THE THOUSAND-DOLLAR BILL
Harrison Witherby showed no surprise when, a little later that
afternoon, a messenger summoned him to the private office of the bank
president. But if he was calm and collected over it, the other clerks
and employees were not.
“Say, I’ll wager something is up,” whispered one of the bookkeepers to
another.
“Shouldn’t wonder,” was the answer. “About the robbery, too.”
“That’s right! It’s a shame it hasn’t been solved before, so that every
one isn’t under suspicion.”
“It sure is, but I don’t see how Witherby could have taken the valise.
He had no chance.”
“There’s no telling. I thought that reporter fellow on the _Leader_ was
going to solve this thing in jig style, but I guess he isn’t any better
than any one else.”
“That’s so. Well, I wonder what Witherby is in for?”
The suspected bank clerk showed no surprise when given the assignment
that would take him out of town over-night. He had often gone on such
errands before, and if, on this occasion, it interfered with his plans,
he did not betray that fact.
“I want you to see this bank president,” said Mr. Bentfield, naming one
who was the head of an institution some distance from New York, in a
small country town. “Tell him I have agreed to his proposition about
that loan, and about acting as his correspondent for the Metropolitan
section. I’ll give you the papers for him to sign.”
“Very well, Mr. Bentfield. I’ll start to-night, as soon as I can go out
to my boarding place.”
“No, I don’t believe you have time for that,” said the bank president
quickly, for Larry had suggested this possibility: that, if Witherby
was sent out of town, he would not come back; and if he had the million
dollars hidden at his boarding place he would take the cash away with
him. He must not be allowed, therefore, to go to his room until after
the search.
“There is a train leaving the Grand Central station in a few minutes,”
said Mr. Bentfield. “You can catch it by taking a taxicab. Here is
money for your expenses, in case you need it, and if you want a change
of clothing buy it, and put it on your expense bill. I want you to see
this bank official to-night, if possible. I’ll telegraph him that you
are coming, but you would miss him if you took a later train, and you’d
have to, if you went out to your boarding-house.”
“Very well,” assented the bank clerk, and his manner was not at all
disturbed, as he took the cash for his expenses.
“Well, if he had anything to do with the robbery of the million dollars
he’s the coolest person I ever had any dealings with,” thought Mr.
Bentfield. “He certainly is a good actor. But though I hope we find
out who the guilty one is, and get the money back, I should dislike to
learn that it was Witherby. Certainly he has his faults, but I think he
is a good young man--or he was before he was tempted and fell--if he
did.”
A little later Larry reached the bank again, and was closeted with the
president.
“Well, I’ve got Witherby out of the way,” Mr. Bentfield remarked. “Now
to make the search. Did you succeed in getting the warrant giving us
permission to look through his room?” he asked of the lawyer, who was
also present.
“I had to arrange for it by telephone. It will be waiting for us in
Hackenford. It is going to be rather a delicate piece of work, Mr.
Bentfield. It is sure to arouse suspicion in the mind of Mr. Witherby
as soon as he learns of it.”
“I’ll fix it so he won’t know of it,” exclaimed Larry.
“How?” inquired the lawyer.
“Well, as soon as I have the necessary legal permission, I’ll go to
Mrs. Boland, the landlady, and tell her what I propose doing. I’ll tell
her it is necessary, for the reputation of her house, that it be kept
quiet, and that, when Witherby returns, he shall not even get a hint
that his room has been entered.”
“But he’ll see his things disturbed,” suggested the bank president.
“I intend to do the searching all by myself,” said Larry. “I’ll put
everything back where I find it.”
“But the other boarders in the house,” came from the lawyer. “They will
surely suspect something.”
“Not if I can get Mrs. Boland to help me. I’ll see her alone, explain
what I want, and suggest that I’d like to see our suspect and that I be
allowed to wait for Witherby in his room. I can pretend to be a sort of
acquaintance, who wants to see him, you know. Then I can make my search
and get away. If I find nothing suspicious, that will end it. If I get
a clew, then----”
“An arrest will follow!” exclaimed Mr. Bentfield. “Justice must be
done, no matter what the result. The bank owes it to itself, and the
other clerks, who are under an unjust suspicion, must be cleared,
Larry, the quicker this is over with the better.”
The young reporter lost no time in starting for Hackenford. He planned
to reach it before the other boarders came home to supper, as that
would make his task easier. The lawyer went with him to secure the
search-warrant, and then returned to New York.
Mrs. Boland, the landlady, was much surprised to see again the young
man who had been present on the other sensational occasion, when the
sneak-thief was discovered.
“Did you come back about a room?” she asked Larry.
“Not exactly,” he said. “I must see you in private,” he added, as he
saw a servant standing in the dining-room.
“Is anything wrong--has anything happened?” asked the boarding mistress
when they were alone. Larry briefly told her of the suspicions against
Witherby, and his desire to search his room, at the same time showing
the necessary authority.
“Oh, to think of that!” cried Mrs. Boland. “A million dollars in my
house!”
“It may not be here,” suggested Larry, with a smile. “I hope it is, but
I have my doubts. Still, I may get a clew. I must ask you to be silent
about my visit here.”
Overawed by the search-warrant and the magnitude of the case, the
landlady readily promised to say nothing to a soul. She would also keep
from Witherby, on his return, the fact that his room had been entered.
“I’ll go up to it now, before any of the other lodgers come home,”
suggested Larry, and he was shown to the apartment which might hold the
solution of the mystery.
Mrs. Boland left the young reporter alone. Larry went at his work
systematically. He had often been with the police, or detectives, when
they searched the rooms of other suspected persons, and he knew pretty
well how to proceed.
For an hour or more Larry went over everything, looking in bureau and
desk drawers, in the trunk, under the carpet--in fact, in any place
where money might be concealed.
“It can’t be in any small place,” argued Larry, “for the bundles of
bills are rather bulky. Still, he may have divided them, and hidden a
few each in many places.”
He renewed his search, being careful to keep the room in the same
order as he found it, but he was unsuccessful. He was about to give
up, regretfully, and he had already begun to formulate new clews in
his mind, when from the bottom of a bureau drawer he picked up a
small book. At the sight of it Larry started, for it was a book, or
catalogue, from a concern dealing in false beards, wigs and other
theatrical disguises.
“This is where he got his ideas of false moustaches from,” thought
Larry. Idly he leafed the book. Something fluttered from between two
pages to the floor.
The young reporter stooped to pick it up, and he could hardly believe
the evidence of his own eyes when he saw, lying on the floor, a
thousand-dollar bill!
“Great Scott!” whispered Larry. “It’s real!”
He fingered it, thinking for the moment that it might be “stage
money.” But his touch told him that it was genuine.
“What have I found? What have I found?” he murmured. “The stolen
million was all in thousand-dollar bills! Is this the only one left?”
As he stood in the middle of the floor, holding the bill in his
fingers, there was a step in the hall outside.