“The second reason,” continued Tolland, passing over the reporter’s explanation, “is because you credited that note when you saw it. I was afraid to put it to the test before. Now I am sure that I shall be believed when I speak.”
“With your prestige—”
“My prestige? Where is it now; I may have had some before I obeyed the impulse to flee to safety. Yet I was wise to go into hiding. I learned that my enemy had arranged a complete frame-up that would make my sudden death seem well-deserved. I believed that.”
“What do you intend to do now?”
“I’m leaving that up to you. You are free to lift the lid with the most sensational true exposure of crime that has ever appeared. Meanwhile, I shall be traveling. You will hear from me when the time comes for my statements.”
“When Double Z has been exposed?”
“Yes. If the exposure fails, I shall still be safe — safer than I am here in New York.”
Caulkins arose and paced the room. He swung toward Tolland with a question.
“When shall I start?”
“Right now!” declared Tolland, as if fearing to hesitate. “Every minute may be precious, now that some one has discovered me. Call your newspaper from here. Give them the story, while I am here to check on any questions. Then we shall both leave and that paper will remain in your possession.”