“Well, Hesset?” the police captain barked.
Joe saw the bandaged man grip the back of the chair with his good hand. “I know nothing about two checks, Captain. I saw only one check. I wanted the money in my pocket. Cash is cash. Sometimes a check you think is good——”
Mr. Pelle’s roar filled the room. “You dare say that to me, Hesset?” Captain Tucker sprang between the two men, and Joe shrank out of the way. Dr. Stone said: “I had better take the dog out of here. Come, Joe.” It was long past noon, and the bank was closed. Albert Wall went with them down the long, deserted floor to open the front door and let them out.
“What do you make of this?” he asked in an undertone.
“Pelle?” the doctor asked mildly.
The cashier hesitated. “Well—yes. Five thousand dollars is a lot of money. I know the condition of Pelle’s account; business hasn’t been any too good of late and five thousand dollars might hit him hard. If he could pay five thousand dollars with one hand and manipulate a forged check with the other and get five thousand dollars back from the bank—. For that, though, he’d need a confederate, somebody to go to the window with the first check. It doesn’t seem probable.”
“A possibility though,” the blind man said. “A great many possibilities,” he added. “Let’s not forget Hesset. Either Hesset or Pelle could have worked this with a confederate. Or some person, unknown and unsuspected, might be the criminal. Good day, Albert.” He held out his hand.
“Good-bye, Doctor.” Their hands met. The heavy door of the bank closed.
The puckered lines had come back to the sightless eyes. Man, boy and dog came down the stone steps of the old-fashioned building. On the sidewalk the doctor spoke.
“Joe, you could see them. How did Pelle strike you?”