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Chapter XI.

The world is grown so bad That wrens may prey where eagles dare not perch.

—Richard III.

Small had been at the office one night on the arrival of a northern mail. It brought several letters containing remittances in cheques, drafts, &c. These he locked away in the cashier's safe. Harry also was at work getting his books posted and some invoices copied for the mail the following day. The manager had asked Lane to come back that evening to copy the invoices, but on his pleading as an excuse his attendance at a private mathematical class of which he was a member, Harry, overhearing, had volunteered to do this work for him.

In the safe in which Small locked the remittances was a considerable sum of money in notes which had been paid at the office during that afternoon too late for banking. The following morning Small was at the office quite half an hour earlier than usual, and had not been long at his desk when Lane entered.

Herman at once asked the manager if the invoices he required early that day had been copied. He had come, he said, at that hour so that he might get on with them if necessary. Small found that Harry had them all ready, but he gave Lane some letters to answer, and these were set about at once. The manager was considerably impressed by the circumstance of Lane's early appearance, and his page 72 anxiety to get the work completed he had been asked to do the previous evening. His apparent desire not to cause inconvenience by his inability to come to the office when requested by the manager, pleased the latter more than his attendance then could possibly have done.

As the clerks dropped in one by one, and proceeded quietly to their respective posts, the office began to present a very busy appearance. Harry, as soon as he had performed some preliminary duties, proceeded to the Post Office, and shortly returned with the morning letters, which he handed to Small.

Presently the cashier opened his safe for the purpose of entering up some money just received, and came upon the letters left there by the manager the night before. On seeing them he spoke to Small, and was informed as to when and by whom they had been placed where he found them. He then set about his work of entering the different cheques and drafts, and was surprised to find that one envelope contained a draft in addition to the cheque it expressed to cover, but as the letter referring to this vagrant draft was almost the next one opened, he concluded that Small had displaced it on receipt of the letters. On completing the entry of the different cheques, he placed them in the drawer of his desk, and proceeded with the posting of his books.

Mr. Bruce shortly after entered his room, and when he had read the letters on his table visited the counting-house; after having a few minutes' conversation with his manager, he returned to his chair.

Immediately afterwards Lane approached Small and asked permission to return to his lodgings. He had forgotten, he said, to bring with him an important private letter which must be posted that morning. Having finished the most urgent part of his day's work, he could be spared page 73 for an hour or so. Small made no objection, and Lane left the office. As he passed into the street Mr. Bruce was talking to a friend in the doorway. Lane looked back several times before he got out of sight of the warehouse to see if Mr. Bruce was still standing there. When he got some distance away he saw that his employer had left the building, and was coming along the street in the same direction. Lane quickly proceeded down a side street, and, under the shadow of a convenient doorway, waited until Mr. Bruce had passed the end of that street; then the clerk returned, and watched still in the direction the merchant had taken, until he passed from view.

Shortly after Mr. Bruce and Lane had gone out, Detective Fane entered the office of Bruce and Co., and enquired for the principal. Small saw the detective enter, and ascertaining that Mr. Bruce had not returned, he requested the officer to enter his private room.

“Will Mr. Bruce be long?” enquired the detective, as soon as the door was closed on them.

“I think not,” replied the other. “Will you wait for him?”

“Afraid I can't.”

“Will you leave any message?”

“No.”

“You need not be afraid to say anything to me; I'm in Mr. Bruce's confidence.”

“Would rather not.”

The detective was a man of few words. Trained to conceal his thoughts, he had also acquired the art of expressing them shortly. There was nothing circumlocutory about any of his speeches. If he had to convey a negative, there was nothing to his mind so appropriate as a direct and brief word. This officer had been connected with the service in Dunedin for many years, and was a well-known page 74 figure there. His tall, wiry frame, small, dark eyes, cleanshaved, mobile face, long bony hands and muscular arms were characteristics peculiarly adapted to the profession he had chosen. Behind his reserved and seemingly expressionless exterior was a kindly nature and a fund of humour that would have surprised most physiognomists, who would have read his character quite differently. His large experience had provided him with a reserve from which he could draw a rich profusion of anecdote, and many good stories which found circulation in the local press or other less diffusive channels, could have been traced to the lips of Detective Fane in the moments of his relaxation, or when smoking a pipe with some more than usually favoured companion. To Small, the detective was known only by sight. His refusal, so shortly expressed, to give any inkling of his business to the manager somewhat nettled that little gentleman. This, however, he managed to conceal; at least, so he thought; and to an eye of less discernment than Fane's this would have been the case.

