With the twisted smile still emblazoned on his gloating lips, Harold Thurber placed the portfolio within the coupe, and took the driver’s seat. He backed his car from the drive, and headed along a narrow lane that led toward the outskirts of Barmouth.
With calm demeanor and perfect calculation, Harold Thurber had received a fortune in cash. He had acted without haste; and no one had seen him enter or leave the First National Bank. Sherman Brooks, lulled by Thurber’s friendliness, had neglected his duty without realizing it.
The money had reached the hands of the man for whom it was intended — so Sherman Brooks believed. The entire transaction had excited no suspicion in the cashier’s mind. Only two men knew what had happened in the ten minutes preceding two o’clock. One was Sherman Brooks, now traveling in the train to Baltimore; the other was a calm-faced man driving a coupe swiftly along a deserted Maryland road.
The events that had followed after Brooks had left the bank were unknown to the cashier, however. The only man who could have described them was the one in the coupe — the man whose twisted smile alone betrayed the sordid elation that existed in his scheming brain.
A second crime had been accomplished — successfully!
CHAPTER V
THE SECOND ALIBI
IT was nearly three o’clock when a group of men entered the office of President Gorgas Talmadge, in the First National Bank of Barmouth. The old gentleman rose to greet them. He singled out the one whom he knew was most important.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Thurber,” said Talmadge. “We have been expecting you. The funds are ready. Mr. Brooks has placed them in the vault. Come! We shall go to his office.”
The group followed the old bank president as he led the way. Thurber was speaking to Talmadge.
“We’ve been in conference all day,” he remarked. “So many details to attend to, we left the money until the last minute. Then, when I saw it was close to three o’clock, we hurried over here.”
“Quite all right, Mr. Thurber,” responded Talmadge. “I told Mr. Brooks to wait until you arrived. It would not have mattered if you had come after our closing hour of three.”
Talmadge had reached the door of the cashier’s office. He called to Brooks as he opened the door. He was surprised to see that the room was empty.
An annoyed expression appeared upon Talmadge’s face. He had expected the cashier to be here. Instead, Brooks was missing. Waving his scrawny hand, Talmadge indicated chairs to the committeemen. He left the office in search of the cashier.
It was three minutes afterward when Talmadge returned, accompanied by two tellers. He was talking in an angry, quavering voice, and his theme was the absence of Sherman Brooks.
“I can’t find the cashier!” he exclaimed. “He had no right to step out. He knew my instructions. I am sorry to delay you, gentlemen. This is gross negligence on the part of Mr. Brooks. He shall answer for it!”
“He did not know when we were coming, did he?” questioned Thurber.
“No,” responded Talmadge, “but that is no excuse for him. He has been negligent with other duties; and this was too important a matter. However, I shall not delay you, gentlemen. The funds are in the vault, and I shall deliver them to you in person. Come with me, Davis.”
One of the tellers followed the old bank president. Talmadge’s destination was the vault. He was gone for five minutes. Then he returned abruptly to face the men in the cashier’s office. Talmadge’s countenance was ashen. Davis, standing behind Talmadge, reflected the bank president’s expression.
“What is the matter?” questioned Harold Thurber, gazing steadily at Talmadge.
“The relief funds!” gasped the president. “I–I cannot find them! They are not in the vault!”
A curious smile flickered upon Thurber’s lips. It spread into the beginning of an ugly leer; then it stopped abruptly as Thurber regained his impassiveness.
“I must find Brooks!” cried Talmadge. “I must find him! He had the money — he was to place it in the vault—”
The bank president paused, a look of consternation upon his wizened face. His own words frightened him. He tried to show signs of composure; then failed. The thoughts that were in his mind could not be withheld.
“Has Brooks gone?” he questioned, suddenly turning to the tellers. “Did you see him go out of here?”
“No, sir,” answered Davis, while the second teller shook his head. “I only know that he intended to go to Baltimore, on the two o’clock train, if possible. He had his bag under his desk to—”
The members of the Civic Relief Committee were sensing the situation. One man peered beneath the desk and announced that no bag was there.
“Be calm now, gentlemen” — Thurber’s voice was solemn, as he took up the theme that all were thinking — “we must be calm. There is some mistake. Mr. Brooks is trustworthy and reliable—”
The strain was too great for Gorgas Talmadge. The old man collapsed into a chair and piteously bleated the fear that he could not restrain.
“I believe that Brooks has absconded!” he gasped.
SOLEMN nods were passing among the committeemen. All were worried. None knew what to do. Davis, the teller, made a sudden suggestion.
“If Brooks has gone to Baltimore,” he declared, “his train is just about there. He might be intercepted at the depot—”
The suggestion brought approval. It was the signal for action. One of the committeemen seized the telephone and put in a call to the Baltimore police.
Gorgas Talmadge was in a pitiful state, now that he saw his fears being realized. Harold Thurber and the tellers helped the old man back into his own office. It was almost half an hour before they could fully revive him. When Thurber again joined the tense group in the cashier’s office, he was met with a chorus of elation.
“They’ve got Brooks!” exclaimed one man. “A call just came in from Baltimore. They’re bringing him here!”
“Nabbed him in the station,” said another. “They were too late to catch him when he came in, but they searched outbound trains, and found him in the smoker of one just about to leave.”
Thurber shook his head solemnly.
“Let us hope, gentlemen,” he said, “that Mr. Brooks can satisfactorily explain the disappearance of the relief funds. I, for one, hesitate to brand him as a thief.”
Accompanied by the committee, Thurber left the bank and went to the hotel, where the group had its headquarters. There was need of an urgent conference. Means were proposed whereby the activities could be postponed until the next day. This matter required considerable time. The committee had scarcely concluded its work before word came in that Sherman Brooks was at police headquarters.
Thurber and the others hurried there. They all arrived simultaneously with Gorgas Talmadge. An officer took them in to interview the prisoner. The chief detective stopped them on the way.
“We’ve got the man,” he said seriously. “but he didn’t have the money when they picked him up in Baltimore. He won’t talk until he sees you, Mr. Talmadge. He says that he can explain. That’s why we wanted you here so quickly.”
The old president nodded and motioned to the others to follow him. They found Sherman Brooks sitting stolidly in the corner of a room. The cashier’s eye lighted as he observed Gorgas Talmadge; then a clouded, puzzled expression came over his face at sight of Harold Thurber.
“Where are the city relief funds, Brooks?” questioned Talmadge. “What did you do with them?”
The cashier’s features hardened. His puzzlement turned to keen antagonism, as he stared steadily at Harold Thurber.
“I’ll tell you what I did with the relief money, Mr. Talmadge,” announced Brooks firmly. “I did exactly as you told me. I put the money in the vault. At ten minutes of two, I gave the cash to Harold Thurber, in my office.”