“No,” came from Mr. Sylvester with sharp and shrill distinctness. “Since I have had the honor of conducting the affairs of this institution, I have made it my business to observe and note the bearing and character of each and every man employed under me, and I believe them all to be honest.”
The glance of the detective while it did not perceptibly move from the large screen drawn across the room at the back of Mr. Sylvester, seemed to request the opinions of the other two gentlemen on this point.
Bertram observing it, subdued the rapid beatings of his heart and spoke with like distinctness. “I have been in the bank the same length of time as my uncle,” said he, “and most heartily endorse his good opinion of the various persons in our employ.”
“And Mr. Stuyvesant?” the immovable glance seemed to say.
“Men are honest in my opinion till they are proved otherwise,” came in short stern accents from the director’s lips.
The detective drew back in his chair as if he considered that point decided, and yet Bertram’s eye which had clouded at Mr. Stuyvesant’s too abrupt assertion, did not clear again as might have been expected.
“There is one more question I desire to settle,” continued the detective, “and that is, whether this robbery could have been perpetrated after business hours, by someone in collusion with the person who is here left in charge?”
“No;” again came from Mr. Sylvester, with impartial justice. “The watchman—who by the way has been in the bank for twelve years—could not help a man to find entrance to the vaults. His simple duty is to watch over the bank and give alarm in case of fire or burglary. It would necessitate a knowledge of the combination by which the vault doors are