so quickly, some of your securities will have to be sacrificed.  It’s a bear market.”

“I don’t care—­sacrifice them.  Only I must have that sum to-night.”

“Very well,” I said again.  “But I hope you will tell me, if you can, what the money is for, Mrs. Magnus.  Perhaps my advice—­”

“No, it won’t,” she broke in.  “This isn’t a case for advice.  There’s nothing else for me to do.  I’ve been fighting it and fighting it—­but—­”

She ended with a little gesture of helplessness and resignation.

“Perhaps we might borrow the money,” I suggested, “until a better market—­”

“No,” she broke in again, “you know I won’t borrow.  So don’t talk about it.”

It was one of the fundamental tenets of this woman’s financial creed that on no account was money to be borrowed.

“Very well,” I said a third time; “I will get the money.  I will look over the market and decide how it would best be done.  Have you any suggestions to make?”

“No,” she answered; “I leave it all to you.”

This was almost more astonishing than the demand for the money had been.  Mrs. Magnus was clearly upset.

“I shall probably have to send some papers up to you this afternoon for your signature,” I added.

“I shall be at home.  And remember I must have the money without fail.”

“I will bring it to you myself.  I think you said eight o’clock?”

“Yes—­not later than that.”

“I will have it there by that time,” I assured her.