“Well, who is missing now?” asked Larry, of the bank president on his arrival in the metropolis, after his trip from Chicago.
“One whom we least suspected,” replied the president. “One of our oldest and most trusted clerks, one who led a highly moral life, and was well up in church work. It is a great shock to all of us, for there is little doubt now but that he is the thief.”
“We thought Witherby was,” spoke Larry, with a smile, “but we were mistaken.”
“There can be no doubt in this case,” went on the bank president.
“Why not?”
“Because he left a note, confessing to the theft, before he went away.”
“Left a note!” cried Larry. “Where is it? Has the story come out? Did the Leader get it?”
“No, but you will soon have it. I arranged with Mr. Emberg, in consideration of what you have done for us, to keep the matter of this clerk’s disappearance quiet, until you returned. You are to have the exclusive story, and——”
“And then I’m going to get on this new trail!” cried Larry. “I made a fizzle of the other one, but I won’t in this case. Where is the note? Who is the confessed thief?”
“Harry Norton, our chief clerk,” was the sorrowful answer of the president. “I would have trusted him as I would my own son, but the temptation was too much for him. Here is the note I found on my desk the other morning. That day Norton did not appear for work, and he has disappeared.”