Curiosity is one of the most powerful traits in human nature, and in youth, being to some extent unrestrained, it often reaches its highest development. It was chiefly curiosity that had led Hooker to listen thus far to the words of Piper; but now, as if suddenly realizing the full significance of Sleuth’s self-confessed and shameless prying into the affairs of others, and remembering at the same time his familiar and friendly relations with Fred Sage, Roy suddenly seared his companion with the red-hot iron of contempt and wrath.

“You miserable, sneaking puppy!” he cried. “Under pretence of making a friendly call, you play a miserable trick like that, do you? I’ve a mind to give you the finest drubbing you ever had.”

Indeed, so savage and threatening was his attitude that Piper fell back precipitately, lifting his hands as if to ward off a blow.

“Now you hold on!” he cried. “You hold on, Hooker! You hadn’t better hit me. Perhaps you think that would be a good way to make me keep still about what I know concerning the Sages. I’m not going to blow this thing round to everybody. I chose you because you’re Fred’s chum.”

“Oh, is that so?” scoffed Roy incredulously. “You’ve begun blabbing with me, and it isn’t likely you’ll stop there. I don’t know what you’ve found out, but I do know that the way you’ve gone about it to obtain your information was dirty – just plain dirty.”

“It was thoroughly legitimate,” asserted Sleuth in self-defence. “These people are living here in our town and associating with our citizens. If they’re the right sort, there can be no harm in finding out about their past history. But perhaps you’ve misunderstood me, Hooker. I’m not making the claim that there’s anything wrong with the Sages we know.”

“Oh, aren’t you?” said Roy in surprise. “I thought you were. If you haven’t found out that there’s something wrong about them, what the dickens have you found out that was so wonderful? What is this sensational thing that’s going to make my hair curl?”

“If you’ll give me a chance and not get fighting mad over it, I’ll tell you. You know it’s often the case that there’s a black sheep in the most respectable family.”

“Huh! There are only three persons in this particular family. Where’s the black sheep?”

“Only three of the family are known at the present time to the people of Oakdale,” Piper said hastily. “Have you never thought that there might be at least one other member of this family?”

“Can’t say such a thought ever occurred to me.”

“Listen,” urged Sleuth, “and keep your temper under check until I’m through. The information I’ve obtained does not reflect upon Andrew Sage, his wife or his son Fred.”

“Well,” breathed Roy in relief, “there’s considerable satisfaction to be derived from that statement.”

“The postmaster of Rutledge states that Mr. and Mrs. Sage and their younger son, Fred, are most estimable people.”

“Whew!” whistled Hooker. “Their younger son, eh? Oh, do you mean that there’s another – another son we don’t know anything about?”

“There’s another son, of whom we’ve known nothing whatever up to the present date. I know something about him now, and he’s the black sheep. It was the criminal act of this elder son, Clarence Sage, that doubtless added many gray hairs to his mother’s head and led the family, weighted by the shame of it, to leave Rutledge and seek another home, where no one would know of their disgrace. Now if you don’t care to hear any more about the matter,” said Sleuth craftily, “I’ll close up.”

Roy’s aversion to hearing the information Piper had secured was completely swept away.

“Oh, go on,” he invited, once more leaning against the bridge rail. “What did this Clarence Sage do?”

“Robbed a bank.”

“In Rutledge?”

“Yes. He was employed in a bank there, and he pilfered fourteen thousand dollars from the institution.”

“Jove!” muttered Hooker. “I don’t wonder Fred never has mentioned his brother.”

“The crime was discovered, as such things always are, and Clarence Sage was arrested, tried, convicted and sent to Sing Sing for a term of years.”

“My hair curls!” exclaimed Roy. “So Fred has a brother in prison. That’s a shame!”

“He had a brother in prison. Clarence Sage isn’t there now.”

“Oh, his term has expired?”

“No.”

“Was he pardoned?”

“No.”

“Cæsar’s ghost! What happened then? Is he dead?”

