EELER, paying-teller of the Ore and Metals National , cast a last glance , cast a last glance rolls of a dozen concerns were all neatly arranged awaiting the arrival of messengers with their firm checks.
Keeler was a methodical young man. Always cool and calm, he was clock-like in his punctuality. His firm chin, his strong nose, his steady blue eyes were, to the discerning, sufficient indication of his integrity. Also, one felt that there could be no question of his courage. And his ability in his chosen career seemed proved by the fact that at twenty-nine he had achieved so responsible a position in one of the largest banks in the world.
He saw the uniformed porter unlock and open the huge steel doors of the bank, and Turner, the young messenger of the Caraway Company entered. Almost simultaneously emissaries arrived from the Wilton Company, the MacEnany concern, and the other big clients of the bank. Each one, Keeler noted, was accompanied by a husky guard.
Keeler reached automatically forth the bundles of bills labeled “Caraway.” Then, almost as automatically, his hand swept below the counter and touched the switch that dropped, with a jarring crash, the steel grating whose interlaced bars would protect him from assault and robbery. His other hand gripped his ready pistol, and through the bars he aimed the weapon. For half a dozen men had entered the bank after the messenger from the Elspeth store.
Keeler had heard a cry from the uniformed porter struggling with one of the late arrivals. He had acted with instant decision; the bank's money was protected against the marauders. For Keeler had only to dodge down behind his counter to be out of range of any possible bullet and the steel grating could be raised only by the switch inside the cage. No threat could make Keeler touch that switch again.
But he did not hide behind the counter. Instead, he pointed his revolver at a man struggling with the Wilton guard. The man heard his hoarse cry and immediately ceased his struggle. The uniformed porter had backed the man, whose attack upon him had caused the outcry, into a corner, and blew upon a shrill police whistle.
ITHIN three minutes after the attempted robbery had begun, the bandits were lined up against one wall, were disarmed, and were penned in by a dozen bank detectives and employees. Keeler pressed the switch that caused the heavy steel grating to ascend into the ceiling. He laughed as he did so. In a moment the police, summoned by the porter's whistle, would arrive and take away the ridiculous bandits.
Indeed, the police arrived sooner than he had deemed possible. A whole platoon of them, sixteen in all, headed by a sergeant, raced up the bank steps with drawn revolvers and nightsticks in their hands. The sergeant took one comprehensive glance at the situation, then ordered the massive doors closed.
From the inner offices the president, the secretary, the treasurer, and other officials of the bank had come. The sergeant seemed to recognize the president. He called him by name. “Get everybody in here, Mr. Dana,” he commanded brusquely. “Everybody! Looks like an inside job to me.”
”That's absurd,” said Dana. His heavy jowls shook with indignation. “Every man in this bank, every woman, too—is absolutely trustworthy. Why”—and he pointed at the six cowering figures against the wall—“they're all outsiders.”
“How'd they know all these payroll people were to be here at a certain hour, with the cash ready for them? Get everyone here; I want to look at them.”
Dana felt the justice of the sergeant's attitude, even though he could have informed the police officer that information as to the time of sending for pay rolls could be easily picked up by any client of the bank who kept his eyes open. He ordered an underling to summon the rest of the .
While they were coming the sergeant and five of his men advanced to the prisoners. They slipped handcuffs on each of them and hustled them roughly into the center of the hank lobby. The sergeant looked at the other customer's of the bank.
“Any of these mixed up in this?” he demanded of Keeler.
The paying teller peered through his cage. He pointed as he spoke: ”That's Mr. Kelly, an old client; that's Mr. Wynans, another old customer; that's Mr. Bennett, who's all right; and that is Mr. Pellham. They're all known to me, and I can vouch for them.”
“All right,” grunted the sergeant. He turned to the president. “Everyone here?” demanded the .
“Even the telephone girls,” Dana replied.