CHAPTER IX.
THE KNICKERBOCKER BANK.
Richard Dunlap was a man who had never missed a train nor been late in keeping an appointment. On the morning following Sprague's dinner party, he walked briskly down Broadway from City Hall. It was New Year's day; the great thoroughfare was deserted. As he turned into Wall Street, the hands of the clock in Trinity steeple pointed to three minutes of nine. The financier pulled out his chronometer, found that the clock in the old belfry was right, and quickened his pace.
Wall Street slumbered peacefully and silently, like a battle-field after the roar of the cannon has been hushed, after the victors and the vanquished have disappeared, leaving behind them only the ghosts of the slain. The deathlike stillness was oppressive.
At last, as Dunlap reached the Knickerbocker bank, the clock in the belfry struck the hour. The reporter was not there. The banker uttered an ejaculation of annoyance. He looked up and down the street. There was no one in sight. He resolved to give Sturgis five minutes grace, and began to pace back and forth before the entrance to the bank. Then a thought struck him. There was another entrance on Exchange Place—that generally used by the employés and officials. Perhaps the reporter was waiting there. Dunlap walked around to Exchange Place and glanced up the street. He saw a man standing in the gutter and bending low over the curb. Dunlap advanced so as to obtain a front view of him and recognized Sturgis. The reporter had not noticed his approach; he held a magnifying glass in his hand and seemed deeply interested in a minute examination of the smooth-worn curb.
"Good morning, Mr. Sturgis," said the banker, "have you lost something?"
The reporter looked up quietly.
"No, Mr. Dunlap; I have found something;—something which may possibly prove to be a hyphen."
"A what?" asked the banker, perplexed.
"A hyphen connecting two parts of a very pretty little puzzle."
Dunlap stared curiously at the curb.
"I can see nothing there," said he.
Sturgis handed him the magnifying glass.
"Now look again."
He pointed out a particular portion of the curb. Dunlap looked in the direction indicated.
"I see what looks like dried mud, dust particles, and a little dark spot or stain."
"Yes," said Sturgis, "that dark spot is the hyphen. There were probably others like it on the sidewalk yesterday afternoon, but they have been obliterated by the pedestrians. Here, however, are some that have remained."
As he spoke, he led Dunlap to the Exchange Place entrance of the bank, and pointed out a number of similar spots on the stone steps.
"Fortunately," he said, as if speaking to himself, "fortunately the detectives entered through the front door last night; so that they did not interfere with this portion of the trail."
"But what are these spots?" asked the banker.
"They are blood-stains," replied the reporter. "I have every reason to believe them to be human blood. But that question I can settle positively as soon as we are in the bank, for I have brought a powerful microscope. Let us enter now, if you like; I have seen all there is to be seen outside. By the way, do you know this key?"
He held up a large steel key of complicated structure.
"Why," exclaimed Dunlap surprised, "that looks like the key to the Exchange Place door. Where did you find it?"
"In the gutter, near the sewer opening at the corner."
"But how did it get there?" asked Dunlap anxiously.
"Perhaps I shall be able to answer that question presently," said Sturgis. "Shall we go in now? No, not that way. Let us enter by the Wall Street side, if you please."
A couple of minutes later, the outer door of the Knickerbocker bank was unlocked.
"Excuse me if I pass in first," said Sturgis, entering. "I wish to see something here."
He bent low over the tiled entrance, with the magnifying glass in his hand.
"It is too bad," he muttered to himself presently. "They have trodden all over the trail here. Ah! what is this?"
"What?" inquired Dunlap.
The reporter vouchsafed no reply to this question, but asked another.
"Is Thursday a general cleaning day at the bank?"
"Yes," answered the banker. "Every evening, after the closing hour, the floors are swept, of course, and the desks are dusted; but Mondays and Thursdays are reserved for washing the windows, scrubbing the floors, and so forth."
"Then it is lucky that yesterday was Thursday," observed Sturgis. "Will you please hand me the key to this gate, and that to the inner door."
Upon entering the bank, Sturgis requested his companion to seat himself on a particular chair, which he designated. He then began a critical examination of the premises. Inch by inch he scrutinized the walls, the floor, and even the ceiling; sometimes with the naked eye, sometimes through the magnifying glass. He also constantly brought into play a tape measure; and several times he called upon Dunlap for assistance, when the distances to be measured were longer than his reach.
The Wall Street entrance of the Knickerbocker bank led directly into the space to which the public was admitted. This space was partitioned off, as usual, from the bookkeepers' and cashier's departments. At the farther end, a door led into a reception room communicating with the president's office. This office itself opened into the cashier's department on one side; and on the other, into a small room occupied by the president's secretary and typewriter, and into the vestibule of the Exchange Place entrance to the bank. On the right of the vestibule was a large room in which the bank employés kept their street clothing, and to which they could retire when they were off duty. A door from the clerks' room led into the cashier's department; while another one opened into the private secretary's room.
