CHAPTER XLII

THE DISCOVERY IN THE VAULT.

Dick Merriwell got up early in the morning that Barrows and his precious friend, Bascom, arrived in New York. He had an engagement with Jim Phillips for an early breakfast at his rooms, to be followed by a swim. When eight o’clock arrived, with still no sign of Jim, Dick was tremendously surprised. Jim was usually the most punctual of men, and the universal coach was inclined to think that something very serious indeed had happened to make Jim break his engagement without sending any word.

When he inquired at Jim’s rooms, he was at first relieved. He learned there of the call Jim had received from his sick friend, and decided that the pitcher, probably finding his friend worse than he expected, had stayed the night with him, and, possibly, overslept, as a result of having been so long awake. But when he went to the other man’s rooms he learned that Jim had left there at one o’clock to go home. There was no accident reported that might have accounted for Jim’s mysterious absence. And Dick, very much perturbed, visited every place in New Haven where Jim, by any imaginable vagary, might have gone. Bill Brady was one of the first of those he looked up, and Bill, quite as anxious as himself, joined the search at once.

But the morning passed without a sign of the missing baseball captain. Harry Maxwell, Watson, Carter, and others had helped to look for him, but none of them had found a trace of his movements after he had left his friend’s rooms to go home.

“He’s the last man in the world to disappear this way,” said Brady, puzzled and disturbed. “I can’t account for it at all. I know there was nothing to bother him. He hasn’t had any telegram or call from home—some sickness in the family was the first thing I thought of. Anyhow, if it was anything ordinary, he’d have found some way to let us know that he was going. He wouldn’t leave us to worry about him if he had had any way of preventing it.”

They were all in Merriwell’s rooms at that time, having given up the search as fruitless, and every one there, except Dick himself, was advancing some theory to solve the mystery. Suddenly there was an excited voice to be heard downstairs, asking for Dick, and a moment later Detective Jones burst into the room.

“I’ve just come from the Elm National Bank,” he cried. “They’ve found a Yale man, Phillips, the baseball captain, I’m told, in the big vault, and they sent for an officer to hold him while they searched the place to see if there has been a robbery. I thought you would want to know about it, Mr. Merriwell.”

“Come on, Brady,” shouted Dick Merriwell. “The rest of you stay behind. We’ll let you know as soon as anything is discovered.”

At the bank they found that the detective’s astounding statement was true. Jim, pale and shaken, and indignant at the presence of a policeman, obviously sent there to guard him, sat in a chair, and in a few words told his friends the story of the robbery he had interrupted, which the president and cashier of the bank had already heard. Riggs, tremendously excited, and in a state of panic, hovered about, trying to hear everything that was said, and the whole place was in an uproar.

“You can’t blame us for thinking that this a very queer story, Mr. Merriwell,” said the president, Joseph Bromlow, an old and respected citizen of New Haven. “We have not been able to find any trace of the watchman. He is not at his home, and he has not been taken to any of the city hospitals, as would certainly be the case had he been injured, as Mr. Phillips says. Moreover, the statement that Mr. Phillips saw the man fall, as if shot, and afterward found a bullet wound in his leg, although he had heard no report, is curious, to say the least.”

“Did you never hear of a Maxim gun silencer?” asked Dick, rather abruptly. He was much upset, and almost as indignant as Jim himself at the suspicion with which the bank officers had received the pitcher’s story.

Bill Brady took Mr. Bromlow aside.

“Look here, Mr. Bromlow,” he said, “you know, of course, that my father practically owns this bank. Now, I can tell you that any idea that there was anything wrong about the presence of Phillips in that vault is absurd. I don’t care what he says about it, or how improbable his story may seem to be, you’ll only waste time unless you take his word absolutely. You’ll find out, sooner or later, that he is telling the truth, and if any criminals escape because of neglect to follow up any clew that Phillips gives you, my father is not likely to overlook it.”

“I am fully accountable to your father, Mr. Brady,” said the president, with some heat, “but I am not aware that he has delegated his authority to you. I am competent, I think, to look after the interests of this bank. I have done so for a number of years. And I must ask you not to interfere.”

