"I beat you to it." Cliff was gripped by a moderate hysteria. "I've
fixed everything--for myself. You don't get a bit of glory. And I
wanted the satisfaction of telling you that I've known from the first
you suspected me."
Jim Hanvey's fishy eyes opened wide, then narrowed. His fat fingers
fumbled awkwardly with the glittering gold toothpick. His demeanor was
one of bewilderment and utter lack of comprehension.
"What you talkin' about, son? Suspected you of what?"
Cliff felt suddenly cold. There was a disquieting ring of truth in
the drawling voice. Was it possible that this hulk of a man had not
suspected him, that the confession had been unnecessary? His trembling
hands sought the pudgy shoulders of the detective.
"You've been watching me and my cage, haven't you?"
"Sure."
"Well--why?"
The big man's manner was genial, friendly. His dull round eyes blinked
and his voice dropped discreetly. "Jest between us, son, I reckon there
ain't no harm in me explainin'. 'Bout three years ago Spade Gormon,
cleverest forger in the country, pulled an awful neat job in Des
Moines. Then he dropped outa sight. We ain't heard nothin' of him till
Headquarters got the tip he was operatin' in this district. We knew
good and well if he was he'd sooner or later try to slip a bum check
over on this bank, it bein' the biggest one hereabouts. So as I know
Spade pretty well an' personal, they sent me down here to loaf around
until he showed up."
Cliff Wallace's hands dropped limply to his sides. It was hard to
understand. "Then you weren't even working on my case?"
"No, I wasn't workin' on your case. An' if you went an' confessed
anything, you probably done yourself an awful dirty trick. Far as I'm
concerned, son, I ain't even been interested in your case since I got
an inside tip it had been dropped."