"Busy? Well, I don't know. It depends on what you mean by busy."
"An hour or two," the other suggested--the tinge of anxiety in his tones
growing more pronounced. "The time to run out here in your car. I
haven't any right to ask it, I know, but the truth is I--I want to talk
to some one pretty badly, and I need some financial help, and--and I
thought of you. I--I'm afraid there's a mess here. The bank examiners
landed in suddenly late this afternoon."
"The--_what_?" demanded Jimmie Dale sharply.
"The bank examiners--I--I can't talk over the 'phone. Only, for God's
sake, come--will you? I'll be in my rooms--you know where they are,
don't you--on the cottier over--"
"Yes, I know," Jimmie Dale broke in tersely; then, quietly: "All right,
Forrester, I'll come."
"Thank God!" came Forrester's voice--and disconnected abruptly.
Jimmie Dale replaced the receiver on the hook, stared at the instrument
again in a perplexed way; then, called the garage on the private house
wire. There was no answer. He walked quickly then across the room and
pushed an electric button.
"Jason," he said a moment later, as the old butler appeared on the
threshold in answer to the summons, "Benson doesn't answer in the
garage.
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