“OLD HANDS.”
The bank robbery took place during the night of Monday and Tuesday.
On Wednesday morning, at seven o’clock, a neatly dressed man, wearing a
pair of very respectable “Dundrearies,” made his appearance at the
Memorial Hospital, in Latimer.
“What can I do for you, sir?” inquired the assistant superintendent, who
was in charge at that early hour.
“Albert Gardner, the watchman who was shot during the bank robbery, was
brought here, was he not?”
“Yes.”
“I would like to speak with him a moment.”
“I am very sorry, sir, but he died an hour ago.”
“Ah! He left an _ante-mortem_ statement?”
“He did.”
“And it is now in the hands of the police department?”
“Yes.”
“Thank you.”
In half an hour the stranger had called at police headquarters, had
introduced himself and had been cordially welcomed.
At his request, the statement made out by Gardner was brought out for
inspection.
It had nothing whatever to say about the robbery, but nevertheless, it
had an indirect value.
Some time between two and three o’clock in the morning, so ran the
statement, Gardner was rounding the block, trying doors as he went.
When opposite the entrance to the alley in the rear of the bank he heard
a sound that aroused his attention.
He started into the alley, flashing his bull’s-eye ahead of him as he
proceeded.
He had not taken more than twenty or thirty steps when he was set upon,
and, for a moment, roughly handled.
Finally he succeeded in drawing his revolver.
Just as he was about to pull the trigger, his antagonist fired a shot.
This deflected Gardner’s aim, for he was hit in the breast. However, he
fired and was certain he wounded his man.
Then he lost consciousness, and had come to himself but a few moments
before being found by the patrolman.
He could give no description of the man, for the bull’s-eye lantern was
knocked to the ground and smashed at the time the watchman was set upon,
and thereafter the struggle had been continued in the dark.
“Not much to be learned from this, chief,” said Nick.
“The whole affair is the blackest kind of a mystery,” declared the
chief. “The robbers left not the slightest clew behind.”
“You’ve been going over the ground pretty thoroughly?”
“Up to noon, yesterday. Then I got orders to wait for you.”
“How big a town is this?”
“About twenty thousand.”
“Have you brought in any suspicious characters?”
“Six or seven.”
“I’d like to have a look at them. If New York crooks pulled off this
graft I may be able to recognize one of the suspects.”
The prisoners were brought in.
They were all of the “bum” variety, and their faces were unfamiliar.
“Better let them go,” said Nick; “they’re not concerned.”
The chief was surprised.
“What makes you think they’re not concerned in the robbery?” he asked.
“Not one of the seven knows enough. If hoboes did this job, they are of
a different caliber from those you have run in. And, last but not least,
they’d have different hands.”
“Different hands?” echoed the amazed officer.
Nick nodded.
“A tramp who uses an ax, or a buck-saw, to earn a meal, has a palm
entirely unlike a cracksman.”
“But you didn’t look at their hands!”
“Yes, I did,” smiled Nick. “Now, if you please, I would like to see the
patrolman who found Gardner.”
“You seem pretty well posted, Mr. Carter.”
“I read the newspapers pretty carefully.”
The patrolman was brought in, but the interview with him developed
nothing of importance.
From police headquarters the detective went to the home of Alonzo
Burton, the bank watchman.
Burton had his head bandaged, and was lying on a lounge in his little
front parlor.
The air of the room was impregnated with a smell of arnica, and a buxom
young woman was moving about the place, waiting upon the sufferer.
Burton told the ruse by which he had been lured out upon the sidewalk.
He could give only a general and indefinite description of the man in
the frock coat and silk hat, and could give no description whatever of
the man’s companion.
Like the other watchman, Burton had been knocked insensible very early
in the game.
“They are old hands,” thought Nick, as he went away from the watchman’s
house. “Too bad that I am twenty-four hours late in reaching the scene.
It is a serious handicap.”
He was bound for the bank, now, and in approaching the bank building he
came from the rear.
Halting at the alley, he looked in.
“Twenty or thirty paces,” he mused, recalling the statement made by
Gardner.
He counted off twenty paces and then saw, a few feet in front of him, on
the right side of the alley, evidences of the struggle that had taken
place there.
The feet of ruthless people had trodden ruthlessly about and over the
spot, but the evidences had not been entirely obliterated.
The building on the right was a one-story structure, occupied by a
grocery.
At the rear was a heap of empty boxes, and close to one of these boxes
a dark stain of blood marked the place where the watchman had lain.
Nick searched the vicinity carefully.
The outlook for evidence was unpromising, but he knew very well that
appearances were not always to be trusted.
In a quarter of an hour he had gone over the ground thoroughly, and
under the edge of one of the boxes he had found a square card.
It was made of fine, heavy bristol board, and was the general shape of a
visiting card such as a man might use.
On the side which had undoubtedly borne the name and address were two
oblong blurs showing where a knife had scraped out the names and
numbers.
On its reverse the card bore a stain of blood and these words, in
pencil:
“Quarter to twelve, Mechlin, Gotham.”
“Here’s something, at all events,” thought Nick.
He placed the card carefully in his pocketbook; then, with a final look
at the spot where Gardner had had his life and death struggle, he
started slowly and thoughtfully out of the alley and toward the front of
the bank.
Before he reached the bank entrance he came to a sudden halt.
“By Jove!” he muttered.
He did not go into the bank, at that moment, but hastened past the
entrance and turned in at a telegraph office further down the street.
There he wrote out and sent the following “rush” message, the contents
being in cipher:
“CHICKERING CARTER, New York:
“Investigate No. 1145 Mechlin Street immediately. Send Patsy along
by first train.
NICK.”