"You old hypocrite!" cried Banks. "You scheming, lying, old devil! Bring the officers of the law! The sooner they get here the better I'll be pleased. I have something to say to them."
Wigmore chuckled. "I haven't sent for them yet," he said. "I rather enjoy the prospect of looking after you myself for a little while. I can stand it—if you can."
Mr. Banks watched the barrel of the rifle out of the corner of his eye; but the menacing thing did not waver.
"Where is Timothy Fletcher?" he asked.
"So that is your bright suspicion, is it?" returned Wigmore cheerfully. "He went to New York, I told you. Where do you think he is?"
"In this house, you old ape!" cried Banks.
Wigmore hooted.