"Gee, but this is worse than a football game," declared Bob, "but here's dad now," as a big policeman pushed his way through the crowd shouting:
"Stand back now and let Mr. Golden through."
The mass of people slowly gave way, and Mr. Golden, followed closely by Bob and Jack, who had grabbed hold of his coat tails as he pushed his way past, finally succeeded in reaching the steps of the bank. The door was at once opened by Mr. Riggs, the old cashier, and Mr. Golden and Uncle Ben, who was with them, entered closely followed by the two boys.
"Oh, to think that I should live to see this day!" moaned the cashier, as he closed and locked the door behind them.
"How did they get in?" was Mr. Golden's first question.
The cashier pointed to the door and a glance was sufficient to disclose the means of entrance. Two doors, separated by a small vestibule, led into the bank. The outer door was fitted with a heavy plate glass window, but the inner one was of solid oak. This had been cut through by means of a bit, and a hole about twenty inches in diameter sawed out. A similar opening had been made in the glass of the outer door, a circular piece having been cut out, evidently with a diamond, and then, cemented back in again so cleverly, that it was not noticeable except on close inspection.
Going to the vault at the rear of the bank, they found an irregular hole, nearly sixteen inches in diameter, through the solid steel door. The edges of this hole had a fused appearance, and Mr. Golden at once said:
"Undoubtedly the work of experts, and they must have used an oxy-acteylene blowpipe flame to cut through that door."
Bob had been doing some pretty deep thinking, and now he caught hold of his father's sleeve and said:
"Of course, I may be a way off, but I believe that those fellows who kidnapped me are the ones who did this job."