CHAPTER V
THE CLEW OF THE SATCHEL
“Well, what’s the first thing to do, Larry?” asked Mr. Potter, with a smile. He had returned to the bank shortly after giving Larry the details of the robbery. “How are you going at it to solve this mystery?”
“I don’t know,” answered the young reporter frankly. “There are many ends to be covered. I guess I’ll have to ask you a lot of questions,” he said to the president. “That’s how a reporter gets his news,” he continued with a smile.
“Ask as many as you like,” replied the head of the bank. “We’ll give you all the aid possible.”
Larry rapidly thought over the case. He wanted to get all the facts clear in his mind.
Several of the directors, who had business elsewhere, left, as there was nothing more they could do at the bank. The arrangements for meeting the heavy financial loss had been made a day or two previous, as soon as the robbery was discovered, and though the credit of the institution was strained to the utmost, it was seen that it could weather the storm.
“I think I understand pretty well how the money was packed in the valise, and taken to the other bank,” began Larry after a pause. “Then, as the robbery did not take place outside of this bank, and did not occur in the other bank, it must have been done here--right in your own institution,” he said to the president.
“Impossible!” exclaimed the black-moustached man, whose name it developed was Mr. Kent Wilson. “Impossible!”
“Not at all impossible,” replied Mr. Bentfield. “In fact, that is the only way to account for it, Mr. Wilson. The detectives are all agreed on that point.”
“And you say you do not suspect any of your employees?” asked Larry.
“Not a one, though of course, as is but natural, a watch is being kept over every one, from the smallest messenger boy, up to--well, I may say ourselves,” spoke the president. “It is an unpleasant thing to do, but necessary. But it does not seem possible that any of them, working together, or singly, could have taken that money.”
“Would it be possible for an outsider to have entered the cashier’s cage, and substituted the bag of bricks for the bag of bills?” the young reporter inquired.
“Of course it is possible,” admitted the president, “but highly improbable. The entire part of the bank, where the clerks and tellers work, is, as you have seen, fenced off from the outside part, where the depositors enter, by a heavy brass grating. There is even a grating over the top, and the doors are all self-closing, locking automatically from the inside.
“A clever thief might, of course, manipulate a door, and so enter the cage, but his presence would at once be noticed, and an alarm given. No one, not an employee of the bank, is allowed back of the grating on any pretext whatever. An alarm would be instantly given should such a thing occur. So I don’t see how it is possible that an outsider took the money.”
“Then it comes right back to the other proposition, that some one connected with the bank did it,” decided Larry, “and I think we’ve got to work on that theory.”
“Impossible! Impossible!” exclaimed Mr. Wilson impatiently. “Our employees are all to be trusted.”
“It is hard to know what to believe,” admitted the president. “Are there any other questions you would like to ask, Mr. Dexter?”
“Several,” replied Larry, “but I want to think them over first. Could I borrow the bag in which the bricks instead of money were taken to the other bank?” he requested.
“Borrow the valise?” exclaimed the president. “What for?”
“Because I believe it will prove a valuable clew,” was the answer. “It is the start in solving this mystery. Where is the valise?”
“It is here,” spoke Mr. Bentfield, and, going to a closet, he took out the satchel which had played such an important part in the big theft.
“Is it exactly the same as the one ordinarily used by your bank, when money is to be carried through the streets?” asked Larry, as he looked at the satchel.
“No, not exactly,” replied the president. “The outside, the kind of leather and its general appearance are almost identical. But the lining of steel wire is not in this valise. I suppose the thief did not consider it necessary to provide that in this duplicate satchel, as it could only be seen by tearing out the inner leather lining.”
“Then this is point number one,” said Larry, making a note of it. “The thief got a valise as nearly like the regular one used as possible.”
“There’s something in that!” exclaimed Mr. Potter. “Did your regular, or private detectives, think of that, Mr. Bentfield?”
“No, they did not. Mr. Dexter, I am beginning to have hopes that you will yet get to the bottom of this.”
“It’s too soon to hope yet,” replied Larry. “Now, if you will let me take this valise, I will get right to work on this case. This end will keep me busy for some time, and, if I want any more help I suppose I can see you.”
“At any time,” replied the president quickly.
Larry emptied the bricks, and their newspaper wrappings, from the satchel. They had played the part of a million dollars most successfully for a time, and they were, to a certain extent, relics of value.
