Brady noticed that the worried look that Riggs had worn had given way to one of elation, as if he had been relieved of any fear he might have entertained. If that was the case, it must be Foote who had worked the change in him, Brady was sure. Bromlow had been kind, but if Riggs were really guilty, the president’s words had contained only a respite. Brady knew enough about banking to understand that.
In the room near the vault there was now a feeling of redoubled surprise. The bank officials, to their amazement, had found that Jim Phillips was right, and that whatever else had happened in the night, there had certainly been no robbery. The cash in the reserve vault was intact.
“I suppose that we need no longer feel that Mr. Phillips is under detention,” asked Dick Merriwell, rather coldly.
“No,” said old Bromlow, sadly puzzled. “I must apologize to him for intimating that his word was not to be accepted at once. But you will admit that the whole affair is very extraordinary, and that it is hard to credit his story of how he was found in our vault.”
“The truth is often the hardest thing in the world to believe, and sometimes to prove,” said Dick Merriwell. “Had he been dishonest in his motives, I think he could easily have invented a more plausible story than the one he told you.”
“No doubt,” said Bromlow, “no doubt. Now, if Mr. Phillips will come into my office, and dictate his story, in the form of an affidavit, to which he can swear before a notary public, that will be all that we shall require of him. I need not say that if his story, surprising as it is, turns out to be the true one, this bank is greatly indebted to him.”
“That is quite obvious,” said Brady dryly. “But it seems to me that the bank has been rather a long time in realizing that fact.”
They all filed into the room where Mr. Bromlow transacted his private business, and there Jim Phillips dictated his story of the night’s happenings, giving every detail that seemed to him to possess any bearing on the case. It did not take long, and, when he had signed the document, he prepared to leave. But there was a sudden interruption. Hastings, the cashier, rushed in, his face white, and spoke to President Bromlow, but aloud, so that all could hear.
“Riggs has explained his shortage,” he said. “And the bank appears to have lost five thousand dollars. A deposit of five thousand dollars was made yesterday. Riggs handled the money. Later, in making up his accounts and going over his cash, he was amazed to discover that ten hundred-dollar bills were counterfeit. He withdrew them at once, substituted good bills, and held these counterfeit notes out to make an investigation and secure good ones in their place if possible.
“Now we discover that there were not ten, but fifty counterfeits. Consequently this bank now holds five thousand dollars in worthless money. And a sight draft was given in exchange for this money, so that we have no recourse—that draft, presumably, being already in the hands of some one who can enforce its payment, as an innocent holder. Riggs expected to be able to adjust the matter without difficulty, having reason to think that the depositor was honorable and likely to remedy the matter. But the whole affair now assumes a very serious aspect. The man who deposited this money was Mr. Merriwell—and his relation with Mr. Phillips are well known.”