Starr was silent for some moments, exchanging looks with the cashier.

“Any comments?” inquired the manager of the show.

“None, sir.”

“I’ll simply say that the chloroform cloth can be put to the nose as occasion calls for.  Bixby isn’t doing that.  I told Bixby that for the purposes of demonstration he might count one hundred slow and then figure that he had used up the oxygen in the vault, and then, if nobody came to open the door, he could—­well, he isn’t in there to commit suicide, but only to create an impression.  I ask again—­any comments?”

Vaniman shook his head.

Then the door swung open.  Bixby was on his back, his heels in the air.  He had pushed the door with his feet, his shoulders against the inner door.  He rose and came out.  Starr cut the tape with the office shears.

“That’s all!” said the manager.

Bixby, not troubling about the torn office jacket, put on his overcoat and departed.

Starr took a lot of time in lighting a cigar and getting a good clinch on the weed with his teeth.  He spoke between those teeth.  “It’s your move, Vaniman.”

“I haven’t agreed to sit in at that kind of a game,” stated the young man, firmly.

“But you’ll have to admit that I’m playing mighty fair,” insisted the examiner.  “When we talked in Britt’s office, you and I agreed that it wasn’t likely that a chap would run risks or commit suicide by shutting himself up in a bank vault with a time lock on.  That’s about the only point we did agree on.  I’m showing you that I don’t agree with you now, even on that point.  That being the case, you’ve got to—­show me.”  Starr emphasized the last two words by stabbing at his breast with the cigar.

“The idea is, Mr. Starr, you believe that I framed a fake robbery, or something that looked like a robbery, in order to cover myself.”  Frank stood up and spoke hotly.

Mr. Starr jumped up and was just as heated in his retort.  “Yes!”

“But the whole thing—­the muddling of the bank’s books—­the disks—­a man shoving himself into the vault—­I’d have to be a lunatic to perform in that fashion!”

“They say there’s nothing new under the sun!  There is, just the same!  Some crook is thinking up a new scheme every day!”

“By the gods, you shall not call me a crook!”

“You, yourself, are drawing that inference.  But I don’t propose to deal in inferences—­”

“Starting in the first day you struck this town, hounding me on account of matters I had no knowledge of, Mr. Starr, was drawing a damnable inference.”

“It has been backed up by some mighty good evidence!”

“What is your evidence?”

The examiner blew a cloud of smoke, then he fanned the screen away and squinted at Vaniman.  “If you ever hear of me giving away the state’s case in any matter where I’m concerned you’ll next hear of me committing suicide by locking myself into a bank vault.  Calm down, Mr. Cashier!”