“Where are they, youngster?” demanded the man. “Hand them over.”
“They are in the left pocket of my coat,” said Gerald, with difficulty repressing a groan over his ignominious and utter failure to execute his employer’s commission.
He was impressed that the larger box contained some secret which Mr. Brewster would not, on any account, have made known to the world, and he could not bear the thought that John Hubbard would now learn it, and perhaps put it to an ignoble use.
The expert plunged his hand into the pocket designated, and drew forth the keys, after which he stooped to secure the boxes, and left the vault, followed by the officer and his prisoner.
“Now you may go and cage your bird,” he remarked to the former. “I will let you out of the bank, but I have some business here, and shall remain a while longer.”
He unlocked the outer door, and the two men passed out into the storm. John Hubbard stood looking after them for a few moments, a fiendish expression on his thin face.
“Gad! what luck!” he muttered. “If ever I made a shrewd move, it was in coming here this morning to get those papers.”
He returned to the vault, which he securely locked, also the gate to the iron inclosure.
Then, taking the two boxes, he went inside the banker’s private office, and deposited them upon the table there.