Ferret nudged Butcher as the two men stole along the gravel path outside the secluded home of Roland Delmar. The big man stopped.
"He's in that room," whispered Ferret, indicating a lighted window on the ground floor.
"I'm going to watch. You stay here."
The window was partly opened. Approaching it, Ferret crouched in the darkness; then slowly raised his head and peered within.
Roland Delmar was seated at a desk, his face haggard, staring absently at the wall. While Ferret watched, the telephone rang. Delmar arose eagerly from his reverie and went to answer the call at a table in the corner.
"Yes, yes," Ferret heard him say. "Ah, Mr. Traver. Have you been able to change your decision?… What is that?… I see…"
His voice ended wearily as the banker listened to the other speaker. Then a fiery light came into Delmar's eyes — a spark of antagonism.
"I see your game, Traver!" he exclaimed. "You want me to go to the wall. You're going to ruin our bank… No!… I don't believe you!"
His sudden indignation died, and he became almost pleading in tone.
"Maybe I'm wrong, Mr. Traver," he said. "I'm very nervous — you must excuse my outburst. But what am I to do? It means the end for me—"
A startled look appeared upon Delmar's face as he heard some subtle suggestion.
"You mean that?" he demanded. "Do I understand you correctly? You can't mean" — he was almost whispering — "you can't mean — but you may be right—"
With an abrupt motion, Roland Delmar hung up the telephone. Ferret, watching the old banker's profile, was astonished by the change and surge of emotions that passed over it. He wondered what happened. One moment, Delmar seemed fuming and defiant — another, he became pitiful in expression. Ferret could not understand.
It was in one of his moments of hopelessness that Delmar walked to his desk, opened a drawer, and removed a revolver. He stood dazed as he held the weapon in his hand. The banker stared into the muzzle, and made a gesture as though to raise the gun to his head. Then, with a fierce ejaculation, he brought the revolver down upon the desk. Muttering to himself, he strode about the room like a warrior. Ferret still wondered.
A new mood seized Delmar. He became calm and decided. He sat down at the desk and picked up pen and paper. Ignoring the revolver, he began to write.
Ferret edged away toward Butcher. He whispered the news to the big man.
"Call Judge," he said. "Tell him just what I have told you — everything that Delmar has done since he called. I'll keep watch."
Ferret went back to the window. Delmar was writing slowly, but steadily. He finished a small sheet of paper, and laid it aside, there was a rap at the door. Carefully, Delmar laid several sheets of paper over the revolver.
"Come in," he said.
A girl entered the room. Ferret recognized her as Martha Delmar, the daughter of the old bank president. Ferret had often seen her in Middletown. Tall, trim, and attractive, the girl bore a marked resemblance to her widowed father.
When she entered the room, Martha was wearing a coat and hat. Ferret dropped away from the window, and crouched in the darkness, listening.
"What's the trouble, daddy?" came the girl's voice.
"Trouble?" Roland Delmar laughed nervously. "Nothing, darling. Nothing." Ferret peered through the window, and saw Martha studying her father with a worried air.
"I was going out," the girl said, "but if you are not feeling well, I can remain."
"Run along," said Delmar, with a wan smile. "Don't worry, Martha. Your old dad is all right." Martha came over to the desk and kissed her father. Then she turned toward the door, and made a parting remark.
"I shall be home early."
As the girl left the room, Ferret heard a sound beside him. It was Butcher. The man had made a telephone call from a drug store down the street, and was back with his report. He drew Ferret away from the window.
"Here's the lay," he whispered. "Judge is clever. He tried to put the suicide idea into Delmar's noodle. That's why the old gent took out his gun."
"I get you," said Ferret.
"But he didn't make a go of it," continued Butcher. "Now he's worried about what Delmar is writing. He wants to get hold of it. That's up to you, Ferret."
"Leave it to me," said Ferret grimly.
"The best stunt would be to plug the old man now," added Butcher. "But not unless it could be made to look like suicide. That's what Judge told me."
"Besides that, Judge is waiting to hear how Major and Deacon are making out. So here's the gag:
"If the phone rings, it means that all is O.K. You can go the limit. If it doesn't ring in ten minutes, try to get the stuff he's writing, anyway. Get me?"
