“I'll put it so that you can't help understanding, sir. You rigged a plan to have me sleep in the bank nights.”
“That was your own suggestion. You asked to be allowed to sleep here.”
“You intend to say that in your testimony, do you?”
Britt took a firm hold on the poker. “I most certainly do.”
“You cooked up an excuse to send me off on a wild-goose chase in the night.”
“I know nothing about your going anywhere in the night—except that Files's hostler is saying that you hired a hitch for some purpose.”
Vaniman knew that appeal and protest would be futile—realizing the full extent of Britt's effrontery. However, in his amazement he began to rail at the president.
Britt broke in on the anathema. “I was not nigh the bank that night. I was asleep in my own house. You'd better not try any such ridiculous story in court—it will spoil any defense Hexter may manage to put up for you. Vaniman, it's plain enough why you hired that hitch! Why don't you tell where you hauled that money?”
“I'm not going to do to you what I ought to do, Britt. I'm into the hole deep enough as it is! But let me ask you if any jury is going to believe that I was lunatic enough to hire a livery hitch, if I was hauling away loot?”
“It's my idea, Vaniman, that you were trying to work a hold-up game on the bank, knowing that you were done here,” stated Britt, coolly. “But something went wrong before you had a chance to offer a compromise. Naturally, you thought we'd do 'most anything to keep our little bank from failing.”