“You cashed it, then, in currency?”
“Yes, the man brought along a hand bag and carried away the money in it.”
“Did you mark any of the bills?”
“Yes; many of those of large denomination. I felt compelled to take that precaution, although it seemed foolish. There were too many of them, though, to mark anywhere near all.”
Carter leaned forward suddenly, and, holding Stone’s note and the check together, placed them in front of the cashier.
“Do you notice any striking peculiarities about these two documents?” he asked.
The bank official scrutinized them carefully.
“I don’t quite know what you mean,” he said at length. “Oh, I think I see. All except the signature of the check seems to be written in another hand—more like Follansbee’s than Stone’s. Is that it?”
“That the most obvious,” the detective answered. “It hints that Stone was foolish enough to sign a blank check or something of that sort. That isn’t all, though. One would naturally assume that the check and Stone’s note authorizing the payment had been written at the same time, yet I’d swear the ink on this check is older—perhaps several days older—than that on the note. What’s more, I happen to know that, although this note is written on hotel paper, the ink used is not the shade of that furnished at the Windermere.”
“By George!” muttered the cashier. “This is getting serious. You don’t mean to tell me that Doctor Stephen Follansbee is a scamp?”