"But I'll tell you how headquarters figures it out. In the first
place, the cashier is missing. In the second place, if Courtleigh
Fleming did it and got as far as Colorado, he had it with him when
he died, and the facts apparently don't bear that out. In the
third place, suppose he had hidden the money in or around this house.
Why did he rent it to you?"
"But he didn't," said Miss Cornelia obstinately, "I leased this
house from his nephew, his heir."
The detective smiled tolerantly.
"Well, I wouldn't struggle like that for a theory," he said, the
professional note coming back to his voice. "The cashier's missing
--that's the answer."
Miss Cornelia resented his offhand demolition of the mental
card-castle she had erected with such pride.
"I have read a great deal on the detection of crime," she said hotly,
"and--"
"Well, we all have our little hobbies," he said tolerantly. "A good
many people rather fancy themselves as detectives and run around
looking for clues under the impression that a clue is a big and vital
factor that sticks up like--well, like a sore thumb. The fact is
that the criminal takes care of the big and important factors. It's
only the little ones he may overlook. To go back to your friend the
Bat, it's because of his skill in little things that he's still at
large."
"Then you don't think there's a chance that the money from the Union
Bank is in this house?" persisted Miss Cornelia.
"I think it very unlikely.
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