After luncheon, as it happened, both the senior and the junior partner
of Whittier, Wheatcroft & Co. had to attend meetings, and they went
their several ways, leaving Paul to return to the office alone.
When he came opposite to the house which bore the weather-beaten sign
of the firm he stood still for a moment, and looked across with mingled
pride and affection. The building was old-fashioned--so old-fashioned,
indeed, that only a long-established firm could afford to occupy it. It
was Paul Whittier's great-grandfather who had founded the Ramapo Works.
There had been cast the cannon for many of the ships of the little
American navy that gave so good an account of itself in the war of
1812. Again, in 1848, had the house of Whittier, Wheatcroft & Co.--the
present Mr. Wheatcroft's father having been taken into partnership by
Paul's grandfather--been able to be of service to the government of the
United States. All through the four years that followed the firing on
the flag in 1861 the Ramapo Works had been run day and night. When
peace came at last and the people had leisure to expand, a large share
of the rails needed by the new overland roads which were to bind the
East and West together in iron bonds had been rolled by Whittier,
Wheatcroft & Co. Of late years, as Paul knew, the old firm seemed to
have lost some of its early energy, and, having young and vigorous
competitors, it had barely held its own.
That the Ramapo Works should once more take the lead was Paul Whittier's
solemn purpose, and to this end he had been carefully trained. He was
now a young man of twenty-five, a tall, handsome fellow, with a full
mustache over his firm mouth, and with clear, quick eyes below his
curly brown hair. He had spent four years in college, carrying off
honors in mathematics, was popular with his classmates, who made him
class poet, and in his senior year he was elected president of the
college photographic society. He had gone to a technological institute,
where he had made himself master of the theory and practice of
metallurgy. After a year of travel in Europe, where he had investigated
all the important steel and iron works he could get into, he had come
home to take a desk in the office.
It was only for a moment that he stood on the sidewalk opposite,
looking at the old building. Then he threw away his cigarette and went
over. Instead of entering the long store he walked down the alleyway
left open for the heavy wagons. When he came opposite to the private
office in the rear of the store he examined the doors and the windows
carefully, to see if he could detect any means of ingress other than
those open to everybody.
There was no door from the private office into the alleyway or into the
yard. There was a door from the alleyway into the store, opposite to
the desks of the clerks, and within a few feet of the door leading from
the store into the private office.
Paul passed through this entrance, and found himself face to face with
the old book-keeper, Van Zandt, who was following all his movements
with a questioning gaze.
"Good-afternoon, Major," said Paul, pleasantly. "Have you been out for
your lunch yet?"
"I always get my dinner at noon," the book-keeper gruffly answered,
returning to his books.
As Paul walked on he could not but think that the Major's manner was
ungracious. And the young man remembered how cheerful the old man had
been, and how courteous always, when the son of the senior partner,
while still a school-boy, used to come to the office on Saturdays.
Paul had always delighted in the office, and the store, and the yard
behind, and he had spent many a holiday there, and Major Van Zandt had
always been glad to see him, and had willingly answered his myriad
questions.
Paul wondered why the book-keeper's manner was now so different. Van
Zandt was older, but he was not so very old, not more than sixty, and
old age in itself is not sufficient to make a man surly and to sour his
temper. That the Major had had trouble in his family was well known.
His wife had been flighty and foolish, and it was believed that she had
run away from him; and his only son was a wild lad, who had been
employed by Whittier, Wheatcroft & Co., out of regard for the father,
and who had disgraced himself beyond forgiveness. Paul recalled vaguely
that the young fellow had gone West somewhere, and had been shot in a
mining-camp after a drunken brawl in a gambling-house.
As Paul entered the private office he found the porter there, putting
coal on the fire.
Stepping back to close the glass door behind him, that they might be
alone, he said:
"Mike, who shuts up the office at night?"
"Sure I do, Mr. Paul," was the prompt reply.
"And you open it in the morning?" the young man asked.
"I do that!" Mike responded.
"Do you see that these windows are always fastened on the inside?" was
the next query.
"Yes, Mr. Paul," the porter replied.
"Well," and the inquirer hesitated briefly before putting this
question, "have you found any of these windows unfastened any morning
lately when you came here?"
"And how did you know that?" Mike returned, in surprise.
"What morning was it?" asked Paul, pushing his advantage.
"It was last Monday mornin', Mr. Paul," the porter explained, "an' how
it was I dunno, for I had every wan of them windows tight on Saturday
night, an' Monday mornin' one of them was unfastened whin I wint to
open it to let a bit of air into the office here."
"You sleep here always, don't you?" Paul proceeded.
"I've slept here ivery night for three years now come Thanksgivin',"
Mike replied. "I've the whole top of the house to myself. It's an
illigant apartment I have there, Mr. Paul."
