Rhodes looked down and swallowed hard at something in his throat, but could not answer.
"Who made the vault, when and where?" asked Rand.
"Mahler, in 1890, in Cincinnati."
"Hm, is that so—a Mahler vault, eh? Did I understand you to say the watchman is an old Irishman named Hanahan, has been at the bank twenty years and has considerable property? How do you know about his property?"
"When I was on accounts he always had fifteen or twenty thousand on time deposits, and drew some large checks or made heavy deposits when Mr. Anderson bought or sold property for him—"
"Whom did you say, Mr. Anderson? The real estate agent who sent Mr. Duncan to see you?"
"Yes, Mr. Martin Anderson. He is Hanahan's agent. They were old volunteer firemen together in Williamsburg shortly after they came to this country."
"Indeed! How do you know that?"
"Well, one evening shortly after I met Marie, I went to call on her and she said her father was not at home; that he was down at our bank chatting with Hanahan and having a smoke. Then she told me about their having belonged to the same fire company. After the old man had taken a dislike to me and threatened to shoot me if I came to the house again, I used to watch for Hanahan's check, for every time he drew, I knew he was expecting to see Mr. Anderson and I would go up to the house. I never missed it."
Rand smiled as if he enjoyed the humor in the instance. He thought a moment and then said: