“I hope they haven’t got any of his wealth, though,” and Larry had a memory of a certain pretty girl to whom wealth meant much, as she had been used to it all her life. “It would go hard with Grace Potter to be poor,” thought the reporter, “though I’m sure she’d make the best of it, if it had to be. That’s what I’ll do. If the bank people won’t give me the story, I’ll see Mr. Potter,” and with this thought completed Larry found himself in front of the looted bank in Wall street.
“There doesn’t seem to be much excitement going on,” mused the reporter as he mounted the bank steps, and noted that everything inside the institution seemed to be as quiet as is ordinarily the case in moneyed institutions. Depositors were coming and going as if nothing had happened, the discount clerks, the bookkeepers, cashiers and tellers were in their regular places, carrying on the business of the bank. And yet Larry’s trained observation told him that there was a certain strained atmosphere over it all.
Not on the part of the depositors. They seemed to know nothing about it. But the clerks, cashiers, tellers, and, in fact, all the employees, seemed to be under some nervous strain. It was as if they expected an explosion at any moment.
“I’d like to see Mr. Wesley Bentfield,” said Larry to a uniformed porter, or messenger, in the open corridor of the institution. Mr. Bentfield was the bank’s president, and Larry decided that it was best to go to the chief officer at once, and not waste time on subordinates.
“The president is very busy,” replied the messenger, with a quick glance at Larry. “I don’t believe he’ll see you.”
“Just take my card in,” suggested the reporter, handing over a bit of pasteboard with his own name and that of the Leader on it. “Tell him it’s very important.”
The uniformed messenger was soon back, and he looked at Larry with increased respect.
“Mr. Bentfield will see you, sir,” he said.
“I thought he would,” remarked Larry grimly. More than one closed door has been opened by the magic of a newspaper reporter’s card. Larry followed the messenger to the president’s private room. The reporter found the head of the bank, and several other gentlemen, seated in front of a large table.
One glance was enough to tell Larry that something had occurred—something serious, to judge by the worried faces of the financiers. The youth decided to come to the point at once. Looking boldly at Mr. Bentfield, whom he recognized from having noted his portrait in the papers many times, Larry said: