The officers had not yet arrived, and Dick lingered on the outside, waiting till they should come. He was not without a little uneasiness, fearing that Travis might be as prompt as himself, and finding him there, might suspect something, and so escape the snare. But, though looking cautiously up and down the street, he could discover no traces of the supposed thief. In due time ten o’clock struck, and immediately afterwards the doors of the bank were thrown open, and our hero entered.
As Dick had been in the habit of making a weekly visit for the last nine months, the cashier had come to know him by sight.
“You’re early, this morning, my lad,” he said, pleasantly. “Have you got some more money to deposit? You’ll be getting rich, soon.”
“I don’t know about that,” said Dick. “My bank-book’s been stole.”
“Stolen!” echoed the cashier. “That’s unfortunate. Not so bad as it might be, though. The thief can’t collect the money.”
“That’s what I came to see about,” said Dick. “I was afraid he might have got it already.”
“He hasn’t been here yet. Even if he had, I remember you, and should have detected him. When was it taken?”
“Yesterday,” said Dick. “I missed it in the evenin’ when I got home.”
“Have you any suspicion as to the person who took it?” asked the cashier.
Dick thereupon told all he knew as to the general character and suspicious conduct of Jim Travis, and the cashier agreed with him that he was probably the thief. Dick also gave his reason for thinking that he would visit the bank that morning, to withdraw the funds.