“Then,” said Nell Benton, “we must go to the police.” Sidney Zoom shook his head.

  “No,” he said, “Finley Carter deserves to be punished. He discharged you, when, if he had used his brains, he would have known you were the victim of a conspiracy which was soon to involve him. Moreover, there is compensation which you must receive. Carter has never been generous. The salary that he paid you shows you that he hasn’t even been fair. No, there’s another way of handling this. Let me think.”

  He stared with a fixed, unwinking scrutiny, his eyes fastened upon distance.

  At length he spoke; there was an accentless quality to his voice, as though he had been talking in his sleep.

  “How many checks were signed when you left, Miss Benton?”

  “I don’t know, half a dozen perhaps. Why?”

  “These men aren’t forgers,” he said, “or else they know that they can’t forge Finley Carter’s signature well enough to fool a bank … Did Mr. Carter keep a police dog?”

  “No. He’s afraid of dogs. He wouldn’t have them in the house.” Zoom nodded slowly.

  “We could,” said Samson, “go to the police and get a detective into the house as a building inspector or something.”

  Zoom shook his head.

  “There’s the matter of payment,” he said, “and there’s one other matter. I’m satisfied that they’ll kill Carter before they’d let him talk. He’s under guard, probably somewhere in the house.”

  Suddenly he chuckled.

  “I think,” he said, “I have it.” He turned to Samson.

  “You,” he said, “have got to act a part. You’ve got to keep your head. If anything goes wrong, you’ve got to be able to show that you were doing what you were doing for the purpose of exposing the guilt of these people.”

  “What,” asked Samson, “am I supposed to do?”

  Zoom made no reply, but picked up a telephone and dialed the number of Finley Carter’s residence.

  “Will you,” he said, “please tell Mr. Finley Carter that I am Mr. Coleridge of the Second National Affiliate, and that I desire to talk with him over the telephone for a few moments.”

  There was a moment of silence, then the receiver made a metallic noise, and Sidney Zoom said affably, “Our bank regrets causing you inconvenience in connection with your account, Mr. Carter, but we feel called upon to take determined steps to protect your interests. In order that there may be no possible misunderstanding, would you mind telling us what checks you have outstanding against your account? That is, checks that have not been cashed, but which may be presented within the next twenty-four hours.”

  The metallic diaphragm of the receiver registered a squawking protest which sounded like static, then Sidney Zoom said, “I understand all that, Mr. Carter. I can only repeat that this is for your own protection.”

  The receiver made more violent noises and Sidney Zoom’s voice lost its purring pleasantry.

  “Very well,” he said, “if you want to take that course, you may do so. I was only trying to protect your interests … When may we expect this check to come in? … Very well, thank you.”

  He slammed the receiver back into place and nodded to the little circle of his attentive listeners.

  “Well,” he said, “I’ve done it.”

  “Done what?”

  “Led them to believe that the chase is so hot they’ve got to dust out. They were looking for an excuse.”

  “What do you mean?” Nell Benton asked.

  “They planned,” he said, “to make as large deposits as they possibly could in the account of the Second National Affiliate. They planned to withdraw those deposits by checks which had previously been signed by Mr. Carter, checks that were signed in blank because he knew that they couldn’t be raised. The fact that the account was limited to five hundred dollars kept him reasonably safe. What Carter overlooked, was the fact that it’s easy to make deposits where the money goes into a regular bank account, so the crooks simply took over Carter’s affairs, collected whatever sums came in through the mail, or whatever they could collect otherwise, and made huge deposits. Then they made large withdrawals in the form of what amounted virtually to cash.”

  “Well?” asked Nell Benton.

  “Now,” said Sidney Zoom, “the man who poses as Finley Carter, convinced that the game is about at an end, and thinking that he was talking to the bank, has advised me that he is sending down a check closing out the entire account. The balance, as I happen to know from my investigation, is ten thousand two hundred and ninety-one dollars and fifteen cents.”

