hundred thousand dollars is a great deal of money.”
“Yes, sir.”
“The responsibility is absolutely and exclusively yours.”
“I realize that.”
“Its loss cannot but be due to carelessness on your part.”
“That is probably true.”
“Probably?”
“Yes, sir. I am not certain about any phase of this—this—unfortunate situation.”
Warren lighted another cigar. “Of course the bank will not lose. You are bonded. I must notify the bonding company immediately.”
“Of course.”
The younger man's poise seemed to get on the nerves of the bank president. For once in his life he had come into contact with a man more unemotional than himself. His fist pounded the desk suddenly.
“Damn it! Wallace, what does it all mean?”
“That that amount of money has disappeared, sir.”
“One hundred thousand even?”
“To the dollar.”
“When did you notice the loss?”
“Just a few minutes ago, sir—when I checked over the cash.”
“You rechecked?”
“Twice.”
“Have you been alone in your cage all day?”
“I believe so, sir.”
“You only believe?”
“I can’t make a too positive statement. The cages of the other paying tellers open into mine. Almost every day the door between my cage and theirs is open for a little while. It is possible that that was the case at certain times to-day.”
“You are not positive?”
“No, sir.”
“But you believe that the door was open—in the regular course of the day's work?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And you believe that one of your assistants took that money?”
Wallace's face twitched, ever so slightly. “No, sir.”
“No?”
“Even if my door had been open, Mr. Warren, I don’t believe they would have had a chance to take that much money.”
“But—but, Wallace—there are only four men in this bank who could have taken it—provided it was taken; yourself and your three assistant paying tellers.”
“I realize that.”
“And you say that you don't believe they could?”
“Yes, sir.”
“H’m! Do you realize the inevitable conclusion?”
“That if they didn't, I did?”
“Exactly.”
“Yes, sir, I realize that.”
“Yet you say that you did not.”
“Of course.”
Robert Warren showed a flash of irritation. “You seem damned unexcited.”
“I don’t believe this is any time for me to become excited, sir.”
Robert Warren rose. “Come with me, young man. We'll lock the doors of the bank and check every cent of cash we have. There must be some mistake.”
“I sincerely hope so, sir.”
A careful check-up showed plainly that there was no mistake. One hundred thousand dollars had disappeared from the bank during the course of the day’s business. It was gone. The three assistant paying tellers were nervous and excited. The cashier, a nervous, wiry little man, rushed around the bank like a chicken suddenly bereft of its head. The bank’s private detective, a portly, unimaginative individual, strutted around the empty lobby trying to look important and succeeding not at all. He believed it incumbent upon him to detect something or somebody, felt that the weight of the world suddenly had descended upon his shoulders. But his brain worked in a single unfortunate channel. His attempts at deduction led invariably into the cul-de-sac of “It just couldn’t happen.”
That was the reaction expressed by every bank employe who knew what had occurred. The thing was impossible. The paying tellers, who had worked in team preparing for the rush of the day, were all reasonably certain that the cash had been correct at the beginning of the day—as certain as they were that it was not now correct. Through it all Clifford Wallace worked with them. Tiny lines of worry corrugated his forehead. And when, at seven o'clock, it became evident that the money was positively gone and had disappeared probably during the course of the day’s business, the president, the cashier and Clifford Wallace retired to Warren's office. The president and cashier were smoking. Cliff declined their proffered cigar.
“I never smoke, you know.”
“The point now is,” spoke Warren, checking off that particular point on his thumb, “that the money has disappeared and we must do something. The question is, what?” He turned his gaze upon Wallace. Cliff met the stare steadily and answered in a matter-of fact voice:
“The obvious thing is to place me under arrest, Mr. Warren.”
“Obvious, of course.”
“But Mr. Warren”—it was the nervous little cashier—“you don’t believe Cliff stole that money, do you?”
“Certainly not, Mr. Jenkins. Of course I don’t. And equally of course I am not going to have Mr. Wallace placed under arrest.”
A flicker of triumph crossed Clifford Wallace's face, to be followed instantly by his habitual stoniness of expression.
“I am perfectly willing, Mr. Warren——”
“It isn’t a case of willingness, Wallace. If I thought for a moment you were guilty—or even could be guilty—I wouldn’t hesitate. Not if you were my brother. But the thing is impossible. You've been negligent—probably; I’m not even sure of that. I understand banks well enough to know that a certain laxity of routine is naturally and excusably developed. It is my personal opinion that the money did not disappear from the bank. It either never was here or it is still here.”
“Yes, sir.” Cliff was calmly attentive.
“I am going to search every employe as he or she leaves the bank. That will insure its remaining here to-night. By to-morrow morning the bonding-company detectives and the representatives of the Bankers’ Protective Association will be here. Whatever action they care to take, Wallace, will be strictly up to them. Personally, I wish to take occasion to assure you of my confidence in your integrity and to express the belief that this is an explainable mistake of some sort, which will be set right to-morrow.”
“And you are not even going to keep me under surveillance to-night?”
“No.”
“Pardon me, sir, but I believe you are making a mistake. You will be criticized——”
“They can criticize and be damned to them.”
Wallace returned to his cage, where he busied himself arranging the shelves for the following morning. Then quite as usual he closed his vault doors, set the time lock, visited the washroom, and left the building after undergoing a thorough search. Once outside, his shoulders went back unconsciously. He knew that he had won. The very simplicity of his crime had caused it to be crowned with success.
But he did not allow his elation to strangle caution.