“Nevertheless the debt is canceled,” insisted the captain. “I sent the receipt and the canceled note to LeGrand Blossom.”
“It's false!” cried Bartlett. “He hasn't any such documents!”
For a moment Captain Poland seemed about to leap from his car and attack the man who had given him the lie direct. Then, by an effort, he composed himself, and quietly answered:
“I can prove every word I say, and I will take immediate steps to do so. Mr. Carwell paid me the fifteen thousand dollars on the twenty-third, and I—”
“He paid you the money on the twenty-third? the very day he died?” cried Harry.
“Yes.”
“Then—Why, good heavens, man! Don't you see what this means? It means you were with him just before his death, the same as I was. We're both in the same boat as far as that goes!”
“Yes, I admit that I was with him, and that he paid me the fifteen thousand dollars shortly before his unfortunate end,” returned Captain Poland. “But our meeting was a most peaceful one, even friendly, and—”
“You mean that I—Oh, I see!” and Bartlett's voice was full of meaning. “So that's what you are driving at. Well, two can play at that game. I've learned something, anyhow!”
There was a grinding of gears, and the “Spanish Omelet” shot away. Captain Poland watched it for a moment, and then, with a shrug of his shoulders, threw in the clutch and speeded down the road in the opposite direction.