“These had better be saved,” spoke the young reporter, wrapping the bricks in the papers and placing them on the president’s desk.
“What good will they be?” sneered Mr. Wilson.
“They may come in handy as clews, after I get through with the satchel,” replied Larry quietly.
“Humph! This is all nonsense!” exclaimed the black-moustached director. “Besides, Mr. Bentfield, the regular police, or the private detectives, may want this valise as evidence. I don’t believe this reporter should take it away.”
“The private detectives did not want it,” said the president. “They said it was of no help to them, though they did have it photographed in case they might need to refer to it. And I guess the regular detectives will be the same way.”
“Any time they want it they can have it,” interposed Larry. “I will keep it safe.”
“Then you may take it,” decided the president. “I’m sure I hope you will be successful.”
“It’s all nonsense!” declared Mr. Wilson. “No good can come of having a reporter try to solve this mystery! He will put too much news in his paper.”
“And publicity is just the thing you need now!” declared Mr. Potter. “If you had made this robbery public at once, our depositors would not have been worried, for at the same time, a reassuring statement could have been made. Then, too, the thief would not have had such a chance to escape. As it is, he has a three days’ start with that million.”
“I’m not so sure of that,” said Larry.
“What do you mean?” asked the president quickly.
“I think,” answered the young reporter, “that the thief, and the million, are still in New York city. Of course I may be mistaken, but that is my theory. Now I’m going to see if I can prove it.”
“Nonsense! All nonsense!” murmured Mr. Wilson, as Larry left the president’s room, carrying the valise.
“Well, now that I’ve got it, I wonder what I shall do with it?” asked Larry of himself, as he walked down the bank steps. The institution had closed for the day, though a curious crowd was outside, looking at the place from which a million in cash had so mysteriously disappeared. Many in the crowd held copies of the _Leader_, with Larry’s story on the front page, but none of them knew that the young man, walking down the steps with a valise in his hand, was the reporter who had sprung the big sensation on the city.
The valise, however, at once attracted attention.
“Hey, dere goes a guy wid money!” cried a newsboy.
“Maybe dat’s part ob de million!” added another.
“Hey, mister, lend me ten thousand plunks, will youse?” besought a ragged urchin. “I’ll give youse my note fer it!”
The crowd laughed at this, and Larry smiled. He made his way through the press of people, many of whom evidently believed that the valise did contain a large sum. Men began to crowd uncomfortably close up to Larry.
A policeman, of whom there were several in the throng, elbowed his way to the young reporter’s side.
“Do you need any help?” he asked, for he had noted that Larry came from the bank. “If there’s money in that you ought to have some one with you.”
“It’s perfectly empty,” replied Larry, with a laugh. “See!” and he opened the satchel and held it upside down. There was a craning of necks, as though the crowd expected to see a shower of greenbacks, but they were disappointed.
“He’s been robbed, too!” cried a boy laughing, and the crowd joined in. The policeman smiled, nodded at Larry, and then interest in him was over.
“It takes money these days to make a sensation,” mused the young reporter as he hurried on. “Now I’ve got to make some plans. Guess I’ll report back to the office, and then go home. I can think better there.”
As he hurried up Wall street, toward Broadway, he saw, just coming out from a side entrance to the building in which the looted bank was located, a figure that was vaguely familiar. It was that of a young man of about Larry’s build.
“I’ve seen him before,” mused the young reporter. “I wonder where it was. If he turned around----”
As if in answer to Larry’s thoughts, the young man ahead of him did turn around, and as soon as our hero had a glimpse of the face he exclaimed:
“The subway shover! That’s the man I had the row with--the one who stepped on that girl’s foot! No wonder I knew him! I wonder if he’ll make trouble?”
But the youth, after a quick glance at Larry--a glance that seemed to be filled with suspicion--hurried on, and he was soon lost in the crowd that now thronged Broadway.
“I’m glad he didn’t come back, and demand satisfaction,” thought Larry, “though I’d have given it to him if he’d done so. And so we meet again, Mr. Pusher. And, if I’m not mistaken, you came from the Consolidated Bank. I must look you up when I’ve traced the valise clew as far as it goes. Well, I’ve got my work cut out for me,” and Larry shook his head, for, the more he thought of the bank mystery, the deeper it seemed to become.