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Christopher Quarles College Professor and Master Detective

<h2 class="newchapter">CHAPTER XII THE AFFAIR OF THE STOLEN GOLD</h2> "So you have your wish, Wigan," said the professor, one evening a few weeks later, discussing a sensational case which was almost without parallel in the history of London. During the winter months a remarkable series of safe robberies had taken place in the metropolis. In each case the safe had been blown open in the most scientific manner, and neither the public nor the police doubted that an exceptionally expert gang was at work; but it was a gang of which Scotland Yard had no knowledge, and a rumor had got about—how, I cannot say—that the thieves were Americans. Moreover, it was so evident that the thieves knew where and when they were likely to obtain the greatest haul that in one or two instances grave suspicions had fallen upon employees of the firms robbed, but there was not sufficient evidence to warrant arrest. As it happened, none of these cases had come into my hands, and I had told Christopher Quarles that I was disappointed. He suggested that I might fail, as others had done, which was possible, even probable, but somehow I had a lust to try my strength against this gang, and there was a conviction at the back of my mind that I should succeed. Well, I had got my chance, at any rate, and before I had finished my narrative the professor was just as keen as I was. At some time between the early closing on Saturday afternoon and nine o'clock on Sunday morning the head office of the City, Suburban and Provincial Bank, in Lombard Street, had been robbed of an immense sum in gold and valuables. The full amount of the loss had not yet been ascertained, but it was soon apparent that the first estimate was below the mark. Banks, as is well known, always keep a very large sum in gold upon the premises in case of emergency, and, naturally, extreme precaution is taken for its safety. At the City, Suburban and Provincial Bank this gold reserve, in sealed bags, containing definite sums, was in an inner strong-room. The steel doors of both the outer and inner rooms had been blown open with an explosive of immense strength but presumably making little noise. Several bags of gold had been taken from the inner safe, and in the outer safe two or three deed boxes belonging to clients had been forced open, and jewels stolen from them. On Saturday the night porter was a man named Coulsdon, who had been in the service of the bank for many years. It was his duty to visit every part of the premises at intervals during the night, and to register the time of each visit by the telltale clocks provided for the purpose. He was armed with a revolver, and by means of an electric bell in the entrance-hall could communicate, if necessary, with the porter who lived on the premises. His vigil ended at nine o'clock on the Sunday morning, when two clerks arrived to stay in the bank all Sunday. This was a special duty, especially paid for, and, as a general rule, each pair of clerks had the duty for four Sundays, when they were relieved by another pair. It was the custom for the resident porter to admit the clerks at a side door of the bank, opening into the narrow street turning at right angles to Lombard Street. Thomas, the resident porter, did this as usual on Sunday, but no Coulsdon made his appearance. On glancing at one of the clocks, it was found that no visit was registered since two o'clock, and it was evident that something was wrong. The clerks, with Thomas, the porter, went at once to the strong-rooms, and found the ruined door and Coulsdon lying, gagged and unconscious, in the outer safe. Urgent messages were at once dispatched to one of the directors and one of the three general managers, who were known to be in town. "And to-day is Wednesday," said Quarles, with a lift of his eyebrows. "The thieves have a long start. Now for details, Wigan." "The porter, Coulsdon, did not regain consciousness for some hours," I said. "He can tell us little. To reach the strong-rooms you have to descend half a dozen steps, and as he reached the foot of these he received a blow out of the darkness, whether from a weapon or a fist only he cannot say, but the effect was stunning, and he cannot swear what happened afterward. He thinks something was thrown over his head, but he really remembers nothing from the time he was struck to the time he woke up." "An old servant of the bank, you say?" "Yes, but only recently moved to London. He has been porter at the Leamington branch. There is a disposition to suspect Coulsdon," I went on; "and not without reason, seeing that he is a big, hefty man, who might be expected to give a good account of himself. But there is a curious complication. About a month ago a clerk named Frederick Ewing was summarily dismissed. He had been in the bank