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.