Small was unwilling to be so easily disposed of by the detective, so he continued—

“Does your visit relate to Lane?”

This question satisfied the detective that his questioner knew something of the subject, but did not put him off his guard.

“Yes.”

“Have you discovered anything?”

“Yes.”

Fane gave a direct answer as being better than any evasion, while it conveyed nothing. He determined, however, that there should be no further enquiries, and, drawing his watch from his pocket, continued—

“Will Mr. Bruce be in at three o'clock? I'll return then,” and without waiting for an answer the detective left the office.

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As he strode quickly along the street, and neared the Colonial Bank, he saw Herman Lane leave that building, hurry down past the Telegraph Office, and disappear round that corner into Bond Street. As this was not a proceeding out of keeping with his office duties, the detective did not further notice it.

Lane returned to the office in less than an hour, and resumed his work.

It was part of Harry's duty to make the payments to the bank each afternoon. Shortly after he had returned from lunch, the cashier handed him the bank slip, together with a number of cheques and drafts, and a roll of notes bound with an elastic band. Harry ran over the cheques mentioned on the slip, and was about to count the notes when the cashier addressed him—

“Oh, you needn't open the notes; I counted them twice before rolling them up; they haven't been touched since.”

This satisfied Harry, and he set off to the bank.

The banking room was considerably crowded when he entered, and he had a few minutes to wait; then he handed the bundle of notes and the other documents to the teller, who first marked off the cheques, entering each in his book as he did so. Removing the elastic band from the roll, he straightened it out, looking about him as he did so, and then turned to count the notes. With a look of surprise and dismay he turned to Harry—

“Why! what is this?” and he directed the other's attention to the roll, which consisted of a number of slips of paper in size and colour not unlike bank notes, carefully rolled up within a genuine £20 note.

This was all that represented a total on the slip of £400.

Harry was too much overcome to speak. With a countenance which displayed great consternation, he gazed in wonder on the fraudulent bundle before him. The teller page 76 again spoke. He felt alarmed at the dismay depicted on the face opposite him, and hoping to put Harry more at ease, said—

“Who's playing larks with you? Why didn't you look at the money before you came away?”

This suggestion somewhat reassured Harry, but did not put his mind at ease. He replied—

“I hope it is only a joke.” Then stretching out his hand for the bundle, he continued—” You keep the cheques while I see about this.”

Harry then left the bank and rushed towards his uncle's warehouse. Bounding into the office, he laid the false roll before the cashier, and demanded—

“What do you mean by that?”

“By what!” asked the other, in blank astonishment.

Harry replied by pointing to the roll, and then spreading the papers before the eyes of his questioner. His manner was wild and excited.

The dismay and amazement with which Harry had seen the roll exhibited by the teller at the bank was nothing to that displayed by the cashier of Bruce and Co. His jaw fell; his face turned deadly pale; with eyes starting and mouth open, he looked first at Harry, then at the heap of papers before him; speechless and utterly thunderstruck, he looked and looked again. Were his senses deceiving him, or was Harry?

At this moment Small, having seen Harry rush into the office, and judging from his excited action as he displayed the roll to the cashier that something was amiss, rose from his seat and approached them.

“What is it, Harry? What is wrong?”

He received no reply in words. Harry merely pointed to the spurious roll. The face of the other told a tale of serious import.

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“Come with me,” and Small led the way into Mr. Bruce's private room. The others followed him quietly. Small shut the door, and continued—“Now tell me what has happened?”

Harry then related his knowledge of the occurrence, turning to the cashier as he finished.

“When did you count the money?” enquired Small of that gentleman.

“Yesterday when I received it, and again when I rolled it up with the elastic band and locked the safe.”

This was the first time the cashier had spoken since he became aware of the robbery. His voice was broken and husky, and grated terribly, even on his own ears.

Mr. Bruce then entered the room. He was surprised to see his clerks there, and their anxious, troubled faces disconcerted him not a little. He approached Small, who briefly told him what had occurred.

