The bank examiner and the cashier were down early to breakfast.
Starr had slept well and was vigorously alert. Vaniman was haggard and visibly worried. Both of them were reticent.
Vaniman felt that he had nothing to say, as matters stood.
Starr was thinking, rather than talking. He snapped up Files when the landlord meekly inquired whether there were any clews. Files retreated in a panic.
“Vaniman,” said the examiner, when they pulled on their coats under the alligator's gaping espionage, “this is going to be my busy day and I hope you feel like pitching into this thing with me, helping to your utmost.”
“You can depend on me, Mr. Starr.”
“I don't intend to bother you with any questions at present except to ask about the routine business of the bank. So you can have your mind free on that point.”
They went to the bank and relieved Britt.
“Go get your breakfast and come back here as soon as you can,” Starr commanded, plunging into matters with the air of the sole captain of the craft. “And call a meeting of the directors.”
The examiner had brought a brief-case along with him from the tavern. He pulled out a card. Britt winced when he saw what was printed on the card.
THIS BANK CLOSED
pending examination of resources and liabilities and
auditing of accounts. Per order STATE BANK EXAMINERS.
Mr. Starr ordered Britt to tack that card on the outer door.
“Isn't there any other way but this?” asked the president.
“There's nothing else to be done—certainly not! I'm afraid the institution is in a bad way, Britt. You say you have been calling regular loans in order to build up a cash reserve—and your cash isn't in sight. I reckon it means that the stockholders will be assessed the full hundred per cent of liability.”
He bolted the bank door behind the president.
“Now, Vaniman, did you find out anything sensible about those books, as far as you got last evening?”
“Only that the accounts seem to have been willfully tangled up.”
“Then we'll let that part of the thing hang. Get out letters to depositors, calling in all pass books.”
After Vaniman had set himself down to that task, Starr went about his business briskly. He prepared telegrams and sent his charioteer to put them on the wire at Levant. Those messages were intended to set in operation the state police, a firm of licensed auditors, the security company which had bonded the bank's officials, the insurance corporation which guaranteed the Egypt Trust Company against loss by burglars. Then Starr proceeded with the usual routine of examination as conducted when banks are going concerns.
For the next few days Egypt was on the map.
Ike Jones was obliged to put extra pungs on to his stage line for the accommodation of visitors who included accountants, newspaper reporters, insurance men, and security representatives.
Finally, so far as Starr's concern was involved, the affairs of the Egypt Trust Company were shaken down into something like coherence. The apparent errors in the books, when they had been checked by pass books and notes and securities, were resolved into a mere wanton effort to mix things up.
Mr. Starr took occasion to reassure Miss Harnden in regard to those books; during the investigation the girl had been working with Vaniman in the usual double-hitch arrangement which had prevailed before the day of the disaster. The two plodded steadily, faithfully, silently, under the orders of the examiner.
“Now that I've seen you at work, Miss Harnden, I eliminate carelessness and stupidity as the reasons for the books being as they are. That's the way I'm going at this thing—by the process of elimination. I'm going to say more! I'm eliminating you as being consciously responsible for any of the wrongdoing in this bank. That's about as far as I've got in the matter of elimination.” He thumped his fist on a ledger. “It looks to me as if somebody had started to put something over by mixing these figures and had been tripped before finishing the job.”
Then Mr. Starr, as if to show his appreciation of a worthy young woman whom he had treated in rather cavalier fashion at their first meeting, made her clerk to the receiver; the receiver was Almon Waite, an amiable old professor of mathematics, retired, who had come back to Egypt to pass his last days with his son. Examiner Starr, having taken it upon himself to put the Egypt Trust case through, had found in Professor Waite a handy sort of a soft rubber stamp.
Every afternoon, day by day, Starr had remarked casually to Vaniman, “Seeing that we have so many things to talk over, you'd better lodge with me at the hotel to-night!” And daily Vaniman agreed without a flicker of an eyelid. In view of the fact that both of them kept sedulously off the bank business after hours, there was a perfect understanding between the examiner and the cashier as to what this espionage meant. And Vaniman knew perfectly well just why a chap named Bixby was in town!
Having a pretty good knowledge of Starr's general opinions and prejudices, the cashier had squared himself to meet things as they came along. Once or twice Starr gave the young man an opportunity to come across with explanations or defense. Vaniman kept silent.
