Chapter XV: The Tender-Hearted Watchman

Nick’s return to town had not been quite as peaceful as he had hoped. But he was more than satisfied with the result of the work of the last few days.

He had captured one of the men who had escaped him in the round-up of the big Western swindle.

Only one other member of that gang was now at large, and the capture of Ramsay served to make Nick all the more eager to repeat the operation with the missing swindler.

Ramsay was questioned as to the whereabouts of this man, but he was not able to tell anything save that the two had come East together and that Ramsay had parted from his pal in Boston and had heard nothing from him since then.

Nick sought around for clews and finally came in touch with his man through a splendidly organized bank robbery.

The story of the bank robbery indicated that more than ordinary intelligence had been brought into play in consummating this piece of villainy.

The bank was the People’s National, of Latimer, Vt.

The robbery occurred at one o’clock in the morning.

The watchman was making his hourly round of the premises when a voice outside struck on his ears.

“Help! For Heaven’s sake, do something for me!” came the cry. “Call an ambulance, quick!”

The bank occupied the first floor of a corner building.

There were two floors above, divided into rooms and used as offices by lawyers and real estate men.

In front of the building was a lamp-post.

Next to the lamp-post was an upright, bearing a box-like contrivance containing a massive gong.

This gong was connected electrically with the bank vaults, and was supposed to sound an alarm if the vaults were tampered with in any way.

Halting at one of the front windows, the watchman peered through into the ring of yellow light thrown by the street lamp.

Clinging to the lamp-post was a man in a frock coat and silk hat--well dressed, as the watchman could plainly see.

Nor was he drunk, although he wavered from side to side and had all he could do to hold himself in an upright position.

It was evident that there was something serious the matter with him, and the watchman pressed his face close to the window and craned his neck to look up and down the street.

There was absolutely no one in sight who might proceed to the unfortunate man’s assistance.

It was against the watchman’s orders to leave the bank for even a minute, but he was a kind-hearted person and hated to see a fellow being in distress and never raise a finger to help.

While the watchman stood there, the well-dressed individual gave vent to a hollow groan, slipped from the lamp-post and fell prone to the walk.

That was more than the watchman could stand.

The next instant he had unlocked and unbolted the massive bank door and had hurried across the walk.

“Who are you?” he demanded, kneeling beside the man. “What is the matter?”

The man tried to talk, but his voice was no more than a faint whisper.

The watchman bent his ear to the man’s lips.

Then, in a flash, the supposedly sick man’s hands shot upward and gripped the watchman about the throat.

Simultaneously with this movement, a figure darted out of a hallway to the right of the bank, sandbag in hand.

A blow on the head settled the watchman, who pitched along the walk and lay silent and still.

“Into the bank with him, quick!” hissed the well-dressed individual, and the watchman was picked up, head and heels, and hustled back into the room which he had so recently quitted.

The door was again locked and bolted.

“Not a second too soon,” went on the well-dressed man. “Down! Here comes the other watchman.”

The two villains sank out of sight beneath the window.

A slow step was heard outside as some one rounded the corner; then a pencil of light from a bull’s-eye lantern shot into the bank through the window.

The ray swept aimlessly around, vanished, and the steps were heard once more, dying away in the distance.

“It will be two hours before that cove comes around again,” muttered the man who had used the sandbag.

“In two hours, then, we have got to have this job over and be away from here,” returned the other. “Where’s Cricket?”

“On the watch halfway down the main street.”

“And Five Points?”

“He’s watching at the rear of the bank on the cross street.”

“Good! You know about the wires of that burglar alarm, Spark?”

“Sure.”

“Then go below and break the connection.”

“I’ll be back in five minutes, Clancy.”

Spark vanished in the dusky regions at the rear of the bank, and Clancy dropped down beside the watchman.

From his pocket he took a gag and fixed it about the watchman’s jaws; then, with two pieces of rope, he tied his prisoner hand and foot and dragged him out of sight under a customers’ desk that stood near the window.

After that he passed through the cashier’s cage and halted in front of the vault door.

There was a dimly burning light in front of the vault, and above the iron door there was a clock.

“A time-clock,” said Spark, coming up at that moment.

“Did you fix the alarm?” queried Clancy, in a sharp tone.

“Broke the battery that operates it.”

“Then out with the tools.”

Clancy threw off his frock coat, folded it carefully and laid it on an office stool.

On top of his coat he placed his silk hat.

Meanwhile, Spark had produced the “tools”--and peculiar tools they were.

They consisted of a rubber bag, a bar of brown soap, a coil of fuse and some caps.

Each man knew just what work he was to perform, and went about it without a word.

Breaking the bar of soap in two, Clancy handed one piece to Spark, and they set to work plastering up the crack at the edge of the vault door.

This was skillfully and quickly accomplished.

From the top of another office stool, Clancy fashioned a cup of the soap on the upper crack.

The bag contained nitroglycerin.