“Nuts,” I said. “That was the other bank.”

“What do you mean, the other bank?”

“You know what I mean.”

“You’re damn right I know what you mean. It’s the old flimflam game. You went down and handed out a line of soap. You deposited two thousand dollars in the bank. You left the check, knowing damn well they’d take steps to find out whether the check was good, but they wouldn’t cash it until you’d signed the papers and driven out with the car. You figured on getting the car delivered just a few minutes before closing time, beating it down to the bank and drawing out everything except two hundred dollars. You figured you’d have eighteen hours’ start before anyone found out the check wasn’t any good. But you beat your own time a little, and the automobile agency showed up at the bank about five minutes after you’d left with the money. They deposit every night just before closing time.”

I stared at him, letting my eyes get big and my jaw sag. “For God’s sake,” I said. “Do you mean they tried to cash my check at the First National?”

“Why not? That’s the bank it was given on.”

“No it wasn’t,” I said. “That check was issued on the Bank of Commerce.”

He showed me the check, marked with the telltale “NSF” in red ink. I said, “Well, then, I drew the eighteen hundred out of the Bank of Commerce.”

“Why all the talk about the Bank of Commerce?”

“Because I have an account there.”

“The hell you do.”

“Yes.”

“You don’t have anything to prove it.”

“I was going to take a long night ride,” I said. “I didn’t want to have my checkbook on me. I put them in an envelope and addressed them to myself at General Delivery. You can go down there and find them if you don’t believe it.”

The officer and the deputy district attorney exchanged glances.

“You mean this wasn’t a flimflam?” the deputy district attorney asked.

“Of course not. I will admit that I drew a sight draft on H. C. Helmingford. There isn’t any such man. I was going to beat it into Los Angeles and take up that sight draft as H. C. Helmingford. But I didn’t defraud anyone with that sight draft. I simply put it in for collection.”

“What the hell were you trying to do?”

“Build up a banking credit,” I said. “I wanted the bank to think I was important. There’s no law against that.”

“But you gave the automobile company this check, and then drew out all of your balance except two hundred dollars.”

“No I didn’t. That was on the other bank—or I sure as hell thought it was.”

The deputy district attorney rang up the Bank of Commerce. “Has Peter B. Smith got an account there?” he asked.