“Well,” answered Sleuth, “in my mind, at least, there is a doubt at this point. He is supposed to be dead. With two other prisoners, he broke out of Sing Sing in midwinter and tried to escape by crossing the Hudson on the ice. The other two convicts were both recaptured. The trio had separated immediately after getting out of the prison, and neither of the recaptured rascals knew what had become of Clarence Sage. For more than two months detectives sought everywhere for Sage, whose apparent success in avoiding them was both astonishing and perplexing. Eventually the body of a man was recovered from the river, but in such a condition that identification was difficult. There were reasons, however, to believe that the body was that of Clarence Sage. Andrew Sage viewed the remains and decided that it was his recreant son. The body was buried in Rutledge, and the grave is marked by a stone bearing the name of Clarence Sage.”

“Well, then, why do you doubt that he’s dead?”

Piper tapped his forehead. “I believe I’ve got a little gray matter up here,” he said boastfully. “After reading this letter, it took about thirty seconds for me to form a theory in which I have the utmost confidence. My conviction is that Clarence Sage is still alive. I think he did make good his escape and succeeded handsomely in baffling the officers who tried to follow him. The body that was taken from the river and buried under the name of Clarence Sage was that of some other man, as yet unknown. Perhaps it will continue to be unknown. When this identification and burial had taken place, danger for the escaped man was reduced to a minimum. Mind you, I’m not making the assertion that Andrew Sage knew the body was not that of his son, but what would be more natural than for him to identify it as such in order to give Clarence a better chance for freedom? Perhaps, at the time, he really believed it to be the unfortunate young man. Possibly, through some means, he has since learned that his son is alive.”

“If you hadn’t read so much detective stuff, such an improbable idea could not have found lodgment in your crazy garret,” said Hooker. “I understand you’ve even tried to write stories yourself lately. Say, Sleuth, if this matter wasn’t so serious, it would be laughable.”

“Your words,” returned Piper, “betray the narrow limits of your reasoning faculties. I’m not basing my suspicions on mere guesswork, Hooker.”

“Then, for the love of Mike, what do you base them on?”

“One week ago you met a stranger who behaved in a most peculiar manner. Apparently of some education and refinement, this man seemed to be somewhere near the age of Clarence Sage, if Sage still lives. He made inquiries of you concerning the Sages in Oakdale, and when he learned that Fred Sage was approaching he took to his heels and got away. He didn’t dare remain to face Fred in your presence. Why, Hooker – why? Simply because he knew that in his amazement Fred would call him by name and give the whole thing away. What do you think about that?”

For a moment or two Roy shook his head. “I don’t believe it. It can’t be true, Piper. If that’s all you have to base your belief on – ”

“Did there seem to be anything especially wrong with Fred last night?”

“No, not that I observed.”

“Well, there surely was something the matter with him to-day. Something had happened to upset him completely.”

“What do you think it was?”

“It was something tremendous, or it never would have led him to bungle and blunder the way he did in that game. It was such a tremendous thing that he could not get it out of his mind so that he might concentrate on the game. Whenever he dismissed thoughts of it, he played in something like his usual form for a few minutes, but it kept coming back at him and putting him on the blink. He denied that he was sick. He denied that anything had happened to upset him. All this is precisely what would have happened had he made the amazing discovery to-day that his brother Clarence was alive.”

“Gee whiz!” breathed Hooker. “I’ll own up that you’ve got me staggered. If you’re right, Piper, you certainly have got a head on your shoulders.”

The darkness masked the smile of satisfaction that Sleuth could not repress.

“You can’t dodge the force of my deductions,” he declared. “Let me give you a further illustration of my reasoning ability. As an escaped convict, is it likely that Clarence Sage would lead an honest life? I admit that he might, but the germ of dishonesty must have been virulent in his blood, or he, the apparently promising son of highly respectable parents, would never have committed his first crime. Once a man has taken a crooked step, he’s almost sure to take others. Supposed to be dead, Sage surely traveled under a fictitious name. A certain crook, called James Wilson and known among his pals as Gentleman Jim, bears a strong resemblance to the young bank-looter who was sent to Sing Sing. This crook was arrested in the town of Harpersville a short time ago, but made his escape from the jail, nearly killing the guard as he did so. A big reward has been offered for Wilson’s capture. The last peg in my argument is that this Gentleman Jim is none other than Clarence Sage himself.”

“If that should prove to be right,” said Hooker, “I’ll admit that you’ve got all the detectives of real life or fiction beaten to a froth.”

