The jacques futrelle meg.., p.19
The Jacques Futrelle Megapack, page 19
“You may not see,” said The Thinking Machine, “but I can have him arrested for robbery and convict him.”
The girl gazed at him with wide, terror-stricken eyes, and gasped.
“No, no, no,” she said, hurriedly. “He could have had nothing to do with that at all.”
“Is he in love with you?” again came the question.
There was a pause.
“I’ve had reason to believe so,” she said, finally, “though—”
“And you?”
“The girl’s face was flaming now, and, squinting into her eyes, the scientist read the answer.
“I understand,” he commented, tersely. “Are you going to be married?”
“I could—could never marry him,” she gasped suddenly. “No, no,” emphatically. “We are not, ever.”
She slowly recovered from her confusion, while the scientist continued to squint at her curiously.
“I believe you said you had some information for me?” he asked.
“Y—yes,” she faltered. Then more calmly: “Yes. I came to tell you that the package of ten thousand dollars which you took from Mr. Fraser’s pocket has again disappeared.”
“Yes,” said the other, without astonishment.
“It was presumed at the bank that he had taken it home with him, having regained possession of it in some way, but a careful search has failed to reveal it.”
“Yes, and what else?”
The girl took a long breath and gazed steadily into the eyes of the scientist, with determination in her own.
“I have come, too, to tell you,” she said, “the name of the man who robbed the bank.”
V
If Miss Clarke had expected that The Thinking Machine would show either astonishment or enthusiasm, she must have been disappointed, for he neither altered his position nor looked at her. Instead, he was gazing thoughtfully away with lackluster eyes.
“Well?” he asked. “I suppose it’s a story. Begin at the beginning.”
With a certain well-bred air of timidity, the girl began the story; and occasionally as she talked there was a little tremor of the lips.
“I have been a stenographer and typewriter for seven years,” she said, “and in that time I have held only four positions. The first was in a law office in New York, where I was left an orphan to earn my own living; the second was with a manufacturing concern, also in New York. I left there three years ago to accept the position of private secretary to William T. Rankin, president of the—National Bank, at Hartford, Connecticut. I came from there to Boston and later went to work at the Ralston Bank, as private secretary to Mr. Fraser. I left the bank in Hartford because of the failure of that concern, following a bank robbery.”
The Thinking Machine glanced at her suddenly.
“You may remember from the newspapers—” she began again.
“I never read the newspapers,” he said.
“Well, anyway,” and there was a shade of impatience at the interruption, “there was a bank burglary there similar to this. Only seventy thousand dollars was stolen, but it was a small institution and the theft precipitated a run which caused a collapse after I had been in that position for only six months.”
“How long have you been with the Ralston National?”
“Nine months,” was the reply.
“Had you saved any money while working in your other positions?”
“Well, the salary was small—I couldn’t have saved much.”
“How did you live those two years from the time you left the Hartford Bank until you accepted this position?”
The girl stammered a little.
“I received assistance from friends,” she said, finally.
“Go on.”
“That bank in Hartford,” she continued, with a little gleam of resentment in her eyes, “had a safe similar to the one at the Ralston National, though not so large. It was blown in identically the same way as this one was blown.”
“Oh, I see,” said the scientist. “Some one was arrested for this, and you want to give me the name of that man?”
“Yes,” said the girl. “A professional burglar, William Dineen, was arrested for that robbery and confessed. Later he escaped. After his arrest he boasted of his ability to blow any style of safe. He used an invention of his own for the borings to place the charges. I noticed that safe and I noticed this one. There is a striking similarity in the two.”
The Thinking Machine stared at her.
“Why do you tell me?” he asked.
“Because I understood you were making the investigation for the bank,” she responded, unhesitatingly, “and I dreaded the notoriety of telling the police.”
“If this William Dineen is at large you believe he did this?”
“I am almost positive.”
“Thank you,” said The Thinking Machine.
Miss Clarke went away, and late that night Hatch appeared. He looked weary and sank into a chair gratefully, but there was satisfaction in his eye. For an hour or more he talked. At last The Thinking Machine was satisfied, nearly.
“One thing more,” he said, in conclusion. “Notify the police to look out for William Dineen, professional bank burglar, and his pals, whose names you can get from the newspapers in connection with a bank robbery in Hartford. They are wanted in connection with this case.”
The reporter nodded.
“When Mr. Fraser recovers I intend to hold a little party here,” the scientist continued. “It will be a surprise party.”
It was two days later, and the police were apparently seeking some tangible point from which they could proceed, when The Thinking Machine received word that there had been a change for the better in Mr. Fraser’s condition. Immediately he sent for Detective Mallory, with whom he held a long conversation. The detective went away tugging at his heavy mustache and smiling. With three other men he disappeared from police haunts that afternoon on a special mission.
That night the little “party” was held in the apartments of The Thinking Machine. President Fraser was first to arrive. He was pale and weak, but there was a fever of impatience in his manner. Then came West, Dunston, Miss Clarke, Miss Willis and Charles Burton, a clerk whose engagement to the pretty Miss Willis had been recently announced.
