With Bill at her right and Mr. Bolton at her left elbow, Dorothy pushed
her way through the crowd behind her father to the entrance of the Bank.
The policeman at the head of the short flight of steps to the doorway
stood aside at a word from Mr. Dixon. The four passed inside and the
heavy door swung shut behind them.
"Rather like locking up the barn after the sheep vamoosed, isn't it?"
Bill nodded over his shoulder toward the police guard.
"Never mind, son--this isn't our party," rebuked his father.
A fat man in a dark blue uniform, rather tight as to fit and much
be-braided, came bustling up. "Who are these men, Mr. Dixon?" he
inquired pompously. "Can't have strangers around the bank at this
time--"
"From what I hear, Chief, you and your men let some strangers get away
with about everything but the bank itself a little while ago." Mr.
Dixon's tone showed his annoyance. "These gentlemen are friends of mine.
What's actually happened? Give me some facts. Anybody hurt? Anybody
caught? Just what has been taken?" Questions popped like revolver shots.
"Well--it's like this, sir--" The Chief seemed pretty well taken down.
"Thunderation! You and your sleuths are enough to tempt any man to law
breaking. There's Perkins! Perhaps I'll learn something from him."
Mr. Dixon strode toward the rear of the bank.
"You mustn't mind Dad," Dorothy said consolingly. "Just now he's half
crazy with worry, Chief.--These gentlemen are Mr. Bolton and his son.
They've bought the Hawthorne place, you know."
Chief Jones mopped his perspiring face with a red bandanna and then
shook hands all around. "Terrible warm tonight--terrible warm. Well,
let's go over and find out what's what. I was over to a party at my
daughter Annie's--only just got in here myself. Annie--"
"Yes, let's find out what has happened." Dorothy cut in on this
long-winded effusion, and led the way behind the tellers' cages to where
her father and several other men were standing before the open vault.
"Ah, here's the watchman now!" cried Mr. Dixon as a man, his head
completely covered with bandages, came toward them and sank weakly into
a chair. "Now, Thompson, do you think you can tell us exactly what
happened, before Doctor Brown drives you home?"
"Yes, sir. Glad to." The man's voice, though feeble, betrayed
excitement. "He sure knocked me out, that bird did--but I'd know him
again if I saw him. I c'd pick him out of a million--"
"That's fine," Mr. Dixon interrupted gently. "But start at the
beginning, Thompson, and we'll all get a better idea of him."
"That I will, sir, and 'right _now_!' as that French guy says over the
radio.... Well, it was about eight o'clock and still light, when the
night bell buzzed. I was expecting Mr. Perkins. He'd told me he'd be
back after supper as he had some work to do. I'd been readin' the paper
over there by the window, so I got up and opened the front door. But it
wasn't Mr. Perkins. A young fellow in a chauffeur's uniform stood
outside."
"'I'm Mr. Dixon's new chauffeur,' he said. 'Here's a note from him. He
tried to ring you up, but the phone down here seems to be out of order.
He said you'd give me a check book to take back to him. Better read
this.' He passed over a letter--"
"Have you still got it?" asked Mr. Dixon.
"I think so. Yes, here it is, in my pocket." Thompson handed the missive
to the bank president, who read it aloud:
"'Dear Thompson:
'Please give the bearer, my chauffeur, a blank check book and
oblige
'Yours truly,
'John Dixon.'"
"Looks like my handwriting," sighed Mr. Dixon when he had finished, "but
of course I didn't write it!--What happened after that?"
"Well, sir, he asked me if he could step inside and take a few puffs of
a cigarette, seein' as how you didn't like him to smoke on the job. So I
let him in. Then I goes over to one of the desks for a check book and--I
don't remember nothin' about what happened next, until I found myself in
the far corner yonder, with Mr. Perkins near chokin' me to death with
some water he was pourin' down my throat--and a couple of cops undoin'
the rope I'd been bound up with. I reckon that feller must have beaned
me with the butt of his revolver just as soon as I'd turned my back. Doc
here, says as how the skull ain't fractured--but that bird sure laid me
out cold. If I hadn't had my cap on, he'd of croaked me sure. Of course,
I shouldn't of let that guy inside, but--"
Mr. Dixon's tone was abrupt as he silenced Thompson with a word. "Thank
you, Thompson," he said. "You are not to blame. If you hadn't let him
in, he might have shot you at the door. Doctor Brown is going to take
you home now. Lay up until you feel strong. And don't worry."
He patted the man on the shoulder and Thompson departed, leaning on the
doctor's arm.
"I guess you're next on the list, Harry." Mr. Dixon nodded to Perkins.
"How did you happen in here tonight?"
