It was a check book. He opened it. The checks bore the imprint:
RUTLEDGE MANN 909 Badger Building New York
“Be at your office to-morrow morning,” came the whispered voice from beside him.
Projecting from the end of the check book was a deposit book. Mann drew it out and opened it. At the top of the first column was the statement of a deposit of $2,500.
Mann wheeled in his chair to face the stranger. He saw no one. He leaped to the door and pressed the wall switch. He was alone. The man in black had gone!
He stepped swiftly back to the table. In one hand he held the pistol; in the other, the check book. One meant death. The other life a life worth living. He put the automatic into the table drawer. He sat staring at the check book as a man in a dream, while the minutes ticked by.
When morning arrived, Rutledge Mann saw the check book on his bureau, where he had placed it before retiring. It amazed him, even now, to find that it was real. The strange events of last night were dim recollections. Mann could not repress the suspicion that he had been hoaxed.
He dressed, left his apartment, and hurried downtown to the Badger Building, near Times Square. He went up to the ninth floor, and found Office 909. There he stood stupefied. On the door was the gilt lettering:
RUTLEDGE MANN Investments
He tried the door. It was unlocked. Within, he found a small office, beyond it a door, and an inner office.