Part 35 (1/2)
”It's me--Jones--Gopher Jones. Say, Mac, the bank ain't open and we can't rouse Milton. Thought I'd come to you, seeing as you're president of the shebang.”
The mine-owner got up and began to dress. ”Probably overslept, same as I did.”
”That's the point. We looked through the window of his bedroom and his bed ain't been slept in.”
In three minutes Macdonald joined the marshal and walked down with him to the bank. He unlocked the front door and turned to the little crowd that had gathered.
”Better wait here, boys. Gopher and I will go in. I expect everything is all right, but we'll let you know about that as soon as we find out.”
The bank president opened the door, let the officer enter, and followed himself.
The sun had not yet risen and the blinds were down. Macdonald struck a match and held it up. The wood burned and the flame flickered out.
”Bank's been robbed,” he announced quietly.
”Looks like,” agreed Jones. His voice was uneven with excitement.
The Scotch-Canadian lit another match. In the flare of it they saw that the steel grill cutting off the alcove was open and that the door had been blown from the safe. It lay on the floor among a litter of papers, silver, fragments of steel, and bits of candle.
The marshal clutched at the arm of the banker. ”Did you see--that?” he whispered.
His finger pointed through the darkness to the other end of the room. In the faint gray light of coming day Macdonald could see a huddled ma.s.s on the floor.
”There has been murder done. I'll get a light. Don't move from here, Jones. I want to look at things before we disturb them. There's no danger. The robbers have been gone for hours.”
Gopher had as much nerve as the next man--when the sun was s.h.i.+ning and he could see what danger he was facing. But there was something sinister and nerve-racking here. He wanted to throw open the door and shout the news to those outside.
By the light of another match the mine-owner crossed the room into the sitting-room of the cas.h.i.+er. Presently he returned with a lamp and let its light fall upon the figure lying slumped against the wall.
A revolver lay close to the inert fingers. The head hung forward grotesquely upon the breast.
The dead man was Milton. His employer saw nothing ridiculous in the twisted neck and sprawling limbs. The cas.h.i.+er had died to save the money entrusted to his care.
Macdonald handed the lamp to the marshal and picked up the revolver.
Every chamber was loaded.
”They beat him to it. They were probably here when he reached home.
My guess is he heard them right away, got his gun, and came in. He's still wearing his dress suit. That gives us the time, for he left the club about midnight. Soon as they saw him they dropped him. Likely they heard him and were ready. I wouldn't have had this happen for all the money in the safe.”
”How much was there in it?”
”I don't know exactly. The books will show. I'll send Wally down to look them over.”
”Shot right spang through the heart, looks like,” commented Jones, following with his eye the course of the wound.
”Wish I'd been here instead of him,” Macdonald said grimly. His eyes softened as he continued to look down at the employee who had paid with his life for his faithfulness. ”It wasn't an even break. Poor old fellow! You weren't built for a job like this, Robert Milton, but you played your hand out to a finish. That's all any man can do.”
He turned abruptly away and began examining the safe. The silver still stood sacked in one large compartment. The bank-notes had escaped the hurried search of the robbers, but the gold was practically all gone.
One sack had been torn by the explosion and single pieces of gold could be found all over the safe.
Macdonald glanced over the papers rapidly. The officer picked up one of dozens scattered over the floor. It was a mortgage note made out to the bank by a miner. He collected the others. Evidently the bandits had torn off the rubber, glanced over one or two to see if they had any cash value, and tossed the package into the air as a disgusted gambler does a pack of cards.