"Were you reading it yesterday, sir?"
"Well, I don't see what you are driving at--but, no. It was probably left
here by Smith, one of the express clerks next door. He was in for a while
yesterday on some telegraph money-order business. Yes, he did have it in
his hand, now I remember. But why?"
At the mention of Smith's name Jack started, and there immediately came
to him a remembrance of having a few days previously seen the express
clerk on a street corner in earnest conversation with Hansen, the
discharged janitor.
In suppressed excitement he asked, "When was Smith here, Mr. Black? What
time?"
The manager smiled sardonically, and turned back to his work. "No; you
can't fasten it on Smith," he said shortly. "It was after he went out
that I returned the box to the safe. But, if it's any good to you--he was
in here from about five-thirty to ten minutes to six, and was talking
with one of the boys in the outer office when I left."
"And Mr. Black, were you outside during the time Smith was in here?"
"No, I--Yes, I was, too. About a quarter to six I was over at the
speaking-tube for a minute.
"But enough of this nonsense," the manager added sharply. "The box was in
the safe when I closed it. Don't bother me any further with your pretense
of investigating. I don't believe it is sincere."
Despite this cutting declaration Jack turned away with secret
satisfaction.
Just outside the office door he made a second discovery--a small one, but
one which further strengthened the theory he had formed.
It was a small coal cinder and an ash stain in the shape of a heel,
apparently overlooked by a careless sweeper.
They could only have been left by a foot which came from the cellar!
Promptly Jack turned toward the cellar door, and made his way down into
the big basement.
Going directly to one of the rear windows, he carefully examined it. The
cobwebs and the dust on the sill had not been disturbed for months.
He turned to the second, and instantly emitted a shrill whistle of
delight. Its cobwebs had been torn and swept aside, and the ledge brushed
almost clean. And evidently but a short time before, for the cleared
space showed little of the dust which constantly filtered through the
floor above.
"Fine!" exclaimed Jack. "Now I--" He paused. The window was securely
latched on the inside!
For several minutes Jack stood, disappointed and mystified. Then,
examining the latch closely, he laughed, and grasping it with his
fingers, easily pulled it out. It had been forced from the outside, and
merely pressed back into the hole.
But its being replaced showed that the intruder had not made his escape
that way.
Jack began an examination of the end of the cellar under the express
office. And the exit was soon disclosed.
The dividing wall was of boarding, and at the outer end, to facilitate
the examination of the gas metres of the two companies, was a narrow
door. Ordinarily this door was secured on the telegraph company's side by
a strong bolt.
The bolt was drawn, and the door swung easily to Jack's touch!
On the farther side all was darkness, however, and Jack returned to the
window. As he approached it something on the floor beneath caught his
eye. It was a lead-pencil. He picked it up, and with a cry of triumph
discovered stamped upon it the initials and miniature crest of the
express company. And, more, a peculiar long-pointed sharpening promised
the possibility of fixing its actual owner.
Filled with elation, and confident that it was now only a matter of time
when he should clear himself, Jack hastened up-stairs, determined to
pursue his investigation next door, where he knew several of the younger
clerks.
"Hello, Danny," he said, entering the express office, and addressing a
sandy-haired boy of his own age. "Say, who in here sharpens pencils like
this?"
"Hello! That? Oh, I'd know that whittle a mile off. We call 'em
daggers--Smith's daggers. Where did you get it?"
"Smith! Who wants Smith?"
Jack turned with a start. It was the clerk himself.
Instantly Jack extended the pencil. "Is this yours, Mr. Smith?" he asked,
and held his breath.
"Yes, it is. Where did you find--" Suddenly the clerk turned upon Jack
with a look of terror in his face. But in a moment he had recovered
himself, and abruptly snatching the pencil from Jack's hand, proceeded to
his desk.
Jack was jubilant. Nothing could have been more convincing of the clerk's
guilt. Following this feeling, however, came one of pity for the
unfortunate man; and after a silent debate with himself, Jack followed
him.
Placing a hand on the clerk's shoulder, he said in a low voice:
"Mr. Smith, I have found out about that cash-box of ours. Now look here,
why not confess the wretched business before it is too late, and--"