"Hold her where she is and stop her mouth; but gently, boys," said Frank, in a hoarse voice. "Cutts, you follow me and the thing is done. I've gone too far to back out now. I want your pay, and as I am wronging no one, have it I must and will."
He sprang across the street as he spoke, followed by the young detective, while the woman, feebly struggling in the arms of the two young fellows, still knelt moaning beneath the church yard wall.
"I'll have to take care of her, Cutts," said Frank, producing a key and fitting it into the lock of the door of the bank. "She's hopelessly crazy, poor thing, and God only knows by what strange chance she came to be here to-night."
He turned the key in the lock as he spoke and threw open the door leading into a dark hallway in the great building on the corner of Rector street and Broadway, in the rear of the offices occupied by the Webster National Bank.
"Follow me," he added, entering the passage as he spoke, "and shut the door behind you—it won't take a moment, and the thing is done."
He moved through the passage and opened an inner door, supposing the detective to be close behind.
Great heavens! What sight was this?
There, before his astonished gaze in the dim light of the gas, kept burning through the entire night in this, as in other banks, lay the great doors of the money vault blown out of all shape, disclosing the vault within.
A burglar's jimmy, a crowbar, and a powder-can lay mingled with a pile of books and papers—the contents of the rifled vault—upon the floor.
"Cutts, Cutts! For Heaven's sake look here!"