  Sidney Zoom opened a drawer in the table, from it he took a pad of blank checks drawn on the Second National Affiliate. Working with the skill of a practiced penman, he filled out a check in an angular handwriting. The check was payable to cash. The amount was ten thousand two hundred and ninety-one dollars and fifteen cents, and Sidney Zoom signed the name of Finley Carter to that check—signed it so perfectly that Nell Benton gave an exclamation.

  “But,” she said, “it’s a perfect imitation of his signature.”

  Zoom nodded.

  “Therefore,” she said, “a forgery.” Zoom nodded once more.

  “And,” he said with pride in his voice, “a very good one.”

  “But,” she said, “it’s against the law, you’d be sent to prison.” Sidney Zoom smiled.

  “After all,” he said, “my methods are irregular, I’ve warned you of that.”

  “But,” she told him, “you mustn’t do that. It’s not right. It’s not the way to handle it.” Sidney Zoom smiled at her.

  “If,” he said, “I should tell you that by using this check I would save Mr. Carter ten thousand two hundred and ninety-one dollars and fifteen cents which he would otherwise lose, would you think that it was right?”

  “Yes,” she said slowly, “if that’s the case.”

  “That,” said Zoom, “is the case.”

  He beckoned to Burt Samson.

  IT was a few minutes before closing time at the bank when Sidney Zoom presented himself at the cashier’s window.

  “You will remember me,” he said, “I was checking up on Mr. Carter’s account.” The clerk nodded.

  “I have been given a check,” said Sidney Zoom, “by a man who claimed to represent Mr. Carter, stating that he desires to close out his account. The amount of the check is for ten thousand two hundred and ninety-one dollars and fifteen cents, which is, I believe, the exact amount Mr. Carter has on deposit.”

  The cashier frowned.

  “We don’t want him to draw out his account,” he said. “There must be some misunderstanding.”

  Sidney Zoom said slowly, “I don’t think there is any misunderstanding, I think the check is a forgery.”

  “You think it’s a forgery?” said the cashier. Sidney Zoom nodded and produced the check.

  “I have every reason,” he said, “to believe that check is a forgery.”

  “Well,” the cashier said, “we’ll settle that in short order. I’ll get Mr. Carter on the telephone right now.”

  He took the check and stepped to a telephone booth. Sidney Zoom could see the man through the glass of the booth. Could see his face darken with anger. Saw him try to talk, only to be interrupted.

  A moment later the door banged shut and the cashier stepped back to the cage.

  His face was wrathful.

  “The man,” he said, “is positively insulting. He told me that I could either pay this check or he would sue the bank for damages.”

  “But it looks like a forgery,” Zoom said.

  “It can’t be a forgery,” the cashier said, “he says that he talked with one of the representatives from our main bank and told him that he was going to clean out the account, that he issued the check to clean out the entire balance and that if we don’t cash it, he’s going to sue us for damages … Who gave you the check?”

  “A man,” said Sidney Zoom, “whom I do not know, who asked me to present it for him. He claimed to be working for Mr. Carter. I believe he said he was a butler or something. The whole circumstances seem strange and suspicious to me. Moreover, the signature looks to me like a forgery.”

  “Well,” said the cashier, “the check isn’t a forgery. I’m quite familiar with Mr. Carter’s voice over the telephone. He told me unmistakably that I should cash that check.”

  “Don’t you think,” said Sidney Zoom, “it would be a good plan to compare the signature with the signatures on some of the other checks?”

  The cashier stared suspiciously at Sidney Zoom.

  “What were you supposed to do with this money when you got it?” he said. “Were you to give it to the man who handed you the check?”

  “No,” said Sidney Zoom, “I was to deposit it to the account of Nell Benton.” Relief flooded the face of the cashier.

  “Oh,” he said, “that’s all right then. Nell Benton was his secretary. I’m familiar with her, and familiar with her signature. Where were you to make the deposit?”

  “In this bank,” said Sidney Zoom.

  “She has an account here now,” said the cashier, taking the check and banging a rubber stamp down on it. “It’s quite all right. I’ll simply add this to her account.”