some years, had risen in the service, and was trusted. He was in the securities department, and had considerable knowledge of the methods used with regard to the strong-rooms. It was discovered through a sudden and unexpected inspection that certain small sums had been taken from the petty cash of this department. Only Ewing had access to this money, and, as a matter of fact, he confessed. He had only borrowed the money temporarily, he said, and pleaded earnestly that drastic measures should not be resorted to. However, since the integrity of a bank official must be above suspicion, he was dismissed at a moment's notice. He was not prosecuted." "What has become of him?" asked Quarles. "I can find no trace of him at all. He had lodgings in Hammersmith. He returned there after his dismissal, remained there until the next day, and then went out, saying he would be away for a couple of nights. He has not returned; nor has a search in his rooms disclosed any clew. He appears to have had no friends and received hardly any letters." Quarles nodded his head thoughtfully for a few moments. "How did the thieves get into the bank?" he asked. "Through a window at the top of the buildings, which gives on to the roof," I answered. "One of the bars to this window was wrenched out, and the roof outside shows that men have stood there to accomplish the work. The bank is not an isolated building. A journey from its roof to the roofs of the adjacent buildings is not difficult, and I am working on the hypothesis that the thieves entered the adjacent block of offices and crossed the roof. There are two facts which seem to support this idea. Quite recently some repairs to the roof of the building became necessary, and two men were engaged upon it for three days. They may have been members of the gang, and it is curious they have left the employment of the firm which had the work in hand. So far I have failed to trace them. Again, an office in this building, occupied by a man named Bowman, calling himself a mortgage broker, has remained closed since Saturday. Bowman has not been there very long, but until now has been regular in his attendance. I am inclined to think he will not be seen there again." "How much do these bags of gold weigh?" asked Zena thoughtfully. "They are very heavy," I answered. "But how was the gold got away?" said Zena. "I can only surmise as to that," I said with a smile. "The street which runs beside the bank is somewhat dimly lighted, and almost opposite to the private door of the bank there is an archway leading to a small yard and the premises of Thorne & Co., wine merchants. The archway is closed by a gate. The locked gate would present small difficulty to a gang which had carefully prepared their scheme, and very likely a motor car was driven under this archway ready to take the spoil away." "It is possible, but I should want to find out something more about Frederick Ewing," said Zena. "I am inclined to think that is a suggestion worth consideration," said Quarles. "This is a case in which one looks for negatives to a series of propositions. We may ask first, whether a gang, however expert, could have carried out such a robbery, knowing when and where to go and what to take, without some help from within. The answer seems to be, no. Was that information obtained merely through somebody's indiscretion? Hardly! Only a few people would be capable of giving the necessary information. Coulsdon, the porter, might give it. Did he? The fact that he was knocked insensible does not exonerate him; that might be part of a prearranged plan. On the whole, however, Ewing appears to be a more likely person. He was dishonest, that we know; he was in a position to give the information; he would be smarting under the disgrace of his dismissal; an offer of a substantial payment would, therefore, be tempting; and, moreover, he is not to be found." "I think it very probable that information was obtained from Ewing," I said. "But it may have been given without any criminal intention. In my opinion the planning of the robbery must have begun before Ewing's dismissal. Besides, though I have failed to trace Ewing, I do not find anything against him beyond this matter of the petty cash. There are no debts worth mentioning, and no entanglements of any kind apparently." "So we get no definite answer regarding him," said the professor; "we must, so to speak, put him aside for further consideration. Let us get back to the gang for a moment. That money would require a lot of moving, Wigan. Assuming Coulsdon to be honest, the door of the strong-room was intact at two o'clock on Sunday morning. The tell-tale clock is a witness to this, and seven hours later the alarm was given. I do not say that a motor car might not have been loaded as you suggest and driven out of the city without attracting the notice of the police, but if you ask me whether it