"Come, speak up! Are you dumb? What are you doing at the door of the Webster Bank at this hour of the night?"
It was Mr. Caleb Hook, the famous New York detective, who spoke, as he seized Frank Mansfield by the coat-collar and jerked him violently into the dark hallway which formed the rear entrance to the bank.
At the same instant the forms of the three policemen were to be seen filling the open door.
Even as he spoke the detective threw the full glare of a dark lantern upon the pale and frightened countenance of the boy who stood trembling in his grasp.
"I—I—work in the bank," he stammered, brokenly. "I wanted—— I am the assistant cashier. I came here with my friend, Detective Cutts, to try the door and see that all was right."
It was a bold stroke, but a useless one.
Detective Hook laughed in his face.
"Well, and where is Cutts?" he asked, sneeringly.
"He was here a moment ago, just outside the door. I went into the bank and found that the vault had been blown open, and turned to call him in as you seized me on the steps."
"I don't see him anywhere around," said the detective, coolly, at the same time pulling Frank toward the door, and looking quickly up and down Rector street.