After he had finished his inspection of the space open to the public, Sturgis, followed by Dunlap, passed into the president's reception room, and thence in turn into the other rooms, and finally into the cashier's and bookkeepers' departments.
Several times he stopped, retraced his footsteps to some particular point, and then began his search anew. At times he crawled about on his hands and knees; at others, he climbed upon the furniture, the better to examine some spot upon the wall. In the president's office he stopped to pick up a great number of tiny scraps of paper, which lay in and around the waste-basket. These he carefully placed in an envelope which he laid upon the president's table.
On one side of the room there stood a magnificent old-fashioned carved mantel-piece. The artistic beauty of the structure did not seem to strike Sturgis; but he appeared to derive a great deal of satisfaction from an inspection of the large tiled hearth. Presently, removing his coat and his cuffs, he plunged his hand into the grimy chimney and removed a handful of soot, which he examined carefully and then threw away. He repeated the operation again and again; until at last, with evident satisfaction, he picked out a small object, which he deposited in an envelope. Then, after washing his hands in the clerks' room, he passed into the cashier's department. In a corner stood the telephone closet, the door of which was open. The receiver of the instrument was down. The reporter took it up and gazed at it long and earnestly.
Sturgis's examination of the bank must have lasted over two hours. At first Richard Dunlap looked on with a mild curiosity, in which amusement struggled with good-natured skepticism. But, as time wore on, the banker began to show signs of impatience; and when at last Sturgis returned to the private office and carefully deposited upon a sheet of white paper a miscellaneous assortment of tiny scraps and shreds, the banker could scarcely conceal his dissatisfaction.
"Well, Mr. Sturgis," he said, "I hope you have nearly completed your investigation; for my leisure is not so abundant that I can afford to waste it like this."
"I need one more witness at least," replied the reporter, "and I am afraid I shall have to ask you to help me obtain it."
"But," he quickly added as he noted Dunlap's impatient gesture, "I think I can promise you that the time you are regretting has not been wasted."
The financier did not seem convinced by this assertion; but he nevertheless consented with unwilling grace to assist the reporter to the best of his ability.
"Well, then," said Sturgis, "tell me, first of all, whether you keep any fire-arms in the bank."
"Yes," replied Dunlap; "the cashier has a small revolver which he keeps in his desk, as a means of defence in case of a sudden attack by a bank thief."
"Have you a key to the desk?"
"Yes," replied the banker.
"Will you kindly see if the revolver you mention is in its place?"
"It ought to be," said Dunlap, picking out the key on a bunch which he took from his pocket, and walking towards the cashier's department with Sturgis at his heels.
"Yes, here it is in its accustomed place."
He handed the weapon to the reporter, who examined it attentively.
"Exactly," said Sturgis, with satisfaction; "this is what I was looking for."
"What do you mean?" asked Dunlap.
"I mean that this is the revolver which was fired twice last night in the Knickerbocker bank. See for yourself; two of the cartridges are empty, and the weapon has not been cleaned since these shots were fired."
"But who can have fired the pistol, and at whom was it fired, and why?"
"Hold on! hold on!" exclaimed Sturgis, smiling; "one thing at a time. We shall perhaps come to that soon. For the present, if you will come back to your private office, I shall endeavor to piece together the scraps of evidence which I have been able to collect. There, sit down in your own armchair, if you will, while I fit these bits of paper together; and in less than ten minutes I shall probably be ready to proceed with my story."
Dunlap was still nervous and impatient; but all trace of amusement and skepticism had vanished from his face, as he took the proffered armchair and watched Sturgis patiently piece together the tiny fragments of paper he had so carefully gathered. When this work was accomplished, the reporter went to the typewriter and wrote a few lines on a sheet of paper. He next proceeded to examine under the microscope the minute fragments and particles which he had collected in his search.
When he had finished this operation, he leaned back in his chair and looked up into space for what seemed to Dunlap an interminable length of time. Then at last he glanced over at the banker, who could hardly contain his growing impatience.
"I am ready to go on now," said Sturgis, reaching for a sheet of paper, upon which he began to draw with ruler and pencil.
"At last!" sighed the banker.
"Yes; but my first, as the charades say, is a question."
"Another!" gasped Dunlap; "when is my turn to come?"
"Just a few more," replied Sturgis, "and then your turn will come for good."
"Well, out with your questions then, if you must," said Dunlap, settling himself resignedly in his chair.