“Send for the New York agent of Hicks, Saltzer and Co.,” came from Mr. Sylvester, in short, business-like command.
Bertram at once rose. “I will see to it,” said he. His agitation was too great for suppression, the expression of Mr. Stuyvesant’s eye, that in its restlessness wandered in every direction but his own, troubled him beyond endurance. With a hasty move he left the room. The cold eye of the detective followed him.
“Looks bad,” came in laconic tones from the paying teller.
“I had hoped the affair begun and ended with my individual loss,” muttered Mr. Stuyvesant under his breath.
The stately president and the inscrutable detective still maintained their silence.
Suddenly the latter moved. Turning towards Mr. Sylvester, he requested him to step with him to the window. “I want to have a look at your several employees,” whispered he, as they thus withdrew. “I want to see them without being seen by them. If you can manage to have them come in here one by one upon some pretext or other, I can so arrange that screen under the mantel-piece, that it shall not only hide me, but give me a very good view of their faces in the mirror overhead.”
“There will be no difficulty about summoning the men,” said Mr. Sylvester.
“And you consent to the scheme?”
“Certainly, if you think anything is to be gained by it.”
“I am sure that nothing will be lost. And sir, let the cashier be present if you please; and sir,” squeezing his watch chain with a complacent air, as the other dropped his eyes, “talk to them about anything that you please, only let it be of a nature that will necessitate a sentence or more in reply. I judge a man as much by his voice as his expression.”