“That’s straight, is it?” demanded the examiner, grimly.

“On my honor, sir.”

“There’s a lot to be opened out and what you have said doesn’t help.”

“I wish I could help more.  I understand fully what a fix I’m in unless this whole muddle is cleared up,” confessed the cashier, plaintively.  He had been putting his hand to his head.  “I think I must have been stunned by a blow.”

Starr, without asking permission, ran his hand over Vaniman’s head.  “No especially big lump anywhere!”

Vaniman spanned a space on his head between thumb and forefinger.  “I feel a particular ache right about there, sir.”

“Britt, get down that lamp!”

The president brought the lamp from the hanging bracket and held it close to Vaniman’s head while Starr carefully parted the hair and inspected.  “There’s a red strip, but it’s not much swollen,” he reported.  “Of course, we know all about those rubber wallopers that—­But this is not a time for guesswork.  Now, Vaniman, how about this chloroform odor?  Remember anything about an attempt to snuff you that way?”

“No, sir!”

“Why don’t you wait until to-morrow and let Frank’s mind clear up?” Vona pleaded.  She had been standing with her arm about the young man’s shoulders, insisting on holding her position even when Starr crowded close in making his survey of the cashier’s cranium.

“Young woman, the first statements in any affair are the best statements when there’s a general, all-round desire to get to bottom facts,” said the examiner, sternly.

“That’s my desire, sir,” declared Vaniman, earnestly.  “But I have told you all I know.”

President Britt had replaced the lamp in the bracket.  He waited for a moment while Starr regarded the cashier with uncompromising stare, as if meditating a more determined onslaught in the way of the third degree.  Britt, restraining himself during the interview, had managed to steady himself somewhat, but he was much perturbed.  He ventured to put in a word.  “Mr. Starr, don’t you think that Vona’s idea is a good one—­give Frank a good night’s rest?  He may be able to tell us a whole lot more in the morning.”

Then the bank examiner delivered the crusher that he had been holding in reserve.  “Vaniman, you may be able to tell me in the morning, if not now, how it happens that all your specie bags were filled with—­not with the gold coin that ought to have been there, but with”—­Starr advanced close to the cashier and shook a big finger—­“mere metal disks!” He shouted the last words.

Whether Starr perceived any proof of innocence in Vaniman’s expression—­mouth opening, eyes wide, face white with the pallor of threatened collapse—­the bank examiner did not reveal by any expression of his own.

“This is wicked—­wicked!” gasped Vona.

“Young woman, step away!” Starr yanked her arm from Vaniman’s shoulder and pushed her to one side.  “Did you know that, Mr. Cashier—­suspect that—­have any least idea of that?”