Kelsey didn’t explain just which wind he had meant, as there was not a breath of air stirring. In a few minutes Ralston joined them, panting from his run.
“Warner ain’t been there since supper, Len. He was workin’ tonight, they said.”
“And Old Man Ludlow, the president, is on a trip to the coast,” said Len. “How in ⸺ are we goin’ to find out anythin’?”
“Smash out another window,” suggested Ralston.
“How about the back door?” asked Sleepy.
They went around to the back and found the door sagging open. Kelsey swore softly and led the way inside, where they lighted matches to guide them. And they found just what Honey Bee had found—a man roped to a chair and gagged. It was Warner, the cashier, his eyes blinking foolishly at the light of Kelsey’s match, while Ralston took a pocket-knife and severed the lariat rope which bound him.
Warner was apparently unhurt. After they untied the gag he worked his jaw painfully, rubbed his lips and managed to get back a measure of his speech.
Sleepy found a lamp, which he lighted, and the three men watched the cashier stretch his arms and legs, grimacing as the returning circulation pained him.
“You better send a wire to Old Man Ludlow,” he said huskily. “Palace Hotel, San Francisco. The bank has been cleaned out.”
“Cleaned out, Warner?” asked Kelsey.