“Mr. Wentworth,” said Gerald calmly, “the letters which your agent stole from me in St. Louis were copies. The originals are in a safe deposit vault in St. Louis, or rather they were there at the time of the robbery. Now they are in Mr. Cochrane’s hands.”
“This is a bold game you are playing, Gerald Lane, but it won’t work. No one can connect me with the forged check.”
“There is one who can. Thomas Hastings, who was paying teller at the bank when it was offered.”
“He is dead!” said Wentworth hastily.
“I think you are mistaken.”
“Then where is he?”
“He was at Brentwood, Minnesota, till recently. It was there that I met him a few weeks since.”
“I doubt if you will find him there now,” answered Wentworth, registering a resolve to send a special telegram to him to change his residence in consideration of a handsome check.
“You are right, Mr. Wentworth,” was Gerald’s unexpected reply. “He is in this town.”