The president of the White River National Bank was late in reaching his
desk the next morning. When he crossed the lobby he limped slightly;
and his secretary, in placing the mail before him, noticed a strip of
plaster above his left ear. His “Good morning!” was very cheery and he
plunged into work with his usual energy.
He had dictated a telegram confirming a bond deal that would net him
fifty thousand dollars, when his name was spoken by a familiar voice.
Swinging round to the railing with calculated deliberation he addressed
his visitor in the casual tone established by their intimacy:
“Hello, Hill--looking for me?”
“Nope; not yet!”
Both men grinned as their eyes met.
“Has the charming Miss Murdock been in this morning?” asked the
detective, glancing toward the tellers’ cages.
“Haven’t seen her yet. Hope you’re not infatuated with the girl.”
“Only in what you might call an artistic sense; I think we agreed
yesterday that she’s rather pleasing to the jaded eyesight. See the
papers?”
“What’s in the papers?” asked the banker, feeling absently for a report
a clerk had laid on his desk.
“Oh, a nice little muss out on Vevay Street last night! The cops made
a mess of it of course. Old Murdock’s son Bob shot a constable in
Kentucky and broke for the home plate to get some money, and I’d had a
wire to look out for him when I was in here yesterday. He handled some
very clever phony money in this district a while back. I went out to
Vevay Street to take a look at him--and found the police had beat me to
it! The cash Nellie drew yesterday was for him.”
“Of course you got him!”
“No,” said Hill; “he made a getaway, all right. It was rather funny
though----”
“How funny?”
“The chase he gave us. You don’t mean you haven’t heard about it!”
Burgess clasped his hands behind his head and yawned.
“I’ve told you repeatedly, Hill, that I don’t read criminal news. It
would spoil the fun of hearing you explain your own failures.”
“Well, I won’t bore you with this. I only want you to understand that
it was the police who made a fluke of it. But I can’t deny those
Murdocks do interest me a good deal.”
He bent his keen eyes upon the banker for a second and grinned. Burgess
returned the grin.
“I’ve got to speak before the Civic League on our municipal government
tomorrow night, and I’ll throw something about the general incompetence
of our police force--it’s undoubtedly rotten!”
The detective lingered.
“By-the-way, I nearly overlooked this. Seems to be a silver card-case,
with your name neatly engraved on the little tickets inside. I picked
it up on the ice last night when I was skating on the canal. I’m going
to keep one of the cards as a souvenir.”
“Perfectly welcome, Tom. You’d better try one of these cigars.”
Hill chose a cigar with care from the extended box and lighted it.
Burgess swung round to his desk, turned over some letters, and then
looked up as though surprised to find the detective still there.
“Looking for me, Tom?”
“No; not yet!”