"And which I cannot attempt to prevent," added Judge firmly. "Further discussion is useless, Mr. Delmar."
Roland Delmar arose, a broken man. He made one final plea:
"I am going directly to my home," he said. "If you should change your decision—"
"I shall phone you," said Judge, in a kindly tone. "Suppose, Mr. Delmar" — he seemed to have a sudden change of thought — "that I think this over and call you within an hour. There is a chance — a slight chance — that I might alter my decision."
"Ah — through Harvey Bronlon?"
"Perhaps."
With this slight reviving hope, Roland Delmar walked from the room, accompanied by Judge. The latter saw his visitor from the house.
Turning, he rushed swiftly back to the study. He pulled open the door and admitted his three companions to the room.
"You heard it all?" he whispered.
The men replied with nods.
"Major," said Judge tensely, "go down and get Deacon right away. He is at the funeral parlor. Tell him about Wellington being in the bank — that young Salisbury is there, too. There's only one thing to do—"
"I get it," said Major. "Listen—"
He gripped Judge by the shoulder, and spoke in a quick, low voice.
"You remember — I told you — the first night in there" — Major's terse words were bringing nods from Judge — "I wanted to be safe — just a precaution — Deacon said something about a frame-up—"
"Go to it," interposed Judge. "But use good judgment. I'm counting on you and Deacon. This is a ticklish situation. From what Delmar said, this man Wellington may be smart. We have to take it for granted that he knows too much. Act accordingly."
Major nodded. He swung about and left the room. Ferret and Butcher, somewhat perplexed, looked to Judge for an explanation. They got none.
Instead, Judge motioned them to sit down. Then, in a quiet, methodical tone, he began to outline the work they were to do.
Ferret's eyes gleamed as Judge unfolded his plan. Butcher's plump face showed a brutal grin. Judge was explaining a crafty scheme that concerned the affairs of Roland Delmar and the County National Bank.
Chapter IX — Mad Murder
A man stopped at the side entrance of the County National Bank. He rang a bell, and waited until the metal door was unclosed. He was facing a watchman, who stood with gun in hand, The watchman's flashlight beamed upon the visitor's face.
"Hello, Mr. Salisbury," said the watchman.
He slipped his revolver back into its holster, and nudged over his shoulder with his right hand.
"He's in there," said the watchman, in a low voice. "Waiting for you, Mr. Salisbury." The heavy door closed behind the men. The watchman led the way into the main room of the bank. It was dark, and Salisbury pressed the watchman's arm. A man was approaching through the gloom.
"Leave us in here," said Salisbury. "We want to look around a bit and talk together, alone. Understand?"
"Yes, sir," said the watchman. "Mr. Delmar told me that." As the watchman started back toward the corridor that led to the side door, Hubert Salisbury advanced to meet the approaching man.
They spoke to each other in whispers; then Salisbury conducted the other to a small office at the side. Here, he turned on a light and sat down at a desk, facing his companion.
Hubert Salisbury was a clean-cut chap, not more than twenty-five years of age, although his poise and businesslike look marked him as a mature man.
Hubert's companion — Wellington — was considerably older. He seemed to be a rather slow and dull-witted individual; but that was affected. An experienced investigator, Wellington knew the value of self-effacement. Alone, with Salisbury, he quickly dropped his sluggish attitude.
"You've found something?" questioned Salisbury.
"Yes," declared Wellington. "At least, I think I have. I figured this whole proposition, Mr. Salisbury. That watchman of yours makes his rounds on a rather methodical sort of schedule. It wouldn't be difficult to slip one over on him — provided that you knew his ways. Now there's only one method that could be used to get a line on him. That's to be in here, keeping a watch of your own."
"It sounds logical," nodded Salisbury.
"Well," said the investigator, "the dough has been grabbed at night. Whoever has been doing it has been mighty clever. Studied the vault and been looking over the whole lay. No ordinary crook."
"So I've been laying here, on watch myself. More than that, I've been figuring how it would be possible to get in here."
"I can't say I've had any luck except that I've picked the one place where it might work. Downstairs, where all the safe-deposit vaults are located. That's where I want to look."
"But that's impossible!" exclaimed Salisbury. "That was built as a strongroom — right in the foundations of the building. You're wrong, there, Wellington—"
"I'm not saying I'm right," interrupted the investigator. "I'm only saying that I've studied this place from the bottom up. There's nobody here outside of Mr. Delmar and yourself that could know enough about the place to slide in and out. I've eliminated the employees.
"I work this way: a thing is being done. How could it be done? Well, in this case, the only system is in and out by some mighty clever method. Finally I hit the idea that the places that look the weakest might be the strongest; and the places that looked the strongest might be the weakest." The man's tone was convincing. While Salisbury appeared doubtful, he was, nevertheless, forced to agree that Wellington might be logical in his assumption.
"You think that someone," began Salisbury, "has direct access here—"
"I think more than that," interposed Wellington. "I think that this whole place is a running ground. I figure that some crook — maybe more than one — is so sure of himself that he can walk in and out of here any time he pleases.
"I wouldn't be surprised if a guy should walk in here right now and poke an automatic under our noses!" Salisbury shifted uneasily. The idea sounded fantastic; nevertheless, it was cause for alarm. He looked toward the door of the little office.
With unfeigned apprehension, he arose and opened the door. He looked into the big dark room. Perhaps Wellington was right. Salisbury almost fancied that he could discern a stealthy figure moving through the gloom.
"What do you propose to do?" he questioned.
"Start a search together," rejoined Wellington promptly. "I don't want to do it alone. I can't call the watchman. That's why I wanted you here tonight. I've been suspicious lately — too suspicious to search the way I want. If I had you with me, keeping watch, I might be able to get somewhere." Salisbury, standing by the door, nodded his agreement. Wellington arose and walked over beside him.
"I've got a couple of guns," said the investigator, tapping his pockets grimly. "I'm going to shoot if I see anything that looks funny.
"Now suppose we work it this way. I'm starting downstairs, alone. I'll have the light on — just looking around like I've looked before.
"You come down in a few minutes. I've been up here all evening, and I just might run into something for a starter. That's why I'll go first. You've got a gun?"
"A loaded revolver in the bottom drawer," said Salisbury, pointing to the desk.
"Good," said the investigator. "I'll go ahead. You get your gun and join me." Wellington left the room and advanced stealthily through the darkness. Salisbury drew a key from his pocket and unlocked the desk drawer. He raised a pile of papers, opened a wooden box, and reached in for his revolver.
To his surprise, it was not there. Hubert Salisbury stroked his chin. He was sure that he had put the revolver in that drawer, more than a month ago. He always kept the drawer locked.