  “Well,” said Sidney Zoom, “you can do as you want to, but it looks like a forgery to me. However, I’ve washed my hands of the transaction.”

  “Mr. Carter,” said the cashier, speaking with frigid dignity, “was a most unsatisfactory customer. His language over the telephone was abusive.”

  Zoom shrugged his shoulders and turned away from the cashier’s window. “Well,” he said, “you’ll remember that I did my duty.”

  “Yes,” said the cashier, “you did your duty.”

  Sidney Zoom left the bank. At the corner he climbed into the car which Burt Samson had parked at the curb.

  “Well?” asked Samson.

  “Now,” said Sidney Zoom, “we wait until we see Harry Exter, the butler, drive up to the bank.”

  They waited for some five minutes and then a shining automobile slid smoothly into the curb, a liveried chauffeur at the wheel. A man got out of the car and entered the bank with quick, rapid steps.

  “That,” said Sidney Zoom, “is Exter, the butler. Now step on it and see if we can break a few speed laws getting to Carter’s residence.”

  Samson’s voice was dubious.

  “I guess,” he said, “that you know what you’re doing. I hope you do.” Sidney Zoom chuckled.

  CHAPTER VI

  Unmasked

  AT TIMES, Sidney Zoom could be smilingly suave, his manner radiating an urbane dignity.

  Now, as he stood before the residence of Finley Carter, his long forefinger pressing the bell button, his lips were twisted in a smile. He motioned his police dog over to a corner back of the door, where it was not readily visible. Burt Samson stood slightly to one side.

  There was an interval of silence following the jangling of the bell, and then a thick-necked individual with broad shoulders jerked the door open.

  “What do you want?” he asked.

  “There has,” said Sidney Zoom, “been some mistake made in connection with Mr. Carter’s account at the Second National Affiliate. I was here previously to see him in regard to that account. The name is Coleridge. He’ll remember me.”

  “He won’t remember you,” said the man, “because he won’t see you.”

  Listening, Zoom could hear the sounds of feet moving about, could hear noises that seemed to come from people who were moving about in surreptitious haste.

  A telephone bell rang somewhere in the interior of the house.

  “There has been a mistake made somewhere,” said Sidney Zoom. “Two checks have been presented to the bank, both checks closing out Mr. Carter’s account.”

  “Well,” said the man, “he’s got a right to close it out if he wants to, hasn’t he?”

  “But,” said Sidney Zoom, “there were two closing checks. One of them must be a

  forgery.”

  The eyes stared in hostile appraisal at Sidney Zoom. The telephone continued to ring.

  “I’ve got to answer the telephone,” said the man. “You stay here.” The door was slammed shut in Sidney Zoom’s face.

  “That’s as far as we’ll get,” said Samson. Zoom shook his head in smiling negation. “Stick around,” he invited.

  There was an interval of some two or three minutes, and then the door opened. The thick-necked individual had changed his manner. There was no longer surly hostility in his demeanor, but, instead, a puzzled bewilderment.

  “Come on in,” he said. “Mr. Carter wants to see you.”

  He held the door open, and Sidney Zoom courteously stood to one side to let Burt Samson enter ahead of him.

  “Who’s this man?” asked the thick-necked one. “My assistant,” said Sidney Zoom.

  The men filed in through the door. Zoom turned. “All right, Rip,” he said, “you may come in.”

  The dog slipped through the door like a tawny streak of light.

  “Hey, wait a minute!” said the man who had opened the door. “That dog can’t come in here!”

  “Oh, yes,” said Sidney Zoom, brushing the matter aside as though it were of no moment, “he has to come in. You see, he’s very valuable and I wouldn’t dare to leave him outside. He might be stolen.”

  As Zoom talked, he headed toward the stairs. “Wait a minute,” said the thick-necked individual.

  “Quite all right,” said Sidney Zoom. “It’s quite all right, my good man. I know the way. You don’t need to show me.”

