"Well, I'll be blowed!" exclaimed Sidney, for it revealed that his two friends were detectives, in the employ of the noted chief, and hired, no doubt, to view the case from a "dark" angle. But the most extraordinary part of it all, was that their names were not Smyles nor Edwards either, but--I guess it doesn't matter. CHAPTER THIRTEEN "_Cause Nigga's 's Gittin' so Rich_" In the building to the furthest end from where Wyeth's office was now located, he observed a man one day. He was standing in front of the bank. He was a white man, and was tall and slender, while his complexion was sandy, his hair red and awry. His eyes were keen and piercing. "A collector," thought Sidney, for there were so many about the building, especially on Monday, and this was the day. He lurked in the entry on Tuesday, when Wyeth passed that way. "Must be a contractor, the way he is studying the inside of the bank," mumbled Wyeth, as he took the elevator upward. Wednesday came, gray and gloomy, and then it rained. It was four o'clock and thirty minutes in the afternoon. Sidney passed through the entry to the elevator on his way to the office of Dickson, and again the man stood there. He had drawn no conclusion as to what was the occasion of this presence, when from behind came a sound. He did something else then. So did others about him. "Throw up your hands, nigger, and get into that vault!" came a command. It was from the man he had seen, and he was holding up the bank. There was a silence, followed by a scuffle, then a lull, and a shot, and still later,--for the shot went wild, landing in the ceiling where it cracked the plastering, and made bits of it fall upon a score of frightened Negroes--a thud. This had not gone amiss. There was a groan and a dull sound, as some one sank to the floor. This part was witnessed by Wyeth and others. It was the teller, and the son of the bank's president. On the floor he lay bleeding, while the other was standing frightened over him. Then he looked up. Open-mouthed like dumb creatures, Negros of all shades, including the green, stood about. And then the man seemed to awaken to the emergency, and the danger. Those Negroes would not be dumb for all time. He sensed this aright. And then he took initiative, action. With a flash, he fired off the huge gun, and with a leap and a bound, he came forth, while Negroes, black and brown, yellow and green, and some white, fell back upon each other, in a hurry. He had plenty of room, for a time, and made use of it. Out into the hallway he must perforce come on his way to the street, and freedom. He started, but one little moment he hesitated. Then, firing again, he made his great rush. Through the hallway he dashed, and entered the street through a side door that was open before him. A moment later he was gone. But so were the others.