THE KNICKERBOCKER BANK.
Richard Dunlap was a man who had never missed a train nor been late
in keeping an appointment. On the morning following Sprague's dinner
party, he walked briskly down Broadway from City Hall. It was New
Year's day; the great thoroughfare was deserted. As he turned into Wall
Street, the hands of the clock in Trinity steeple pointed to three
minutes of nine. The financier pulled out his chronometer, found that
the clock in the old belfry was right, and quickened his pace.
Wall Street slumbered peacefully and silently, like a battle-field
after the roar of the cannon has been hushed, after the victors and the
vanquished have disappeared, leaving behind them only the ghosts of the
slain. The deathlike stillness was oppressive.
At last, as Dunlap reached the Knickerbocker bank, the clock in the
belfry struck the hour. The reporter was not there. The banker uttered
an ejaculation of annoyance. He looked up and down the street. There
was no one in sight. He resolved to give Sturgis five minutes grace,
and began to pace back and forth before the entrance to the bank.
Then a thought struck him. There was another entrance on Exchange
Place--that generally used by the employés and officials. Perhaps the
reporter was waiting there. Dunlap walked around to Exchange Place and
glanced up the street. He saw a man standing in the gutter and bending
low over the curb. Dunlap advanced so as to obtain a front view of him
and recognized Sturgis. The reporter had not noticed his approach; he
held a magnifying glass in his hand and seemed deeply interested in a
minute examination of the smooth-worn curb.
"Good morning, Mr. Sturgis," said the banker, "have you lost something?"
The reporter looked up quietly.
"No, Mr. Dunlap; I have found something;--something which may possibly
prove to be a hyphen."
"A what?" asked the banker, perplexed.
"A hyphen connecting two parts of a very pretty little puzzle."
Dunlap stared curiously at the curb.
"I can see nothing there," said he.
Sturgis handed him the magnifying glass.
"Now look again."
He pointed out a particular portion of the curb. Dunlap looked in the
direction indicated.
"I see what looks like dried mud, dust particles, and a little dark
spot or stain."
"Yes," said Sturgis, "that dark spot is the hyphen. There were probably
others like it on the sidewalk yesterday afternoon, but they have been
obliterated by the pedestrians. Here, however, are some that have
remained."
As he spoke, he led Dunlap to the Exchange Place entrance of the bank,
and pointed out a number of similar spots on the stone steps.
"Fortunately," he said, as if speaking to himself, "fortunately the
detectives entered through the front door last night; so that they did
not interfere with this portion of the trail."
"But what are these spots?" asked the banker.
"They are blood-stains," replied the reporter. "I have every reason
to believe them to be human blood. But that question I can settle
positively as soon as we are in the bank, for I have brought a powerful
microscope. Let us enter now, if you like; I have seen all there is to
be seen outside. By the way, do you know this key?"
He held up a large steel key of complicated structure.
"Why," exclaimed Dunlap surprised, "that looks like the key to the
Exchange Place door. Where did you find it?"
"In the gutter, near the sewer opening at the corner."
"But how did it get there?" asked Dunlap anxiously.
"Perhaps I shall be able to answer that question presently," said
Sturgis. "Shall we go in now? No, not that way. Let us enter by the
Wall Street side, if you please."
A couple of minutes later, the outer door of the Knickerbocker bank was
unlocked.
"Excuse me if I pass in first," said Sturgis, entering. "I wish to see
something here."
He bent low over the tiled entrance, with the magnifying glass in his
hand.
"It is too bad," he muttered to himself presently. "They have trodden
all over the trail here. Ah! what is this?"
"What?" inquired Dunlap.
The reporter vouchsafed no reply to this question, but asked another.
"Is Thursday a general cleaning day at the bank?"
"Yes," answered the banker. "Every evening, after the closing hour, the
floors are swept, of course, and the desks are dusted; but Mondays and
Thursdays are reserved for washing the windows, scrubbing the floors,
and so forth."
"Then it is lucky that yesterday was Thursday," observed Sturgis. "Will
you please hand me the key to this gate, and that to the inner door."
Upon entering the bank, Sturgis requested his companion to seat himself
on a particular chair, which he designated. He then began a critical
examination of the premises. Inch by inch he scrutinized the walls, the
floor, and even the ceiling; sometimes with the naked eye, sometimes
through the magnifying glass. He also constantly brought into play a
tape measure; and several times he called upon Dunlap for assistance,
when the distances to be measured were longer than his reach.
The Wall Street entrance of the Knickerbocker bank led directly into
the space to which the public was admitted. This space was partitioned
off, as usual, from the bookkeepers' and cashier's departments. At
the farther end, a door led into a reception room communicating with
the president's office. This office itself opened into the cashier's
department on one side; and on the other, into a small room occupied
by the president's secretary and typewriter, and into the vestibule of
the Exchange Place entrance to the bank. On the right of the vestibule
was a large room in which the bank employés kept their street clothing,
and to which they could retire when they were off duty. A door from
the clerks' room led into the cashier's department; while another one
opened into the private secretary's room.
