CHAPTER IISCOTLAND YARDThere is that within the professional criminal’s nature which distrusts the men who carry out the laws. The laws, themselves, may be fair, but man, in the cracksman’s opinion, is a human element who is very liable to overplay his part.Chester Fay had lain too long on the hard planks at Dartmoor to believe in MacKeenon’s good intentions. The Scot had a reputation for getting results. He was also the very keen tool of brainier men who managed the Criminal Intelligence Division of Scotland Yard.The romance of all underworld activity on the Continent and in England was bound up in the Yard. Its long arm could reach down a blind alley in Paris and snatch a man to the light of justice. It could lift a fleeing suspect from the deck of a ship at sea. It stopped at nothing!Fay suspected a well-baited trap of the superior order as he followed MacKeenon through a dim-lighted hallway. He gripped his palms as they waited in the gloom for a door to be unlocked by the servant who had answered the inspector’s knock of four taps and then five.The room which was suddenly revealed, like the flash of a cinematograph, contained a long mahoganytable running from wall to wall, and a half-score of heavy teakwood chairs which blended into the rich dark finish of the wainscoting. There was little else in the way of furnishings. Fay counted three black tin boxes upon the table. Each box was marked with a code number and the initials C. I. D. His eyes lifted over these boxes and stared at a man who wore a mask which was far too small to hide a jaw so square and masterful. It brought a slight smile of recognition to the cracksman’s lips.The man in the mask was Sir Richard Colstrom, Chief of the Criminal Investigation Division!Fay divined, with the flash thoughts of a professional, that the matter of bringing him out of Dartmoor was an important one. It could be nothing puerile with Sir Richard mixed up in the case. The chief played a high hand and played it hard.The farce of the mask was apparent when MacKeenon softly closed the door to the hallway, turned the key, then coughed as in a signal. Sir Richard half rose from the deep chair in which he had been reclining and leaned his elbows upon the table. His finger lowered and leveled straight for Fay’s steady glance.“Remove your cap!â€�Fay smiled thinly, reached upward and brought down the plaid cap which he bunched in his right hand. The silver of his hair caught the chief’s eyes. Sir Richard raised his brows and glanced at MacKeenon. He said cuttingly:“A little older—a little wiser—a little grayer than before, eh Mac?â€�“A’ hae noo doot ov it.â€�Both men laughed at Fay’s expense. The cracksman failed to see the joke. He stiffened slightly and glanced about the room. The windows were shaded and undoubtedly locked. The lamps of the place were controlled by a switch near the door which led to the hallway. This seemed to be the only entrance or exit to the room.Sir Richard noted the result of his thrust with a steady glint in his eyes. He leaned further over the table and said:“I had you brought to London for a reason, Fay.â€�The cracksman closed his fists and straightened his slender shoulders. He distrusted Sir Richard full-heartedly. There is that which exists between the police and the criminal tribes which calls for no truce. Fay was completely on his guard.“I had you brought here,â€� continued the Chief of Staff, “after some study of the right and the wrong in the matter. We have your record!â€�Sir Richard pointed toward the south and the direction of New Scotland Yard.“Yes, we have it,â€� he continued slowly. “It’s a criminal shame, Fay, that a man of your ability ever entered the downward path of crime. It leads nowhere, and damn fast you go. You’re bucking the stream all of the time. You can’t beat the law!â€�Fay glanced along his tweed suit and studied the points of his well-polished shoes. They fitted so well he wondered if they had been made from his Bertillonmeasurements. He glanced up and into Sir Richard’s half-hidden eyes.“You can’t beat it—clever as you are! And, however much we may enjoy enterprise and however many shilling-shockers and penny-dreadfuls we have devoured, the fact remains, Fay, that you have sadly misapplied your splendid talents.â€�Fay took the flattery for what he thought it was worth. He waited with every sense keen and intent.“But for you,â€� continued Sir Richard, shaking his index-finger, “but for you and your kind, literature would be poorer—we’ll grant that—â€�Fay heard MacKeenon rounding the corner of the table and fingering the locked boxes.“We’ll grant it!