The party gathered, each staring at the other curiously, with questions in their eyes, until The Thinking Machine entered, rubbing his fingers together briskly. Behind him came Hatch, bearing a shabby gripsack. The reporter’s face showed excitement despite his rigid efforts to repress it. There were some preliminaries, and then the scientist began.
“To come to the matter quickly,” he said, in preface, “we will take it for granted that no employee of the Ralston Bank is a professional burglar. But the person who was responsible for that burglary, who shared the money stolen, who planned it and actually assisted in its execution is in this room—now.”
Instantly there was consternation, but it found no expression in words, only in the faces of those present.
“Further, I may inform you,” went on the scientist, “that no one will be permitted to leave this room until I finish.”
“Permitted?” demanded Dunston. “We are not prisoners.”
“You will be if I give the word,” was the response, and Dunston sat back, dazed. He glanced uneasily at the faces of the others; they glanced uneasily at him.
“The actual facts in the robbery you know,” went on The Thinking Machine. “You know that the safe was blown, that a large sum of money was stolen, that Mr. West’s handkerchief was found near the safe. Now, I’ll tell you what I have learned. We will begin with President Fraser.
“Against Mr. Fraser is more direct evidence than against anyone else, because in his pocket was found one of the stolen bundles of money, containing ten thousand dollars. Mr. Fraser needed ninety thousand dollars previous to the robbery.”
“But—” began the old man, with deathlike face.
“Never mind,” said the scientist. “Next, Miss Willis.” Curious eyes were turned on her, and she, too, grew suddenly white. “Against her is less direct evidence than against anyone else. Miss Willis positively declined to permit a search of her person until she was as compelled to do so by the fact that the other two permitted it. The fact that nothing was found has no bearing on the subject. She did refuse.
“Then Charles Burton,” the inexorable voice went on, calmly, as if in mere discussion of a problem of mathematics. “Burton is engaged to Miss Willis. He is ambitious. He recently lost twenty thousand dollars in stock speculation—all he had. He needed more money in order to give this girl, who refused to be searched, a comfortable home.
“Next Miss Clarke, secretary to Mr. Fraser. Originally she came under consideration through the fact that she used perfume, and that Mr. West’s handkerchief carried a faint odor of perfume. Now it is a fact that for years Miss Clarke used violet perfume, then on the day following the robbery suddenly began to use strong rose perfume, which smothers a violet odor. Miss Clarke, you will remember, fainted at the time of the search. I may add that a short while ago she was employed in a bank which was robbed in the identical manner of this one.”
Miss Clarke sat apparently calm, and even faintly smiling, but her face was white. The Thinking Machine squinted at her a moment, then turned suddenly to Cashier West.
“Here is the man,” he said, “whose handkerchief was found, but he does not use perfume, has never used it. He is the man who would have had best opportunity to leave unfastened the window in his private office by which the thieves entered the bank; he is the man who would have had the best opportunity to apply a certain chemical solution to the granite sockets of the steel bars, weakening the granite so they could be pulled out; he is the man who misrepresented facts to me. He told me he did not have and had not tried to raise any especially large sum of money. Yet on the day following the robbery he deposited one hundred and twenty-five thousand dollars in cash in a bank in Chicago. The stolen sum was one hundred and twenty-nine thousand dollars. That man, there.”
All eyes were now turned on the cashier. He seemed choking, started to speak, then dropped back into his chair.
“And last, Dunston,” resumed The Thinking Machine, and he pointed dramatically at the receiving teller. “He had equal opportunity with Mr. West to know of the amount of money in the bank; he refused first to be searched, and you witnessed his act a moment ago. To this man now there clings the identical odor of violet perfume which was on the handkerchief—not a perfume like it, but the identical odor.”
There was silence, dumfounded silence, for a long time. No one dared to look at his neighbor now; the reporter felt the tension. At last The Thinking Machine spoke again.
“As I have said, the person who planned and participated in the burglary is now in this room. If that person will stand forth and confess it will mean a vast difference in the length of the term in prison.”
Again silence. At last there came a knock at the door, and Martha thrust her head in.
“Two gentlemen and four cops are here,” she announced.
“There are the accomplices of the guilty person, the men who actually blew that safe,” declared the scientist, dramatically. “Again, will the guilty person confess?”
No one stirred.
VI
There was tense silence for a moment. Dunston was the first to speak.
“This is all a bluff,” he said. “I think, Mr. Fraser, there are some explanations and apologies due to all of us, particularly to Miss Clarke and Miss Willis,” he added, as an afterthought. “It is humiliating, and no good has been done. I had intended asking Miss Clarke to be my wife, and now I assert my right to speak for her. I demand an apology.”
Carried away by his own anger and by the pleading face of Miss Clarke and the pain there, the young man turned fiercely on The Thinking Machine. Bewilderment was on the faces of the two banking officials.
“You feel that an explanation is due?” asked The Thinking Machine, meekly.
“Yes,” thundered the young man.
“You shall have it,” was the quiet answer, and the stooped figure of the scientist moved across the room to the door. He said something to some one outside and returned.
