"Well, father, can I go?"
"Yes, Tom. I think I can rely on your judgment. If you haven't money enough for the journey, explain matters to your mother, who will supply you. Be sure and write me full particulars, and come home as soon as practical."
When the four-o'clock express rolled out of the Grand Central Depot that afternoon, Tom Wetherby was aboard, and in his grip was the plate that came out of holder No. 7, and a bromide print therefrom.
The court-room at Whitonville was crowded to suffocation. Never before had such widespread interest been manifested in a criminal case in that town.
Frank Wentworth was known and liked by everybody, and the astonishment and grief at his predicament were universal.
Hendrix testified to quitting the bank about five o'clock in the afternoon, leaving the president and Wentworth still there.
Mr. Vaughan testified to his departure a few minutes after the cashier, and that Wentworth was still at his desk.
Frank, in his own defence, accounted for every moment from the time he left the bank until he entered it next morning; but the fact that he was the last to leave the building after remaining there alone half an hour weighed heavily against him.
No one but the Almighty and Frank himself could know what took place in the interim, and the lawyers sought in vain to bridge over the fatal half-hour which succeeded Mr. Vaughan's departure.