Brady shrugged his shoulders. He knew that Bromlow was in the right, technically, and that he had no power to act, but he decided to remedy that as soon as might be, and went out to send a long telegram to his father. He smiled as he sent it, for he knew that his father trusted him, and that neither Mr. Bromlow nor any one else would be able to say that he lacked authority when he found another occasion to intervene.

In the bank the scene was one of great confusion. Jim was not under arrest, for there was, as yet, no evidence that a crime had been committed. Experts had been sent for to go over the books and count the money, and all through the force of employees there was a tense and strained attitude. Riggs was almost crazy with fear and suspense, and Brady, who had been attracted by his nervous manner, watched the little teller closely. It seemed to him that Riggs, if he could only be induced to tell all he knew, might reveal a great deal.

Jim Phillips, angry and confused, watched the progress of the search. He felt that he was being very badly used. He had risked a good deal to prevent a robbery of the bank; had been locked all night in the vault, after suffering injuries more or less serious. By way of thanks for his pains, he was suspected of stealing money from the bank, and of being concerned in the plot he had foiled.

He expressed himself thus to Dick Merriwell, who, while he was himself indignant, could still see that the bank officials were not altogether to blame in the matter.

“They’ve got to protect the bank, Jim,” he said. “You have to remember that. I know that what you’re saying is true; so do all your friends. But these men don’t know you, and they’re acting as trustees for the money of a great many other people. So don’t be too hard on them. They’re only doing what they think is their duty.”

Jim saw the justice of the universal coach’s appeal, and laughed.

“I haven’t been quite myself,” he said. “That rap on the head hasn’t done me any serious harm, but it left me pretty well confused. I can see now that these people are all right. I’m sorry I let myself show that I was annoyed.”

“It was natural enough,” said Dick Merriwell. “I knew you’d look at it the right way as soon as I explained it to you.”

“I don’t think they’ll find that anything at all has been taken,” said Jim. “Of course, they’ve got to make sure. But I was in here very soon after they got in themselves, and I’m pretty sure that they didn’t have time to accomplish anything. What I should investigate, if I were the bank officers, is how the thieves got through those doors as quickly as they did. They didn’t do any dynamiting, and they would, if I hadn’t butted in, have left no traces at all behind them. That’s what would worry me if I were Mr. Bromlow, it seems to me.”

Dick Merriwell and Brady, who heard this, looked very thoughtful.

“It certainly looks like an inside job,” said Brady. “That’s the police term, I believe, when some one inside helps the robbers. It looks as if those fellows were pretty familiar with details of bank management that ought not to be known outside of the working force. But they’re pig-headed. They’re not taking any stock in Jim’s story—I can see that. We’re going to have a lot of trouble here before we get through, I’m afraid.”

Jim got up, and, though his head was still spinning, went over to speak to Mr. Bromlow.

“Mr. Bromlow,” he said, “you don’t seem to think that I have told you the truth about my experiences here. But I wish you would go so far, no matter what you believe, as to investigate along the lines that you would follow if you were convinced that what I told you was the truth. That could surely do no harm. You will not find that any money is missing here. There was no time for the thieves to get away with anything. You will find that out sooner or later. But, in the meantime, some effort should be made to trace those men. The sooner they are arrested and brought back here, the sooner this mystery will be cleared up.”

Mr. Bromlow was ordinarily a courteous and kindly man. But his nerves were raw. He was greatly upset by the fact that anything had happened at his bank to call for any action by the authorities, and he answered Jim brusquely.

“I am doing what I think right to safeguard the interests of the bank, Mr. Phillips,” he said. “If you care to follow my advice, you will wait until questions are asked before you try to answer them, and you will not make the effort then without a lawyer to advise you. Your bitterness against these robbers seems strange to me. I will remind you of an adage that may or may not apply to the present case. It is: ‘When thieves fall out, then honest men may get their rights.’ Now, if you will excuse me, I am busy.”

