BATS IN THE WALL. Left to himself within the banking-room, Detective Hook, with the closest scrutiny, began a systematic examination of the rifled vault and its surroundings. There was no evidence that the bank had been entered other than by the rear doors from the Rector street side. And these doors, strange to relate, were unprotected, save by ordinary spring locks. Evidently the officers of the Webster Bank had relied upon the solidity of their vault doors for protection, and upon the fact that with plate glass windows upon two sides, facing Rector street and Broadway, the policeman on the beat could see the entire front of the vault as plainly as though it had been standing in the street itself, by the light of the gas-burner, kept burning the entire night directly in front of the combination lock. And, after all, no better protection could be devised than this, providing always, the policeman of the beat is true to his trust. And yet the deed had been done, and, stranger still the officer in whose charge this portion of Broadway lay had put in no appearance yet. Crowbar and jimmy, powder-can and fuse, and the shattered door itself, told with startling plainness the methods by which the bank-robbers had attained their end. Detective Hook examined each point with close attention. Nothing of value remained in the vault. It might have contained millions--it might have contained cents--the bank officers alone could tell. "There is something altogether out of the usual order in this affair," he muttered to himself, as he stood musing before the rifled vault. "The strange hints received by me from Cutts have proved both true and false. Instead of this clerk and a gang of desperate burglars, I find the vault already robbed and this young man with his strange story, involving Cutts himself, standing here alone. "I don't like the look of it. I believe this boy is as innocent as I am, Caleb Hook; there is something else at the bottom of all this. If I don't greatly mistake---- "Hello! Well, what have you discovered?" "Nothing," replied Policeman Jones, now appearing at the door. "There's not a soul anywhere about, except an old crazy woman walking up and down before Trinity Church, muttering to herself. I questioned her closely, but she knows nothing at all." "Did you see anything of Officer Flaherty, who ought to be on this beat?" "Not a thing, and I've searched for him everywhere, too." "I'll see that he is provided for, the careless rascal," muttered the detective, "and you, Brady"--addressing the second policeman who had also appeared--"what luck in the church-yard? Any tracks in the snow?" "The tracks of two men, Mr. Hook, but they are pointing this way. Just over the fence are others, too. I should say several persons had been tramping around there." "Remain here and guard what is left," said the detective, briefly. "I'll examine into this for myself." He hastily passed to the street, leaving the two policemen in charge.