He
ought to talk to these people. They think he's skipped."
He broke off hurriedly as the assistant teller came up trembling. "We'll
have to close in ten minutes," he said. "There's less than $500 left."
His mouth twitched. "I don't know what we'll do, sir, when the time
comes ... and God only knows what they'll do."
"Good God! what's that?"
Some new commotion was apparent at the entrance of the bank. The
assistant teller grasped his pistol. The line of waiting men and women
turned, for the moment forgetting their quest. William Sherman, attended
by two armed constables, entered the door. Between them the trio carried
two large canvas bags, each bearing the imprint of the United
States Treasury.
Sherman halted just inside the door.
"Forty thousand in gold, boys," he cried, "and plenty more where it came
from. Turner, Lucas & Co. honors every draft."
His face pressed eagerly against the lattice of the paying teller's cage
stood a little Frenchman. His hat had fallen from his pomaded hair; his
waxed moustache bristled.
"Do you mean you have ze monnaie? All ze monnaie zat we wish?" he asked
gesticulating excitedly with his hands.
"Sure," returned the teller.
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