The president thrust his hand into a pigeon-hole and handed The Spider a slip of paper.
"So he got here with the cash before they nailed him?" And The Spidery face expressed surprise.
"The money came by express—local shipment. I tried to keep it out of the papers. None of their dam' business."
"I'm going to close my account," stated The Spider.
"Going south?"
"No. I got some business in town. After that—"
"You mean you've got no business in town. Why didn't you write?"
"You couldn't handle it. Figure up my credit—and give me a draft for it, I'll give you my check. Make it out to Peter Annersley," said The Spider.
"One of your gunmen, eh? I see by the papers he's got a poor chance of using this."
"So have I," and The Spider almost smiled.