When they reached the bank Penton was already there, but the inspector was not yet around.
"Well, how are you this morning, Nelson?" asked Penton, in a business-like tone. Henty walked on through to his corner of the office. He never stayed in the neighborhood of W. W. Penton any longer than was absolutely necessary.
"All right, thank you," answered the teller, turning to go to work.
Penton framed up a stage mien and spoke in a dramatic or tragic whisper. Evan had no difficulty in seeing through the make-up.
"You don't suppose either Henty or Filter would be capable of taking that money you lost, do you?"
The teller laughed sarcastically. He was angry, and had it on the tip of his tongue to say: "You're crazy!" but he thought it better to hold his temper.
"Has the inspector been asking you about it?" he said.
"Well—yes," replied Penton; "he said I'd better ask all of you your opinions, just as a matter of form. Not that he suspects anybody; he thinks it probable that someone climbed in the window, between five and six o'clock that day, and got it."
"Impossible," said Evan; "besides, they would have taken it all."
Penton's unpleasant eyes grew still more unpleasant.