“Have, eh?” said the lawyer. “Well, I fancy they won’t use it. Here, you, constable--what’s your authority?”
“Demand--four thousand one seventy-seven ninety-eight,” pronounced the official, waving a document.
“How is it, Mr. Glidden?” inquired the lawyer.
The old dispatcher rammed his hand in his shirt and drew out a formidable roll of bank notes.
“I’ve got thirty five hundred here,” he said. “Fairbanks has a thousand.”
“I left it in the safe up at your house,” explained Ralph to the lawyer.
“All right, I guess my check is good for that balance, eh, constable?”
“Yes, surely,” answered the officer obsequiously, thinking of further legal business.
“Cancel the judgment,” ordered the lawyer. “Now, then, Dorsett, I reckon we can dispense with your company.”
The baffled conspirators sneaked away with dark mutterings. The lawyer hailed through the speaking tube.