Jim was furiously angry, but he had seen that Bromlow was in no condition to be held accountable for all he said, and he managed to refrain from making any retort to this uncalled for and insulting reply to his honest attempt to give aid.

In a few minutes the investigation was complete. Riggs, terror-stricken, realized suddenly what seemed bound to happen. The cash in the vaults was reported to be all right—but there was a shortage of a thousand dollars, and only Riggs could be held accountable for that.

They turned around to look for him, but he had disappeared.

“He can’t be gone very far,” said the cashier, to Bromlow. “There are special officers outside, guarding the doors. I instructed them not to allow any employee of the bank to leave the building without my personal authority. We’re still supposed to be doing business, you know. I saw no reason for taking the whole city of New Haven into our confidence in the matter. That would mean that the whole story would get into the newspapers—and we’re not ready for that yet.”

“Certainly not,” said Bromlow. “You were quite right, Hastings. I will find Riggs myself. I have no doubt that he can explain this matter in the most satisfactory way. He is a man I trust implicitly. He entered this bank when he was fifteen years old, and he is above suspicion—quite above suspicion.”

Brady, who heard this talk, did not share this opinion. The scared, worried face of Riggs had been haunting him for an hour. And he followed the president into the banking room just in time to see Paul Foote end an earnest conversation with Riggs and pass out of the the gate, closely scrutinized by the two special officers in plain clothes who stood there, although they made no move to stop him.

Bill Brady whistled as he saw this.

“I’m beginning to see daylight,” he muttered, to himself. “I guess Mr. Merriwell and I may be able to do a lot of explaining before this thing is cleared up.”

He looked at his watch, and put it back in his pocket with an impatient gesture.

“It’s time I heard from the governor,” he said. “He isn’t usually so slow about answering an important telegram. However, it may have been delayed in reaching him.”

Then he turned to Riggs and Bromlow.

“Riggs, my boy,” said the president, laying his hand on the clerk’s shoulder with a paternal gesture. “We’ve got to ask you to explain an item in your books that isn’t quite clear. There seems to be a shortage of a thousand dollars. I’m quite sure that it is all right, and that you will be able to make the whole matter clear, eh?”

“It’s a shame he doesn’t act that way with Jim Phillips,” said Brady, under his breath, and with some indignation. “He’s trying his best to make a man who is surely innocent appear guilty, and to clear a man who seems to be guilty. I’m afraid he’s about outlived his usefulness as a bank president.”

“I have not had time to get my books properly up to date,” said Riggs. “Usually, at this time of the year, I put in quite a lot of time working at night to catch up, but I have been delayed by illness. But I’m sure, sir, that there can be nothing wrong that a little work will not straighten out.”

“You can have all the time you want, Riggs,” said Bromlow. “I have every confidence in you. If there is an error, it is probably only technical. Go back to your work now. We will straighten out the matter of the thousand dollars later.”

Brady noticed that the worried look that Riggs had worn had given way to one of elation, as if he had been relieved of any fear he might have entertained. If that was the case, it must be Foote who had worked the change in him, Brady was sure. Bromlow had been kind, but if Riggs were really guilty, the president’s words had contained only a respite. Brady knew enough about banking to understand that.

In the room near the vault there was now a feeling of redoubled surprise. The bank officials, to their amazement, had found that Jim Phillips was right, and that whatever else had happened in the night, there had certainly been no robbery. The cash in the reserve vault was intact.

“I suppose that we need no longer feel that Mr. Phillips is under detention,” asked Dick Merriwell, rather coldly.

“No,” said old Bromlow, sadly puzzled. “I must apologize to him for intimating that his word was not to be accepted at once. But you will admit that the whole affair is very extraordinary, and that it is hard to credit his story of how he was found in our vault.”

“The truth is often the hardest thing in the world to believe, and sometimes to prove,” said Dick Merriwell. “Had he been dishonest in his motives, I think he could easily have invented a more plausible story than the one he told you.”

“No doubt,” said Bromlow, “no doubt. Now, if Mr. Phillips will come into my office, and dictate his story, in the form of an affidavit, to which he can swear before a notary public, that will be all that we shall require of him. I need not say that if his story, surprising as it is, turns out to be the true one, this bank is greatly indebted to him.”