CHAPTER XIX.
THE NIGHT ALARM

On Sunday night, or, rather, Monday morning, within a few minutes of the hour of three (Captain Aaron Quinn afterward swore it was at six bells precisely) occurred the explosion which, although muffled and faintly heard by two persons only, was of sufficient importance to shake Oakdale village to its very foundations. The only person actually to hear the explosion, besides the old sailor, who could not sleep well on account of his rheumatism, was Jonas Sylvester, the fat and pompous village night-watch. With the establishment of the bank the town authorities had decided that a night guard must be employed to patrol the streets, and Sylvester, whose qualifications may be summed up briefly by the statement that he weighed nearly three hundred pounds and had no regular employment, was chosen for the job.

With his greatcoat brass-buttoned tightly to the chin, Officer Sylvester had paused at the end of Main Street bridge, the southern limit of his beat, and was stamping his feet and thumping his mittened hands together when, as he stated later, he heard something like the closing of a distant heavy door, which seemed accompanied by a slight shock or jarring of the ground. Wondering vaguely what it was, and recalling that he had heard that earthquakes, however slight, almost always manifested themselves by several recurring detonations, Jonas ceased stamping and thumping and stood quite still in the muffling darkness, his lips parted as he listened.

“Hokey!” he muttered presently. “What was it? ’Twasn’t thunder, for it’s out of season, and I’m too fur away to hear a horse kicking up in the livery stable. The bank – ”

Immediately he started puffingly up the street toward the new bank building.

The clock in the steeple of the Methodist church struck three.

In the meantime, Captain Quinn had been further aroused by his monkey. Chattering excitedly, the creature leaped upon the old sailor’s breast and began tweaking at his hair.

“Quit it, ye swab!” rasped the old salt, thrusting the monkey away. “Back to the fo’cas’le, you imp of mischief. Leave me alone, you scrub, or I’ll give you a douse of bilge-water.”

But Jocko refused to be repulsed by his irascible master. His chattering rose to a squeaking shriek as he returned with a bound and gave a distressing tug at the captain’s whiskers.

“Keelhaul me!” roared Quinn, struggling up and casting the animal to the floor. “I’ll throw you into the hold and keep you under the hatches for the rest of the voyage if you try it again, you spawn!”

Even though he now kept beyond his master’s reach, the monkey persisted in such a chattering uproar and dashed about the dark room in such a frantic manner that the wondering man, groaning at the necessity, hoisted himself out of bed, struck a match and looked at the brass-bound ship’s clock which hung near at hand upon the wall.

“There’s something the matter,” decided Quinn, dropping the burning match as the flame threatened to scorch his fingers. Then, forgetting that he was undressed, from force of habit he placed his bare foot upon the match to extinguish it.

The racket made by the monkey was nothing in comparison to the roar that broke from the lips of the now thoroughly awakened man, and had anyone witnessed the tremendous jump which Captain Quinn made he would have fancied the old tar suddenly cured of his rheumatism. The language which burst in a torrent from Quinn’s lips was of a decidedly sulphurous nature.

“You imp of the Old Nick!” he bellowed, making a dive and a grab for the elusive monkey. “I’ll wring your neck if I get my two hooks on it!”

Jocko, however, bounding over the furniture, skimming the length of a shelf, and seeming to swing himself along one of the bare walls of the room, perched on a window ledge beyond immediate reach. If possible, Captain Quinn was further aroused and enraged by barking his shins upon a chair.

“Furies!” he breathed. “Where’s my gun? I’ll blow a porthole in the hide of that infernal pest!”

As if realizing the peril to his very life, Jocko yanked away a mass of old rags which had completely filled the opening left by a broken windowpane, and darted through the aperture.

At about this moment Officer Sylvester, hastily approaching the front of the bank, fancied he saw a dark figure dart around a corner of the building and disappear. Shivering, more from excitement and exertion than from the cold, the night-watch pursued that shadowy figure, weapon in hand. At the back of the building he paused, hearing the voice of the old sailor raging within the nearby shanty.

“I s’pose it’s that old fool that’s made the disturbance,” muttered Jonas doubtfully. “Still, I kinder thought I saw something.”

Producing the electric torch he always carried while on duty, he flashed the light around him, making almost a complete arc of a circle. Suddenly the light stopped, bearing full upon an iron-barred window in the rear of the bank building, and there it hung quivering, revealing to Sylvester’s bulging eyes a most astounding and disturbing fact.