is likely I must decidedly answer in the negative." "The fact remains that the gold was got away," I answered. "You cannot alter that." "Our methods sometimes clash, Wigan. You make a theory to fit the facts; I get a theory first, and then look for facts to fit it. I grant yours is the more orthodox method; still, what is considered orthodox has sometimes been shown to be wrong; and as for facts—well, if I choose to think that this gold has not left the city, how can you convince me beyond all dispute that it has? You can't. You do not know. For instance, it might be concealed in this man Bowman's office. Say you are able to prove that it isn't, there are still many other offices in the building where it might be hidden, ready to be got rid of gradually. At this stage of the inquiry, at any rate, we are not prepared to guarantee the honesty of all the firms in the block of buildings adjoining the bank." "So that is your theory?" I said, somewhat impressed by it, I admit. "No, it isn't," said Quarles. "I was merely showing how unstable was your central fact. No, my theory is quite different." "May I hear what it is?" "I agree with Zena. Continue to hunt for Frederick Ewing. Get a dozen men on to the business, if you like. Instruct them to pick up the most trivial items of information concerning him. Run his companions to earth, find out all about his debts, however small they may be; that's the line along which you are likely to pick up the clew. If you can manage to put another detective on the job with you, I am a candidate for the post. I should like to see the strong-rooms and the window, and to ask a few questions." My suggestion that Christopher Quarles should be associated with me in the inquiry met with some opposition. The officials of the bank seemed a little nervous of too much publicity. The fact of the robbery, quite apart from the actual loss, had injured the bank considerably. However, all objections were overruled. When Quarles and I went to the bank, we were requested to walk in and see Mr. Wickstead, who was one of the three general managers, and he very graciously apologized to the professor for the difficulties which had been raised. "I need not tell you that this is a very serious business for us," he said. "The loss, large as it is, constitutes the least part of the damage. Clients, naturally enough, are anxious about the security of their own property, and already some nervous persons have removed their deed boxes." "I can quite see the necessity of precaution," said Quarles. "You may rely on my discretion. May I ask whether the full amount of the loss has yet been ascertained?" "Yes, I think we have now got to the bottom of it." "The securities—deeds, bonds, and such-like—have they been tampered with?" "No." "The gang must have possessed wonderful knowledge," said Quarles. "Marvelous." "May I take it, Mr. Wickstead, that there is no suspicion of collusion with officials in the bank?" "You may. Of course, you are aware that we had to dismiss a clerk recently?" "Yes, who cannot be found. I understand that he would be in a position to give the necessary information if he chose to do so?" "That is true. He was in a position of some importance." "With regard to this gold reserve, how often is it examined?" asked Quarles. "At intervals, not regular intervals. The unexpected inspection is generally considered the best. We have a staff of inspectors for this purpose." "My point is this," said Quarles; "might the robbery of this gold extend over a period of time, several weeks, let us say—a bag taken to-day, for instance, replaced by a dummy one, perhaps, and another bag taken in three days' time, and so on?" Mr. Wickstead smiled. "This reserve is kept in an inner strong-room. Three keys are necessary to open the door, and these three keys are kept by three different persons. I have one. Three of us have to go together to open that inner room." "Ewing would never be there alone, then?" "Certainly not," Wickstead answered. "For my part, I do not believe Frederick Ewing had anything to do with the affair at all. The circumstances of his dismissal naturally make him suspect, but I think that offense was the beginning and end of his dishonesty." "Yet he has disappeared," said Quarles, "and it looks as if he had taken extreme care to leave no clew behind him." "He would feel the disgrace keenly, I imagine, and would wish to efface himself," the general manager returned. "There was no question of prosecuting him, I suppose?" "One of the directors suggested that course, but it was decided not to do so." "Could Ewing possibly have heard that a prosecution was contemplated?" asked Quarles. "That would account for his complete disappearance." "He certainly could not have heard of it. I am sorry for Ewing; indeed, I tried to get the directors to reconsider their decision and give him another chance. It is a terrible thing