"What possible difference can that make to a man of his stamp?" the banker demanded, querulously. "Don't you know your own brother-in-law? To a conscienceless rogue it's no more unnatural to conspire against one's relatives than against total strangers. It is the logical thing to do. It is nature's method of protecting the stranger, and it's one of the penalties for having relatives. You are young and sentimental, so I sha'n't tell you what my plan is. Meanwhile, though, you may tell Lilas that you have acquainted me with the situation and that I am willing to spend a lot of money to avoid publicity."
"Do you mean you are willing to pay her?"
Merkle smiled sourly. "Let her put her own construction on the statement."
Beyond this Merkle would give Bob little satisfaction, but later in the day, after a short telephone conversation, he called at one of the up-town political clubs and inquired for Senator Sabin. The Senator was expecting him, and Merkle lost no time in explaining his trouble.
Nature had endowed Sabin with the faculty of hearing more than people said and saying less than people heard. He sat now with a graven smile upon his fat, good-humored face, but with eyes that were serious and watchful. Only once did he interrupt his caller's recital, and then at the mention of Inspector Snell.
"Snell!" he exclaimed, sharply. "Are you sure?"
"So the woman says."
Sabin nodded; he carefully matched his fingers, tip to tip, and then relapsed into silence. Merkle went on with his story, feeling the while as if he were addressing an audience of two men, one a sympathetic, convivial soul, the other a baffling, sinister person behind a mask. But when Sabin finally spoke it was as neither; his voice was friendly and matter-of-fact.
"This is a bad business, John."
The banker broke out, irritably: "Now don't begin that! I have a pastor who keeps me in spiritual uncertainty, and a doctor who torments me physically, and a business that's hell in both directions. I didn't come here to swap tears; I want help."