“Sure,” said Bascom. And so it was agreed.
CHAPTER XLI
THE SILENT SHOT.
Barrows had talked about chance, and the way in which it might affect the most carefully laid plans. It usually does, as a matter of fact. The plan that is so carefully worked out that it depends upon the favorable combination of a great number of circumstances, is the one least likely to succeed. The best plan is the one that will not suffer if it has to be changed at the last moment; for so many things may happen to require a change that the man who makes a plan in an important matter should really expect and look for accidents. He is sure to encounter them.
On the night following the visit of Riggs to the gambling house that had ruined him, Jim Phillips, after going to bed early, had been called out again. A friend of his, in whom he had always taken a deep interest, had had an attack of typhoid fever just before the examinations began, and, after a severe illness, was beginning to recover slowly. He had found himself, this night, unable to sleep, and had asked Jim to go to see him, which Jim had done readily enough. He had stayed with his friend until one o’clock, and then, making his way home through the deserted streets of the quiet college town, quieter than ever now that most of the Yale men had gone home, had stumbled upon a surprising affair.
He was in the block above the Elm National Bank when he was attracted by the sound of the night watchman’s footsteps. He himself was wearing a dark rain coat, and his feet were clad in rubber-soled shoes, so that he was hard to see in the darkness, and almost impossible to hear, also.
He looked at the watchman, and was amazed to see him suddenly throw up his hands and fall to the ground. It looked as if the man had been shot, but there had been no report, and Jim was amazed at the whole circumstance. Without a moment of hesitation, he ran toward the fallen man, and, as he neared him, still moving silently, he almost cried out at the sight of a stealthy pair of figures that emerged from the door of the bank building and dragged the victim in with them.
The door was shut when he reached the bank. On the sidewalk where the watchman had lain was a spot of blood. Inside there was deep silence. The whole thing was mysterious and terrifying. Jim could make no sense of what he had seen. The spot of blood, still wet, showed him that he had made no mistake; that he had actually seen a man shot. Except for that, he would have been inclined to think that he had imagined the whole extraordinary affair. But that left no room for doubt.
Jim tried the door, but without success. It seemed to be locked. But behind it, he well knew, some dark thing was going on. He had seen what might prove to be murder; it was likely that robbers had done it, and that they were even now engaged in completing their task by robbing the bank. He remembered the discussion they had had on that very subject, and then the need for action struck him.
He must find a policeman and get help. But that was easier said than done. The very presence of the private watchman in that block had decreased the vigilance of the regular police. They had been inclined to leave the duty of protecting property in that neighborhood to him.