for a man to have to face poverty and degradation like that. All I achieved was to get laughed at for my sentimentality." "Then you would still trust Ewing?" "I would," Mr. Wickstead answered with deliberation. Quarles and I then went to examine the strong-rooms, which were empty now, the securities having been removed to other rooms. A constable was on duty in the passage leading to them, and materials lying about showed that the work of fitting new doors was to commence at once. Quarles put on a particularly heavy pair of spectacles and produced a high-power pocket lens as well. He examined the locks and hinges of the ruined doors, and the various bolts which were thrown by the action of the turning keys. He carefully scanned the marks and the ruin which the explosion had made, and also the steel-bound holes into which the bolts fitted when the doors were fastened. Both the inner and the outer strong-rooms were examined with the same close scrutiny, and I pointed out to him the spot where the porter, Coulsdon, had been found, and where the rifled deed boxes had stood. "Had the boxes been blown open?" "No; forced open," I answered. "I am not sure what explosive was used upon the doors, Wigan—gelignite or some similar preparation, I suppose—but it was powerful and peculiar in its action. How about finger-prints?" "There were none on the doors. Either the explosion destroyed all trace or the men wore gloves." "I suppose men of an expert gang would take that precaution?" "They would be likely to think of everything." "Yes; but since the gang is entirely unknown at Scotland Yard, that might be considered an unnecessary precaution, eh?" He turned his attention to the ruined doors of the inner room again, picking out minute pieces of débris from the lock with a pair of tiny forceps, and examining the pieces under the lens. "I cannot be certain what explosive was used, Wigan, and the light here is bad. I will examine some of this dust at home," and he emptied the contents of the palm of his hand into a small envelope, which he folded up carefully and placed in an inner pocket. Then he examined the floor of the outer room, and the passage without, picking up several bits of rubbish, but finding nothing of interest. From the strong-rooms we went to the top of the building and examined the window and the roof. The window was at the end of a passage. "Where do you suppose the thieves came from to get to this window?" Quarles asked, after he had examined it and the roof outside. "The window yonder belongs to the adjoining block of offices," I said, pointing across the roofs. "It is quite easy to reach." We started to go to it, but had only gone a little way when Quarles stopped. "You may find it easy, Wigan, but my legs are not so young as they were, and climbing a roof is outside their business." "At any rate, you can see that it is an easy journey," I said. "Oh, yes, for young legs; and it is not likely this gang is composed of old crooks. By the way, I think they must have got out of this window as well as in at it. Look at this scratch on the sill—a boot heel, I should say, and the position would mean that the man was getting out. It is not certain that the stuff was not carried across the roof, Wigan. I wonder whether Mr. Bowman has returned to his office yet?" "I have a man watching for him," I answered. "It's a curious case," said Quarles as we went downstairs. "I suppose you have inquired among the staff whether anyone knew Frederick Ewing intimately, visited him at Hammersmith, knew his private friends, hobbies, and so forth." "Yes. Nobody appears to have known anything about him outside the office." "I should like to have a look at the desk he occupied. I suppose that can be managed." Permission was given us. The man who used it now got up to allow us to examine it, and Quarles again used his lens, going over the desk without and within. "Was Mr. Ewing rather an untidy person?" he asked, turning to the clerk. "No, I don't think so. I hardly knew him." "Kept himself to himself a good deal, eh?" "Yes; I believe that was the general impression." "A bit of a dreamer, Wigan, I should say." And then the professor thanked the clerk, and we left the bank. "We've got to find Frederick Ewing," said Quarles decidedly. "He is the keystone to the mystery. Without definite knowledge concerning him we are powerless, I fancy. Even if we make an arrest, even if we arrest a gang of men, we could prove nothing. They are not likely to be found carrying any of the missing jewels, and there is precious little evidence to be got out of a sovereign. Months must elapse before the jewels, one or two at a time, filter into the market, and no banknotes or bonds which might further us with a clew have been taken. Ewing must be found." In this direction I was up against a blank wall. I gave instruction for every shop, every public-house in the neighborhood