“Now, that is just what I am anxious to know, Mr. Barkman. I am anxious to know precisely what they did and how they did it. I want to know, in detail, everything that happened that night.” “Well,” replied the witness, “this is the way I figure it out, Colonel, and I think it’s straight dope: these men fixed up their plan and Louie hung around until he found that the bank president was alone in his house. That was the night his family went to the Springs. It was in the newspapers. Everybody knew it. Then about midnight they went up to Mr. Halloway’s house.” “And how did they get into the house?” inquired the lawyer. “That was no trouble,” said the witness. “They rang the bell. They wanted Mr. Halloway to come down just as he did come down, with his dressing gown on, like he was found dead in the library.” The attorney had changed his posture. He was idly fingering the two polka-dot handkerchiefs. The witness went on: “When Mr. Halloway opened the door, one of these crooks jammed a pistol against him. They shut the door and marched him into the library. And there they told him what they were going to do. They held him up, right there in the library, and forced him to give them the combination to the bank safe.” “And how were they to know,” inquired the attorney, “that the combination which the banker gave them was the correct one? Would not his impulse be—would not any one’s impulse be—to give an incorrect combination of figures?” The witness laughed. “Old Bill would know the trick,” he said. “They would ask the banker to give the combination. They would write it down as he gave it; then they would wait a little while and ask him again, and if he had made it up, he would not be able to remember. That’s an old trick. It was done in the North Hampton bank robbery, where they burned the cashier’s feet for lying.” The big attorney swung around toward his clients. “Did you ever hear of that, Bill?” “No,” said the prisoner, “I never did.” Again the attorney laughed that vague, futile laugh. “I believe you, Bill,” he said, “although nobody else does—I’m paid to believe you.” He turned back to the witness. “What happened then?” The big prisoner with the folded white handkerchief for a cravat was mumbling incoherently. The attorney paid no attention. He looked at the witness. “Go on, Mr. Barkman,” he said. “What did they do next?”