“Whether he was able to raise this money I don’t know,” she went on. “I only hope he did without having to—to do that—to have any—”
“To rob his bank,” said the scientist, tartly. “Miss Clarke, is young Dunston in love with you?”
The girl’s face changed color at the sudden question.
“I don’t see—” she began.
“You may not see,” said The Thinking Machine, “but I can have him arrested for robbery and convict him.”
The girl gazed at him with wide, terror-stricken eyes, and gasped.
“No, no, no,” she said, hurriedly. “He could have had nothing to do with that at all.”
“Is he in love with you?” again came the question.
There was a pause.
“I’ve had reason to believe so,” she said, finally, “though—”
“And you?”
“The girl’s face was flaming now, and, squinting into her eyes, the scientist read the answer.
“I understand,” he commented, tersely. “Are you going to be married?”
“I could—could never marry him,” she gasped suddenly. “No, no,” emphatically. “We are not, ever.”
She slowly recovered from her confusion, while the scientist continued to squint at her curiously.
“I believe you said you had some information for me?” he asked.
“Y—yes,” she faltered. Then more calmly: “Yes. I came to tell you that the package of ten thousand dollars which you took from Mr. Fraser’s pocket has again disappeared.”
“Yes,” said the other, without astonishment.
“It was presumed at the bank that he had taken it home with him, having regained possession of it in some way, but a careful search has failed to reveal it.”
“Yes, and what else?”
The girl took a long breath and gazed steadily into the eyes of the scientist, with determination in her own.
“I have come, too, to tell you,” she said, “the name of the man who robbed the bank.”
V
If Miss Clarke had expected that The Thinking Machine would show either astonishment or enthusiasm, she must have been disappointed, for he neither altered his position nor looked at her. Instead, he was gazing thoughtfully away with lackluster eyes.
“Well?” he asked. “I suppose it’s a story. Begin at the beginning.”
With a certain well-bred air of timidity, the girl began the story; and occasionally as she talked there was a little tremor of the lips.
“I have been a stenographer and typewriter for seven years,” she said, “and in that time I have held only four positions. The first was in a law office in New York, where I was left an orphan to earn my own living; the second was with a manufacturing concern, also in New York. I left there three years ago to accept the position of private secretary to William T. Rankin, president of the—National Bank, at Hartford, Connecticut. I came from there to Boston and later went to work at the Ralston Bank, as private secretary to Mr. Fraser. I left the bank in Hartford because of the failure of that concern, following a bank robbery.”
The Thinking Machine glanced at her suddenly.
“You may remember from the newspapers—” she began again.
“I never read the newspapers,” he said.
“Well, anyway,” and there was a shade of impatience at the interruption, “there was a bank burglary there similar to this. Only seventy thousand dollars was stolen, but it was a small institution and the theft precipitated a run which caused a collapse after I had been in that position for only six months.”
“How long have you been with the Ralston National?”
“Nine months,” was the reply.
“Had you saved any money while working in your other positions?”
“Well, the salary was small—I couldn’t have saved much.”
“How did you live those two years from the time you left the Hartford Bank until you accepted this position?”
The girl stammered a little.
“I received assistance from friends,” she said, finally.
“Go on.”
“That bank in Hartford,” she continued, with a little gleam of resentment in her eyes, “had a safe similar to the one at the Ralston National, though not so large. It was blown in identically the same way as this one was blown.”
“Oh, I see,” said the scientist. “Some one was arrested for this, and you want to give me the name of that man?”
“Yes,” said the girl. “A professional burglar, William Dineen, was arrested for that robbery and confessed. Later he escaped. After his arrest he boasted of his ability to blow any style of safe. He used an invention of his own for the borings to place the charges. I noticed that safe and I noticed this one. There is a striking similarity in the two.”
The Thinking Machine stared at her.
“Why do you tell me?” he asked.
“Because I understood you were making the investigation for the bank,” she responded, unhesitatingly, “and I dreaded the notoriety of telling the police.”
“If this William Dineen is at large you believe he did this?”
“I am almost positive.”
“Thank you,” said The Thinking Machine.
Miss Clarke went away, and late that night Hatch appeared. He looked weary and sank into a chair gratefully, but there was satisfaction in his eye. For an hour or more he talked. At last The Thinking Machine was satisfied, nearly.
“One thing more,” he said, in conclusion. “Notify the police to look out for William Dineen, professional bank burglar, and his pals, whose names you can get from the newspapers in connection with a bank robbery in Hartford. They are wanted in connection with this case.”
The reporter nodded.
“When Mr. Fraser recovers I intend to hold a little party here,” the scientist continued. “It will be a surprise party.”
It was two days later, and the police were apparently seeking some tangible point from which they could proceed, when The Thinking Machine received word that there had been a change for the better in Mr. Fraser’s condition. Immediately he sent for Detective Mallory, with whom he held a long conversation. The detective went away tugging at his heavy mustache and smiling. With three other men he disappeared from police haunts that afternoon on a special mission.
That night the little “party” was held in the apartments of The Thinking Machine. President Fraser was first to arrive. He was pale and weak, but there was a fever of impatience in his manner. Then came West, Dunston, Miss Clarke, Miss Willis and Charles Burton, a clerk whose engagement to the pretty Miss Willis had been recently announced.
The party gathered, each staring at the other curiously, with questions in their eyes, until The Thinking Machine entered, rubbing his fingers together briskly. Behind him came Hatch, bearing a shabby gripsack. The reporter’s face showed excitement despite his rigid efforts to repress it. There were some preliminaries, and then the scientist began.
“To come to the matter quickly,” he said, in preface, “we will take it for granted that no employee of the Ralston Bank is a professional burglar. But the person who was responsible for that burglary,