“Foul deeds will rise,
Though all the world o’erwhelm them, to men’s eyes.”—Hamlet.
Mr. Sylvester towered on his nephew with an expression such as few men had ever seen even on his powerful and commanding face.
“What do you mean?” asked he, and his voice rang like a clarion through the room.
Bertram trembled and for a moment stood aghast, the ready flush bathing his brow with burning crimson. “I mean,” stammered he, with difficulty recovering himself, “that when Mr. Stuyvesant came to open his private box in the bank to-day, that he not only found its lock had been tampered with, but that money and valuables to the amount of some twelve hundred dollars were missing from among its contents.”
“What?”
The expression which had made Mr. Sylvester’s brow so terrible had vanished, but his wonder remained.
“It is impossible,” he declared. “Our vaults are too well watched for any such thing to occur. He has made some mistake; a robbery of that nature could not take place without detection.”
“It would seem not, and yet the fact remains. Mr. Stuyvesant himself informed me of it, to-night. He is not a careless man, nor reckless in his statements. Some one has robbed the bank and it remains with us to find out who.”
Mr. Sylvester, who had been standing all this while, sat down like a man dazed, the wild lost look on Bertram’s face daunting him with a fearful premonition. “There are but four men who have access to the vault where the boxes are kept,” said he: then quickly, “Why did Mr. Stuyvesant wait till to-night to speak to you? Why did he not notify us at once of a loss so important for us to know?”