â€� snapped Sir Richard testily. “We’ll grant your talents. It is because of them that we have brought you here tonight! As man to man, Fay, we’re in a knot. I’m sure you are the one rogue in all the known world who can help us out. I’m going to be very candid!â€�Fay said nothing.“See these?â€� exclaimed Sir Richard, pointing at the boxes upon the mahogany table. “See them?â€�MacKeenon stepped back into the gloom of the room. Fay followed the direction of Sir Richard’s polished fingernail. He raised his brows in polite query. He still remained mute.“Damnit man!â€� said the chief of the Intelligence Division, “Wake up! Show interest! It’s easy enough for us to send you back.â€�The cracksman acknowledged this threat byleaning closer to the boxes. He studied the cryptic numbers on their sides. He turned his head slightly and laid the plaid cap on the edge of the table.“They’d be easy opened,â€� he offered professionally.“Bah! That isn’t what we want. What we want is this—without mincing words. We want your coöperation. Let’s be brief as time and get to the heart of the matter. These boxes, three in number, contain the secrets of the entire dye industry. They were obtained in Switzerland during the middle period of the war. They are in cipher!â€�“German?â€� asked Fay with cold concern.“Yes, damnit, German! No other nation could show such fiendish cunning in hiding so simple a thing. The cipher is one to which neither Scotland Yard, the Intelligence Bureau of the Army and Navy, French experts on such matters, nor the American Secret Service have been able to find the slightest clue.â€�Fay had the good sense to hold his tongue. Sir Richard was warming up to the problem. He shifted in his chair, glanced at MacKeenon, then toward the three boxes.“The cipher,â€� he said, tapping the table with his forefinger, “is either very simple or very intricate. It is no half-way affair. It has baffled all the experts!â€�The cracksman eyed the locks of the boxes with professional concern. He shifted his weight from his right leg to his left foot. He yawned politely and passed his hand over his silver-gray hair. As yet no trust or warmth showed in his eyes. They were neutral.Sir Richard adjusted his mask and leaned forward. His eyes bored through the holes in the black velvet. “Whatever the case may be, Fay,â€� he said, “the key for this code or cipher was in the hands of a Berlin chemist who met with a most violent death in—we will say a country north and east of here. You can guess which one it is!â€�“Holland?â€�“Perhaps. We’ll leave the matter rest with your surmise. In this—country—north and east of here, the German chemist did one thing before he was slain. He left a small packet with the neutral nation’s embassy. It was placed in their care. This packet is of vital importance to us! It is important to your own country, Fay. It is the key to the cipher locked in these three boxes.â€�“Well?â€� asked Fay as Sir Richard paused and thrust out his hand. “Well, what have I got to do with all this?â€�Sir Richard doubled up his fingers and tapped the polished surface of the table with his white knuckles. He turned, threw one leg over the other and stared at MacKeenon. The Scotch inspector nodded ever so slightly. It was like a sly dog signaling another.The air of the long room was tense as the three men faced each other. The outer roar of London sounded far away. The steady clank of the constable’s feet on the hard curb was a reminder to Fay that the house was well guarded. He thawed a trifle and fastened upon Sir Richard an engaging smile which was coated with clean-cut intentiveness.“What have I got to do with all this?â€� he repeated, holding forth his hands. “You’ve released me—on parole. You’ve brought me to London. You’ve mentioned boxes and ciphers and dye-stuff. You want something, and yet behind me stands an officer of the law, and outside, walks another. If you want something, from me, why don’t you let me go?â€�The shot was delivered through clean, white teeth. The smile faded from the cracksman’s lips. He leaned slightly forward and locked Sir Richard’s eyes with a glance that caused the chief of the bureau to recoil slightly.“Yes!â€� said Fay hotly. “Yes, Sir Richard—oh, I know you! You’ve gyved me! You hounded me! You threw me in that hell-hole called Dartmoor with the wooden-minded screws walking before my cell till I thought I would go mad. You saw to it that I was sent away for the limit! Now you want something, and you won’t trust me away from your coppers!â€�“Coppers?â€� asked Sir Richard removing the mask and dropping it to the table. “What are coppers, Fay?â€�“Police! Screws! Guards! Turnkeys! Hell-hounds!â€�Sir Richard stared at MacKeenon and motioned toward the door.