Dick Merriwell, his face darkening, sprang to his feet. But he restrained himself by a mighty effort, and waited for something more to be said.
President Bromlow, so confused by the rapid rush of events, which had caused more of a break in his peaceful routine than had befallen him before in twenty years, looked in a dazed fashion at Hastings, the cashier.
“Explain yourself, Hastings,” he said. “What do you mean?”
“It looks plain enough to me,” said Hastings bitterly. “Mr. Merriwell, whom we trusted implicitly, has deposited this counterfeit money, as is absolutely proved. Then his friend and associate, Phillips, attempts to take it away, so that the loss will be charged to robbery.”
“Not a word, Jim!” cautioned Dick hastily; as Jim Phillips sprang to his feet to refute the charge. “There’s plenty of time to disprove this—as whoever put this game up ought to have sense enough to know, it will be an easy matter to do so. I know where I got that money, and it will be simple to prove that it was all right. But this makes it more certain than ever that Brady was right—that this was an inside job.”
“I shall have to ask for the arrest of both of you,” said Bromlow to Dick Merriwell.
“You need not,” said Brady, who had just received a telegram. “The bank will investigate this matter further before taking any steps. And I will myself be responsible for the appearance of Mr. Merriwell and Mr. Phillips whenever they are required.”
“By what authority are you doing this?” inquired Hastings angrily.
But he was silenced as soon as he saw the telegram that Brady held out to him. It was from the big catcher’s father, and it gave him authority to act for his father in all matters pertaining to the bank.
“You will receive confirmation of this,” said Brady, to the old president. “In the meantime I shall engage detectives to investigate the whole matter, and to see that whoever is guilty does not escape.”