of Ewing's lodgings, to be visited, and practically there was no result. A tobacconist fancied he recognized a customer from the description given of him, but that was all. Ewing had once belonged to a rowing club at Hammersmith, but had gone in for little serious practice. And the day after Quarles and I had visited the bank I drew another blank. Bowman, the mortgage broker, returned to his office. Not only was it quite certain that none of the gold was hidden there, but he explained his absence so thoroughly that it was impossible to suppose he had anything to do with the affair. Two or three days slipped by, days of strenuous work, which seemed absolutely useless, and then I got a wire from Quarles asking me to meet him at Chiswick Station that evening, which I did. "I must apologize, Wigan," was his greeting. "It's my temperament, I suppose, but I cannot help keeping a line of argument to myself until I find that it really leads somewhere. This was my theory with regard to Ewing. Since he did not make friends, either in the bank or out of it, he was likely to be something of a dreamer. Such men usually are, unless they have some definite hobby to employ them. We heard of no such hobby in Ewing's case, and the fact that his rise in the bank had been rapid suggested a competent and conscientious worker. But he was a dreamer, all the same—a man looking forward to the future, and a man who dreams in this way usually looks forward to some definite point. In the case of a young man—and Ewing is not old—that point may be a woman. So I examined Ewing's desk. He was given to scribbling on it and smearing out the writing. There were a quantity of ink smudges, but some pen marks remained, figures for the most part, and I found a name—Ursula. That rejoiced me; it might have been Mary, and for one Ursula there are—well, a great many Marys in the world. I looked for a second name, dreading to find Smith. I found Ursula Ewing, that was his dream, Wigan; but I also found Ursula Yerbury. If he were in love with Ursula Yerbury, which seemed probable, and she with him, which of course was not certain, then I argued that she must live in easy distance from Hammersmith. If not, he would have constantly received letters from her, and we know that he received very few letters. Also, if they were in love, he might have deceived her regarding his dismissal, or she would keep his secret and shield him. Inquiry for her must therefore be made carefully, and I set Zena to work—a girl looking for a girl friend she had lost sight of. It proved easier than it might have been. We found there was a man named Yerbury living in Fulham; he was the third of the name Zena had tried, and he had a niece, Ursula, living in lodgings here in Chiswick. She is a typist, and should be home by this time in the evening. She is expecting an old school friend—that was the vague message Zena left with her landlady—she will see us." "I congratulate you, professor; it looks as if you had got on Ewing's track." "We shall know better in an hour's time," he answered. "No. 10 Old Cedar Lane is the address. Pleasant flavor in some of these Chiswick names." There was nothing particularly striking about Ursula Yerbury, but her personality grew upon one. The moment we entered her small but comfortable sitting-room it was apparent to me that she was on her guard. She had expected some old school friend, and had been tricked. Quarles came to the point at once. To clear up the mystery of the sensational robbery in the city, he wanted to find Frederick Ewing. Miss Yerbury knew him, of course, and could no doubt supply the information. "You have had your journey in vain," she answered. "That is a pity," Quarles said, and in short, terse sentences he told her the history of the robbery, so far as we knew it, speaking of Ewing's dishonesty in a cold, matter-of-fact way, and giving reasons why Ewing should be suspected of helping a gang. "Now, my dear young lady, I'm an eccentric," he went on. "One petty theft does not make a criminal, and I do not believe Frederick Ewing is a criminal. But do not mistake me; if he cannot be found he will certainly be branded as one." "I do not know where he is," she answered firmly, though her lips quivered. "Still, you may know enough to help me to clear his name," said Quarles. "You mean—but he told me himself." "Ah, that is what I mean," said Quarles. "You can tell me something. Take my word for it, you will be doing Ewing a service by telling me what you know." The professor looked exceedingly benevolent, and his tone was persuasive. It was so necessary to obtain information that the means were justified—one cannot be sentimental in detective work—yet I pitied the woman. "You know that Mr. Ewing was dismissed from the bank—and why?" she said. Quarles nodded. "He did not tell me at first. He wrote to me, saying he had been sent out of town on