The Mystery of the Steel Disc | Page 6

of dust, so I knew his hands were empty.
In a moment he signified he was through and we left the place, and at the corner parted with the man from Mahler's. We walked on toward my office.
"What do you make of that?" said Rand suddenly, and I saw that he was holding something toward me between his thumb and forefinger, I was sure he had put neither hand in his pockets since we had left the bank.
The small, bright object was merely a plain, smooth-worn bit of steel, thinner than a penny, and not as broad, with a small round hole in the centre. Just a tiny disc of steel.
"Did you pick that up in the vault?" I asked.
"Yes, out of that dark corner by the door."
"Why, how is that? I saw your hands as you rose and they were empty."
"Oh, no, you were mistaken, just as that man from Mahler's was. I merely palmed the disc, that is all, so he could not see it. There is no reason why he should be on the inside of this case. He thinks too much of his own cleverness as it is."
"Well, what is this thing?" I said, slightly irritated at having been so easily tricked.
"I wish I could answer that question as easily as you ask it," replied Rand, and relapsed into silence.
As we entered the building in which I had my office, there emerged from an elevator car that had just descended a girl, whose appearance caught my attention. She was attired in a dark street suit that set her small, trim figure to advantage, but by contrast emphasized the pallor of her face. Her hair was of that abundant flaxen quality so often seen in Germans and Scandinavians, and her eyes were large and dark blue. They were very troubled and it was plain she had been crying. There was something bravely piteous in every line of her face. She paused a moment as if half expecting some one and hurried out as we entered the next up-bound car.
When I went into the office, Betts came in with a slip of paper in his hand. After I had introduced him to Rand, he said:
"Duncan, for shame not to be in when nice young ladies call on you. The pretty daughter of your old real estate client, Anderson, was just here. She has received a letter from the young fellow who took those bonds in which he says he wishes her to forget him. She refuses to believe he is guilty, and has had a scene with her father, who must have told her that he has retained you, for she came down here demanding that you take her to see the young chap, wherever he is locked up. Has he been arrested yet?"
"No," I said, "he is over in the bank."
"I think he will be there for some time yet," observed Rand, looking out the window.
"Well, she will be back in half an hour," said Betts, laying down the strip of paper on my desk. "She did not have a card and wrote her name. Excuse me, Mr. Rand, I am not through with my correspondence yet, and it will soon be three o'clock."
As Betts went out Rand rose and looked at the strip with the name written in a tall, delicate hand, "Miss Marie Neilson Anderson."
In a short time Miss Anderson came into the outer office and I brought her in and closed the door. With trembling lips and tears constantly ready to fall, she repeated what she had already told Betts and demanded that I arrange an interview with Rhodes at once.
I reassured her to the best of my ability. Rand sat quiet and said nothing. I thought he might at least have repeated to her what he had just said to Betts, though I could not exactly make out what were his grounds for the statement. Instead, just before she was leaving, much comforted and calmer, he said:
"Excuse me, Miss Anderson, when did you last see Mr. Rhodes?"
"Oh, I have had a letter from him nearly every day, but I have not talked with him since Sunday night a week ago, when he came to see me at the house."
"How long have you known him?"
"Nearly two years."
"How did you meet him?"
"Why, he knew papa at the bank, and one day when papa was ill he sent for George to come up to the house to get some papers about his accounts and papa introduced us. When we were first engaged, he did not seem to dislike George, and often sat talking with him about matters in the bank and other things."
"By the way, how old are you, Miss Anderson?"
She did not seem to mind the blunt question and replied quickly:
"I am twenty-one."
"Were you born in