bout him was the
inconspicuousness of his voice and manner, yet there was a glint of
steel in his gray eyes that told of enormous force in him.

"I don't believe that I would let them in for a few moments, Mr.
Rogers," he said. "I think that we are up against something a little
different from the usual bank robbery."

"But, Mr. Carnes," protested the cashier, "we must call in the police in
a case like this, and the sooner they take charge the better chance
there will be of apprehending the thief."

"Suit yourself," replied the little man with a shrug of his shoulders.
"I merely offered my advice."

"Will you take charge, Mr. Carnes?" asked the cashier.

"I can't supersede the local authorities in a case like this," replied
Carnes. "The secret service is primarily interested in the suppression
of counterfeiting and the enforcement of certain federal statutes, but I
will be glad to assist the local authorities to the best of my ability,
provided they desire my help. My advice to you would be to keep out the
patrolmen who are demanding admittance and get in touch with the chief
of police. I would ask that his best detective together with an expert
finger-print photographer be sent here before anyone else is admitted.
If the patrolmen are allowed to wipe their hands over Mr. Winston's
counter they may destroy valuable evidence."

"You are right, Mr. Carnes," exclaimed the cashier. "Mr. Jervis, will
you tell the police that there is no violence threatening and ask them
to wait for a few minutes? I'll telephone the chief of police at once."

* * * * *

As the cashier hurried away to his telephone Carnes turned to his
companion who had stood an interested, although silent spectator of the
scene. His companion was a marked contrast to the secret service
operator. He stood well over six feet in height, and his protruding jaw
and shock of unruly black hair combined with his massive shoulders and
chest to give him the appearance of a man who labored with his
hands--until one looked at them. His hands were in strange contrast to
the rest of him. Long, slim, mobile hands they were, with tapering
nervous fingers--the hands of a thinker or of a musician. Telltale
splotches of acid told of hours spent in a laboratory, a tale that was
confirmed by the almost imperceptible stoop of his shoulders.

"Do you agree with my advice, Dr. Bird?" asked Carnes deferentially.

The noted scientist, who from