“It was no fault of Follansbee that you did not carry out the vile scheme his cunning brain had devised,” Nick went on. “I was fortunately able to thwart him and to thwart your irresponsible aims of the moment at the same time.”
Then, in quiet tones, the detective told the whole story, which was listened to in a breathless silence by the others.
“At this moment,” the detective concluded, “Winthrop Crawford is perfectly well, and is looking forward eagerly to meeting his old friend again.”
“You—you mean that he forgives me?”
“I do,” was the reassuring answer. “He has forgiven you again and again because he knew you were not yourself, and because he’s one man in ten thousand.”
Stephen Follansbee’s sharp voice cut in. “This is all very interesting,” he said sarcastically, “but you will oblige me, Carter, by unlocking that door and letting me go my way.”
The two men measured glances for a moment.
“Do you imagine that you have sufficient evidence against me?” Follansbee went on cynically. “If you do, you’re destined to meet with a shock. Don’t forget that you may have to bring both of these men into it along with me, especially Stone—for, by your own statement, it was he who attempted to kill his partner.”
The detective turned to Stone.