"I mean
that the game is up--_Dryden_."
There was a low cry; and the man, with working lips, shrank back in
his chair.
"You cur!" The words were coming fast and hot from Jimmie Dale's lips
now. "English Dick, alias Dryden, the bank teller! So, you don't know
what I mean! Listen, then, and I'll tell you! Six months ago you got a
position in the bank. Since then you've forged names right and left on
securities, falsified the books, and stolen cash and securities. Day by
day, working in with your gang, you've brought the loot here, coming in
disguise of course, as you've come to-night, for it wouldn't do for
'Dryden' to be seen in this neighbourhood! And you turned the loot over
to Reddy Mull--by leaving it, if he didn't happen to be around, under
that loose board there in the corner."
"My God!" The man's face was ghastly. "Who--who are you?"
"To-day," went on Jimmie Dale, as though he had not heard the other,
"you came to the climax of the plan you had been working on for those
six months--the bank was wrecked--and what little there was left you
took"--he jerked his hand toward the open satchel--"replacing it at the
last moment with previously prepared dummy packages.
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