Three of the bars had been cut completely off and bent outward, and beyond them an entire section of the window glass was missing, leaving an opening large enough to admit the body of a man.

Almost paralyzed by this amazing discovery, Officer Sylvester felt his thick knees growing weak beneath him.

“Robbers,” he gasped – “robbers, by the jumping jingoes!”

That very instant there was a flash in the nearby shadows, and, with the report of a pistol, a bullet almost grazed the torch in Sylvester’s hand.

The night-watch did not hesitate upon the order of his going, but went at once. With a yell of terror he took to his heels, and his wild shout of “Robbers! robbers!” resounded through the main part of the village as he dashed toward the public square near the post-office. Reaching the square, he increased his efforts to arouse the townspeople by firing his revolver several times into the air.

“Marlin spikes and belaying pins!” spluttered Captain Quinn, still groping for his shotgun. “There’s blazes to pay! The monk wasn’t such a fool, after all.”

Presently, gun in hand, he flung open his door and stood peering into the night. He could hear the courageous night-watch shouting from the square and firing his revolver. But what interested Aaron Quinn far more was the sight of two figures which seemed to drop from the rear window of the bank and run away into the darkness.

“Shades of Neptune!” said Captain Quinn. “It’s piracy on the high seas!”

Somewhat tardily, he got into action, lifting the gun and firing into the darkness which had swallowed the fleeing figures.

CHAPTER XX.
IN THE BANK

Naturally, all this shooting and shouting in the early hours of the morning was sufficient to arouse the villagers. In house after house lights began to gleam, and ere long half-dressed men were running toward the square, where, still lustily bellowing, Jonas Sylvester was seeking with trembling hands to reload his revolver. Hyde, the livery stable keeper, Stickney, the grocer, Lawyer Francis and others surrounded the officer and demanded to know the meaning of it all. Others kept coming from various directions as Jonas told what he had discovered at the rear of the bank and how nearly he had paid for that discovery with his life.

“Robbers,” cried the livery man – “robbers in the bank? Why didn’t you capture them?”

“Yes,” demanded the grocer in a high, quavering falsetto, “why didn’t ye nab ’em? What are you doing here? What do we hire ye for?”

“I tell ye they shot at me,” replied Jonas. “They banged right at me, and I couldn’t see a soul. They had the advantage. Think of my size. S’pose I was going to stand still and let them pepper me full of bullets?”

“Fellow citizens,” said the lawyer, who of them all seemed to retain the most presence of mind, “if there are robbers in the bank they may escape while we stand here wasting time in talk. Lead the way, Sylvester; we’re with you.”

Thus encouraged, the night-watch took the lead, accompanied by the excited crowd. A few of the more timid ones either held back or hastily returned to their homes to procure weapons. Some expressed doubts, declaring their belief that Oakdale’s nocturnal guardian must be mistaken.

But a single glance through the front window of the bank convinced Lawyer Francis that something was wrong there beyond dispute. With a word he called attention to the fact that the light which burned by night in front of the vault had been extinguished.

“Show us that winder,” commanded Hyde, pushing Sylvester forward.

“Yes, show us the winder,” tremulously urged Stickney, falling back until nearly all of the crowd were ahead of him.

“Git ready for a bloody encounter,” warned the night-watch. “They’re desperate men, and they’ll fight to the last gasp.”

“We’ll find there are no robbers in the bank now,” said the lawyer; “and all this uproar has sent them scampering long before this.”

As they were hurrying round to the rear of the building a voice roared at them through the darkness.

“Avast there, you lubbers!” it shouted. “You’re too late for action. The scoundrels hoisted anchor and made sail long ago. By this time they’re running before the wind under full canvas.”

The old sailor came hobbling swiftly toward them, bearing his gun, his cane forgotten for the time being.

“Did you see them, Quinn?” asked Lawyer Francis.

“I did that,” was the prompt answer. “I put my lamps on them just as they got under full headway, and I’ll swear I hurried them some with a double charge of buckshot.”

“You fired at them?”

“Both barrels at once, and it’s a mercy if I ain’t got a busted shoulder to pay for it. The old gun near kicked my head off, confound it!”

“How many of them were there? How many did you see?”

“It’s dungeon dark a’most, but I’m certain sure I saw two, at least.”

