Carling's tongue sought his lips, made a circuit of them--and he tried
to speak, but his voice was an incoherent muttering.
"I'll not waste words," said Jimmie Dale, in his grim monotone. "I'm not
sure enough myself--that I could keep my hands off you much longer. The
actual details of how you stole the money to-day do not matter--NOW. A
little later perhaps in court--but not now. You were the last to leave
the bank, but before leaving you pretended to discover the theft of a
hundred thousand dollars--that, done up in a paper parcel, was even then
reposing in your desk. You brought the parcel home, put it in that safe
there--and notified the president of the bank by telephone from here of
the robbery, suggesting that police headquarters be advised at once. He
told you to go ahead and act as you saw best. You notified the police,
speciously directing suspicion to--the ex-convict in the bank's employ.
You knew Moyne was dining out to-night, you knew where--and at a hint
from you the police took up the trail. A little later in the evening,
you took these two packages of banknotes from the rest, and with this
steamship ticket--which you obtained yesterday while out at lunch by
sending a district messenger boy with the money and instructions in a
sealed envelope to purchase for you--you went up to the Moynes' flat in
Harlem for the purpose of secreting them somewhere there.
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