“Go out, Mac,â€� he said, “and leave us to ourselves. I think that Fay and I can come to an understanding better that way.â€�The inspector hesitated, walked to the door, turned the key and passed out into the hallway.The door closed as Sir Richard rubbed his hands, eyed Fay with interest, and leaned back in the chair.“Now,â€� he said, “we are alone. I’ve no doubt that you can get away. In fact I’d hate to match myself against you, Fay. We have your record, you know.â€�“A lot of it isn’t true!â€� said Fay bitterly. “You people are always making up things. I didn’t turn that trick in Hatton Gardens. Why, do you think I’d work without gloves?â€�“I didn’t think so, Chester,â€� said Sir Richard with a faint smile. “I really didn’t, but I guess you did!â€�“Bah!â€�“Oh, now, don’t take it that way. The strong-box was opened—without trace. Up over the transom was a trace—your right thumb print. It was a nice clean job, Fay. I always thought that Saidee Isaacs was with you that night.â€� The chief leaned slightly forward. He watched the cracksman’s eyes for a clue. There was none. Fay returned the stare without expression. He said staunchly:“Miss Saidee Isaacs had no more to do with that job than you had or I had. I don’t even know where Hatton Gardens is.â€�“That’s enough! You know and I know. You’ve got the cunning of your tribe—admit nothing and deny everything. But I’ve taken an interest in you—a personal one. Things have come up—â€�Sir Richard glanced at the door and then at the three boxes. He crossed his legs and drummed the table. His brow furrowed as he reached forward and fingered the velvet mask.“Come closer, Fay,â€� he said confidentially. “around here.â€�Fay was frankly suspicious. He turned sharply and stared at the windows. He eyed the door behind which he sensed that MacKeenon would be crouching. He wheeled and rested his hands on the table. He leaned forward until his face was very close to Sir Richard’s.“We can talk just as well in this position,â€� he said without moving his drawn lips. “Now, what are you getting at, chief?â€�“I thought that Saidee Isaacs was in it,â€� said Sir Richard. “I’ll take my statement back. But you were, and I’m glad of it.â€�Fay rubbed his wrists and stared at his oakum-stained nails. He dropped his cuffs and stood back. He waited with fast beating heart. The man before him was fencing like a clever fiend. He already had drawn speech where silence was golden. Fay remembered with a pang that the Hatton Gardens affair was not the only one he had been guilty of perpetrating in the Metropolitan District of London. There was a little matter of turning a museum off in Kensington Gardens. There was the Monica affair where a diamond salesman had lost a pint of uncut stones.Sir Richard guessed what was passing in the cracksman’s mind. He smiled with sudden warmth. His head came forward as his right hand reached out. “You think this is a police trap, Fay,â€� he said sincerely. “It isn’t at all. It’s an attempt to call upon the highest talent in the world—in his own particular line. We all have specialties. Mine is trying toraise better dahlias than my neighbor. Yours is opening strong-boxes which American safe-makers have branded as burglar-proof. That big crib in Hatton Gardens was an American box, wasn’t it?â€�“How should I know?â€� asked Fay.“Well, it was! It was made by the Seabold people of Hartford. Guaranteed fire-proof and burglar-proof and non-pickable. It didn’t burn up, but everything else happened to it.â€�Fay smiled openly. He liked Sir Richard better for the remark. He grew more at ease as he waited. “Well,â€� he suggested, “I’m here with you, and you’ve got something for me to do. I can guess that much. Does it concern a Seabold safe?â€�“It most certainly does!â€�Fay stared at the three boxes. He furrowed his brow. They were not part of any American safe he had ever known. They were more like the tin-cases which middle-aged drabs carried about the Law Courts or the Brokerage Houses. Their locks could have been opened with a hair-pin.“You’ll have to explain, chief.â€�Sir Richard swung open his coat and drew from the inner pocket a small notebook. He thumbed the pages and paused at one. “Seabold Safe Corporation, Limited,â€� he said. “They placed a number of their strong-boxes in England and the Continent. Their salespeople were very enterprising. We have a record, from their own files, of seven. Four of the seven were smaller than the one in Hatton Gardens. The lock, or whatever it is called, was different.â€�Sir Richard glanced up and then buried his nose between the pages of the notebook.