“In the character of Danby, he informed the bank people, and showed a letter addressed to Danby and signed by Driggs, our vice president. The letter was perfectly genuine, and had been dictated here, in our New York office, following Driggs’ acceptance of Simpson’s scheme for exhibiting the gold. Simpson had managed to get possession of it, however, before it was sent out, and the real Danby never got a sight of it. Naturally, the bank officials did not approve. The plan seemed too spectacular, and altogether too risky. It was none of their business, though, and they finally agreed to an immediate removal of the gold.” “Simpson had a car handy, then?” queried Green Eye. “Oh, yes, he had an electric outside—said he had just bought it at secondhand. Hattontown is a place of twenty or thirty thousand, you know—too large for every one to know the business of everybody else; consequently, the bank people had no reason to doubt his word.” “How about guards, though,” Cray broke in. “There were none,” Griswold answered. “The bank people claim to have expostulated on that score, but Simpson scoffed at their fears. It was broad daylight, in a peaceable community, and he had only a few blocks to go. He assured them, however, that the gold would be carefully guarded when it was put on exhibition, and reminded them that their responsibility ended when he had withdrawn the deposit. I forgot to say, also, that he presented an order on the bank for the withdrawal, signed by John Simpson, as treasurer.” “So they packed all this money up, loaded it on the electric, and let him make off with it alone, did they?” queried Gordon. “It certainly sounds like small-time stuff. I suppose we can’t blame them, though. They had plenty of reason to think that everything was straight. Anything more, Mr. Griswold?” “That’s practically all, I think,” the millionaire returned. “We haven’t notified the police, or employed any other detectives; therefore we have been unable to trace the rascal’s further movements. The only reason we know all this is that it has come out naturally. One of the bank officials met the real Danby the next day, and expressed surprise that he had heard nothing of the gold being put on exhibition. You can imagine Danby’s consternation, and the confidential reports that have been flying back and forth since then.” “Trail begins in Hattontown, then,” Cray mused aloud. “We may cross it at some other point, though,” hinted Gordon. “Describe Simpson, please, Mr. Griswold.” The newspaper proprietor fumbled in his pocket and produced a photograph, which Gordon took eagerly. “Seen it already,” Cray informed him. “Face commonplace, easily disguised.” The photograph was indeed that of a very ordinary-looking man. He was a little over forty, one would have said, but looked older. He was somewhat bald, wore glasses, which would make it difficult to determine the color and expression of his eyes, and had a rather weak, amiable face.