To most readers of the daily newspapers, bank robberies are common and rather unmysterious events. But there is on record the strange story of a bank that was robbed without a gun, and, apparently, without even a robber. The Midland Bank in Blackpool, England, is what is known as an eminently sound institution. And the only dubious incident which mars its long and honorable record of service is the one that occurred on August 6, 1926. It was on that Saturday, at high noon, when the doorman was just closing the doors, that one of the Midland's regular clients entered the bank with a large bag and rizan. He was Mr. Lloyd Fenwick of the Corporation Tramways Department. Morning, Mr. Fenwick. Eight hundred pounds in here, all treasury notes. I'll make out the slip for you, sir, but you'd better open the bag yourself. I don't know who else could open it. It's got a new type of lock on it. No one could possibly open it unless they know the secret. And I'm the only one who knows it. I've got another bag out in the motor van with all the silver in it. Take it up and leave this one on the counter, I suppose. Oh, yes, of course. Just leave it where it is, sir. As he turned away from the cashier's counter, Mr. Fenwick noticed that the bank was still quite crowded. Nevertheless, since it was now past the noon hour, the doorman had locked the doors to prevent latecomers from entering. As he unlocked them for Mr. Fenwick, the tramway's official remark... No need to lock up again, my friend. I'm coming right back in. But the doorman was a man of caution. During the few moments that Fenwick was gone, he stood by the closed doors, his hand on the key. When the official returned to the cashier's window, he carried another bag smaller than the first one in his hand. Look out the treasury notes first, sir, if you don't mind. Makes no difference to me. Well, give it to me. The bag with the treasury note. You must have put it away. I? Oh, no, sir. It's right over here where you... Good Lord, sir, it's gone. Yes, the black leather bag had vanished from the cashier's counter. What's more, it had vanished from the bank itself. The police were summoned, but a most thorough investigation failed to reveal its whereabouts. Fenwick, the cashier, and the police themselves were utterly mystified. At three o'clock that same afternoon, patrolman Cook was strolling down Needham Lane, just a block away from the Midland Bank. Hello. Someone must have lost their bag. I say now, could this be the one what's missing from the bank? Tucking the bag under his arm, patrolman Cook made his way quickly to the Central Police Station. And there, while one of the officers got in touch with the tramway department, the others took turns trying to open the lock. But the lock refused to yield. They were still working over it when Mr. Fenwick arrived. This is it, gentlemen. My only hope of the money is still there. The lock's still closed, isn't it? That simply means no one could open it. None of us here could make the blooming thing work, sir. No? You just take hold of it like this, see? And you insert the key. Good Scott. Treasury note. But not in the bag. Though every indication pointed to the fact that the bag had not been opened, that it could not possibly have been opened, nevertheless the money was missing. And while this was remarkable in itself, it was no more remarkable than the bag's disappearance from the bank through a door that was locked and guarded. The 800 pounds were never found, and neither was the solution to the strange mystery. A mystery incredible but true.