“Two of the larger,â€� he said musingly, “were installed in Paris. They’re there yet. The one that interests us is in the country—north and east of here. It is the same size and general dimensions as the unfortunate one you opened in Hatton Gardens. I understand the situation is similar—parallel. It would be ridiculously easy for a man of your talent to go to this country, north and east of here, and open that strong-box—without trace.â€�Sir Richard snapped the book shut and glanced up at Fay.The cracksman slightly moistened his lips. The cat was out of the bag! The reason for MacKeenon’s visit to Dartmoor—the release when five years were yet to be served—the sudden interest of Sir Richard Colstrom, were all explained. England, who had severely punished him, now wanted a favor done.The two men exchanged a glance of mutual understanding. Fay’s mind worked swiftly. He went over the details of his arrest. He recalled the method he had used in opening the great safe in Hatton Gardens. No other man could have done it, save by bungling.“Suppose,â€� he said, feeling surer of his ground. “Suppose, Sir Richard, we will say that I can go to Holland and open that box—without trace. What would there be in it for me?â€�“Ah, we’re getting on!â€�“I’m not so sure that we are getting anywhere, for what would happen to me if I were lagged inHolland? Suppose somebody tipped me off? What then?â€�“You and I alone know what you are going to do.â€�“MacKeenon?â€�“He obeys orders. I like you, Fay. Damnit, I admire enterprise—even if it is opening strong-boxes! What would Scotland Yard be if there weren’t men like you in the world? You’re a mark and all that, but you’ve done one or two big things in your line.â€�Fay rubbed his wrists as if handcuffs were still binding him. He shifted his weight and eyed the three boxes with new concern. “My price,â€� he said, “may be more than you or England are willing to pay.â€�“No price is too high to pay for the key to this cipher.â€� Sir Richard jerked a thumb toward the black boxes. “The secret for making these dyes will save the world from a galling monopoly. It will make the place we live in, Fay, just that much safer for Democracy. The war between nations is over. There will come another war—the commercial one between Germany and the world. We can best win that war by being prepared—by dye-works and potash deposits and freedom from secret formulae.â€�Fay nodded at this statement. “My country—America—is interested in this?â€� he asked.“Yes and no! Your country shares with England in every discovery. This set of boxes which contain the cipher were obtained in Switzerland at a high cost. Three of our men were waylaid and killed. Two more were trapped in a Berne hotel and had tofight their way out. The German chemist who offered the dye secrets—at a price—is dead by poison. We got the boxes through. They contain the full details of manufacturing thirty-six of the principal dyes. They are in a baffling cipher which has held us up.â€�“And the key to this cipher is in the Holland safe?â€�“We believe so. A friend of the man who was poisoned brought the key out and across the German border. He was followed by German agents. He was in danger of his life. What was more natural than an appeal to the embassy? They took the key, placed it in their safe, and waited for instructions. In the meantime the man was stabbed to death in broad daylight, near the Schwartz Canal. His pockets were rifled! His clothes were torn from his body!â€�“Sounds like a pleasant commission,â€� said Fay dryly.“You’ll tackle it?â€�Fay eyed Sir Richard, then reached for his cap.“Does it mean my freedom?â€� he asked as he fingered the visor.“It certainly does, Chester! That little bit you did in Dartmoor never happened. You were sent away, wrong. I’ll answer for the Home Secretary. We can arrange everything! Come now—can we call upon you to go to that country, north and east of here, and open the embassy’s vault without compromising us or without leaving a trace? All we want is the key to the cipher. If you’re not willing to make a try for it—then—â€�Sir Richard hesitated and rose from his chair. He stood with his hands clasping the edge of the table. His jaw was thrust forward like a block. His eyes hardened to points of tempered steel. They bored toward the cracksman. “Take your pick, Fay!â€� he said in a last appeal.“Pick of what?â€�“Getting the key to the cipher or going back to Dartmoor!â€�“There’s no alternative,â€� said Fay with a rare smile. “I’ll turn the trick for you and England! If I don’t turn the trick, without trace and without compromise, then I’ll knock on the big gate at the prison and ask to be taken in. Is that satisfactory, Sir Richard Colstrom?â€�“I never had the slightest doubt of you,â€� said the Chief of the Criminal Investigation Division.
