Britt's face, above his blackened beard, was yellow-pale.

Panic was piling the people at the narrow rear doors; the weight of those who were rushing forward wedged all the ma.s.s at the exits.

"Vona!" called the manager, pulling at the edge of the curtain to give her pa.s.sage. "This way! The side door."

The summons helped to put away her faintness; her strength came back to her. Her goal was the bank! In the frenzy of her solicitude for her lover she took no thought of herself.

The others stopped to find their wraps. Vona ran down the street as she was, bareheaded, the ribbons of her stage finery fluttering. She was close behind the first arrivals at the open door of Britt Block. All the other portals were wide open, bank door and grille door. But the door of the vault was closed.

She thrust herself resolutely through the group of men and made a frenzied survey of the bank's interior. Her single quest was for Vaniman; he was nowhere in sight. The books of account were open on the desk, mute evidence for her that he had been interrupted suddenly.

She voiced demands in shrill tones, but the men had no information for her. She called his name wildly and there was no reply.

"I found the outside door open," said Dorsey, raucously hoa.r.s.e. "I came in, and all was just as you see it."

"But you said that he--that Frank--" Vona pressed her hands against her throat; she could not voice the terrible announcement that Dorsey had made.

"Well, if it ain't that, what else is it?" insisted the watchman.

Then Tasper Britt arrived in the room, followed by the bank examiner; they entered, breathing heavily and running with the tread of Percherons.

"If it ain't murder and robbery, what is it, Mr. Britt?" Dorsey bawled, evidently feeling the authority was then on the scene and was demanding report and action.

"I don't know--I don't know!" the president quavered, staggering to the grille and clutching the wires with both hands in order to steady himself. He was palpably, unmistakably stricken with a fear that was overpowering him.

The outer office was filling; the corridor was being packed by the arriving throngs.

Examiner Starr took command of the situation. He noted the nickel badge on Dorsey's breast. "Officer, put every person except Mr. Britt out of this building!"

But Watchman Dorsey, though he commanded and pushed, was not able to make any impression.

"By my authority as bank examiner, I order this place cleared!" bellowed Mr. Starr. The folks of Egypt showed that they were greatly interested in the volume of voice possessed by "Foghorn Fremont," but they did not retreat. For that matter, the crowd in the room was thoroughly blocked at the door by the press in the corridor.

Starr's attention was wholly taken up by one individual for the next few minutes. Prophet Elias boldly advanced, after worming his way out of the throng; he pushed the examiner aside from the door of the grille and went into the inner inclosure. An intruder who was prosaically garbed would not have prevailed as easily as this bizarre individual with the deep-set eyes, a.s.sertive mien, and wearing a robe that put him out of the ordinary run of humanity. But Mr. Starr got back his voice and ordered the Prophet to walk out.

Elias turned slowly and faced Starr. The Prophet's feet were hidden by the robe and he came around with the effect of a window dummy revolving on a support. Starr bawled more furious demands.

But the Prophet did not lower his crest. "'Many bulls have compa.s.sed me: strong bulls of Bashan have beset me round. They gaped upon me with their mouths, as a ravening and a roaring lion.'"

Then the Prophet spatted his palm upon the legend on his breast and clacked a disdainful digit off the pivot of his thumb. Tasper Britt, even in his hottest ire, had been restrained in the past by some influence from laying violent hands on this peculiar personage. It was evident that Starr was controlled by a similar reluctance and that his forbearance was puzzling him. When the Prophet got down on his knees, Starr was silent; it looked as if this zealot intended to offer prayer--and the bank examiner did not care to earn the reputation of being a disturber of a religious gathering. But Elias doubled over and began to crawl around the room on his hands and knees, peering intently and c.o.c.king his ear and seeming to take much interest in his undertaking.

Until then, in the rush of events, in the haste of gathering at the scene of the tragedy, in the wild uncertainty as to what had happened, n.o.body had taken the time to study the details of the conditions in the bank inclosure.

Starr ordered Dorsey to stand in front of the grille door and keep out all persons. The examiner was obliged to urge Britt to unclasp his hands and follow him before the door was closed and locked against the crowd.

Vona had stumbled to a chair; she was staring about her, trying to control her horror and steady her mind so that she might comprehend what had happened. Under a stool she saw a crumpled coat; she leaped from her chair, secured it, and sat down again. It was Frank's office coat; both sleeves were ripped and the back breadths were torn. She held it forward in her shaking hands for the inspection of the bank examiner. But Mr.

Starr was too intent on other matters to take heed of the pathetic proof of violence. He was particularly concerned with what he had found in one corner.

Literally, thousands of small metal disks were heaped and scattered there. Some of the disks had rolled to all parts of the room. The Prophet had been sc.r.a.ping up handfuls of them, inspecting them, and throwing them toward the corner where the main ma.s.s lay.

Starr picked up some of them. They were iron; each disk was perforated.

There were many canvas sacks near the heap of disks; the sacks were ripped and empty. Mr. Starr secured one of them. Its mouth was closed with the seal with which specie sacks are usually secured.

But Mr. Starr saw something else in the corner, an object at which he peered; the gloom made the results of his scrutiny uncertain. He stooped and picked up that object, making it the third of the trinity of exhibits. It was a large square of pasteboard, the backing of an advertising calendar. Starr carried it to the lamp on the table. There was writing on the placard. The characters were large and sprawling.

The bank examiner tapped his finger on the writing, calling for the attention of the anguished president. The legend read:

This is a _h.e.l.l_ of a bank!

"Britt, if this is a sample of your whole stock of specie," Starr rumbled, holding a disk between thumb and forefinger, "the profanity is sort of excused by the emphasis needed. I really think I would have been obliged to say the same, after counting up."

"I can't understand it," the president muttered.

"Did you suppose you carried actual coin in those bags?"

"Yes--gold and some silver."

"Had you counted it?"

"I left the checking up to the cashier."

"Where do you think your cashier is, right now?"

Britt flapped his hands, helplessly confessing that he did not know.

In all the room there was a profound hush. The crowd had been straining aural nerves, trying to hear what was being said by the men in authority.

n.o.body had been paying any attention to Prophet Elias, who had been crawling like a torpid caterpillar. For some moments he had been rigidly motionless in one spot. He was leaning against the front of the vault, his ear closely pressed to the crevice at the base of the door.

He straightened up on his knees and shouted in such stentorian tones that all in the room jerked their muscles in sudden fright. "Swine!

Fools!"

They gaped at him.

"Whilst you're shouting amongst your trash a man is dying on the other side of the door!"

Vona leaped from her chair. She shrieked. She ran to the door and beat her fists against the steel, futilely and furiously.

"In there lies your money-changer, I tell you, Pharaoh, lord of Egypt,"

the Prophet shouted. "I hear his groans!"

Britt and Starr rushed to the vault and both of them strove clumsily and ineffectually with the mechanism, giving up their attempts after a few moments.

"It's no use!" Britt gulped. "The time lock must be on."

"Oh, for the rod of Moses and the ancient faith that smote the rock in twain!" pleaded the Prophet.