At the bank, however, they were told that the combination to the vault was known to only three persons--the president of the bank, Rockwell, and the assistant cashier. The president, it developed, was out of town. Rockwell's house failed to answer the phone, and it was a good half hour before the assistant cashier put in an appearance. When, in compliance with Weldon's orders, he swung back the heavy doors which guarded the vault where the currency was stored, he swung around, amazed. "It's empty!" he whispered. "Not a thing there save the bags of coin. Why, I put some two hundred and fifty thousand dollars in paper money in there myself this afternoon!" "Who was here at the time?" demanded Todd. "Only Mr. Rockwell. I remember distinctly that he said he would have to work a little longer, but that there wouldn't be any necessity for my staying. So I put the money in there, locked the door, and went on home." "Do you know where Rockwell is now?" "At his house, I suppose. He lives at--" "I know where he lives," snapped Todd. "I also know that he isn't there. I've had the place watched since five o'clock this afternoon--but Rockwell hasn't shown up. Like the money--I think we can say 'with the money'--he's gone, disappeared, vanished." "Then," said Weldon, "it is up to you to find him. My part of the job ceased the moment the shortage was disclosed." "I know that and if you'll attend to making a report on the matter, order the arrest of Jafferay, and spread the report of Rockwell's embezzlement through police circles, I'll get busy on my own hook. Good-by." And an instant later Todd was hailing a taxi and ordering the chauffeur to break all the speed laws in reaching the house where Rockwell boarded. Examination of the cashier's room and an extended talk with the landlady failed, however, to disclose anything which might be termed a clue. The missing official had visited the house shortly after noon, but had not come back since the bank closed. He had not taken a valise or suit case with him, declared the mistress of the house, but he had seemed "just a leetle bit upset." Quickly, but efficiently, Todd examined the room--even inspecting the bits of paper in the wastebasket and pawing over the books which lined the mantel. Three of the former he slipped into his pocket and then, turning, inquired: "Was Mr. Rockwell fond of cold weather?" "No, indeed," was the reply. "He hated winter. Said he never was comfortable from November until May. He always--" But the "queer gentleman," as the landlady afterward referred to him, was out of the house before she could detail her pet story of the cashier's fondness for heat, no matter at what cost. No one at the station had seen Rockwell board a train, but inquiry at the taxicab offices revealed the fact that a man, with his overcoat collar turned up until it almost met his hat brim, had taken a cab for a near-by town, where it would be easy for him to make connections either north or south.