For a moment Carling hesitated; then, with a half-muttered oath, obeyed.
Jimmie Dale moved over, and stood in front of Carling on the other side of the desk--and stared silently at the immaculate, fashionably groomed figure before him.
Under the prolonged gaze, Carling's composure, in a measure at least, seemed to forsake him. He began to drum nervously with his fingers on the desk, and shift uneasily in his chair.
And then, from first one pocket and then the other, Jimmie Dale took the two packages of banknotes, and, still with out a word, pushed them across the desk until they lay under the other's eyes.
Carling's fingers stopped their drumming, slid to the desk edge, tightened there, and a whiteness crept into his face. Then, with an effort, he jerked himself erect in his chair.
“About ten thousand dollars, I should say,” said Jimmie Dale slowly. “I haven't counted it. Your bank was robbed this evening at closing time, I understand?”
“Yes!” Carling's voice was excited now, the colour back in his face. “But you--how--do you mean that you are returning the money to the bank?”
Carling was once more the pompous bank official. He leaned back and surveyed Jimmie Dale critically with his little black eyes.
“Ah, quite so!” he observed. “That accounts for the mask. But I am still a little in the dark. Under the circumstances, it is quite impossible that you should have stolen the money yourself, and--”
“I didn't,” said Jimmie Dale. “I found it hidden in the home of one of your employees.”
“Moyne, eh?” Carling was alert, quick now, jerking out his words. “How did you come to get into this, then? His pal? Double-crossing him, eh? I suppose you want a reward--we'll attend to that, of course. You're wiser than you know, my man. That's what we suspected. We've had the detectives trailing Moyne all evening.” He reached forward over the desk for the telephone. “I'll telephone headquarters to make the arrest at once.”
“Just a minute,” interposed Jimmie Dale gravely. “I want you to listen to a little story first.”
“A story! What has a story got to do with this?” snapped Carling.
“The man has got a home,” said Jimmie Dale softly. “A home, and a wife--and a little baby girl.”
“Oh, that's the game then, eh? You want to plead for him?” Carling flung out gruffly. “Well, he should have thought of all that before! It's quite useless for you to bring it up. The man has had his chance already--a better chance than any one with his record ever had before. We took him into the bank knowing that he was an ex-convict, but believing that we could make an honest man of him--and this is the result.”