“You remember Felton’s testimony at the inquest?”
“Perfectly. He stated that the note he received contained the simple request: ‘Come to the bank immediately.’”
“Then you think he lied to the coroner?”
“It would seem so. Unless—”
“Unless the note he received at his house on the evening of Memorial Day did contain only that brief summons, which is contained in the five words at the top of the blotter.”
“Precisely,” agrees Ashley. “That brings us to the question, when was the other letter written? It must have been previous to the note referred to at the inquest, but how many hours or days before? Let me have your theory, Barker. My mind is already shaping a shadowy one.”
The detective chews his cigar reflectively. “Suppose that Roger Hathaway discovered, some time ago—within a few weeks, we will say—that the affairs of the bank were not in the condition that they should be?” he hazards. “An examination of the books showed not only that the president’s personal account was overdrawn, but that certain operations of the latter had jeopardized the soundness of the institution. The knowledge might have been expected or unexpected. In either case the cashier realized that something had to be done, and at once. So on the day before Memorial Day, or even earlier, he wrote a letter to the president and couched it in plain English. He instanced the overdrawal of the president’s personal account and a number of other unpleasant conditions, and urged upon that gentleman the necessity for an immediate adjustment of the critical affairs, closing with the admonition, ‘Fail not, Cyrus Felton, at the peril of your good name.’
“Having dispatched his letter to the president, the cashier waited anxiously for a reply. It came in the form of a call by Felton at the residence of Hathaway the evening before Memorial Day. The interview was a stormy one. At least we know it was not harmonious. The cashier again set forth the necessity for immediate action. Ways and means were discussed, but no way out of the tangle seemed clear. In desperation the cashier suggested some unpleasant but safe method of salvation. The president responded angrily, ‘I can’t and I won’t!’ and the cashier answered decisively, ‘Then there is only one alternative.’ Without waiting to discuss this alternative, the president left the house in a temper and the cashier sat up in his library for hours afterward, meditating on the crisis.
“Now, what was this ‘one alternative’ indicated by the cashier? Clearly publicity of the bank’s condition and its subsequent wreck. The next day was Memorial Day. The cashier took part in the solemn services and in the evening he went to the bank to perform some necessary work upon the books, the teller being ill. No word had come from the president, no intimation that he was prepared to follow out the course pointed out the night before, and avoid the disgrace which the wreck of the bank would entail. Again the desperation of the situation flashed upon the cashier. The president must act, and at once. So the cashier indited a brief but peremptory note to the president: ‘Come to the bank immediately.’ This he delivered to Jimmy Howe, whom he found on the bridge tossing pebbles into the stream.
“The president answered the summons. Within the cashier’s office the accusation, apparently so plainly indicated on this blotter, was repeated verbally. A sharp dispute followed. Hot words led to blows. The drawer of the cashier’s desk was open and his revolver lay in view. Can you supply the rest?”