Sidney Zoom jack-knifed his lean length into a swivel chair at the head of the dining table. His eyes glowed with a fierce interest.
“This,” he said, “is one of the most interesting situations I have ever encountered in my life.”
She stared at him, her eyes flashing.
“Are you,” she asked, “trying to make fun of me?”
“On the contrary,” said Sidney Zoom, “the obvious, outstanding facts not only show your innocence, but convince me that there is some remarkably sinister plot afoot.”
“What do you mean?” she asked.
“In the first place,” said Zoom, “the fact that the paintings were copied indicates that there is an artist who is in on the conspiracy.”
“Naturally,” she said scornfully.
“The artist,” went on Sidney Zoom, “is a friend of someone in the house. He must have had unlimited opportunity to make copies of the pictures that were stolen. That means that he must have access to the house.”
“Yes,” she said sarcastically, “even the master mind of Mr. Finley Carter reasoned that far. The fact that the artist had his opportunity to work undisturbed, showed that I was his accomplice.”
Zoom shook his head from side to side in silent negation.
“If,” he said, “you had been with Finley Carter for five years you would have known the value of the paintings. If you had gone to the trouble and risk of having them copied, you wouldn’t have disposed of one of them for five dollars. Moreover, if you had an artist as your accomplice, the artist would have known of channels through which the pictures could have been disposed of to advantage. Therefore, it is perfectly obvious that the object of the scheme was to discredit you.”
“But why?” she asked, her face showing interest.
“That,” said Sidney Zoom, “is one of the things we will find out. What were your duties?”
“I handled his correspondence.”
“Did you have access to any funds?”
“None... That is, there was an account of five hundred dollars that I handled.”
“What account was that?”
“Housekeeping money.”
“It was fixed at five hundred dollars?”
“Yes. I made out checks on it, Mr. Carter signed the checks. Usually he signed them in advance. He figured that he could trust me to the extent of five hundred dollars.”
“Was it a separate account?” asked Zoom.
“Yes.”
“How did he keep it separate from his other accounts?”
“By keeping it in an entirely different bank. It was a branch bank located in the neighborhood — the Second National Affiliate. His regular account was in the Mechanics National.”
“How many servants?” asked Sidney Zoom.
“There was James Stearne, chauffeur; Harry Exter, butler and valet; and Mrs. Ethel Clint, housekeeper. There was no one else other than myself. Finley Carter is a crusty old bachelor.”
Sidney Zoom glanced at the portholes; they showed the grayish light of coming day. He looked at the haggard, drawn features of Burt Samson, then nodded to Vera Thurmond.
“Get the cook up, Vera,” he said. “We’ll have breakfast. Put Samson to bed. Send his clothes up to the best ready-to-wear store you can find, and get a new suit of blue serge. Duplicate the other as nearly as you can.”
He nodded his head to the pair.
“Vera Thurmond,” he said, “will show you your staterooms. You’ll get some sleep.”
“Say,” said Samson getting to his feet, “what kind of a nut factory is this?”
“Shut up,” Sidney Zoom said without raising his voice. “You wanted work — you’re going to get it, and it’s going to be hard work. You’re going to get some grub on your stomach; you’re going to get some sleep, and then you’re going to have a job.”
“A job,” said Samson sneeringly, “who’s going to pay me?”
Sidney Zoom’s voice was as final as the tolling of a bell.
“Finley Carter,” he said, “is going to pay.”
Sidney Zoom turned to Nell Benton.
“During the time,” he said, “that you worked for Carter, I take it you became rather familiar with his signature?”
She nodded.
“And can you tell me,” asked Sidney Zoom, “where I can find a specimen of his signature?”
“In my purse,” she said bitterly, “I asked him for a reference. He gave me a letter stating that it was impossible for him to give me a reference. That I had been discharged because of dishonesty.”
Zoom nodded thoughtfully.
“I should like that letter,” he said.
“What,” she inquired, “do you want to use it for?”
“As a sample,” Sidney Zoom said.
“A sample?”
“Yes,” he said. “I desire to forge the signature of Finley Carter.”
Chapter III
Zoom’s Plan
Sidney Zoom had considerable aptitude with a pen, and he practiced the signature of Finley Carter until he was able to dash it off with that smooth speed which makes for artistic forgeries.
He presented his forged credentials to the cashier of the Second National Affiliate, and it would have taken an expert some time to have detected the fact that the signature of Finley Carter was, in fact, a forgery.
Perhaps had the signature been on a check, the matter would not have gone through quite so expeditiously, but being on a letter to the effect that the bearer was making an audit of Carter’s books in order to secure some information in connection with a refund from the income tax department, the signature was accepted without question.
Within a matter of minutes, Sidney Zoom found himself ensconced in a little cubby-hole office, with the statements and vouchers pertaining to the account of Finley Carter before him.
The account, as Zoom noticed, had been used just as Nell Benton had claimed — for the payment of housekeeping expenses. The account seldom went below three hundred dollars, and seldom above five. Checking over the date and amount of deposits, Zoom was able to ascertain that the millionaire lived unpretentiously and that his existence was governed by a methodic regularity.
It was within the past few days that the account had suddenly broken from its conservative deposits and withdrawals. There were deposits which ran into the thousands, and two withdrawals had been made that had virtually cleaned out the account.
Sidney Zoom armed himself with this information and then waited upon the cashier.
“Can you tell me,” he said, “why it is that the account which ran around five hundred dollars for months has suddenly become very active in large amounts?”
The cashier smiled.
“Mr. Carter,” he said, “used this bank merely as a housekeeping convenience until quite recently. Then he had some trouble with the bank which handles his main business. There was a misunderstanding over something — I don’t know the exact nature of it, but Mr. Carter decided to give us more of his business.”
“Would it,” asked Sidney Zoom, “be possible for you to tell me how you received this information?”
“Over the telephone,” said the cashier.
“And with whom were you talking?”
“With Finley Carter himself.”
“You’re certain?”
“Quite certain,” said the cashier. “I know his voice fully as well as I know his signature.”
“The withdrawals,” Zoom pointed out, “are quite large and are virtually in the form of cash.”
The cashier stared at him curiously.
“Those also,” he said, “are okayed by telephone instructions from Mr. Carter.”
Zoom bowed gravely.
“Thank you,” he said. “I have completed my investigations here.”
The cashier was overly polite.