Then, for the first time, the cashier showed annoyance and concern.
“How do you suppose that happened, George?” he demanded.
The policeman pointed to an open window.
“I have always said, Mr. Hamilton,” he remarked, clinching a point that he had been hammering at for a long time, “that you ought to have bars across that window. All the other windows are protected, and that one should be. The fellow got out, dropped ten feet to the alley, and has escaped.”
“But why did he leave?” queried the cashier. “I am sure he didn’t learn anything from me.”
“Chaps of that sort are naturally suspicious. The mere fact that you asked him into the private room was enough.”
“See if there is any trace of him outside. He’s a youngish chap, seventeen or eighteen, I should say, rather effeminate in appearance, and wears——”
“I saw him when he came in, sir,” broke in the policeman. “It will be useless to hunt for him, but I’ll see what I can do.”
“Anyhow,” and the cashier laughed as the policeman hurried away, “we’ve got the bullion.”
What was it that had aroused Pearl Dimmock’s suspicions? Only the secret workings of her own mind could reveal that point. Perhaps, at the last moment, her courage failed her, and she could not carry out the plan. This would be the charitable supposition.