“And, by the way,” continued Mr. Cook, “put this back into the safe.”
With the words, he slowly drew from his coat pocket the two bundles of stolen money. The two clerks sprang forward with bulging eyes, their mouths open.
“Vic,” he added, indicating the younger clerk, “you go and find Marshal Wooley. Tell him Mike Hassell is over in Rattle Snake Desert, just below the buttes, waitin’ for the coroner. Better bring Hassell back here, tell him. And tell the marshal he don’t need a warrant. I’ll be at the inquest.”
Then he turned to Roy and after a few moments’ conference, made a little calculation. On a bit of paper, he set down: “Outfit $110; railroad, sleeper fare and meals, $98; aeroplane, $5,000.”
“I’ll attend to Weston’s bill,” he said. “As for your own services, your pay begins from the time you reached Dolores. You can draw on us whenever you like at the rate of four hundred dollars a month.”
Then he tossed the memorandum on the table and beckoned to Blocki, the elder clerk and bookkeeper.
“Blocki,” he continued, “make out a check for $5,208, payable to the American Aeroplane Company.”
Then he turned to Roy.
“It isn’t often that you can get a full return on an investment before you pay in your money. That’s one of the most profitable business deals I ever made.”