Next to the lamp-post was an upright, bearing a box-like contrivance containing a massive gong.
This gong was connected electrically with the bank vaults, and was supposed to sound an alarm if the vaults were tampered with in any way.
Halting at one of the front windows, the watchman peered through into the ring of yellow light thrown by the street lamp.
Clinging to the lamp-post was a man in a frock coat and silk hat—well dressed, as the watchman could plainly see.
Nor was he drunk, although he wavered from side to side and had all he could do to hold himself in an upright position.
It was evident that there was something serious the matter with him, and the watchman pressed his face close to the window and craned his neck to look up and down the street.
There was absolutely no one in sight who might proceed to the unfortunate man’s assistance.
It was against the watchman’s orders to leave the bank for even a minute, but he was a kind-hearted person and hated to see a fellow being in distress and never raise a finger to help.
While the watchman stood there, the well-dressed individual gave vent to a hollow groan, slipped from the lamp-post and fell prone to the walk.
That was more than the watchman could stand.