There is that within the professional criminal’s nature which distrusts the men who carry out the laws. The laws, themselves, may be fair, but man, in the cracksman’s opinion, is a human element who is very liable to overplay his part.
Chester Fay had lain too long on the hard planks at Dartmoor to believe in MacKeenon’s good intentions. The Scot had a reputation for getting results. He was also the very keen tool of brainier men who managed the Criminal Intelligence Division of Scotland Yard.
The romance of all underworld activity on the Continent and in England was bound up in the Yard. Its long arm could reach down a blind alley in Paris and snatch a man to the light of justice. It could lift a fleeing suspect from the deck of a ship at sea. It stopped at nothing!
Fay suspected a well-baited trap of the superior order as he followed MacKeenon through a dim-lighted hallway. He gripped his palms as they waited in the gloom for a door to be unlocked by the servant who had answered the inspector’s knock of four taps and then five.
The room which was suddenly revealed, like the flash of a cinematograph, contained a long mahoganytable running from wall to wall, and a half-score of heavy teakwood chairs which blended into the rich dark finish of the wainscoting. There was little else in the way of furnishings. Fay counted three black tin boxes upon the table. Each box was marked with a code number and the initials C. I. D. His eyes lifted over these boxes and stared at a man who wore a mask which was far too small to hide a jaw so square and masterful. It brought a slight smile of recognition to the cracksman’s lips.
The man in the mask was Sir Richard Colstrom, Chief of the Criminal Investigation Division!
Fay divined, with the flash thoughts of a professional, that the matter of bringing him out of Dartmoor was an important one. It could be nothing puerile with Sir Richard mixed up in the case. The chief played a high hand and played it hard.
The farce of the mask was apparent when MacKeenon softly closed the door to the hallway, turned the key, then coughed as in a signal. Sir Richard half rose from the deep chair in which he had been reclining and leaned his elbows upon the table. His finger lowered and leveled straight for Fay’s steady glance.
“Remove your cap!�
Fay smiled thinly, reached upward and brought down the plaid cap which he bunched in his right hand. The silver of his hair caught the chief’s eyes. Sir Richard raised his brows and glanced at MacKeenon. He said cuttingly:
“A little older—a little wiser—a little grayer than before, eh Mac?â€�
“A’ hae noo doot ov it.�
Both men laughed at Fay’s expense. The cracksman failed to see the joke. He stiffened slightly and glanced about the room. The windows were shaded and undoubtedly locked. The lamps of the place were controlled by a switch near the door which led to the hallway. This seemed to be the only entrance or exit to the room.
Sir Richard noted the result of his thrust with a steady glint in his eyes. He leaned further over the table and said:
“I had you brought to London for a reason, Fay.�
The cracksman closed his fists and straightened his slender shoulders. He distrusted Sir Richard full-heartedly. There is that which exists between the police and the criminal tribes which calls for no truce. Fay was completely on his guard.
“I had you brought here,� continued the Chief of Staff, “after some study of the right and the wrong in the matter. We have your record!�
Sir Richard pointed toward the south and the direction of New Scotland Yard.
“Yes, we have it,� he continued slowly. “It’s a criminal shame, Fay, that a man of your ability ever entered the downward path of crime. It leads nowhere, and damn fast you go. You’re bucking the stream all of the time. You can’t beat the law!�
Fay glanced along his tweed suit and studied the points of his well-polished shoes. They fitted so well he wondered if they had been made from his Bertillonmeasurements. He glanced up and into Sir Richard’s half-hidden eyes.
“You can’t beat it—clever as you are! And, however much we may enjoy enterprise and however many shilling-shockers and penny-dreadfuls we have devoured, the fact remains, Fay, that you have sadly misapplied your splendid talents.â€�
Fay took the flattery for what he thought it was worth. He waited with every sense keen and intent.
“But for you,â€� continued Sir Richard, shaking his index-finger, “but for you and your kind, literature would be poorer—we’ll grant that—â€�
Fay heard MacKeenon rounding the corner of the table and fingering the locked boxes.