After he had finished his inspection of the space open to the public,
Sturgis, followed by Dunlap, passed into the president's reception
room, and thence in turn into the other rooms, and finally into the
cashier's and bookkeepers' departments.
Several times he stopped, retraced his footsteps to some particular
point, and then began his search anew. At times he crawled about on
his hands and knees; at others, he climbed upon the furniture, the
better to examine some spot upon the wall. In the president's office he
stopped to pick up a great number of tiny scraps of paper, which lay in
and around the waste-basket. These he carefully placed in an envelope
which he laid upon the president's table.
On one side of the room there stood a magnificent old-fashioned carved
mantel-piece. The artistic beauty of the structure did not seem to
strike Sturgis; but he appeared to derive a great deal of satisfaction
from an inspection of the large tiled hearth. Presently, removing his
coat and his cuffs, he plunged his hand into the grimy chimney and
removed a handful of soot, which he examined carefully and then threw
away. He repeated the operation again and again; until at last, with
evident satisfaction, he picked out a small object, which he deposited
in an envelope. Then, after washing his hands in the clerks' room, he
passed into the cashier's department. In a corner stood the telephone
closet, the door of which was open. The receiver of the instrument was
down. The reporter took it up and gazed at it long and earnestly.
Sturgis's examination of the bank must have lasted over two hours.
At first Richard Dunlap looked on with a mild curiosity, in which
amusement struggled with good-natured skepticism. But, as time wore on,
the banker began to show signs of impatience; and when at last Sturgis
returned to the private office and carefully deposited upon a sheet of
white paper a miscellaneous assortment of tiny scraps and shreds, the
banker could scarcely conceal his dissatisfaction.
"Well, Mr. Sturgis," he said, "I hope you have nearly completed your
investigation; for my leisure is not so abundant that I can afford to
waste it like this."
"I need one more witness at least," replied the reporter, "and I am
afraid I shall have to ask you to help me obtain it."
"But," he quickly added as he noted Dunlap's impatient gesture, "I
think I can promise you that the time you are regretting has not been
wasted."
The financier did not seem convinced by this assertion; but he
nevertheless consented with unwilling grace to assist the reporter to
the best of his ability.
"Well, then," said Sturgis, "tell me, first of all, whether you keep
any fire-arms in the bank."
"Yes," replied Dunlap; "the cashier has a small revolver which he
keeps in his desk, as a means of defence in case of a sudden attack by
a bank thief."
"Have you a key to the desk?"
"Yes," replied the banker.
"Will you kindly see if the revolver you mention is in its place?"
"It ought to be," said Dunlap, picking out the key on a bunch which he
took from his pocket, and walking towards the cashier's department with
Sturgis at his heels.
"Yes, here it is in its accustomed place."
He handed the weapon to the reporter, who examined it attentively.
"Exactly," said Sturgis, with satisfaction; "this is what I was looking
for."
"What do you mean?" asked Dunlap.
"I mean that this is the revolver which was fired twice last night
in the Knickerbocker bank. See for yourself; two of the cartridges
are empty, and the weapon has not been cleaned since these shots were
fired."
"But who can have fired the pistol, and at whom was it fired, and why?"
"Hold on! hold on!" exclaimed Sturgis, smiling; "one thing at a time.
We shall perhaps come to that soon. For the present, if you will come
back to your private office, I shall endeavor to piece together the
scraps of evidence which I have been able to collect. There, sit down
in your own armchair, if you will, while I fit these bits of paper
together; and in less than ten minutes I shall probably be ready to
proceed with my story."
Dunlap was still nervous and impatient; but all trace of amusement
and skepticism had vanished from his face, as he took the proffered
armchair and watched Sturgis patiently piece together the tiny
fragments of paper he had so carefully gathered. When this work was
accomplished, the reporter went to the typewriter and wrote a few lines
on a sheet of paper. He next proceeded to examine under the microscope
the minute fragments and particles which he had collected in his search.
When he had finished this operation, he leaned back in his chair and
looked up into space for what seemed to Dunlap an interminable length
of time. Then at last he glanced over at the banker, who could hardly
contain his growing impatience.
"I am ready to go on now," said Sturgis, reaching for a sheet of
paper, upon which he began to draw with ruler and pencil.
"At last!" sighed the banker.
"Yes; but my first, as the charades say, is a question."
"Another!" gasped Dunlap; "when is my turn to come?"
"Just a few more," replied Sturgis, "and then your turn will come for
good."
"Well, out with your questions then, if you must," said Dunlap,
settling himself resignedly in his chair.