Chief Culver waited no longer. He sprang across the room and grabbed Carl Walton by the shoulders. He spun the secretary around and stared into the young man’s eyes.
“Answer up!” he exclaimed. “What do you know about this? Was Earl Northrup back here?”
Carl Walton was totally bewildered by the statements that he had heard. He tried to rub his head as he feebly sought a response to the question hurled at him.
“I–I” — Walton’s words were confused — “I thought I saw Northrup come in here — like I — like I told you. I–I got hit on the head, you know — and — and — maybe I don’t remember things just like they happened—”
“But you remember taking that gun from the desk drawer?”
“Yes, I picked up the gun.”
“And you pointed it at someone?”
“Yes — I–I pointed it at North — I thought I pointed it at Northrup—”
“And then what?”
“I–I - don’t remember.”
“You fired that gun, didn’t you?”
“I–I - don’t remember.”
“And it might have been Mosier you pointed it at?”
“I don’t think so,” protested Walton.
“But it might have been Mosier?” grilled the police chief.
“I–I guess so — ” stammered Walton.
Police Chief Culver beckoned to an officer. He pointed to Walton’s huddled form in the chair.
“Take him away,” he ordered. “We’re holding him for murder.”
“No — no” — Walton’s protesting voice became a scream — “no — no — you can’t take me! I didn’t shoot Mosier! I found the gun lying on the floor—”
“Yes?” mocked Culver grimly. “You found it in the desk drawer, according to your last statement.”
The policemen were dragging Walton away. Culver watched them go. Then he turned to Hanscom. He spoke in an apologetic tone, glancing at Northrup as he did so.
“Walton didn’t fool us,” declared Culver calmly. “I figured his story was bad, all along. But he talked about those bonds — and I knew that if they were gone, there must be a third man. The question was whether Walton was innocent or an accomplice. He named Northrup.
“Maybe Carl Walton killed Mosier. Maybe the other man did. We have the circumstantial evidence on Walton — all we needed was to find something fishy in his story. We’ve got it now, because he slipped when he named Northrup. He thought Northrup was coming back here.
“Driving alone in his car — whether he was coming here or not — Northrup would have been up against it for an alibi. But this trip to Chicago makes it great. Walton’s goose is cooked now. We’ll grill him for all he knows.
“Too bad about the bonds, Mr. Hanscom,” he added, “We’ll do all we can to get them back. Give us a chance to work on Walton. A lot may come of it.”
Men were removing Mosier’s body. The police chief followed them. The room emptied. Only Earl Northrup, completely vindicated of all suspicion, remained with his friend, Hanscom.
“I think they’ll trace the bonds, Hanscom,” declared Northrup solemnly.
Anthony Hanscom slumped in the chair by the desk. He mopped his forehead; then regained his composure and extended his hand. Earl Northrup received it warmly.
“It may be a big financial loss to me,” declared Hanscom, “but those bonds weren’t all I have in the world. I’d rather lose four times their value than see a real friend — like you — suffer through the false accusations of a dastardly coward.
“I never trusted Walton very far, Northrup. I didn’t think he was crooked, but I never considered him reliable. If Mosier hadn’t been here, I wouldn’t have left those bonds in Walton’s care.
“There’s someone else in this — someone bigger than Walton. Some real crook was after those bonds, and he used Walton as his accomplice. That’s the way I see it, Northrup.”
Hanscom was staring straight across the room. He did not see the twisted smile upon Northrup’s lips. When Hanscom did glance toward his friend, the smile was gone. An impassive expression had replaced the one of evil.
IT was after midnight when Police Chief Culver returned to find Anthony Hanscom and Earl Northrup still together. He reported that Carl Walton had collapsed under the strain of a continued grilling; that the secretary’s story had become confused, although he still adhered to the impossible idea that Earl Northrup might have been the man who had entered Hanscom’s home to take the bonds.
Northrup left a short while later, and the police chief lingered long enough to add a few remarks to Anthony Hanscom.
“We’ll get the truth out of Walton,” declared Chief Culver. “He played a good bet when he tried to lay it on Northrup, but he lost the gamble. The fact that Northrup was with you cleared Northrup himself; but there’s another angle that shows Walton’s complicity in the theft.”
“What is that?” questioned Hanscom.
“Any plea of mistaken identity on Carl Walton’s part,” responded Culver wisely. “The only way he has tried to meet the facts is by saying that he thought the man who came in was Earl Northrup. That doesn’t go with me.
“Take a look at your friend Northrup. He’s an odd-looking fellow, with that flat, solid face of his. I’ve seen plenty of types of faces — but never one that could match Northrup’s. That was where Walton played a clever card. He knew that unless Northrup had an alibi — which Walton thought was impossible — we would believe him. That’s why I was almost inclined to believe Walton at first.
“Earl Northrup? You could spot that fellow out of a million. I don’t believe there’s another man in the whole State of Illinois that has a face that resembles Northrup’s!”
“I think you are right,” agreed Hanscom. “I am glad Northrup was with me tonight. I agree with you that there is probably no one else with his facial characteristics in all this State.”
Chief Culver and Anthony Hanscom were wrong in their assumptions. At that very moment, a man was boarding an eastbound limited at a junction point more than a hundred miles from Tilson. The man’s face was obscure in the darkness of the vestibule. His eyes were turned away as he handed the conductor a ticket that bore Baltimore as its destination.
But when this individual was safely behind the closed door of the compartment which he had taken for the night, his face was plainly revealed in the light.
Immobile features — steady, staring eyes — lips with a twisted evil smile — all were the characteristics of Earl Northrup!
CHAPTER IV
THE CIVIC FUND
IN Barmouth, Maryland, the First National Bank was an imposing edifice that stood on one of the principal streets of the town. Its effective architecture was enhanced by the low row of shade trees that ran along a little side street beside the bank.
There were entrances from both the principal street and the little lane; but it was seldom that depositors entered by the side door of the bank. Most persons preferred to come in from the business street, passing by the office where Gorgas Talmadge, the staid old bank president, spent quiet hours in solemn dignity.
Today, Gorgas Talmadge was seated at a desk which bore high stacks of paper currency. Two men were in the office with him when he summoned Sherman Brooks, the cashier. Talmadge indicated the money with a sweep of his scrawny hand.
“There are the civic relief funds, Mr. Brooks,” stated Talmadge. “I am placing them in your charge. Two hundred and twenty thousand dollars.”
“Yes, sir,” responded Brooks.
“You understand,” continued Talmadge, “that the money is to be delivered only to Harold Thurber, the chairman of the Civic Relief Committee. He will call for the cash today. Place it in the vault until he arrives.”