Mr. Robb laughed.
"I'm ashamed of you, Watson," he said, and still smiling, walked away. Once inside his office, however, his face straightened and he looked steadily at a corner of the ceiling.
When Castle left the bank, about four-thirty, he walked soberly up town to the Coign Hotel and ascended to his room. It was a nice room for the teller of a town bank to occupy, boasting a wicker chair, a leather couch and a brass bed. A couple of rather pretentious pictures hung on the walls, otherwise decorated with pennants. The pennants were all Alfred knew about colleges. A desk filled one corner of the room, and there was the atmosphere of an office over all. The wonder is that Alf didn't have his bed encaged.
To his desk the nifty bankman turned his eyes. After washing his hands and adjusting his tie, he sat down to write.
Twenty-four hours after the letter he had written was mailed Inspector I. Castle received one addressed in his nephew's handwriting.
Before a week had passed Sam Robb enjoyed the privilege of reading a circular. It dealt with loyalty to the bank. One paragraph read as follows:
"We wish to warn the managers and staff against the common tendency to ridicule bank customs and establishments. Some of our employes have gone so far as to criticize head office indiscriminately in the matter of salaries, etc. We think it only fair that instances of disaffection should be reported to us, so that we may ascertain who is and who is not loyal to the bank, and reward accordingly."
The circular did not say "punish accordingly." That would not have been diplomatic.
Robb's face grew white—not with fear. All day he was silent, although it could not be said that he was irritable. He seemed uninterested in business and quiet—merely that.
Evan found him sitting moodily in his office late that evening. The savings man had been proving up his ledger. He did not greet the manager; he was going to pass on in silence when he heard his name spoken from the armchair.