Mr. Bruce questioned the cashier and Harry as to the particulars already recorded, and then dismissed them to their desks with injunctions not to reveal what had happened.

Then turning to Small, he said with troubled tones—

“Good gracious! Small, where is this going to end? We cannot afford to remain longer inactive.”

“It's really a terrible business. What can we do?”

“Do! Somebody must be arrested at once.”

Mr. Bruce spoke with warmth and determination; spoke also with haste and without thought. The impulse to do something had taken possession of him, and, as usual in such an event, it promised to lead to error. To do something in cases of emergency or events unprepared for is an impulse inherent in the human breast. To act, whether rightly or wrongly, and leave the result to chance is a principle too often adopted and too often abused.

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The theory that everything is pre-ordained is frequently productive of much ill, inasmuch as it prevents the due exercise of the reflective faculties in man. It is a comforting solution of many events, but it would be better for him if he could realise that he has some responsibility for and in his surroundings, and that the star of his destiny will be obscured or bright in so far as he provides an unclouded firmament in his acts; that the man who can so train his mind and regulate his life as to make the most of his advantages will be able to meet and overcome all difficulties, and so far shelter himself behind the armour of his own character as to allow the rude winds and buffetings of the world to pass by him, secure and uninjured in his own stronghold.

Small told his employer of the expected visit of Detective Fane at three o'clock. Mr. Bruce consulted his watch, and found it was already that time. He determined to await the officer's coming, and, dismissing Small, sat down to reflect over passing events.

Such a crowd of misfortunes was sufficient to disturb the strongest nature. At first, when the novelty of a fraud on his house presented itself, accompanied as it necessarily was with perplexity and doubt, Mr. Bruce was all patience and forbearance. Now, however, having suspicions as to the perpetrator, he felt strongly prompted towards punishment, and would make suspicion take the place of proof. A man confronted by ill fortune cannot be expected to exhibit refinement either of sense or of feeling, and Mr. Bruce found battling with himself his greatest difficulty.

He sat pondering and undecided until the entry of the detective aroused him.

Without enquiring if the officer had anything to report, Mr. Bruce communicated to him what was uppermost on his mind, and put him in possession of the details as far as page 79 they were known to him. Then the detective pulled out his notebook and made a memorandum of the occurrence, of which he had learned the particulars.

“Can I see the cashier?” he asked, when he had done.

“Yes, certainly. Will you speak to him here now?”

“Yes.”

Mr. Bruce touched his bell, and Harry entered. On seeing him, the merchant addressed the detective—

“This is the clerk who took the roll to the bank. Will you ask him anything?”

Fane interrogated Harry as to how the discovery was made, noting the most important particulars. When this had ended he asked abruptly—

“Have you a key of the safe?”

“No,” replied Harry, promptly.

“Ever had?”

“Yes,”

“Had it long in your possession at one time?”

“Never more than an hour or so.”

“Ever had it all night?”

“No.”

“Show me all the keys you have?”

Harry at once produced the keys in his possession, and handed them to the detective.

“Describe them all.”

Without hesitation Harry mentioned what each key was.

The detective paused and considered a moment, then turning to Mr. Bruce, said—

“That will do; call in the cashier”

Mr. Bruce told Harry to send the cashier, and not to say anything further. When his nephew left the room, he turned to the detective—

“Would you not rather speak to the cashier in private?”

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“No, you remain.”

The cashier then entered. On seeing Fane he felt considerably disconcerted. He approached the table at which his employer sat. This brought him directly in front of the officer.

Mr. Bruce told him that he had been called in to answer some enquiries that Detective Fane would make respecting the missing money.

The detective spoke immediately.

“You counted the lost money more than once?”

“Yes, twice; once on receiving it, and again on placing it in the safe.”

“Do you remember the value of the notes?”

“Yes, distinctly; 4 fifties, 5 twenties, and 10 tens.”

“You're sure of that?”

“Quite certain.”

“And on what bank were they?”

“The fifties and twenties were on the Bank of Australasia; the others I am not sure about.”

The detective carefully noted all these particulars. Pursuing his enquiries further, he elicited some other minor information, and then requested the cashier not to speak of the robbery in any way, after which he was sent to his desk. Mr. Bruce and the officer remained together for some time, and arrangements were made for a vigorous prosecution of investigations.