“Exactly.”
“Let me set down,” said Nixon, faintly, and sank back into the chair from which he had arisen.
“Now,” continued the superintendent, when that little by-play was ended, “if you’ll listen a moment, I’ll give you your proof. I had intended to have Nixon arrested as he left my office, but when he told me he was coming right over here, I thought it would be more convincing to all of you if I made the disclosure here. My proof is, that in the inside pocket of Nixon’s coat there is a package of ten one hundred dollar bills. They are notes issued by the First National Bank of this city, and range from number A142320 to A142329. As a further mark of identification, each of them has a small cross in red ink just over the head of the eagle.”
Bassett sprang toward the crouching man.
“We’ll see!” he cried savagely, and ripping Nixon’s coat open plunged his hand into the inside pocket.
An instant later, he snatched it out again, and waved the packet of bills in the air over his head.
“It’s true!” he yelled. “He’s sold us!”
And he turned upon Nixon as though to rend him limb from limb, while the mob pressed forward like so many maddened beasts.