"I see. Judge is going to call here when he hears from the others—"
"Right."
Ferret sneaked back to the window. He saw Delmar still writing, now on the second page.
The old man completed his work and carefully read over the data. He then laid the papers aside with a sigh. He uncovered the revolver, and held it in his hand. Thoughts of suicide were beyond Delmar, now. He looked at the gun in contempt.
The telephone rang. Roland Delmar laid the revolver on the desk. He went to the table to answer the ring.
"Hello," he said. "Hello — what's that?… No… You must have the wrong number…"
Delmar's back was toward the window, and his attention was occupied. Ferret recognized the signal. The moment that he heard Delmar questioning, Ferret knew the call was the fake one from Judge. It meant that he could take any risk.
The papers were on the table. The revolver was beside them. Ferret went through the window. He was barely on the floor when Delmar turned. Seeing the invader, with his eyes toward the gun on the desk, the old man showed surprising alacrity. He sprang forward to grasp the revolver, but Ferret beat him to the weapon by a foot.
Delmar, slipping, swung wide with one hand, while the other sought to catch Ferret's arm. The two men were almost upon one another. As Delmar's head came forward, Ferret, with calculating skill, pressed the revolver close to Delmar's temple and fired.
The bullet entered the banker's brain. Roland Delmar toppled to the floor. Calmly, Ferret drew a handkerchief from his pocket, and wiped the handle of the revolver. He stepped around the desk to where Delmar was lying, and placed the gun in Delmar's outstretched hand. Ferret did not forget the note which Delmar had written. But instead of seizing it and fleeing, the crafty little man deliberately pushed the papers side by side upon the table and quickly read the writing.
On the first page, Ferret read this accusation:
To the State Bank Examiner: The affairs of the County National Bank have reached their present precarious situation because of a deliberate plot on the part of a man unfriendly to our institution. I accuse David Traver, president of the Middletown Trust Company, of having furthered this plot. I positively believe that the strange removal of funds from our institution is connected with the scheme to ruin the County National Bank. I am sending you this letter so that you may have full information in advance. Because of my inability to prevent the terrible crisis which is now impending —
The letter was continued on the second page. Ferret picked up the incomplete sentence and read as follows:
I have contemplated suicide and even now am not sure that I can withhold my desire to end my own life. My pride sustains me, but it may weaken. It may be that the County National Bank has been robbed by some employee in whom we have placed mistaken trust. I have not neglected my duty on this point. Through Mr. Wellington, the investigator, and Mr. Salisbury, my chief cashier, I have sought to learn the truth of the matter. Roland Delmar.
Butcher was hissing from the window. It was time to be going. The big man could not understand why Ferret was tarrying. There was a servant on the third floor of the house; and the shot must have been heard.
"Come along!" exclaimed Butcher in a low voice. "Grab those papers!" Ferret picked up one sheet. He hastened to the window and sprang out to join Butcher. Together, they scurried across the dry lawn and scrambled over a fence.
"What were you waiting for?" growled Butcher.
"I was reading the old man's letter," replied Ferret.
"Why read it? You've got it, haven't you?"
"Part of it."
Butcher stopped with a low ejaculation.
"What! You left some of it—"
"I brought the first page with me," said Ferret calmly. "There were two pages. I left the second."
"We can't go back!" growled Butcher angrily. "Now you've done it, Ferret!"
"Yes, I've done it!" said the crafty slayer. "I've left a paper with Delmar's own signature — in his writing saying that he was going to bump himself off!"
Butcher's growl turned to a gasp of admiration.
"You did that, Ferret?"
"I did," was the reply. "Wait until Judge sees the page I took. Wait until he hears what was on the other sheet!"
Ferret was chuckling as they reached a car which they had parked some blocks from Roland Delmar's home. He had done this job as well as Judge himself could have done it. Roland Delmar was dead — and the written sheet upon his desk would bear testimony to the evidence that the old banker had slain himself.
More than that, it seemed to place the blame for the troubles of the County National Bank upon some unknown member of his own organization!