  Sidney Zoom went up the stairs two at a time, his long legs carrying him upward with but little apparent effort. A stair or two behind, Burt Samson was straining every effort to keep up. The thick-necked individual who had been left well behind in the race, was pounding awkwardly up the stairs at a dead run, protesting as he climbed. “Listen, what are you guys trying to pull? You can’t come busting in here that way.

  I said Mr. Carter would see you. That doesn’t mean he’s going to see the whole bank, and you can’t get that dog …”

  Zoom reached the upper corridor. The police dog that had been guarding the door of the room at the end of the hall was still on duty. He rose to his feet, hair bristling. Zoom’s police dog, padding at the side of his master, gave a throaty growl.

  The thick-necked man, dashing up the stairs, suddenly tugged at his hip pocket. “Say, you guys!” he yelled. “Stop right there!”

  Samson whirled, faced the thick-necked individual. “Get your hand away from that gun,” he said.

  The police dog at the end of the corridor charged.

  Sidney Zoom spoke quietly to the four-footed companion of his midnight prowls. “All right, Rip,” he said.

  The two dogs came together in a flash of swift motion, raising their front quarters up from the ground, teeth gleaming, flashing and snapping like the jaws of steel traps.

  A door burst open and the man who had posed as Finley Carter stepped into the corridor, an automatic glistening in his right hand.

  “Listen, you guys,” he said, “stand back.” His voice was deadly with menace.

  Sidney Zoom strode forward, passed the fighting dogs. “Drop that gun,” he said.

  There was the sound of a struggle behind him as Samson flung himself on the bull-necked individual. The gun in front of Sidney Zoom blazed once.

  Zoom flung himself to one side with the agility of a fencing master. The bullet struck a glancing course along the side of the hallway, ripping off plaster, thudding into a lath, glancing to one side and down.

  A gun boomed at the end of the corridor. There was the sound of a thudding blow.

  Sidney Zoom’s long arm shot out. His fingers closed about the wrist that held the blued-steel. He gave a swift jerk.

  The gun roared once more.

  A tawny flash of four-footed motion sprinted along the hallway, then leapt into the air, bloodied muzzle pointed at the throat of the man who had posed as Finley Carter.

  The man saw the dog coming in time to fling his left arm in front of his throat.

  Then the hurtling dog struck with an impact that smashed the man backwards to the floor. Zoom held the gun in his hand as the man went backward.

  “Watch him, Rip!” he shouted.

  Zoom turned toward the place where Samson was battling with the bull-necked individual. That man was clubbing his gun, striking Samson indiscriminately about the head and shoulders.

  Zoom jumped over the inert police dog that lay with torn throat and glazed eyes in the center of the corridor, flung up his gun.

  “Hands up!” he shouted.

  The heavy shoulders swung about. The gun snapped up. “Damn you!” gritted the heavy-set man.

  Samson swung his fist from the vicinity of his hip pocket, giving it every ounce of force he had. The blow crashed to the big man’s jaw, rocked him back to his heels. Samson’s left swung to the belt buckle. He steadied himself and crashed home another right.

  The gun dropped from the limp fingers as the man swayed, then toppled backwards.

  Samson wiped blood from his forehead, grinned at Sidney Zoom through cracked lips.

  “Why the devil didn’t you use that gun I gave you?” Zoom demanded.

  Samson’s grin stretched wider, to show a bleeding cavity where a tooth had been knocked from the front of his face.

  “You never did ask much about me,” he said, “but I lost my job for okaying a forged check. I was a department manager in a hardware store. This is the guy that gave me the bum check.”

  “He weighs fifty pounds more than you do,” Zoom remonstrated, “and you haven’t been eating regularly for a month or two. You should have used the gun.”

  “He could have weighed a hundred pounds more than I did, and I’d still have taken him to pieces,” Samson retorted.

  Zoom turned back to where Rip was standing over the prostrate form of the man who had posed as Finley Carter.

  “Bust open that door, Samson,” he said, “I think we’ll find the real Finley Carter held in there as a prisoner.”