business. I had no suspicion that anything was wrong. Some days later I received a telegram asking me to meet him near Victoria. It was then he told me of his dismissal. He had supposed that he would not be prosecuted, but the bank had, after all, decided to make an example of him. He had gone away to hide himself. A friend was helping him to get out of the country, and——" "Who was the friend?" asked Quarles. "Frederick would not say. He had promised not to tell anyone who he was; indeed, he had promised not to hold any communication with anyone. The latter promise he had broken by meeting me. We were—we are engaged. I would not take back my freedom. He will write to me presently, and then I shall join him wherever he is." "That was before the great robbery of the bank," said Quarles. "Days before," she answered. "And you do not know where he is now?" "No." I had pitied her, now I could not help admiring her. Of course, the story was a fabrication. She had met Quarles on his own ground, and beaten him. She had seen through his persuasive manner, and in a few words had entirely dissociated her lover from the robbery, and shown the futility of attempting to find him. The professor did not let her see his disappointment. "Most useful information, Miss Yerbury," he said. "I am sure you will not regret having told me the truth." He was silent for a little while, as we went back to the station, and then he said suddenly: "A queer story, Wigan." "Clever!" I answered. "Extremely clever. We have a curious rogue to deal with, the motive obscure. There's a very strange mental twist somewhere." "And we're no nearer a solution of the problem," I said. "Anyway, we'll visit the bank again to-morrow. Eleven o'clock, Wigan. Until then I want to be alone. Good night!" We could not see Mr. Wickstead at once when we went to the bank next day, and although the general manager apologized for keeping us waiting, he was evidently very busy, and wanted to be rid of us as quickly as possible. "I'm afraid you don't make much progress," he said. "My directors are beginning to say that the publicity is worse than the loss." "We go slowly," I answered; "but for the general safety publicity is necessary in an affair of this kind." "We will not detain you," said Quarles. "I can see we have come at an inconvenient time. Just one question. Had the locks of the strong-room doors been repaired recently?" "No. They were in excellent order." "It has not even been necessary to have new keys made?" "No." Quarles rose, and thanked him; then, as he reached the door, he paused. "Oh, it may interest you to know that we have got on the track of Frederick Ewing," he said. "Then there has been some progress. I am glad. Still, I am afraid Ewing will not be able to throw much light on this affair. Where is he?" "Abroad," Quarles answered. "We expect to have definite information this afternoon. It is often easier to find criminals when they go abroad than when they remain hidden in England." When we were outside the bank Quarles began to chuckle. "It doesn't do to let these fellows think we are doing nothing, Wigan; and, in a sense, we have got on Ewing's track. We have found the woman. Isn't that always considered the great point?" "This seems to be one of the exceptions which are supposed to prove the rule," I answered. "We'll get back to Chelsea. I daresay Zena can give us some lunch." From that moment until the three of us retired to the empty room after lunch Quarles would not talk about the case, but when we were in the empty room he began at once. "Zena from the first suggested that we must find Frederick Ewing," said Quarles; "and her intuition was right. We know—at least I think we may take it as an established fact—that a very expert gang has been at work in London during the past few months, and it was reasonable to assume that this robbery was their work, with the help of someone connected with the bank. Practically speaking, it would have been impossible without inside and absolutely accurate information. A process of elimination left Ewing as the likely person to give this help. We need not go over all the difficulties the gang would have to contend with; they were many, not the least being the successful removal of the spoil; but I asked myself whether this gang was not a sort of obsession with us, whether the robbery might not have been a one-man job. You will remember I questioned the general manager on the possibility of Ewing being alone in the strong-rooms, and whether the gold might not have been removed by degrees. He laughed at the idea, but ridicule never yet made me give up a theory. I looked for something to support my theory, and I found many things. The action of the explosive had been peculiar. The manner of the damage was not quite what one would have expected from gelignite, or some equally powerful preparation. Further, why was Coulsdon found