The cashier explained his sentiments to Vona. “It's mighty little ammunition I've got, dear! All I can do now is to keep it dry, and wait till I can see the whites of the enemy's eyes.”
He refrained from any comment on the identity of the enemy. He did not need to name names to Vona. The attitude of Tasper Britt, who kept by himself in his own office; who offered not one word of suggestion or explanation or consolation; who surveyed Vaniman, when the two met at the tavern, with the reproachful stare of the benefactor who had been betrayed—Britt's attitude was sufficiently significant. Vaniman was waiting to see what Britt would do in the crisis that was approaching. “At any rate, I must keep silent until I'm directly accused, Vona. Starr is regularly talking with Britt. If I begin now to defend myself by telling about Britt's operations, I'll merely be handing weapons to the enemy. They can't surprise me by any charge they may bring! I have got myself stiffened up to that point. You must make up your mind that it's coming. Pile up courage beforehand!”
It was a valiant little speech. But he was obliged to strive heroically to make his countenance fit his words of courage. In facing the situation squarely he had been trying to make an estimate of the state of mind in Egypt. He bitterly decided that the folks were lining up against the outlander. As hateful as Britt had made himself, he was Egyptian, born and bred. Vaniman knew what the wreck of the little bank signified in that town, which was already staggering under its debt burden. How that bank had been wrecked was not clear to Vaniman, even when he gave the thing profound consideration. He did not dare to declare to himself all that he suspected of the president. Nor did he dare to believe that Britt would dump the whole burden on the cashier. However, if Britt undertook such a play of perfidy, the outlander knew that the native would have the advantage in the exchange of accusation.
Vaniman perceived the existing state of affairs in the demeanor of the men whom he met on the street, going to and from the tavern. He heard some of their remarks. He strove to keep a calm face while his soul burned!
Then, at last, Examiner Starr acted. He employed peculiar methods to fit a peculiar case.
One afternoon Starr sat and stared for some time at Vaniman. They were alone in the bank. Receiver Waite and Vona had gone away.
“Would you relish a little show?” inquired the examiner.
Vaniman had nerved himself against all kinds of surprise, he thought, but he was not prepared for this proffer of entertainment. He frankly declared that he did not understand.
“Seeing that you are doubtful, we'll have the show, anyway, and you can tell me later whether or not you relish it.” He opened the door and called. Bixby came in. It was evident that Bixby had been waiting.
“All ready!” said Starr.
“All right!” said Bixby.
“I'll say that Bixby, here, is an operator from a detective agency, in case you don't know it,” explained the examiner.
“I do know it, sir!”
Bixby pulled off his overcoat. Under it he wore a mohair office coat. He yanked off that garment, ripped the sleeves, tore the back breadth, and threw the coat under a stool. Then he secured a dustcloth from a hook, produced a small vial of chloroform, and poured some of the liquid on the cloth. He poured more of the chloroform on his hair and his vest. Then he laid down the cloth and got a roll of tape out of a drawer. He cut off a length and made a noose, slipped it over his wrists, bent down and laid the end of the tape on the floor, stood on it, and pulled taut the noose until the flesh was ridged. He stooped again and picked up two metal disks which Starr tossed on the floor; the detective did this easily, although his writs were noosed.
“Not the exact program, perhaps, but near enough,” Starr commented.
With equal ease Bixby laid the disks carefully on the flange of the sill of the vault. Then he took the cloth from the desk, went to the vault, stooped and thumped his head up against the projecting lever. He went into the vault and carefully pulled the door shut after him, both hands on the main bolt.
Starr was silent for some moments, exchanging looks with the cashier.
“Any comments?” inquired the manager of the show.
“None, sir.”
“I'll simply say that the chloroform cloth can be put to the nose as occasion calls for. Bixby isn't doing that. I told Bixby that for the purposes of demonstration he might count one hundred slow and then figure that he had used up the oxygen in the vault, and then, if nobody came to open the door, he could—well, he isn't in there to commit suicide, but only to create an impression. I ask again—any comments?”
Vaniman shook his head.
Then the door swung open. Bixby was on his back, his heels in the air. He had pushed the door with his feet, his shoulders against the inner door. He rose and came out. Starr cut the tape with the office shears.
“That's all!” said the manager.
Bixby, not troubling about the torn office jacket, put on his overcoat and departed.
Starr took a lot of time in lighting a cigar and getting a good clinch on the weed with his teeth. He spoke between those teeth. “It's your move, Vaniman.”
