“Tell them, Albert,” Bryan Smith ordered.
The cashier’s fingers ceased to tap the desk. “At 11:13—I happened to glance at the clock—a man pushed a check through the window. It was a five thousand dollar check, made out to Fred Hesset and signed by Mr. Pelle. The man couldn’t identify himself, so I called Mr. Pelle and was told he had given the check a few minutes before. I cashed it. Ten minutes later another Hesset check for five thousand dollars came through the window. It looked queer. I called Mr. Pelle again.” Albert Wall made a gesture with his hands. “Then I telephoned for Captain Tucker.”
The captain cleared his throat. “That first check was the forged check?”
Again the cashier’s hands moved. “So Mr. Pelle says.”
The canner’s face was livid. But before he could roar his wrath Dr. Stone’s voice sounded quietly in the breathless tension of the room.
“May I see those checks?”
“Why—” The idea of sightless eyes trying to examine handwriting staggered Bryan Smith. “Why—why, of course, Doctor,” he said weakly.
The checks crinkled faintly in the blind man’s hands. Joe, watching his uncle’s face, suddenly saw a sign that sent a hot needle through his spine. Tight, puckered lines had gathered around the sightless eyes.
“How many persons knew this check was to be paid today?” Dr. Stone asked.
“No one,” Mr. Pelle answered shortly. “Things not connected directly with the buying and selling I keep to myself.”