“We’ll grant it!� snapped Sir Richard testily. “We’ll grant your talents. It is because of them that we have brought you here tonight! As man to man, Fay, we’re in a knot. I’m sure you are the one rogue in all the known world who can help us out. I’m going to be very candid!�
Fay said nothing.
“See these?� exclaimed Sir Richard, pointing at the boxes upon the mahogany table. “See them?�
MacKeenon stepped back into the gloom of the room. Fay followed the direction of Sir Richard’s polished fingernail. He raised his brows in polite query. He still remained mute.
“Damnit man!� said the chief of the Intelligence Division, “Wake up! Show interest! It’s easy enough for us to send you back.�
The cracksman acknowledged this threat byleaning closer to the boxes. He studied the cryptic numbers on their sides. He turned his head slightly and laid the plaid cap on the edge of the table.
“They’d be easy opened,� he offered professionally.
“Bah! That isn’t what we want. What we want is this—without mincing words. We want your coöperation. Let’s be brief as time and get to the heart of the matter. These boxes, three in number, contain the secrets of the entire dye industry. They were obtained in Switzerland during the middle period of the war. They are in cipher!â€�
“German?� asked Fay with cold concern.
“Yes, damnit, German! No other nation could show such fiendish cunning in hiding so simple a thing. The cipher is one to which neither Scotland Yard, the Intelligence Bureau of the Army and Navy, French experts on such matters, nor the American Secret Service have been able to find the slightest clue.�
Fay had the good sense to hold his tongue. Sir Richard was warming up to the problem. He shifted in his chair, glanced at MacKeenon, then toward the three boxes.
“The cipher,� he said, tapping the table with his forefinger, “is either very simple or very intricate. It is no half-way affair. It has baffled all the experts!�
The cracksman eyed the locks of the boxes with professional concern. He shifted his weight from his right leg to his left foot. He yawned politely and passed his hand over his silver-gray hair. As yet no trust or warmth showed in his eyes. They were neutral.
Sir Richard adjusted his mask and leaned forward. His eyes bored through the holes in the black velvet. “Whatever the case may be, Fay,â€� he said, “the key for this code or cipher was in the hands of a Berlin chemist who met with a most violent death in—we will say a country north and east of here. You can guess which one it is!â€�
“Holland?�
“Perhaps. We’ll leave the matter rest with your surmise. In this—country—north and east of here, the German chemist did one thing before he was slain. He left a small packet with the neutral nation’s embassy. It was placed in their care. This packet is of vital importance to us! It is important to your own country, Fay. It is the key to the cipher locked in these three boxes.â€�
“Well?� asked Fay as Sir Richard paused and thrust out his hand. “Well, what have I got to do with all this?�
Sir Richard doubled up his fingers and tapped the polished surface of the table with his white knuckles. He turned, threw one leg over the other and stared at MacKeenon. The Scotch inspector nodded ever so slightly. It was like a sly dog signaling another.
The air of the long room was tense as the three men faced each other. The outer roar of London sounded far away. The steady clank of the constable’s feet on the hard curb was a reminder to Fay that the house was well guarded. He thawed a trifle and fastened upon Sir Richard an engaging smile which was coated with clean-cut intentiveness.
“What have I got to do with all this?â€� he repeated, holding forth his hands. “You’ve released me—on parole. You’ve brought me to London. You’ve mentioned boxes and ciphers and dye-stuff. You want something, and yet behind me stands an officer of the law, and outside, walks another. If you want something, from me, why don’t you let me go?â€�
The shot was delivered through clean, white teeth. The smile faded from the cracksman’s lips. He leaned slightly forward and locked Sir Richard’s eyes with a glance that caused the chief of the bureau to recoil slightly.
“Yes!â€� said Fay hotly. “Yes, Sir Richard—oh, I know you! You’ve gyved me! You hounded me! You threw me in that hell-hole called Dartmoor with the wooden-minded screws walking before my cell till I thought I would go mad. You saw to it that I was sent away for the limit! Now you want something, and you won’t trust me away from your coppers!â€�
“Coppers?� asked Sir Richard removing the mask and dropping it to the table. “What are coppers, Fay?�
“Police! Screws! Guards! Turnkeys! Hell-hounds!�
Sir Richard stared at MacKeenon and motioned toward the door.
