If Miss Clarke had expected that The Thinking Machine would show
either astonishment or enthusiasm, she must have been disappointed,
for he neither altered his position nor looked at her. Instead, he was
gazing thoughtfully away with lackluster eyes.
"Well?" he asked. "I suppose it's a story. Begin at the beginning."
With a certain well-bred air of timidity, the girl began the story;
and occasionally as she talked there was a little tremor of the lips.
"I have been a stenographer and typewriter for seven years," she said,
"and in that time I have held only four positions. The first was in a
law office in New York, where I was left an orphan to earn my own
living; the second was with a manufacturing concern, also in New York.
I left there three years ago to accept the position of private
secretary to William T. Rankin, president of the ---- National Bank,
at Hartford, Connecticut. I came from there to Boston and later went
to work at the Ralston Bank, as private secretary to Mr. Fraser. I
left the bank in Hartford because of the failure of that concern,
following a bank robbery."
The Thinking Machine glanced at her suddenly.
"You may remember from the newspapers----" she began again.
"I never read the newspapers," he said.
"Well, anyway," and there was a shade of impatience at the
interruption, "there was a bank burglary there similar to this. Only
seventy thousand dollars was stolen, but it was a small institution
and the theft precipitated a run which caused a collapse after I had
been in that position for only six months."
"How long have you been with the Ralston National?"
"Nine months," was the reply.
"Had you saved any money while working in your other positions?"
"Well, the salary was small--I couldn't have saved much."
"How did you live those two years from the time you left the Hartford
Bank until you accepted this position?"
The girl stammered a little.
"I received assistance from friends," she said, finally.
"Go on."
"That bank in Hartford," she continued, with a little gleam of
resentment in her eyes, "had a safe similar to the one at the Ralston
National, though not so large. It was blown in identically the same
way as this one was blown."
"Oh, I see," said the scientist. "Some one was arrested for this, and
you want to give me the name of that man?"
"Yes," said the girl. "A professional burglar, William Dineen, was
arrested for that robbery and confessed. Later he escaped. After his
arrest he boasted of his ability to blow any style of safe. He used an
invention of his own for the borings to place the charges. I noticed
that safe and I noticed this one. There is a striking similarity in
the two."
The Thinking Machine stared at her.
"Why do you tell me?" he asked. "Because I understood you were making
the investigation for the bank," she responded, unhesitatingly, "and I
dreaded the notoriety of telling the police."
"If this William Dineen is at large you believe he did this?"
"I am almost positive."
"Thank you," said The Thinking Machine.
Miss Clarke went away, and late that night Hatch appeared. He looked
weary and sank into a chair gratefully, but there was satisfaction in
his eye. For an hour or more he talked. At last The Thinking Machine
was satisfied, nearly.
"One thing more," he said, in conclusion. "Notify the police to look
out for William Dineen, professional bank burglar, and his pals, whose
names you can get from the newspapers in connection with a bank
robbery in Hartford. They are wanted in connection with this case."
The reporter nodded.
"When Mr. Fraser recovers I intend to hold a little party here," the
scientist continued. "It will be a surprise party."
It was two days later, and the police were apparently seeking some
tangible point from which they could proceed, when The Thinking
Machine received word that there had been a change for the better in
Mr. Fraser's condition. Immediately he sent for Detective Mallory,
with whom he held a long conversation. The detective went away tugging
at his heavy mustache and smiling. With three other men he disappeared
from police haunts that afternoon on a special mission.
That night the little "party" was held in the apartments of The
Thinking Machine. President Fraser was first to arrive. He was pale
and weak, but there was a fever of impatience in his manner. Then came
West, Dunston, Miss Clarke, Miss Willis and Charles Burton, a clerk
whose engagement to the pretty Miss Willis had been recently
announced.
The party gathered, each staring at the other curiously, with
questions in their eyes, until The Thinking Machine entered, rubbing
his fingers together briskly. Behind him came Hatch, bearing a shabby
gripsack. The reporter's face showed excitement despite his rigid
efforts to repress it. There were some preliminaries, and then the
scientist began.
