A Canadian Bankclerk Part 27

"I sort of suspect Filter," he answered.

Henty was serious.

"You don't like to say, do you?"

"No," said Evan.

The junior was silent a moment, after which he observed, bashfully:

"A certain party certainly needs the coin."

Evan sighed, and Henty looked at him quickly.

"You're lucky it wasn't a thousand, don't you think so?"

The teller had not thought of that. He was surprised both at the idea and the junior.

"You're right, Henty," he said, with interest, "I'm taking an awful chance. I believe in my heart Penton is a crook."

"Surest thing in the world!"

Evan thought a while.

"I'm going to write head office," he said finally, "and ask them for a move--but I can't peach on Penton's doings."

An answer to the manager's letter came from head office, but the teller did not receive a reply to his own. The one addressed to Penton said that manager and teller would have to put up $50 each, on account of the loss, to be paid in monthly instalments. It was a shrewd compromise, and characteristic of head office.

Penton swore volubly and pretended to be sorely aggravated.

"Well," he said, "_you_ got off easy, anyway."

Filter was professionally indignant when he heard of the affair, but a man came in who couldn't write his name, and asked to open a savings account. He so interested Gordon that Gordon forgot all else and settled in between the covers of his ledger like a pressed moth. He came out of his sh.e.l.l (to change the simile) toward the close of the day's work and went into a minute examination of certain deposit slips that had gone through the day of the shortage, but his interest was purely clerical, and his sympathy amounted to: "Did you ever see such rotten writers as these Banfield storekeepers?"

Henty looked up from a sponge, which, he said, he was training to lick stamps and envelopes, but did not speak. Words would have added nothing to the humor of his expression.

For two weeks after the affair of the silver, Penton surpa.s.sed himself in signing his name. Also he took a social turn, and began once more to hypnotize the good people of Banfield. He had a faculty for ingratiating himself with people who were not great students of human nature. The town mayor was a particularly easy victim of his.

"h.e.l.lo, Mr. Muir," Penton would say as the mayor entered the office, "I'm glad to see you looking so well. How's Mrs. Muir? I understand you are doing big things on the dam." (Here Henty would emphatically repeat the word from his desk in the rear of the office.) The mayor would grin and begin divulging munic.i.p.al secrets. Penton always made a point of talking loudly with Muir and laughing yet more vociferously at his jokes.

There were women in Banfield, too, who were not impervious to Penton's flattery. He had a way of looking into their eyes and speaking softly that charmed them.

Nelson knew that Penton could have managed the branch well if he had gone to work; Penton was, evidently, familiar with the great circus man's aphorism about humbugging people, and could have given them all they wanted of it--to the bank's profit. It was, no doubt, owing to this hypocritical a.s.set and the appreciation of it by head office officials, that Penton was managing a branch.

There is a certain stock-company actor in the States who periodically goes on a spree, comes back and weeps to his audience, and is forgiven.

That is virtually what Penton was doing. He had hit upon the scheme as by inspiration, and it worked well. He asked a young dentist and wife down to his apartments behind the bank and feted them on the best in town. Above all, he flattered them, and he made Mrs. Penton help him do it. She was, in fact, blind to the greater part of his badness, and was so anxious to help him into the favor of Banfield's best customers that she was willing to do a little wrong in his behalf. The surprise he perpetrated on her and the town, his new policy of ingratiation, gave her hope and made her rather proud of his versatility. She was very agreeable indeed to the dentist and his wife.

In a little town like Banfield good tidings spread just as rapidly as bad, among the better souls. News of the Pentons' hospitality and geniality went abroad until many of the ladies of Banfield desired to see more of Mrs. Penton, and, incidentally, her husband. Using the dentist's wife as a medium, they secured introductions to Mrs. Penton.

Soon pink-teas began to be stylish.

It was about a fortnight after the affair of the silver. Mrs. Penton was giving a euchre party (whist was unknown in Banfield, and bridge was considered a sin) for the big dogs and ladies of Banfield. Her husband was the biggest dog of the bunch; he had gone so far as to deck himself in a dress-suit, and his stiff collar was almost the shape of a cuff.

The staff, of course, was invited, and had to go. Evan would gladly have stayed away, but he was afraid of hurting Mrs. Penton's feelings.

She gave him a special invitation. He loathed the thought of drinking Penton's cocoa and eating his food. He well knew that the manager had counted on getting business--and forgiveness--for every mouthful of his miserable provender. Also, he was quite sure that the cocoa was either unpaid for or had been bought out of a mysterious silver package.

The teller played cards, for a while, at the same table as Penton, and saw him smirk down upon his guests as no one, surely, but W. W. Penton ever smirked. Evan felt that he would suffocate unless he got away from that table. He wished he could stand on a chair and reveal the character of the manager as he knew it--but a smile from Mrs. Penton reached him, and he filled with pity for her. He knew that a revelation of Penton's real character would sound as strange to her as to any person there. She knew her husband had "faults," but what does that common word signify to a woman in love? The atmosphere became too stifling for Evan. He felt his head throb and threaten to ache. He excused himself, to take air.

He went out through the office and threw open the front door of the bank. It was a clear April night; the air was cool and fresh.

There were only two living creatures visible on the front street. One was a dog, the other a man carrying a small valise and wearing a well-barbered beard. He was walking toward the bank.

The stranger ascended the steps where Evan stood and spoke in a tenor voice:

"Are you Mr. Nelson?"

"Yes, sir."

"I'm Inspector Castle."

CHAPTER XI.

_JOYS OF BANKING._

The Banfield teller shivered an instant, but, on sudden thought, braced himself and began to say:

"You came in answer to my--"

"I came to inspect the branch," said Castle, quickly, looking Evan in the eye as he pushed past him into the office.

The teller's hopes fell. He thought the inspector was going to take him aside and ask him all the particulars of his loss. He would have had to tell them--and he wanted to. It flashed across his mind that had Castle come in answer to his (Evan's) letter, it would have been sooner. Why had the inspector allowed two weeks to elapse?

"Where is Mr. Penton?" asked Mr. Castle, when a light had been turned on in the office.

"He's giving a party to-night, sir," said Nelson.

"Is that so? Well, we won't interrupt it. You might just ask him to come out for a moment and open up. Where is the rest of the staff?"

"They are in there, too."

"Good; we can set right to work."

Evan took Penton aside and whispered the news. The manager paled slightly and his colorless eyes looked queer; but a flush suddenly overspread his face, and he said:

"Couldn't have come at a better time. We're entertaining the best customers in town."

He greeted Castle with an affectation of great friendliness. It was well done. Penton surely was an artist at deception.