"I don't know what you mean."
"Spread yourself, you Jones and Brady," exclaimed the detective, turning suddenly upon the officers. "Examine every doorway, one of you, the other make for the church-yard wall. Schneider, you come with me. We'll soon see what's been going on in here. This comes from the folly of the chief in keeping me so long engaged. I might have been here an hour ago at the very least."
He turned quickly upon the boy as he spoke, and without a word of warning snapped a pair of handcuffs about his wrists.
"Move on ahead there," he exclaimed, pushing Frank before him into the hall. "You say this bank has been robbed. I believe you. Show me what you have done."
The vault door, wrenched out of all shape and hanging by one hinge, the burglar's tools, the books and papers scattered upon the floor around, were quite answer enough without a word from the wretched Frank, who stood trembling by his side.
The detective surveyed the scene grimly.
"I was born a day too late, it seems," was all he said.
Then, turning toward his youthful prisoner, he gazed intently upon his face.
"You and your friends have made a clean job of it here, young man," he said, at length.
Frank stared at him dumbly.