“He’s the last man in the world to disappear this way,” said Brady, puzzled and disturbed. “I can’t account for it at all. I know there was nothing to bother him. He hasn’t had any telegram or call from home—some sickness in the family was the first thing I thought of. Anyhow, if it was anything ordinary, he’d have found some way to let us know that he was going. He wouldn’t leave us to worry about him if he had had any way of preventing it.”
They were all in Merriwell’s rooms at that time, having given up the search as fruitless, and every one there, except Dick himself, was advancing some theory to solve the mystery. Suddenly there was an excited voice to be heard downstairs, asking for Dick, and a moment later Detective Jones burst into the room.
“I’ve just come from the Elm National Bank,” he cried. “They’ve found a Yale man, Phillips, the baseball captain, I’m told, in the big vault, and they sent for an officer to hold him while they searched the place to see if there has been a robbery. I thought you would want to know about it, Mr. Merriwell.”
“Come on, Brady,” shouted Dick Merriwell. “The rest of you stay behind. We’ll let you know as soon as anything is discovered.”
At the bank they found that the detective’s astounding statement was true. Jim, pale and shaken, and indignant at the presence of a policeman, obviously sent there to guard him, sat in a chair, and in a few words told his friends the story of the robbery he had interrupted, which the president and cashier of the bank had already heard. Riggs, tremendously excited, and in a state of panic, hovered about, trying to hear everything that was said, and the whole place was in an uproar.
“You can’t blame us for thinking that this a very queer story, Mr. Merriwell,” said the president, Joseph Bromlow, an old and respected citizen of New Haven. “We have not been able to find any trace of the watchman. He is not at his home, and he has not been taken to any of the city hospitals, as would certainly be the case had he been injured, as Mr. Phillips says. Moreover, the statement that Mr. Phillips saw the man fall, as if shot, and afterward found a bullet wound in his leg, although he had heard no report, is curious, to say the least.”
“Did you never hear of a Maxim gun silencer?” asked Dick, rather abruptly. He was much upset, and almost as indignant as Jim himself at the suspicion with which the bank officers had received the pitcher’s story.
Bill Brady took Mr. Bromlow aside.
“Look here, Mr. Bromlow,” he said, “you know, of course, that my father practically owns this bank. Now, I can tell you that any idea that there was anything wrong about the presence of Phillips in that vault is absurd. I don’t care what he says about it, or how improbable his story may seem to be, you’ll only waste time unless you take his word absolutely. You’ll find out, sooner or later, that he is telling the truth, and if any criminals escape because of neglect to follow up any clew that Phillips gives you, my father is not likely to overlook it.”
“I am fully accountable to your father, Mr. Brady,” said the president, with some heat, “but I am not aware that he has delegated his authority to you. I am competent, I think, to look after the interests of this bank. I have done so for a number of years. And I must ask you not to interfere.”