The Sword of Damocles Part 43

"But still there clung One hope, like a keen sword on starting threads uphung."

--REVOLT OF ISLAM.

"Facts are stubborn things."--ELLIOTT.

Meanwhile Mr. Stuyvesant hasted on his way down town and ere long made his appearance at the bank. He found Mr. Sylvester and Bertram seated in the directors' room, with a portly smooth-faced man whose appearance was at once strange and vaguely familiar.

"A detective, sir," explained Mr. Sylvester rising with forced composure; "a man upon whose judgment I have been told we may rely. Mr.

Gryce, Mr. Stuyvesant."

The latter gentleman nodded, cast a glance around the room, during which his eye rested for a moment on Bertram's somewhat pale countenance, and nervously took a seat.

"A mysterious piece of business, this," came from the detective's lips in an easy tone, calculated to relieve the tension of embarra.s.sment into which the entrance of Mr. Stuyvesant seemed to have thrown all parties.

"What were the numbers of the bonds found missing, if you please?"

Mr. Stuyvesant told him.

"You are positively a.s.sured these bonds were all in the box when you last locked it?"

"I am."

"When was that, sir? On what day and at what hour of the day, if you please?"

"Tuesday, at about three o'clock, I should say."

"The box was locked by you? There is no doubt about that fact?"

"None in the least."

"Where were you standing at the time?"

"In front of the vault door. I had taken out the box myself as I am in the habit of doing, and had stepped there to put it back."

"Was any one near you then?"

"Yes. The cashier was at his desk and the teller had occasion to go to the safe while I stood there. I do not remember seeing any one else in my immediate vicinity."

"Do you remember ever going to the vaults and not finding some one near you at the time or at least in full view of your movements?"

"No."

"I have informed Mr. Gryce," interposed Mr. Sylvester, with a ring in his deep voice that made Mr. Stuyvesant start, "that our chief desire at present is to have his judgment upon the all important question, as to whether this theft was committed by a stranger, or one in the employ and consequently in the confidence of the bank."

Mr. Stuyvesant bowed, every wrinkle in his face manifesting itself with startling distinctness as he slowly moved his eyes and fixed them on the inscrutable countenance of the detective.

"You agree then with these gentlemen," continued the latter, who had a way of seeming more interested in everything and everybody present than the person he was addressing, "that it would be difficult if not impossible for any one unconnected with the bank, to approach the vaults during business hours and abstract anything from them without detection?"

"And do these gentleman both a.s.sert that?" queried Mr. Stuyvesant, with a sharp look from uncle to nephew.

"I believe they do," replied the detective, as both the gentlemen bowed, Bertram with an uncontrollable quiver of his lip, and Mr. Sylvester with a deepening of the lines about his mouth, which may or may not have been noticed by this man who appeared to observe nothing.

"I should be loth to conclude that the robbery was committed by any one but a stranger," remarked Mr. Stuyvesant; "but if these gentlemen concur in the statement you have just made, I am bound to acknowledge that I do not myself see how the theft could have been perpetrated by an outsider.

Had the box itself been missing, it would be different. I remember my old friend Mr. A--, the president of the police department, telling me of a case where a box containing securities to the amount of two hundred thousand dollars, was abstracted in full daylight from the vaults of one of our largest banks; an act requiring such daring, the directors for a long time refused to believe it possible, until a detective one day showed them another box of theirs which he had succeeded in abstracting in the same way.[1] But the vaults in that instance were in a less conspicuous portion of the bank than ours, besides to approach an open vault, s.n.a.t.c.h a box from it and escape, is a much simpler matter than to remain long enough to open a box and choose from its contents such papers as appeared most marketable. If a regular thief could do such a thing, it does not seem probable that he would. Nevertheless the most acute judgment is often at fault in these matters, and I do not pretend to have formed an opinion."

[Footnote 1: A fact.]

The detective who had listened to these words with marked attention, bowed his concurrence and asked if the bonds mentioned by Mr. Stuyvesant were all that had been found missing from the bank. If any of the other boxes had been opened, or if the contents of the safe itself had ever been tampered with.

"The contents of the safe are all correct," came in deep tones from Mr.

Sylvester. "Mr. Folger, my nephew and myself went through them this morning. As for the boxes I cannot say, many of them belong to persons travelling; some of them have been left here by trustees of estates, consequently often lie for weeks in the vaults untouched. If however any of them have been opened, we ought to be able to see it. Would you like an examination made of their condition?"

The detective nodded.

Mr. Sylvester at once turned to Mr. Stuyvesant. "May I ask you to mention what officer of the bank you would like to have go to the vaults?"

That gentleman started, looked uneasily about, but meeting Bertram's eye, nervously dropped his own and muttered the name of Folger.

Mr. Sylvester suppressed a sigh, sent for the paying-teller, and informed him of their wishes. He at once proceeded to the vaults. While he was gone, Mr. Gryce took the opportunity to make the following remark.

"Gentlemen," said he, "let us understand ourselves. What you want of me, is to tell you whether this robbery has been committed by a stranger or by some one in your employ. Now to decide this question it is necessary for me to ask first, whether you have ever had reason to doubt the honesty of any person connected with the bank?"

"No," came from Mr. Sylvester with sharp and shrill distinctness. "Since I have had the honor of conducting the affairs of this inst.i.tution, I have made it my business to observe and note the bearing and character of each and every man employed under me, and I believe them all to be honest."

The glance of the detective while it did not perceptibly move from the large screen drawn across the room at the back of Mr. Sylvester, seemed to request the opinions of the other two gentlemen on this point.

Bertram observing it, subdued the rapid beatings of his heart and spoke with like distinctness. "I have been in the bank the same length of time as my uncle," said he, "and most heartily endorse his good opinion of the various persons in our employ."

"And Mr. Stuyvesant?" the immovable glance seemed to say.

"Men are honest in my opinion till they are proved otherwise," came in short stern accents from the director's lips.

The detective drew back in his chair as if he considered that point decided, and yet Bertram's eye which had clouded at Mr. Stuyvesant's too abrupt a.s.sertion, did not clear again as might have been expected.

"There is one more question I desire to settle," continued the detective, "and that is, whether this robbery could have been perpetrated after business hours, by some one in collusion with the person who is here left in charge?"

"No;" again came from Mr. Sylvester, with impartial justice. "The watchman--who by the way has been in the bank for twelve years--could not help a man to find entrance to the vaults. His simple duty is to watch over the bank and give alarm in case of fire or burglary. It would necessitate a knowledge of the combination by which the vault doors are opened, to do what you suggest, and that is possessed by but three persons in the bank."

"And those are?"

"The cashier, the janitor, and myself."

He endeavored to speak calmly and without any betrayal of the effort it caused him to utter those simple words, but a detective's ear is nice and it is doubtful if he perfectly succeeded.

Mr. Gryce however limited himself to a muttered, humph! and a long and thoughtful look at a spot on the green baize of the table before which he sat.

"The janitor lives in the building, I suppose?"