“So I see,” observed the patrolman dryly. “She can’t go in without a card.”
Argument was useless. Decidedly crestfallen, Louise retreated to wait, while Penny went on into the darkened building. Curtains had been drawn in the big marble-floored bank, and the place appeared deserted. Teller cages were locked and empty, for the bank had closed to the public at noon.
Pausing, Penny heard the faint and distant hum of voices. She glanced upward to a second story gallery devoted to offices, and saw two policemen talking to a third man who leaned against the iron railing.
“Apparently this is no robbery,” Penny thought, taking the marble steps two at a time. “Wonder what has happened?”
Breathlessly, she reached the top of the stairs. A short, thin man with glasses and a noticeably nervous manner stood talking to the two policemen. The sergeant, his back to Penny, started taking down notes.
“I’m Sergeant Gray,” the policeman said. “What’s your name?”
“Albert Potts,” the man replied.
“A clerk here?”
“Secretary to Mr. Hamilton Rhett, the bank president. I called the police because a situation has developed which worries me. This afternoon I talked to Mrs. Rhett who gave me no satisfaction whatsoever. I said to myself, ‘Albert Potts, this is a case for the police.’ But there must be no publicity.”
“What’s wrong?” Sergeant Gray asked impatiently.