“That is quite obvious,” said Brady dryly. “But it seems to me that the bank has been rather a long time in realizing that fact.”

They all filed into the room where Mr. Bromlow transacted his private business, and there Jim Phillips dictated his story of the night’s happenings, giving every detail that seemed to him to possess any bearing on the case. It did not take long, and, when he had signed the document, he prepared to leave. But there was a sudden interruption. Hastings, the cashier, rushed in, his face white, and spoke to President Bromlow, but aloud, so that all could hear.

“Riggs has explained his shortage,” he said. “And the bank appears to have lost five thousand dollars. A deposit of five thousand dollars was made yesterday. Riggs handled the money. Later, in making up his accounts and going over his cash, he was amazed to discover that ten hundred-dollar bills were counterfeit. He withdrew them at once, substituted good bills, and held these counterfeit notes out to make an investigation and secure good ones in their place if possible.

“Now we discover that there were not ten, but fifty counterfeits. Consequently this bank now holds five thousand dollars in worthless money. And a sight draft was given in exchange for this money, so that we have no recourse—that draft, presumably, being already in the hands of some one who can enforce its payment, as an innocent holder. Riggs expected to be able to adjust the matter without difficulty, having reason to think that the depositor was honorable and likely to remedy the matter. But the whole affair now assumes a very serious aspect. The man who deposited this money was Mr. Merriwell—and his relation with Mr. Phillips are well known.”

Dick Merriwell, his face darkening, sprang to his feet. But he restrained himself by a mighty effort, and waited for something more to be said.

President Bromlow, so confused by the rapid rush of events, which had caused more of a break in his peaceful routine than had befallen him before in twenty years, looked in a dazed fashion at Hastings, the cashier.

“Explain yourself, Hastings,” he said. “What do you mean?”

“It looks plain enough to me,” said Hastings bitterly. “Mr. Merriwell, whom we trusted implicitly, has deposited this counterfeit money, as is absolutely proved. Then his friend and associate, Phillips, attempts to take it away, so that the loss will be charged to robbery.”

“Not a word, Jim!” cautioned Dick hastily; as Jim Phillips sprang to his feet to refute the charge. “There’s plenty of time to disprove this—as whoever put this game up ought to have sense enough to know, it will be an easy matter to do so. I know where I got that money, and it will be simple to prove that it was all right. But this makes it more certain than ever that Brady was right—that this was an inside job.”

“I shall have to ask for the arrest of both of you,” said Bromlow to Dick Merriwell.

“You need not,” said Brady, who had just received a telegram. “The bank will investigate this matter further before taking any steps. And I will myself be responsible for the appearance of Mr. Merriwell and Mr. Phillips whenever they are required.”

“By what authority are you doing this?” inquired Hastings angrily.

But he was silenced as soon as he saw the telegram that Brady held out to him. It was from the big catcher’s father, and it gave him authority to act for his father in all matters pertaining to the bank.

“You will receive confirmation of this,” said Brady, to the old president. “In the meantime I shall engage detectives to investigate the whole matter, and to see that whoever is guilty does not escape.”

There was no further opposition when the three Yale men undertook to leave the bank building. Dick Merriwell gripped Brady’s hand to thank him for his timely interference.

“The whole thing’s rot, of course,” said Brady. “But it’s so infernally clever and so well managed that I’m not sure that you can blame Bromlow and Hastings very much for being deceived.”

“I’m sure you cannot,” said Dick. “I don’t need to tell you that I can prove myself to be all right without trouble. But that won’t settle it, by a good deal. There’s some queer influence back of this whole thing.”

“Well, Foote’s part of the influence,” said Brady. “He was in there, talking to Riggs, that little clerk they scared almost to death, and I’m willing to bet that he could tell a whole lot if we could only make him do it.”

“I’m about ready to use force to clear this thing up,” said Jim Phillips. “It’s certainly a mighty queer business.”

“What you need is a good sleep,” said Brady. “And I’ll see you get it, too.”