The cashier, a slender young man, prematurely bald, and dapper to the
point of foppishness, removed his cigarette from his mouth and stepped
forward.
"Had that Bridgeport transit matter and some other work I wanted to
finish," he said crisply. "Told Thompson I would be back about
eight-thirty. Matter of fact, it was twenty to nine when I rang the
night bell. I rang it several times, no answer; then tried the door and
found it unlocked. I thought something must be wrong--and was sure of it
when I stepped in and saw Thompson lying on the floor, his arms and legs
bound. Saw that he was breathing, and went to the phone. It was
dead--couldn't raise Central. I didn't waste much time then, but ran out
and hailed Sampson, the traffic cop on the corner. Told him there'd been
a holdup here, so he blew his whistle, which brought another policeman
and we three raced back here."
"You brought Thompson to and cut his bonds--then what?"
"I went to the vault. The door was ajar, with books and papers scattered
all over the place. Haven't had a chance to check up, but it looks as
though everything in the way of cash and negotiable securities has been
taken."
"But the door hasn't been damaged--they couldn't have blown it open!"
The cashier shook his head. "No," he admitted, "they opened it with the
combination. Must have used a stethoscope or the Jimmy Valentine touch
system--"
"Not with that safe, Perkins. But how about the time lock?"
"It is never put on, sir, until we have no more occasion to use the
vault for the day. I notified the Protective System people that I would
be working here tonight and would set it when I was through."
"Humph!" growled the president in a tone that boded ill for someone. "So
the time lock wasn't set!"
"It is the usual practice, sir," explained Perkins nervously. "I--"
"Never mind that now. Anyone else know anything about this robbery?"
"Yes, sir. Sampson, the traffic policeman saw the car."
"Well, let's hear from Sampson, then, if he's here."
The officer came forward rather sheepishly.
"I was directin' traffic at the corner of Main Street and East Avenue,
sir, when I seen your car run down Main and stop in front of the bank
here."
"_My_ car!" exploded Dorothy's father.
"Yes, sir--least it was a this year's Packard like you drive--and it had
your license number on it--AB521--I ought to know, I see it every day."
"Yes, that's the number--but--well ... did you notice it further?"
"Yes, sir, I did. That was about eight o'clock. The chauffeur got out
and rang the bell at the entrance to the bank. Then I seen him speak to
Thompson and pass inside."
"Did you investigate?"
"Why, no, sir. The man came out almost directly and the door swung shut
behind him. Then he jumped into the car and drove up the alley at the
side of the bank. You always park your car there, sir, so I thought
nothin' of it. About twenty minutes later, out he drove again and up
Main Street the way he'd come. And that's the last I've seen of him."
"There was only one man in the car--the chauffeur?"
"I only saw one. If there was anybody else, they must've been lying
down, in the bottom of the car."
"Very likely." Mr. Dixon turned to the chief of police. "And what has
been done toward catching the thieves--or thief?"
"Nothing, as yet," the Chief confessed. "But I'll get busy on the wire
with descriptions of the man and the car right away. You see, I only
just--"
"Never mind that--get along now and burn up the wires. That car has had
over an hour's start on you. I'll look after things here for the
present."
The head of the local police force waddled off with much the air of a
fat puppy who had just received a whipping, and Mr. Dixon walked over to
Mr. Bolton.
"You can do me a great favor, if you will," he said.
"Name it, Dixon."
"Thanks. Go to the drug store down the block and call up the Bankers
Protective Association in the city. You'll find their number in the
directory. Tell them what's happened--that will be enough. I want you to
call their New York headquarters. That will start them on the job
through their branches in short order."
"Right-oh!" his friend agreed. "And when I get through with New York,
I'll see what New Canaan can do to fix your phone here."
"Thanks. I'll appreciate it."
"Anything I can do, Mr. Dixon?" inquired Bill.
"Nothing here, thanks. But if you will take my daughter home and see
that she doesn't get into any more trouble today, I'll be much obliged
to you."
"Oh, _Dad_!" Dorothy, threw him a reproachful look, then stood on tiptoe
and kissed her parent's cheek. "There, there. I know you're worried.
Phone me when you want the car. I'll have sandwiches and coffee waiting
when you get home."
Mr. Dixon gave her an affectionate hug. "You're a good little
housewife," he praised, "but run along now--both of you. There are a
million-odd things to be done before I can leave."
He beckoned to the cashier and disappeared with him into the vault.
"Not that way, Bill--" Dorothy's voice arrested Bill as he started for
the door. "Come out the back way."
"What's up?"
"I don't know yet. But I've found something that the rest seem to have
missed. It may be important--come and see."
"You're on, Miss Sherlock," he said. Catching her arm, he hurried with
her toward the rear of the bank.
_Chapter VII_