"Who was here Sunday?" was the next question.
"Sure nobody was here at all," responded the porter, "barrin' they came
while I took me a bit of a walk after dinner. An' they couldn't have
got in anyway, for I lock up always, and I wasn't gone for an hour, or
maybe an hour an' a half."
"I hope you will be very careful hereafter," said Paul.
"I will that," promised Mike, "an' I am careful now always."
The porter took up the coal-scuttle, and then he turned to Paul.
"How was it ye knew that the winder was not fastened that mornin'?" he
asked.
"How did I know?" repeated the young man. "Oh, a little bird told me."
When Mike had left the office Paul took a chair before the fire and
lighted a cigar. For half an hour he sat silently thinking.
He came to the conclusion that Mr. Wheatcroft was right in his
suspicion. Whittier, Wheatcroft & Co. had lost important contracts
because of underbidding, due to knowledge surreptitiously obtained. He
believed that some one had got into the store on Sunday while Mike was
taking a walk, and that this somebody had somehow opened the safe.
There never was any money in that private safe; it was intended to
contain only important papers. It did contain the letter-book of the
firm's bids, and this is what was wanted by the man who had got into
the office, and who had let himself in by the window, leaving it
unfastened behind him. How this man had got in, and why he did not get
out by the way he entered, how he came to be able to open the private
safe, the combination of which was known only to the two
partners--these were questions for which Paul Whittier had no answer.
What grieved him when he had come to the conclusion was that the
thief--for such the house-breaker was in reality--was probably one of
the men in the employ of the firm. It seemed to him almost certain that
the man who had broken in knew all the ins and outs of the office. And
how could this knowledge have been obtained except by an employee? Paul
was well acquainted with the clerks in the outer office. There were
five of them, including the old book-keeper, and although none of them
had been with the firm as long as the Major, no one of them had been
there less than ten years. Paul did not know which one to suspect.
There was, in fact, no reason to suspect any particular clerk. And yet
that one of the five men in the main office on the other side of the
glass partition within twenty feet of him--that one of those was the
guilty man Paul did not doubt.
And therefore it seemed to him not so important to prevent the thing
from happening again as it was to catch the man who had done it. The
thief once caught, it would be easy thereafter for the firm to take
unusual precautions. But the first thing to do was to catch the thief.
He had come and gone, and left no trail. But he must have visited the
office at least three times in the past few weeks, since the firm had
lost three important contracts. Probably he had been there oftener than
three times. Certainly he would come again. Sooner or later he would
come once too often. All that needed to be done was to set a trap for
him.
While Paul was sitting quietly in the private office, smoking a cigar
with all his mental faculties at their highest tension, the clock in
the corner suddenly struck three.
Paul swiftly swung around in his chair and looked at it. An old
eight-day clock it was, which not only told the time of the day, but
pretended, also, to supply miscellaneous astronomical information. It
stood by itself in the corner.
For a moment after it struck Paul stared at it with a fixed gaze, as
though he did not see what he was looking at. Then a light came into
his eyes and a smile flitted across his lips.
He turned around slowly and measured with his eye the proportions of
the room, the distance between the desks and the safe and the clock. He
glanced up at the sloping glass roof above him. Then he smiled again,
and again sat silent for a minute. He rose to his feet and stood with
his back to the fire. Almost in front of him was the clock in the
corner.
He took out his watch and compared its time with that of the clock.
Apparently he found that the clock was too fast, for he walked over to
it and turned the minute-hand back. It seemed that this was a more
difficult feat than he supposed or that he went about it carelessly,
for the minute-hand broke off short in his fingers. A spasmodic
movement of his, as the thin metal snapped, pulled the chain off its
cylinder, and the weight fell with a crash.
All the clerks looked up; and the red-headed office-boy was prompt in
answer to the bell Paul rang a moment after.
"Bobby," said the young man to the boy, as he took his hat and
overcoat, "I've just broken the clock. I know a shop where they make a
specialty of repairing timepieces like that. I'm going to tell them to
send for it at once. Give it to the man who will come this afternoon
with my card. Do you understand?"
"Cert," the boy answered. "If he 'ain't got your card, he don't get the
clock."
"That's what I mean," Paul responded, as he left the office.
Before he reached the door he met Mr. Wheatcroft.
"Paul," cried the junior partner, explosively, "I've been thinking
about that--about that--you know what I mean! And I have decided that
we had better put a detective on this thing at once!"
"Yes," said Paul, "that's a good idea. In fact, I had just come to the
same conclusion. I----"
Then he checked himself. He had turned round slightly to speak to Mr.
Wheatcroft; he saw that Major Van Zandt was standing within ten feet of
them, and he noticed that the old book-keeper's face was strangely
pale.