ious eyes followed them, as the banker preceded Trant from the cashier's room into his private office.
"What is the meaning of all this, Mr. Trant?" Howell closed the door and swung round, excitedly. "If Gordon is connected with a plot against the bank, and that in itself is unbelievable, why did he warn me the bank was in danger?"
"Mr. Gordon's connection with what is going on is perfectly innocent," Trant answered. "I have just made certain of that!" He had seated himself before Howell's desk and was spreading out the scraps of paper which he had taken from Gordon. "But tell me. Was not Gordon once a stenographer, or did he not use a typewriter at least?"
"Well, yes," Howell replied, impatiently. "Gordon was private secretary to my father twenty years ago; and, of course, used a typewriter. It was his old machine, which he always kept and still used occasionally, that was in his desk which, as I told you, was broken into this morning."
"But the desk was empty—even the machine had been taken from it!"
"Gordon took it home only a day or so ago. His daughter is taking up typewriting and wanted it to practice upon."
"In spite of the fact that it must be entirely out of date?" Trant pressed. "Probably it was the last of that pattern in this office?"
"Of course," Howell rejoined, still more impatiently. "The others were changed long ago. But what in the world has all this to do with the question whether some one is planning to rob us?"