in the outer safe? It is reasonable to suppose that he was rendered insensible before the explosion took place, or he might have heard it. Why, then, should he be dragged into the safe? A gang would not have troubled to do this, but, if the job were a one-man affair, the thief might reasonably want to keep his eye upon the porter in case he should recover consciousness. Now, to come back to the explosion, it seemed to me that so far as the door of the inner strong-room was concerned it had not been locked, at any rate not fully locked, when the explosion took place. Was there any support to this theory to be found? Yes. I will show you presently the débris I picked out of the lock. It contains portions—small, but quite recognizable—of a key, not polished, as would be the case if used constantly, but rough. This suggested that duplicate keys had been made. That key, Wigan, I believe, was in the lock when the explosion took place. It was blown to pieces by the explosion, but the burglar must have discovered his mistake, and gathered up the pieces, for I could discover nothing either on the strong-room floor or in the passage without. I found another support to my theory in the window on the roof. Someone had got out as well as in—got out, Wigan, to hide, and got in again when the moment for action had come." "But——" "I haven't finished yet," said Quarles, interrupting me. "Obviously one man couldn't remove all that gold and get it away from the city that night. The robber, with the duplicate keys he had in his possession, could go to that strong-room when he liked; all he had to do was to take the precaution that he was not seen. A very few visits sufficed, no doubt; but on each occasion he brought away some spoil with him, which he concealed, I imagine, somewhere in the bank, where he could easily get at it. The robbery extended over a period of time, that is my point, and whether dummy bags were substituted for those taken, or a bag was gradually emptied, does not matter." "But, my dear professor, your ingenious theory overlooks the fact that, if it were true, there would be no use for the final catastrophe—for attacking the porter and blowing up the strong-room." "Ah! that brings me to the mental attitude of the thief. I think we shall find that an inspection of those strong-rooms was imminent, and the thief was anxious, first, to make a last addition to his store, and, secondly, to suggest the work of a gang, and so minimize all risk to himself. Besides——" The professor paused. There was a knock at the door, and the servant brought in a telegram. Quarles opened it and read it. "Besides, one has to consider the mental twist a man may have," he went on. "We shall probably find in this case that at the back of the robbery was an awful dread of the future, of the helplessness and poverty that might come into it, an abnormal morbidness which so constantly drives men to strange actions." "But how could Ewing manage to conceal himself in the bank, or get into it even? Everybody knew him, everybody probably knew of his dismissal." "How about the window in the roof?" said Quarles, handing me the telegram, and I read: "Left early this afternoon; returned home." "That refers to the general manager, Mr. Wickstead," said Quarles. "Probably he does not intend to remain at home, but we may catch him there. I have a man watching him. I thought my statement that we had traced Ewing would frighten him. He is the thief, Wigan. He is also the friend Ewing spoke about to Ursula Yerbury. Don't you see the cleverness? He helped Ewing out of the country, after frightening him by saying that a prosecution had been decided upon; sent him somewhere where he was not likely to hear of the robbery, and tried to throw dust in our eyes by expressing pity for him and a belief in his innocence." "If you are right, what a villain!" I exclaimed. "An abnormal dread of the future, Wigan; I think we shall find that is at the bottom of it, and we shall probably find also that the whole of the spoil is intact. The law, of course, cannot enter into these curious mental attitudes. Come! I think we shall provide a sensation for the world of finance." The arrest of Mr. Wickstead when he was on the point of bolting, and his subsequent confession, certainly made a sensation; and, as Quarles had surmised, the whole of the money and the jewels were found concealed in Mr. Wickstead's house. The manner of the robbery was much as Quarles had imagined it, and there is little doubt that Wickstead was in an abnormal mental condition. But he was not mad, and was sentenced to a long term of imprisonment. It was a sad case altogether, the only bright spot in it being the marriage of Ursula Yerbury to the man she had trusted, in spite of his lapse from the path of rectitude. <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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