“After that, the first thing that caught my eye was Brenchfield’s note on the table. I had the key to it in my mind, so it was easy enough to decipher. You have it Jim, word for word:––
“‘Dear Phil,
I have gone back to Vernock. I have borrowed the money I needed and I fear I have hurt the banker in the borrowing. Forgive me, but there was no other way out. Whatever you hear, keep silent. Join me as soon as you can. Burn this.
Graham Brenchfield.’”
“Pretty damning stuff, Jim, even if it is in cipher. Well, the last I remember of that note was crumpling it up till it was a mere nothing at all. I must have tossed it away unconsciously and it got lodged in the toe of my gum boot, although I always felt certain within myself till now that I had burned it along with every other scrap of paper I could find in the shack coming from Brenchfield. My next job was to cover up all other traces he 292 had left behind. There was the basin of discolored water on the wash-stand. I threw the water out at the back door and scoured the basin. I next put the stolen money in a large blue envelope and thrust it between my trunk and the wall, out of sight until I should be able to get rid of it through the bank letter-box when night came. I thought I was through then, when I found my dirty shirt in the corner––the twin of the one I was then wearing. It was smeared with blood-stains. Evidently Graham had used that first on his hands, and the water afterwards. I held up the tell-tale garment between my fingers, intending to set it ablaze in the stove. I changed my mind, for shirts were shirts in those days and somewhat scarce. I decided to give it a thorough washing instead. Somewhere, I had heard that hot water would not remove blood-stains, so I emptied some cold water into the basin and got my soap ready to begin. I was just in the act of dipping the shirt into the water when the screen door rattled and three men stepped into the kitchen. My heart jumped, for one of them was Jim Renfrew, Carnaby’s Police Chief. The other two I guessed as plain-clothes men from Vancouver.
“‘Sorry to disturb you, Ralston,––but we want you at the Station for a few minutes. You don’t mind coming, eh!’ asked Renfrew.
“‘What do you want me for?’ I asked.
“‘Oh, come and see!’ said the Chief. ‘Just want to ask you something about something! We won’t eat you.’
“Two of them laid hands on me and before I knew just exactly how it happened, cold metal snapped over my wrists and held me secure. The stained shirt was snatched out of my hand. I turned angrily, but a wrench of the handcuffs pulled me up.
“‘Cut that out now! Come along quiet! Shut your 293 trap, and say nothing you might be sorry for later. Come on!’
“One of the plain-clothes men remained behind, while the other and the Chief took me through the town to the local jail.
“It was some little time before I grasped the awful seriousness of my position and began to realise how events which I had never thought of might possibly involve me in this affair at the bank. I was totally ignorant of how much the police knew; that was the straining and nerve-racking part.