“Mrs. Rhett may be able to explain her husband’s absence,” commented Sergeant Gray.
“She refused me any information when I telephoned. That was one reason I decided to notify the police. The loss of $250,000 could be very embarrassing to the bank.”
“Who owns the bonds?”
“They belong to the Fred Harrington estate, 2756 Brightdale Avenue. If they aren’t produced soon, there will be trouble. I’ve worked here for 15 years. You don’t think anyone could possibly blame me, do you?”
The sergeant gave him a quick glance, but made no reply as he reexamined the mahogany desk. Finding nothing of interest, he slammed the top drawer shut.
From the back of the desk, a piece of paper fluttered to the floor, almost at Penny’s feet. Evidently it had jarred from the rear side of an overflowing drawer, or had been held between desk and plaster wall.
Without thinking, Penny stooped to retrieve the sheet. She glanced at it carelessly, and then with a shock of surprise, really studied it. Drawn across the center of the paper in black and red ink was a crude but sinister-looking winged serpent.
Raising her eyes, Penny saw Albert Potts’ cold gaze upon her. Was it imagination or did his shriveled face mirror fear?
“What have you there?” he demanded.
Penny gave the paper to Sergeant Gray. Mr. Potts moved quickly forward, to peer over the man’s shoulder.