“Mebbe some of you thought I was lying or a fool,” cried Officer Sylvester triumphantly. “Now I guess you’ll change your tune. Here’s the winder. Just look at it.”

The electric torch was again turned on the cut and bended bars, and the group of men pressed forward, staring and exclaiming.

“Which way did the robbers flee, Quinn?” questioned Lawyer Francis, grasping the old sea captain’s arm.

“Back that way toward Middle Street,” was the answer.

“They must not escape,” said the lawyer. “They haven’t obtained much of a start. Let every man arm himself and take up the search. Deputy Sheriff Pickle and Constable Hubbard must be notified at once. They must organize posses and scour the country. Will you see to it that this is done, Sylvester?”

“Yes, your honor,” assured the night-watch.

At this moment a citizen joined the group and announced that Lucius Timmick, the bank cashier, had arrived and was about to unlock the bank door. This information led Lawyer Francis to hasten back to the front of the building, where, pushing his way through the rapidly increasing crowd, he reached Timmick as the latter finally found his key and inserted it in the lock.

Doubtless fearful of entering, the cashier hesitated a bit even after the key had thrown the bolt.

“I’ll accompany you, Mr. Timmick,” said the lawyer. “I think you need have no fear of encountering any of the rascals within. They have all fled.”

“Thank you, Mr. Francis,” said Timmick, his voice husky and not quite under control. “Doubtless you are right, but I think it best that I should have a few reputable citizens with me when I investigate.”

“I’m here, Timmick; I’m with you,” encouraged Stickney, the grocer, boldly jabbing his way through the crowd with his sharp elbows. “You’ll find me ready to back you up if you need assistance.” His courage had revived amazingly with the assurance that the robbers had fled.

Rufus Sprague, the jeweler, and Lemuel Hayden, a leading business man, both of whom were directors of the bank, were on hand, and with those four citizens at his back the cashier opened the door. Others who were inclined to crowd in were commanded to stand back, but one there was who, crouching low, slipped in unobserved and congratulated himself over his cleverness as he heard the door relocked. This was Sleuth Piper.

Timmick’s hand found the button and turned on the electric lights. Then he opened the door in the grating-guarded partition, beyond which was located the bank vault.

An odor like that of a burnt explosive pervaded the atmosphere of the place, and increased, if possible, the tingling excitement of the men who pressed after the cashier, eager to learn just what had happened. What they now beheld caused them to gasp with dismay.

A number of full sacks of grain had been placed on the floor in front of the bank vault. This grain had doubtless been brought in the sacks from the old feed mill, a quarter of a mile away; and the full sacks had been skilfully arranged in such a position that the outer door of the vault, blown from its hinges, had fallen upon them. A leather grip stood open upon the floor, and scattered about on all sides could be seen a full set of up-to-date burglar’s tools.

“Look,” cried Timmick, aghast, pointing with a trembling finger – “look at that, gentlemen! Oh, the scoundrels!”

Outside, the crowd, with noses pressed against the cold plate glass of the big front window, could see everything, and the sound of their agitated voices reached the ears of those within.

“The bank’s been robbed!” cried Stickney. “The critters must have done it in a hurry.”

“I don’t think it has been robbed,” said Lawyer Francis. “The inner door of the vault remains in place. The burglars were detected at their work before they could complete the job.”

“Let us hope,” said Lemuel Hayden grimly, “that you are right, sir.”

“Open that inside door, Timmick – open it!” spluttered Rufus Sprague. “Let’s find out if they got anything.”

But the cashier shook his head. “I think, gentlemen,” he said, “we had better wait until the president arrives. When I open that door I wish to do so in the presence of Mr. Eliot. At any rate, I think it would not be advisable to go ahead beneath the watching eyes of that crowd outside the window. Mr. Stickney, will you draw the shade?”

“Yep, I will,” said Stickney, rejoicing with a feeling of high importance over the fact that he was one of those who had obtained admission to the bank. “Whether the robbers got anything or not, it will be just as well to proceed with our investigation in private.”

Hurrying to the window, he drew the shade, greatly to the disappointment of the gathered watchers, some of whom expressed their feelings with considerable emphasis.

There was one person, however, who was not thus deprived of further knowledge of what was taking place within the bank. In the shadows of the patrons’ side of the cashier window, Sleuth Piper congratulated himself again.