He was wandering back to the office, determined to remove at once all of his private data and personal effects to the Fifth Avenue, when he stumbled over the policeman on the beat.
Sturdy Dennis McNerney flourished his club in a passing salute.
"Bad business, sir, this of Mr. Clayton," said the stalwart
Irish-American. "Is it true there's twenty-five thousand reward
out?"
With a sudden inspiration Arthur Ferris paused. "Mac," said he, "I am deeply interested here. I'll give you personally five thousand dollars more for the first clue; mind you, no publicity."
The policeman's eyes sparkled. "Word of honor?" he said. "Yes! I'll write it in your presence, seal it, and give it to you—this promise, if the clue leads to Clayton, dead or alive."
The two men walked along in the streaming crowd. Ferris felt instinctively that the officer was holding something back.
"What do the reporters say?" hesitating remarked Ferris. "All in the dark—a pack of fools—unless it's a crime that gives itself away to any one. They know nothing, and the force has not picked up a pointer. Strange, strange, that the job was so neatly done!"
"What do you mean?" quickly queried Ferris.
"Oh! Any gonoph can see that the man was murdered for the stuff!" resolutely said McNerney. "He was no fellow to clear out! His life was clean as a whistle! I know all about him!"
"How can you prove that?" hotly said the excited lawyer. "Because all the men on the force, from here to his rooms, and around town, knew him for a clean, civil, honest, steady fellow—one in ten thousand. Thief, he? Never!" said McNerney. "Not on your life!"
Ferris stopped. "I will be at the Fifth Avenue, night and day," said the vice-president, "either there or at our office. You can come to my rooms at your will. I'll leave word for your admittance. You'll have your money in ten minutes if you turn up any sign of him."