"Oh, I beg your pardon," he says nervously; "the light is so poor here that I could hardly see that name. Tell the lady that I will be out directly."
As the footman walks out to report to his mistress that her wishes are going to be fulfilled the cashier hurriedly changes the linen jacket he wears at his desk for a solemn frock coat, gives his scanty hair a quick part and calls to the bookkeeper to look out for things while he is gone.
All this time I am sitting primly there in the carriage trying as hard as I know how to live up to the dignity of a millionaire's widow and to conceal my fears that something is going to happen to disarrange our carefully laid plans.
But, the next instant, I am relieved to see the cashier coming toward me all bows and smiles. And, as he comes out of the bank he almost brushes elbows with Tom Bigelow, who, with a punctuality worthy of a better cause, is going into the bank at that very moment.
Yes, indeed, the cashier remembers my husband and he is proud of the opportunity to be of some service to his widow. I can see the avarice shining in his eyes as he thinks of the profits his bank will make if he can get the handling of my property.
Our interview is, of course, a tedious affair for I am very feeble and have all sorts of difficulty in finding the mining stock about which I want to consult him. But the cashier shows not the slightest impatience and humors my whims with all the consideration my wealth and position deserve.
And, when he sees what a worthless lot of stock I have invested in, his interest in me becomes all the greater.
Out of the corner of my eye I can just see Tom Bigelow as he stands talking with the bookkeeper inside the bank. And, by this time, if no unforeseen difficulty has arisen, I know that Johnny Meaney is in the vault making a quick but judicious selection of the cash and securities which we can most easily dispose of.
After what seemed an eternity, but was in reality only four or five minutes, I saw Bigelow come out of the bank and stroll leisurely up the street. This was the signal that the money had been secured and that Meaney was making his escape in the opposite direction.
Now everything depended on my holding the cashier just as much longer as I could. Every minute he remained there talking with me meant that much delay in the discovery of the bank's loss and the starting of the police on our trail.