If he expected signs of surprise or consternation from Bainbridge he was disappointed. Bob simply crossed one leg over the other, and nodded.
“So I understand,” he drawled.
There was a briefest sort of pause, during which his dark eyes held the older man’s in thrall. Suddenly he arose.
“You may as well hand it over now,” he said coolly, moving toward the desk.
In a twinkling Crane had acted. With amazing agility he bent forward over the desk. A buzzer sounded. A drawer popped open. A second later he had snatched from it a revolver, which he leveled swiftly at Bob. Last of all, doors at either end of the office opened noiselessly to admit a pair of stalwart attendants.
Bainbridge, pausing in the middle of the floor, surveyed these maneuvers with interest and frank amusement.
“Very clever and effective,” he murmured slowly, exhaling a whiff of smoke. “Plainly no one’s ever going to catch you napping. It happens, though, that I had no idea of playing the holdup game. I wished merely to hand you a check for the amount of that note and interest, and cancel it. Would you mind turning that barrel just a trifle to one side? Accidents will happen, you know, and your staff here seems quite able to cope with the situation alone.”
A single momentary flash of incredulous anger ripped across Crane’s impassive countenance. Then the mask fell again, and, lowering the revolver, he bent forward.
“You certainly don’t expect me to accept a personal check of yours for that amount, do you?” he inquired coldly.
“Not quite,” smiled Bainbridge. “Knowing your skeptical nature, I took the trouble to have it certified.”