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increased. Apart from the night watchman himself, they appeared to clearly show that absolutely nobody else had entered the bank.

      If anything, this increased Burton’s nervousness. If nobody had entered the bank during the night, then how had the gold been stolen?

      But even with fifty million in gold missing, business carries on—on the surface—as usual. It did so at Mackinley’s Bank, and Mackinley him­self certainly saw nothing unusual when eventually he arrived toward 10:30.

      Within five minutes, however, the blow had fallen.

      Mackinley had barely settled himself at his desk, about to select his first cigar of the day, when there came a heavy knock on his door.

      Before he could answer, the door burst open, and Burton came into the room.

      Mackinley lost the expression of pleasant benevolence, but checked the angry expostulation on his lips as he caught sight of Burton’s strained features.

      The chief cashier sank down, uninvited, into a seat near the desk. He leaned forward, gulped nervously, and said:

      “The gold’s gone! Every bit of it—”

      Mackinley’s heavy features registered a range of emotions as he listened to Burton’s halting account of the events. Anger gave way to sheer disbelief.

      “But—but it’s fantastic!” he declared flatly, as a genuinely frightened Burton finished telling him of the facts. “Absolutely fantastic! It couldn’t happen!”

      “But it did, sir. And as I’ve said, I didn’t rely on my own judgment. I had others look as well. There’s no doubt about it. The gold has gone.”

      Mackinley finally lighted his cigar and then looked at the glowing end broodingly. The disbelief on his face had changed to grim worry.

      “Have you told Scotland Yard?” he asked briefly.

      “I haven’t told anybody but you, sir. I wanted your suggestions.”

      “Get Scotland Yard immediately! In any case, the staff knows about it, and with all respect to their vows of secrecy, one of them will let the cat out of the bag. We’ve got to get action. Once this news hits the papers I’ll be ruined!”

      “Surely not, sir—­”

      Mackinley banged his fist on the desk. “Look here, Burton, would you trust a bank that lets fifty million in gold slide out of its strong vault? I wouldn’t, and that’s flat!”

      As Burton dithered, the magnate added: “Never mind, I’ll get the Yard myself.”

      Mackinley whipped up the telephone; then glanced again at the distraught Burton.

      “Pull yourself together man, and get back on the job. And not a word more about this: it’s up to the police to handle it. At all costs we must try to keep it out of the papers— Hello, that Scotland Yard? This is Joseph Mac­kinley speaking—”

      And so Mackinley set the wheels turning. Within fifteen minutes Chief Inspector Hargraves was on the spot, accompanied by Detective Sergeant Harry Brice and a couple of ordinary constables. They arrived un­obtrusively and were admitted to the bank by a rear door.

      They were met by Mackinley and Burton, and as Mackinley nodded to him the head cashier again related the facts.

      The main points had already been given by the magnate in his telephone call, but Hargraves listened without interruption until Burton had finished his personal account.

      “And you say you’ve examined the bank’s closed-circuit television recordings—which showed nothing?” Hargraves asked sharply, looking at the hapless Burton.

      “Well, just briefly, Chief Inspector. I’ve only fast-forwarded through them: there hasn’t really been time....”

      Hargraves turned to one of his constables. “Better take a closer look, Harkins.” He looked back enquiringly at Burton. “Can you fix that?”

      Burton glanced at Mackinley, who nodded his assent. As Burton and the constable left the group, Hargraves turned back to the magnate.

      “Now I’d like to see the strongroom for myself, Mr. Mackinley,” he said, and the other nodded grimly.

      “Of course. Follow me, gentlemen.”

      He led the way down the basement steps, and thence to the basement itself and the still open strongroom.

      Sergeant Brice made a swift examination of the door lock, being careful not to touch it. Then he looked back at his superior. “Absolutely no sign of forced entry sir.”

      “Naturally,” the chief inspector said, as Mackinley stood beside him, “I remember the gold being placed here since I had a detail of men on guard duty during the process. And now the gold has obviously gone. Right!”

      Mackinley did not say anything. He felt too sick with worry.

      Hargraves frowned as a thought struck him. He dropped to one knee and examined the floor. It appeared to be solid metal.

      “Could someone have dug a tunnel underneath here and taken out the gold that way?” His tone betrayed the fact that he did not really think this was a possibility.

      Mackinley shook his head impatiently. “Not a chance. The foundations are solid concrete and you can see for yourself that the metal floor is completely intact.”

      Feeling slightly foolish, Hargraves straightened up and tried another tack.

      “You say there was a watchman on duty all night?” he questioned. “Where can I get hold of him?”

      Mackinley made a bothered movement. “It will be in the files. I’ll see you have his address and phone number.”

      “Very good.” Hargraves considered a while, a tall, lean-faced man, not easily moved. “And you yourself, Mr. Mackinley. Where were you last evening?”

      “Where was I?” the magnate frowned. “Does that matter?”

      “With deference, sir, yes. It matters where everybody was, but you in particular, and Mr. Burton. You are the only ones who know the combination of the safe time lock.”

      Mackinley seemed about to protest at what he took to be a slur on his character, then he relaxed.

      “Hmmm, I see what you mean,” he admitted. “I can’t answer for Mr. Burton, of course, but I was at home all evening—and I can prove it.”

      The inspector’s eyes strayed to Burton, who had just rejoined the group, leaving P.C. Harkins to study the CCTV tapes.

      “Can you account for your movements last night, Mr. Burton?”

      “I can, yes. I went to a political meeting at the city hall.”

      “Can anyone vouch for that?” Hargraves questioned.

      “Yes. I met several friends while I was there, so they’ll be able to verify the point.”

      “Quite so.” Hargraves gave a disarming smile. “Don’t misunderstand me, gentlemen. I have to treat everybody alike in this matter. And I don’t think you have yet realized how extraordinarily difficult this business is.”

      Mackinley said abruptly: “It’s the utter impos­sibility of this business that gets me down! How could all that gold be taken from this vault? How could it? And without anyone being seen or heard?”

      “On the face of it, it just couldn’t happen,” the chief inspector replied. “But it did! And as long as there is a reason it’s our job to find it. I’ve already sent for fingerprint men and photographers. Once we have something to go on we’ll swing into action. Meanwhile, I shall not need to trouble you gentle­men further for the moment.”

      Mackinley took the dismissal with good grace and returned to his office with Burton trailing silently behind him.

      Hargraves

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