"To come to the matter quickly," he said, in preface, "we will take it
for granted that no employee of the Ralston Bank is a professional
burglar. But the person who was responsible for that burglary, who
shared the money stolen, who planned it and actually assisted in its
execution is in this room--now."
Instantly there was consternation, but it found no expression in
words, only in the faces of those present.
"Further, I may inform you," went on the scientist, "that no one will
be permitted to leave this room until I finish."
"Permitted?" demanded Dunston. "We are not prisoners."
"You will be if I give the word," was the response, and Dunston sat
back, dazed. He glanced uneasily at the faces of the others; they
glanced uneasily at him.
"The actual facts in the robbery you know," went on The Thinking
Machine. "You know that the safe was blown, that a large sum of money
was stolen, that Mr. West's handkerchief was found near the safe. Now,
I'll tell you what I have learned. We will begin with President
Fraser.
"Against Mr. Fraser is more direct evidence than against anyone else,
because in his pocket was found one of the stolen bundles of money,
containing ten thousand dollars. Mr. Fraser needed ninety thousand
dollars previous to the robbery."
"But----" began the old man, with deathlike face.
"Never mind," said the scientist. "Next, Miss Willis." Curious eyes
were turned on her, and she, too, grew suddenly white. "Against her is
less direct evidence than against anyone else. Miss Willis positively
declined to permit a search of her person until she was compelled to
do so by the fact that the other two permitted it. The fact that
nothing was found has no bearing on the subject. She did refuse.
"Then Charles Burton," the inexorable voice went on, calmly; as if in
mere discussion of a problem of mathematics. "Burton is engaged to
Miss Willis. He is ambitious. He recently lost twenty thousand dollars
in stock speculation--all he had. He needed more money in order to
give this girl, who refused to be searched, a comfortable home.
"Next Miss Clarke, secretary to Mr. Fraser. Originally she came under
consideration through the fact that she used perfume, and that Mr.
West's handkerchief carried a faint odor of perfume. Now it is a fact
that for years Miss Clarke used violet perfume, then on the day
following the robbery suddenly began to use strong rose perfume, which
smothers a violet odor. Miss Clarke, you will remember, fainted at the
time of the search. I may add that a short while ago she was employed
in a bank which was robbed in the identical manner of this one."
Miss Clarke sat apparently calm, and even faintly smiling, but her
face was white. The Thinking Machine squinted at her a moment, then
turned suddenly to Cashier West.
"Here is the man," he said, "whose handkerchief was found, but he does
not use perfume, has never used it. He is the man who would have had
best opportunity to leave unfastened the window in his private office
by which the thieves entered the bank; he is the man who would have
had the best opportunity to apply a certain chemical solution to the
granite sockets of the steel bars, weakening the granite so they could
be pulled out; he is the man who misrepresented facts to me. He told
me he did not have and had not tried to raise any especially large sum
of money. Yet on the day following the robbery he deposited one
hundred and twenty-five thousand dollars in cash in a bank in Chicago.
The stolen sum was one hundred and twenty-nine thousand dollars. That
man, there."
All eyes were now turned on the cashier. He seemed choking, started to
speak, then dropped back into his chair.
"And last, Dunston," resumed The Thinking Machine, and he pointed
dramatically at the receiving teller. "He had equal opportunity with
Mr. West to know of the amount of money in the bank; he refused first
to be searched, and you witnessed his act a moment ago. To this man
now there clings the identical odor of violet perfume which was on the
handkerchief--not a perfume like it, but the identical odor."
There was silence, dumfounded silence, for a long time. No one dared
to look at his neighbor now; the reporter felt the tension. At last
The Thinking Machine spoke again.
"As I have said, the person who planned and participated in the
burglary is now in this room. If that person will stand forth and
confess it will mean a vast difference in the length of the term in
prison."
Again silence. At last there came a knock at the door, and Martha
thrust her head in.
"Two gentlemen and four cops are here," she announced.
"There are the accomplices of the guilty person, the men who actually
blew that safe," declared the scientist, dramatically. "Again, will
the guilty person confess?"
No one stirred.