“It leaves only twenty-five or thirty thousand, I believe,” was the worried answer.
The detective was still examining the check, and the cashier watched the keen face for a few moments.
“You seem greatly startled by the amount, Mr. Carter,” he ventured presently. “Please tell me if there’s anything out of the way. I had my doubts about it—owing solely to the size of the check; therefore I kept the man waiting until I had sent around to the hotel to make sure, but neither Mr. Stone nor his friend Mr. Crawford, who also has a large sum on deposit, was within reach.”
“Oh, no. It was a young man who looked like a rather superior sort of servant, and who spoke English with a slight accent—German or Austrian, I think. The check was endorsed, as you see, and the man brought with him not only that note purporting to be signed by Mr. Stone, but also one from Doctor Follansbee on St. Swithin’s stationery. Here it is.”
He handed Nick another sheet, bearing Follansbee’s signature under an authorization to cash the check for his agent.
“That’s undoubtedly genuine,” the cashier went on. “I called up Doctor Follansbee at the hospital, and he assured me that everything was regular. There didn’t seem to be anything to do but to take his word for it, owing to his position and reputation. It seemed very queer, though, and I couldn’t understand why he didn’t send the check to his own bank and let it take the usual course.”
“Yes, the man brought along a hand bag and carried away the money in it.”
“Yes; many of those of large denomination. I felt compelled to take that precaution, although it seemed foolish. There were too many of them, though, to mark anywhere near all.”
Carter leaned forward suddenly, and, holding Stone’s note and the check together, placed them in front of the cashier.
“Do you notice any striking peculiarities about these two documents?” he asked.
The bank official scrutinized them carefully.
“I don’t quite know what you mean,” he said at length. “Oh, I think I see. All except the signature of the check seems to be written in another hand—more like Follansbee’s than Stone’s. Is that it?”
“That the most obvious,” the detective answered. “It hints that Stone was foolish enough to sign a blank check or something of that sort. That isn’t all, though. One would naturally assume that the check and Stone’s note authorizing the payment had been written at the same time, yet I’d swear the ink on this check is older—perhaps several days older—than that on the note. What’s more, I happen to know that, although this note is written on hotel paper, the ink used is not the shade of that furnished at the Windermere.”