The problem of Cell 13
know how to blow a safe. The police tell me this was the work of
experts."
"Have you, Mr. Fraser, attempted to raise, or have you raised lately,
any large sum of money?" asked the scientist, suddenly.
"Well, yes," said the banker, "I have. For a week past I have tried to
raise ninety thousand dollars on my personal account."
"And you, Mr. West?"
The face of the cashier flushed slightly--it might have been at the
tone of the question--and there was the least pause.
"No," he answered finally.
"Very well," and the scientist arose, rubbing his hands; "now we'll
search your employees."
"What?" exclaimed both men. Then Mr. Fraser added: "That would be the
height of absurdity; it would never do. Besides, any person who robbed
the bank would not carry proofs of the robbery, or even any of the
money about with them--to the bank, above all places."
"The bank would be the safest place for it," retorted The Thinking
Machine. "It is perfectly possible that a thief in your employ would
carry some of the money; indeed, it is doubtful if he would dare do
anything else with it. He could see you would have no possible reason
for suspecting anyone here--unless it is Mr. West."
There was a pause. "I'll do the searching, except the three ladies, of
course," he added, blushingly. "With them each combination of two can
search the other one."
Mr. Fraser and Mr. West conversed in low tones for several minutes.
"If the employees will consent I am willing," Mr. Fraser explained, at
last; "although I see no use of it."
"They will agree," said The Thinking Machine. "Please call them all
into this office."
Among some confusion and wonderment the three women and fourteen men
of the bank were gathered in the cashier's office, the outer doors
being locked. The Thinking Machine addressed them with characteristic
terseness.
"In the investigation of the burglary of last night," he explained,
"it has been deemed necessary to search all employees of this bank." A
murmur of surprise ran around the room. "Those who are innocent will
agree readily, of course; will all agree?"
There were whispered consultations on all sides. Dunston flushed
angrily; Miss Clarke, standing near Mr. Fraser, paled slightly.
Dunston looked at her and then spoke.
"And the ladies?" he asked.
"They, too," explained the scientist. "They may search one another--in
the other room, of course."
"I for one will not submit to such a proceeding," Dunston declared,
bluntly, "not because I fear it, but because it is an insult."
Simultaneously it impressed itself on the bank officials and The
Thinking Machine that the one person in the bank who used a perfume
identical with that on the handkerchief was the first to object to a
search. The cashier and president exchanged startled glances.
"Nor will I," came in the voice of a woman.
The Thinking Machine turned and glanced at her. It was Miss Willis,
one of the outside stenographers; Miss Clarke and the other woman were
pale, but neither had spoken.
"And the others?" asked The Thinking Machine.
Generally there was acquiescence, and as the men came forward the
scientist searched them, perfunctorily, it seemed. Nothing! At last
there remained three men, Dunston, West and Fraser. Dunston came
forward, compelled to do so by the attitude of his fellows. The three
women stood together. The Thinking Machine spoke to them as he
searched Dunston.
"If the ladies will retire to the next room they may proceed with
their search," he suggested. "If any money is found, bring it to
me--nothing else."
"I will not, I will not, I will not," screamed Miss Willis, suddenly.
"It's an outrage."
Miss Clarke, deathly white and half fainting, threw up her hands and
sank without a sound into the arms of President Fraser. There she
burst into tears.
"It is an outrage," she sobbed. She clung to President Fraser, her
arms flung upward and her face buried on his bosom. He was soothing
her with fatherly words, and stroked her hair awkwardly. The Thinking
Machine finished the search of Dunston. Nothing! Then Miss Clarke
roused herself and dried her eyes.
"Of course I will have to agree," she said, with a flash of anger in
her eyes.
Miss Willis was weeping, but, like Dunston, she was compelled to
yield, and the three women went into an adjoining room. There was a
tense silence until they reappeared. Each shook her head. The Thinking
Machine nearly looked disappointed.
"Dear me!" he exclaimed. "Now, Mr. Fraser." He started toward the
president, then paused to pick up a scarf pin.
"This is yours," he said. "I saw it fall," and he made as if to search
the aged man.
"Well, do you really think it necessary in my case?" asked the
president, in consternation, as he drew back, nervously. "I--I am the
president, you know."
"The others were searched in your presence, I will search you in their
presence," said The Thinking Machine, tartly.
"But--but----" the president stammered.
"Are you afraid?" the scientist demanded.
"Why, of course not," was the hurried answer; "but it seems so--so
unusual."
"I think it best," said The Thinking Machine, and before the banker
could draw away his slender fingers were in the inside breast pocket,
whence they instantly drew out a bundle of money--one hundred $100
bills--ten thousand dollars--with the initials of the receiving
teller, "P. D."--"o.k.--R. W."
