As the door opened Dave Stain and Cashier Barron suddenly came face to face without the slightest warning. Barron stood paralyzed with astonishment as he peered into the masked face of the leader. Stain, with perfect composure, struck Barron a quick blow with a slung-shot, landing the weapon exactly in the center of Mr. Barron's forehead.
The cashier dropped to the floor stunned and Stain imagined that his victim's skull was crushed, or that, if the blow had not been fatal, Barron would come to his senses and make an outcry. In either case the burglars realized that they had done a bad job. Murder was not intended, and none of the gang had any stomach for going on with the robbery, even though the doors of the big vault stood invitingly open.
After a few moments' hasty consultation the cracksmen picked up the unconscious but still breathing form of the faithful cashier and laid it in the vault, and closed and locked the big doors. Stain and his gang made their way noiselessly out of the building, strolling, one by one, through the town and out into the country, where a span of horses was waiting for them. They drove across country, keeping away from the railroad, and made their escape without leaving a clue of any kind.
When Cashier Barron failed to turn up at home at supper time a search was made and somebody went to the bank. The cashier's hat and coat were found in the inner room, and a faint sound of heavy breathing could be heard from the interior of the closed vault. Blacksmiths were hastily called, and, after several hours' work, succeeded in freeing the imprisoned cashier—but, although Barron was still alive and breathing, his face was black from his having breathed over and over again the poisoned air of the vault, and he died without recovering consciousness.
Several years later a clue to the real truth of the tragedy was picked up by a newspaper reporter, who devoted several weeks of painstaking work to piecing together the scraps of evidence he was able to collect. This reporter then had himself appointed a Massachusetts State detective and arrested Stain and Cromwell, brought them to Bangor, Maine, was able to have them identified by several townspeople who had seen them in Dexter on the day of the murder, and Stain and Cromwell were both convicted of murder in the first degree, and the conviction was unanimously confirmed by the Supreme Court of the State of Maine. They were sentenced to life imprisonment.
I could go on indefinitely recounting instances as surprising as any of these of the unexpected things which are constantly happening to prevent criminals succeeding in their undertakings. But these which I have mentioned are enough to show any thoughtful man or woman how hazardous and how profitless crime always is.
Success in crime is achieved only at the risk of life and liberty. In a few rare cases the criminal escapes these penalties, but, even so, his ill gotten gains melt rapidly away and bring him no lasting happiness. And, as I have shown here to-day, a large percentage of the crimes he undertakes yield him nothing for all the time, thought, and effort he has to give them.
Each chapter of my own life, as I am now recalling it, and the lives of all the criminals I have ever known, only give added emphasis to the fact which I want to impress on you—that CRIME DOES NOT PAY.