"Preston Bell?" the other repeated, and again the mental struggle was apparent on his face. "Preston Bell!"
"Cashier of the Blank National Bank of Butte, Montana?" urged the other, still in an emphatic tone. "Cashier Bell?"
He leaned forward eagerly and watched the face of his patient; Hatch unconsciously did the same. Once there was almost realization, and seeing it The Thinking Machine sought to bring back full memory.
"Bell, cashier, copper," he repeated, time after time.
The flash of realization which had been on Doane's face passed, and there came infinite weariness--the weariness of one who is ill.
"I don't remember," he said at last. "I'm very tired."
"Stretch out there on the couch and go to sleep," advised The Thinking Machine, and he arose to arrange a pillow. "Sleep will do you more good than anything else right now. But before you lie down, let me have, please, a few of those hundred-dollar bills you found."
Doane extended the roll of money, and then slept like a child. It was uncanny to Hatch, who had been a deeply interested spectator.
The Thinking Machine ran over the bills and finally selected fifteen of them--bills that were new and crisp. They were of an issue by the Blank National Bank of Butte, Montana. The Thinking Machine stared at the money closely, then handed it to Hatch.
"Does that look like counterfeit to you?" he asked.