“I haven't agreed to sit in at that kind of a game,” stated the young man, firmly.
“But you'll have to admit that I'm playing mighty fair,” insisted the examiner. “When we talked in Britt's office, you and I agreed that it wasn't likely that a chap would run risks or commit suicide by shutting himself up in a bank vault with a time lock on. That's about the only point we did agree on. I'm showing you that I don't agree with you now, even on that point. That being the case, you've got to—show me.” Starr emphasized the last two words by stabbing at his breast with the cigar.
“The idea is, Mr. Starr, you believe that I framed a fake robbery, or something that looked like a robbery, in order to cover myself.” Frank stood up and spoke hotly.
Mr. Starr jumped up and was just as heated in his retort. “Yes!”
“But the whole thing—the muddling of the bank's books—the disks—a man shoving himself into the vault—I'd have to be a lunatic to perform in that fashion!”
“They say there's nothing new under the sun! There is, just the same! Some crook is thinking up a new scheme every day!”
“By the gods, you shall not call me a crook!”
“You, yourself, are drawing that inference. But I don't propose to deal in inferences—”
“Starting in the first day you struck this town, hounding me on account of matters I had no knowledge of, Mr. Starr, was drawing a damnable inference.”
“It has been backed up by some mighty good evidence!”
“What is your evidence?”
The examiner blew a cloud of smoke, then he fanned the screen away and squinted at Vaniman. “If you ever hear of me giving away the state's case in any matter where I'm concerned you'll next hear of me committing suicide by locking myself into a bank vault. Calm down, Mr. Cashier!”
Starr walked close to Vaniman and tapped a stubby forefinger against the young man's heaving breast. “I'm going to give you a chance, young fellow! I staged that little play a few moments ago so that you'd see what a fool house of cards you're living in! I hope you noted carefully that we did not need to go off the premises for any of our props. I, myself, had noted in your case that everything that was used came from the premises. Real robbers usually bring their own stuff. Even that chloroform—”
“I know nothing about the chloroform, sir.”
“Well, the vial was here that night, anyway! It's a small thing to waste time on! I don't profess to be at the bottom of the affair, Vaniman. I'll admit that it looks as if there's a lot behind this thing—plenty that is interesting. I've got my full share of human curiosity. I'd like to be let in on this thing, first hand. Now come across clean! The whole story! Tell me where the coin is! It's certainly a queer case, and there must be some twist in it where I can do you a good turn. I've giving you your chance, I say!”
“I have no more idea where that coin is than you have, Mr. Starr. I never touched it. I have already told the whole truth, so far as I know facts.”
“Now listen, Vaniman! This town is already down! If that gold isn't recovered this bank failure will put the town out! The folks are ugly. They're talking. Britt says they believe you have hidden the money!”
“He does say it!” Vaniman fairly barked the words. “No doubt he has been telling 'em so!”
Starr proceeded remorselessly. “I have heard all the gossip about the trouble between you and Britt. But that gossip doesn't belong in this thing right now. Vaniman, you know what a country town is when it turns against an outsider! If you go before a jury on this case—and that money isn't in sight—you don't stand the show of a wooden latch on the back door of hell's kitchen! They'll all come to court with what they can grub up in the way of brickbats—facts, if they can get 'em, lies, anyway! Come, come, now! Dig up the coin!”
Starr's bland persistency in taking for granted the fact that Vaniman was hiding the money snapped the overstrained leash of the cashier's self-restraint. In default of a general audience of the hateful Egyptian vilifiers, he used Starr as the object of his frenzied vituperation.
Mr. Starr listened without reply.
As soon as it was apparent to the bank examiner that the cashier did not intend to take advantage of the chance that had been offered, Starr marched to the door, opened it, and called. The corridor, it seemed, was serving as repository for various properties required in the drama which Mr. Starr had staged that day. The man who entered wore a gold badge—and a gold badge marks the high sheriff of a county. Starr handed a paper to the officer. “Serve it,” he commanded, curtly.
The sheriff walked to Vaniman and tapped him on the shoulder. “You're under arrest.”
“Charged with what?”
“I'm making it fairly easy for you,” explained, Starr, dryly, appearing to be better acquainted with the nature of the warrant than the sheriff was. “Burglary, with or without accomplices, might have been charged—seeing that the coin has been removed—in the nighttime, of course! But we're simply making the charge embezzlement!”
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