The journey to and from the suburban hotel had occupied considerable time, and it was almost one o’clock before the detective returned to the Windermere.  
The clerk saw him enter the lobby and called him to the desk. He was informed of the telephone message and of Patsy’s call at the hotel. He realized, of course, that one of his assistants had been trying to get in touch with him, but he did not know that it was in connection with that particular case.
 
Moreover, something came up which made it necessary for him to disregard Patsy’s injunction to remain in until he could be reached.
 
“Mr. Crawford hasn’t come back yet, Mr. Mortimer?” the clerk asked. “The gentleman seemed to know him, too.”
 
The detective had turned away from the desk, but he faced about and shook his head.
 
“I’m afraid that Crawford will not be back for some time,” he replied. “He was taken very ill while we were out together, and I had to remove him to a hospital. I’m not quite sure what’s the matter with him. I’m afraid, though, that it’s some sort of fever which he may have contracted in South America.”
 
The hotel clerk looked startled. “It’s nothing very serious, I hope?” he said.
 
 
“I trust not,” was the reply. “The hospital people feel sure that it isn’t contagious, if that’s what you mean.”
 
Again he started to leave the desk, but the clerk once more detained him. “A messenger came from the Standard National Bank about half an hour ago,” the young man explained. “He asked for either Mr. Stone or Mr. Crawford, and said it was very important. Mr. Stone was in his room in the small hours of the morning, I understand, but he isn’t there now, and nobody seems to have seen him about the building this morning.”
 
A little glint came into Nick’s eyes, but the clerk did not notice it.
 
“The Standard National is near here, isn’t it?” he inquired, although he knew perfectly well.
 
“Yes, it’s just around the corner,” and the clerk indicated the direction.
 
“Then I think I’ll drop around there. I can give them some information about Crawford, anyway; besides, we’ve come to know each other pretty well.”
 
His manner was careless, but inwardly he attached a great deal of importance to the bit of information which by chance had come his way. It suggested one of the possibilities he had feared, namely, that Follansbee would try some trick to get possession of a large sum of money belonging to one or the other of the partners, or both.
 
It being Saturday, he found the bank closed when he reached it, but most of the employees were still on hand, and his knock soon brought a response.He mentioned his business to the clerk who opened the door, and a few moments later he was led into the cashier’s room. The bank official had expected either Stone or Crawford, and his face betrayed his disappointment. His manner was another proof that something out of the ordinary had occurred, or was impending.
 
Nick drew a card front his pocket and held it out silently. As soon as the cashier saw the name, “Nicholas Carter,” his eyes widened.
 
“There’s nothing wrong, Mr. Carter, I hope?” he asked quickly. “I was very doubtful of honoring the check, but I had Mr. Stone’s own note to justify me.”
 
From the desk at his elbow he picked up a sheet of paper bearing the Hotel Windermere heading, and held it out. Nick glanced at the big, careless scrawl.
 
“Yes,” he said. “I’ve seen specimens of Stone’s writing, and I don’t think there’s any doubt that this is his.”
 
The cashier then extended a check marked “paid,” and made out to “S. Follansbee.”
 
There were probabl............