“Where the million-dollar robbery took place?”
“Yes, the same bank.”
“And do you suspect him? Oh, Mr. Dexter, maybe he had something to do with it!” exclaimed the girl impulsively.
“Oh, I guess not,” laughed Tom. “He doesn’t seem to have been in a position where he could have changed the bags, though of course it’s possible. I’m beginning to think that the million dollars vanished up the chimney, like smoke, and that the money and the thief will never be found.”
“Oh, you mustn’t give up so soon,” urged Miss Mason.
“I’m not, but I’m just beginning to lose hope.”
She and Larry walked on for some little distance farther, and then the young reporter took Miss Mason home, remaining to pay a brief call on her mother.
“Well, I’m going to do something to-morrow,” said Larry to himself, as he started for his own home.
And that something was nothing more or less than to visit the vicinity of the house where Witherby lived, and look about it for a tell-tale pile of bricks.
Up to this point Larry had only made his search around the houses, or boarding-places, of those clerks who lived in New York city proper. He intended to gradually extend his field, as some of the employees lived out of town. This was the case with Witherby, whose home was in Hackenford, New Jersey.