"Great God!" exclaimed Mr. Fraser, ashen white.
"Dear me, dear me!" said The Thinking Machine again. He sniffed
curiously at the bundle of bank notes, as a hound might sniff at a
trail.
IV.
President Fraser was removed to his home in a dangerous condition. His
advanced age did not withstand the shock. Now alternately he raved and
muttered incoherently, and the old eyes were wide, staring fearfully
always. There was a consultation between The Thinking Machine and West
after the removal of President Fraser, and the result was another
hurried meeting of the board of directors. At that meeting West was
placed, temporarily, in command. The police, of course, had been
informed of the matter, but no arrest was probable.
Immediately after The Thinking Machine left the bank Hatch appeared
and inquired for him. From the bank he went to the home of the
scientist. There Professor Van Dusen was bending over a retort, busy
with some problem.
"Well?" he demanded, as he glanced up.
"West told the truth," began Hatch. "Neither he nor any member of his
family uses perfume; he has few outside acquaintances, is regular in
his habits, but is a man of considerable wealth, it appears."
"What is his salary at the bank?" asked The Thinking Machine.
"Fifteen thousand a year," said the reporter. "But he must have a
large fortune. He lives like a millionaire."
"He couldn't do that on fifteen thousand dollars a year," mused the
scientist. "Did he inherit any money?"
"No," was the reply. "He started as a clerk in the bank and has made
himself what he is."
"That means speculation," said The Thinking Machine. "You can't save a
fortune from a salary, even fifteen thousand dollars a year. Now, Mr.
Hatch, find out for me all about his business connections. His source
of income particularly I would like to know. Also whether or not he
has recently sought to borrow or has received a large sum of money; if
he got it and what he did with it. He says he has not sought such a
sum. Perhaps he told the truth."
"Yes, and about Miss Clarke----"
"Yes; what about her?" asked The Thinking Machine.
"She occupies a little room in a boarding-house for women in an
excellent district," the reporter explained. "She has no friends who
call there, at any rate. Occasionally, however, she goes out at night
and remains late."
"The perfume?" asked the scientist.
"She uses a perfume, the housekeeper tells me, but she doesn't recall
just what kind it is--so many of the young women in the house use it.
So I went to her room and looked. There was no perfume there. Her room
was considerably disarranged, which seemed to astonish the
housekeeper, who declared that she had carefully arranged it about
nine o'clock. It was two when I was there."
"How was it disarranged?" asked the scientist.
"The couch cover was jerked awry and the pillows tumbled down, for one
thing," said the reporter. "I didn't notice any further."
The Thinking Machine relapsed into silence. "What happened at the
bank?" inquired Hatch. Briefly the scientist related the facts leading
up to the search, the search itself and its startling result. The
reporter whistled.
"Do you think Fraser had anything to do with it?"
"Run out and find out those other things about West," said The
Thinking Machine, evasively. "Come back here to-night. It doesn't
matter what time."
"But who do you think committed the crime?" insisted the newspaper
man.
"I may be able to tell you when you return."
For the time being The Thinking Machine seemed to forget the bank
robbery, being busy in his tiny laboratory. He was aroused from his
labors by the ringing of the telephone bell.
"Hello," he called. "Yes, Van Dusen. No, I can't come down to the bank
now. What is it? Oh, it has disappeared? When? Too bad! How's Mr.
Fraser? Still unconscious? Too bad! I'll see you to-morrow."
The scientist was still engrossed in some delicate chemical work just
after eight o'clock that evening when Martha, his housekeeper and maid
of all work, entered.
"Professor," she said, "there's a lady to see you."
"Name?" he asked, without turning.
"She didn't give it, sir."
"There in a moment."
He finished the test he had under way, then left the little laboratory
and went into the hall leading to the sitting-room, where unprivileged
callers awaited his pleasure. He sniffed a little as he stepped into
the hall. At the door of the sitting-room he paused and peered inside.
A woman arose and came toward him. It was Miss Clarke.
"Good-evening," he said. "I knew you'd come."
Miss Clarke looked a little surprised, but made no comment.
"I came to give you some information," she said, and her voice was
subdued. "I am heartbroken at the awful things which have come out
concerning--concerning Mr. Fraser. I have been closely associated with
him for several months, and I won't believe that he could have had
anything to do with this affair, although I know positively that he
was in need of a large sum of money--ninety thousand dollars--because
his personal fortune was in danger. Some error in titles to an estate,
he told me."
"Yes, yes," said The Thinking Machine.
"Whether he was able to raise this money I don't know," she went on.
"I only hope he did without having to--to do that--to have any----"
"To rob his bank," said the scientist, tartly. "Miss Clarke, is young
Dunston in love with you?"
The girl's face changed color at the sudden question.
"I don't see----" she began.
"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.