"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."