“Go out, Mac,� he said, “and leave us to ourselves. I think that Fay and I can come to an understanding better that way.�
The inspector hesitated, walked to the door, turned the key and passed out into the hallway.
The door closed as Sir Richard rubbed his hands, eyed Fay with interest, and leaned back in the chair.
“Now,� he said, “we are alone. I’ve no doubt that you can get away. In fact I’d hate to match myself against you, Fay. We have your record, you know.�
“A lot of it isn’t true!� said Fay bitterly. “You people are always making up things. I didn’t turn that trick in Hatton Gardens. Why, do you think I’d work without gloves?�
“I didn’t think so, Chester,� said Sir Richard with a faint smile. “I really didn’t, but I guess you did!�
“Bah!�
“Oh, now, don’t take it that way. The strong-box was opened—without trace. Up over the transom was a trace—your right thumb print. It was a nice clean job, Fay. I always thought that Saidee Isaacs was with you that night.â€� The chief leaned slightly forward. He watched the cracksman’s eyes for a clue. There was none. Fay returned the stare without expression. He said staunchly:
“Miss Saidee Isaacs had no more to do with that job than you had or I had. I don’t even know where Hatton Gardens is.�
“That’s enough! You know and I know. You’ve got the cunning of your tribe—admit nothing and deny everything. But I’ve taken an interest in you—a personal one. Things have come up—â€�
Sir Richard glanced at the door and then at the three boxes. He crossed his legs and drummed the table. His brow furrowed as he reached forward and fingered the velvet mask.
“Come closer, Fay,� he said confidentially. “around here.�
Fay was frankly suspicious. He turned sharply and stared at the windows. He eyed the door behind which he sensed that MacKeenon would be crouching. He wheeled and rested his hands on the table. He leaned forward until his face was very close to Sir Richard’s.
“We can talk just as well in this position,� he said without moving his drawn lips. “Now, what are you getting at, chief?�
“I thought that Saidee Isaacs was in it,� said Sir Richard. “I’ll take my statement back. But you were, and I’m glad of it.�
Fay rubbed his wrists and stared at his oakum-stained nails. He dropped his cuffs and stood back. He waited with fast beating heart. The man before him was fencing like a clever fiend. He already had drawn speech where silence was golden. Fay remembered with a pang that the Hatton Gardens affair was not the only one he had been guilty of perpetrating in the Metropolitan District of London. There was a little matter of turning a museum off in Kensington Gardens. There was the Monica affair where a diamond salesman had lost a pint of uncut stones.
Sir Richard guessed what was passing in the cracksman’s mind. He smiled with sudden warmth. His head came forward as his right hand reached out. “You think this is a police trap, Fay,â€� he said sincerely. “It isn’t at all. It’s an attempt to call upon the highest talent in the world—in his own particular line. We all have specialties. Mine is trying toraise better dahlias than my neighbor. Yours is opening strong-boxes which American safe-makers have branded as burglar-proof. That big crib in Hatton Gardens was an American box, wasn’t it?â€�
“How should I know?� asked Fay.
“Well, it was! It was made by the Seabold people of Hartford. Guaranteed fire-proof and burglar-proof and non-pickable. It didn’t burn up, but everything else happened to it.�
Fay smiled openly. He liked Sir Richard better for the remark. He grew more at ease as he waited. “Well,� he suggested, “I’m here with you, and you’ve got something for me to do. I can guess that much. Does it concern a Seabold safe?�
“It most certainly does!�
Fay stared at the three boxes. He furrowed his brow. They were not part of any American safe he had ever known. They were more like the tin-cases which middle-aged drabs carried about the Law Courts or the Brokerage Houses. Their locks could have been opened with a hair-pin.
“You’ll have to explain, chief.�
Sir Richard swung open his coat and drew from the inner pocket a small notebook. He thumbed the pages and paused at one. “Seabold Safe Corporation, Limited,� he said. “They placed a number of their strong-boxes in England and the Continent. Their salespeople were very enterprising. We have a record, from their own files, of seven. Four of the seven were smaller than the one in Hatton Gardens. The lock, or whatever it is called, was different.�
Sir Richard glanced up and then buried his nose between the pages of the notebook.
