“Nope; not yet!”
Both men grinned as their eyes met.
“Has the charming Miss Murdock been in this morning?” asked the detective, glancing toward the tellers’ cages.
“Haven’t seen her yet. Hope you’re not infatuated with the girl.”
“Only in what you might call an artistic sense; I think we agreed yesterday that she’s rather pleasing to the jaded eyesight. See the papers?”
“What’s in the papers?” asked the banker, feeling absently for a report a clerk had laid on his desk.
“Oh, a nice little muss out on Vevay Street last night! The cops made a mess of it of course. Old Murdock’s son Bob shot a constable in Kentucky and broke for the home plate to get some money, and I’d had a wire to look out for him when I was in here yesterday. He handled some very clever phony money in this district a while back. I went out to Vevay Street to take a look at him—and found the police had beat me to it! The cash Nellie drew yesterday was for him.”
“Of course you got him!”
“No,” said Hill; “he made a getaway, all right. It was rather funny though——”
“How funny?”