“As for the people at the rectory,” Ormsby said, decisively, “I’ll tackle them myself.” 283
“Be guarded, sir. We don’t want them to suspect that they are watched.”
“They probably know that already. I’m going to offer them terms. If they’ll advise their son to give himself up, seven thousand dollars shall be paid by some ‘friend,’ and he will get off with a light sentence. It isn’t as though I wanted him sent up for any great length of time. I only want him put in the dock. The whole United States will ring with the scandal, and the country’ll be too hot to hold him, even if he should be acquitted. He’s a reckless young fellow. There’s no knowing what he might do. He might—”
Ormsby did not finish the sentence. The detective muttered one comprehensive word.
“Suicide.”
Ormsby nodded.
“And the best thing, I should think,” grunted the detective.
The upshot of this conversation was a prompt visit to the rectory by Ormsby, whose arrival caused no little consternation in the household. The rector was flustered and ill at ease. He would have liked to deny the visitor, but was afraid. He knew the banker slightly, well enough to dread the steady fire of those stern eyes.
Ormsby offered his hand in friendly fashion, and 284 took stock of the trembling man before speaking.
“You can guess why I have come, Mr. Swinton.”