“Again I’ll give you a chance for a confession,” he said. “It will shorten your prison term.” He was speaking to no one in particular; yet to them all. “The two men who blew the safe are now about to enter this room. After they appear it will be too late.”
Startled glances were exchanged, but no one stirred. Then came a knock at the door. Silently The Thinking Machine looked about with a question in his eyes. Still silence, and he threw open the door. Three policemen in uniform and Detective Mallory entered, bringing two prisoners.
“These are the men who blew the safe,” The Thinking Machine explained, indicating the prisoners. “Does anyone here recognize them?”
Apparently no one did, for none spoke.
“Do you recognize any person in this room?” he asked of the prisoners.
One of them laughed shortly and said something aside to the other, who smiled. The Thinking Machine was nettled and when he spoke again there was a touch of sarcasm in his voice.
“It may enlighten at least one of you in this room,” he said, “to tell you that these two men are Frank Seranno and Gustave Meyer, Mr. Meyer being a pupil and former associate of the notorious bank burglar, William Dineen. You may lock them up now,” he said to Detective Mallory. “They will confess later.”
“Confess!” exclaimed one of them. Both laughed.
The prisoners were led out and Detective Mallory returned to lave in the font of analytical wisdom, although he would not have expressed it in those words. Then The Thinking Machine began at the beginning and told his story.
“I undertook to throw some light on this affair a few hours after its occurrence, at the request of President Fraser, who had once been able to do me a very great favor,” he explained. “I went to the bank—you all saw me there—looked over the premises, saw how the thieves had entered the building, looked at the safe and at the spot where the handkerchief was found. To my mind it was demonstrated clearly that the handkerchief appeared there at the time of the burglary. I inquired if there was any draught through the office, seeking in that way to find if the handkerchief might have been lost at some other place in the bank, overlooked by the sweeper and blown to the spot where it was found. There was no draught.
“Next I asked for the handkerchief. Mr. Fraser asked me into his office to look at it. I saw a woman—Miss Clarke it was—in there and declined to go. Instead, I examined the handkerchief outside. I don’t know that my purpose there can be made clear to you. It was a possibility that there would be perfume on the handkerchief, and the woman in the office might use perfume. I didn’t want to confuse the odors. Miss Clarke was not in the bank when I arrived; she had gone to luncheon.
“Instantly I got the handkerchief I noticed the odor of perfume—violet perfume. Perfume is used by a great many women, by very few men. I asked how many women were employed in the bank. There were three. I handed the scented handkerchief to Mr. Hatch, removed all odor of the clinging perfume from my hands with my own handkerchief and also handed that to Mr. Hatch, so as to completely rid myself of the odor.
“Then I started through the bank and spoke to every person in it, standing close to them so that I might catch the odor if they used it. Miss Clarke was the first person who I found used it—but the perfume she used was a strong rose odor. Then I went on until I came to Mr. Dunston. The identical odor of the handkerchief he revealed to me by drawing out his own handkerchief while I talked to him.”
Dunston looked a little startled, but said nothing; instead he glanced at Miss Clarke, who sat listening, interestedly. He could not read the expression on her face.
“This much done,” continued The Thinking Machine, “we retired to Cashier West’s office. There I knew the burglars had entered; there I saw a powerful chemical solution had been applied to the granite around the sockets of the protecting steel bars to soften the stone. Its direct effect is to make it of chalklike consistency. I was also curious to know if any noise made in that room would attract attention in the outer office, so I upset a heavy chair, then looked outside. No one moved or looked back; therefore no one heard.
“Here I explained to President Fraser and to Mr. West why I connected some one in the bank with the burglary. It was because of the scent on the handkerchief. It would be tedious to repeat the detailed explanation I had to give them. I sent Mr. Hatch to find out, first, if Miss Clarke here had ever used violet perfume instead of rose; also to find out if any members of Mr. West’s family used any perfume, particularly violet. I knew that Mr. Dunston used it.
“Then I asked Mr. Fraser if he had sought to raise any large sum of money. He told me the truth. But Mr. West did not tell me the truth in answer to a question along the same lines. Now I know why. It was because as cashier of the bank he was not supposed to operate in stocks, yet he has made a fortune at it. He didn’t want Fraser to know this, and willfully misrepresented the facts.
“Then came the search. I expected to find just what was found, money, but considerably more of it. Miss Willis objected, Mr. Dunston objected and Miss Clarke fainted in the arms of Mr. Fraser. I read the motives of each aright. Dunston objected because he is an egotistical young man and, being young, is foolish. He considered it an insult. Miss Willis objected also through a feeling of pride.”
The Thinking Machine paused for a moment, locked his fingers behind his head and leaned far back in his chair.
“Shall I tell what happened next?” he asked, “or will you tell it?”
Everyone in the room knew it was a question to the guilty person. Which? Whom? There came no answer, and after a moment The Thinking Machine resumed, quietly, very quietly.
“Miss Clarke fainted in Mr. Fraser’s arms. While leaning against him, and while he stroked her hair and tried to soothe her, she took from the bosom of her loose shirtwaist a bundle of money, ten thousand dollars, and slipped it into the inside pocket of Mr. Fraser’s coat.”