“Two of the larger,â€� he said musingly, “were installed in Paris. They’re there yet. The one that interests us is in the country—north and east of here. It is the same size and general dimensions as the unfortunate one you opened in Hatton Gardens. I understand the situation is similar—parallel. It would be ridiculously easy for a man of your talent to go to this country, north and east of here, and open that strong-box—without trace.â€�
Sir Richard snapped the book shut and glanced up at Fay.
The cracksman slightly moistened his lips. The cat was out of the bag! The reason for MacKeenon’s visit to Dartmoor—the release when five years were yet to be served—the sudden interest of Sir Richard Colstrom, were all explained. England, who had severely punished him, now wanted a favor done.
The two men exchanged a glance of mutual understanding. Fay’s mind worked swiftly. He went over the details of his arrest. He recalled the method he had used in opening the great safe in Hatton Gardens. No other man could have done it, save by bungling.
“Suppose,â€� he said, feeling surer of his ground. “Suppose, Sir Richard, we will say that I can go to Holland and open that box—without trace. What would there be in it for me?â€�
“Ah, we’re getting on!�
“I’m not so sure that we are getting anywhere, for what would happen to me if I were lagged inHolland? Suppose somebody tipped me off? What then?�
“You and I alone know what you are going to do.�
“MacKeenon?�
“He obeys orders. I like you, Fay. Damnit, I admire enterprise—even if it is opening strong-boxes! What would Scotland Yard be if there weren’t men like you in the world? You’re a mark and all that, but you’ve done one or two big things in your line.â€�
Fay rubbed his wrists as if handcuffs were still binding him. He shifted his weight and eyed the three boxes with new concern. “My price,� he said, “may be more than you or England are willing to pay.�
“No price is too high to pay for the key to this cipher.â€� Sir Richard jerked a thumb toward the black boxes. “The secret for making these dyes will save the world from a galling monopoly. It will make the place we live in, Fay, just that much safer for Democracy. The war between nations is over. There will come another war—the commercial one between Germany and the world. We can best win that war by being prepared—by dye-works and potash deposits and freedom from secret formulae.â€�
Fay nodded at this statement. “My country—America—is interested in this?â€� he asked.
“Yes and no! Your country shares with England in every discovery. This set of boxes which contain the cipher were obtained in Switzerland at a high cost. Three of our men were waylaid and killed. Two more were trapped in a Berne hotel and had tofight their way out. The German chemist who offered the dye secrets—at a price—is dead by poison. We got the boxes through. They contain the full details of manufacturing thirty-six of the principal dyes. They are in a baffling cipher which has held us up.â€�
“And the key to this cipher is in the Holland safe?�
“We believe so. A friend of the man who was poisoned brought the key out and across the German border. He was followed by German agents. He was in danger of his life. What was more natural than an appeal to the embassy? They took the key, placed it in their safe, and waited for instructions. In the meantime the man was stabbed to death in broad daylight, near the Schwartz Canal. His pockets were rifled! His clothes were torn from his body!�
“Sounds like a pleasant commission,� said Fay dryly.
“You’ll tackle it?�
Fay eyed Sir Richard, then reached for his cap.
“Does it mean my freedom?� he asked as he fingered the visor.
“It certainly does, Chester! That little bit you did in Dartmoor never happened. You were sent away, wrong. I’ll answer for the Home Secretary. We can arrange everything! Come now—can we call upon you to go to that country, north and east of here, and open the embassy’s vault without compromising us or without leaving a trace? All we want is the key to the cipher. If you’re not willing to make a try for it—then—â€�
Sir Richard hesitated and rose from his chair. He stood with his hands clasping the edge of the table. His jaw was thrust forward like a block. His eyes hardened to points of tempered steel. They bored toward the cracksman. “Take your pick, Fay!� he said in a last appeal.
“Pick of what?�
“Getting the key to the cipher or going back to Dartmoor!�
“There’s no alternative,� said Fay with a rare smile. “I’ll turn the trick for you and England! If I don’t turn the trick, without trace and without compromise, then I’ll knock on the big gate at the prison and ask to be taken in. Is that satisfactory, Sir Richard Colstrom?�
“I never had the slightest doubt of you,� said the Chief of the Criminal Investigation Division.