The doorbell rang.
The old one got up slowly and went to answer it. The door opened with a creak. He closed his eyes momentarily, hoping the one at the door wasn't who he thought he was.
He was.
The old one saw no face. Only two coal-like eyes, glaring out at him. The visitor held his swagger stick in one clenched fist so tightly that it seemed it would break any minute.
The old one began to tremble all over.
"P-please, Inspector Dobermann, sir," he stuttered. "I know I told you I'd have the money today, but I don't. Please, sir, just one more week. Just one."
The caped figure stared at him, tapping the stick several times. Then he motioned to the old one to follow him.
They went out onto the ice. There was a crack. Here the figure stopped and looked again at the old one. Then he tapped the ground.
The ice caved in, and the old one fell under.
"Help! Please, help me!" he cried.
But the caped one mounted his motorcycle and sped off as the last clawing hand slid into the icy water.
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