“If I knew of a depositor with an account in a Wall Street bank, it would be just the thing,” said Davidson, as a lead.
“Blast it!” cried the friend at once; “what a blamed fool I am—I can help you out. I’ve got a strong box at the St. Nicholas Bank; how’ll that do?”
“Do!” exclaimed Davidson, delightedly, “do, why, it’ll be just the thing. It couldn’t be better, could it, Joe?”
“Nothing better,” promptly agreed Joe Seymour.
“But won’t it be bothering you too much?” Davidson asked solicitously.
“By no means, no,” enthusiastically returned the friend, and before the close of banking hours that day, a box of fake securities was safely stowed away in the St. Nicholas Bank; and thus another step in the loot plot was taken by my very efficient detective assistants, who were being paid by the New York City government to protect the lives and property of its citizens.
A few days later Davidson told his friend he’d want the securities in court for a few hours the following day. This was done, the object of the withdrawal and return being to demonstrate the uncertainty of the demands by the court for the securities. Presently there would come a very urgent call at the opening of the bank. That apparently very important demand came a few days later. Quite late one night, Davidson, having informed himself that his depositor-friend would be at home, rang the bell and was admitted. With much regret Tom said the securities must be in court the next morning as soon after ten as possible.
“It’s routing you out pretty early,” apologized the detective, putting on a fine tone of regret; “but it’s the last time I’ll have to bother you, for the confounded case closes for good to-morrow, and I’m blasted glad of it.”
Of course an apology so deftly put brought out the usual response and the query as to what the detective wanted his friend to do.
“If you’ll meet me at the Stevens House on lower Broadway and fix me up again, why—”