Part 82

"Yes, yes," said The Thinking Machine.

"Whether he was able to raise this money I don't know," she went on. "I only hope he did without having to--to do that--to have any----"

"To rob his bank," said the scientist, tartly. "Miss Clarke, is young Dunston in love with you?"

The girl's face changed color at the sudden question.

"I don't see----" she began.

"You may not see," said The Thinking Machine, "but I can have him arrested for robbery and convict him."

The girl gazed at him with wide, terror-stricken eyes, and gasped.

"No, no, no," she said, hurriedly. "He could have had nothing to do with that at all."

"Is he in love with you?" again came the question.

There was a pause.

"I've had reason to believe so," she said, finally, "though----"

"And you?"

The girl's face was flaming now, and, squinting into her eyes, the scientist read the answer.

"I understand," he commented, tersely. "Are you going to be married?"

"I could--could never marry him," she gasped suddenly. "No, no," emphatically. "We are not, ever."

She slowly recovered from her confusion, while the scientist continued to squint at her curiously.

"I believe you said you had some information for me?" he asked.

"Y--yes," she faltered. Then more calmly: "Yes. I came to tell you that the package of ten thousand dollars which you took from Mr. Fraser's pocket has again disappeared."

"Yes," said the other, without astonishment.

"It was presumed at the bank that he had taken it home with him, having regained possession of it in some way, but a careful search has failed to reveal it."

"Yes, and what else?"

The girl took a long breath and gazed steadily into the eyes of the scientist, with determination in her own.

"I have come, too, to tell you," she said, "the name of the man who robbed the bank."

If Miss Clarke had expected that The Thinking Machine would show either astonishment or enthusiasm, she must have been disappointed, for he neither altered his position nor looked at her. Instead, he was gazing thoughtfully away with lackluster eyes.

"Well?" he asked. "I suppose it's a story. Begin at the beginning."

With a certain well-bred air of timidity, the girl began the story; and occasionally as she talked there was a little tremor of the lips.

"I have been a stenographer and typewriter for seven years," she said, "and in that time I have held only four positions. The first was in a law office in New York, where I was left an orphan to earn my own living; the second was with a manufacturing concern, also in New York. I left there three years ago to accept the position of private secretary to William T. Rankin, president of the ---- National Bank, at Hartford, Connecticut. I came from there to Boston and later went to work at the Ralston Bank, as private secretary to Mr. Fraser. I left the bank in Hartford because of the failure of that concern, following a bank robbery."

The Thinking Machine glanced at her suddenly.