The Crime Clinic

CHAPTER XIX THE JACKDAW ARRIVES

GARFORTH LYDELL’S home was an old-fashioned brownstone mansion in the Nineties. The house had a central hall; on the right, as one entered, was a living room. Connected to it was a smaller room, Garforth Lydell’s study.

On the left of the hallway lay the library. At the rear of this room was a steel door that led to the vault. An old pantry had been transformed into the vault room, and its other side was blocked with another door of steel. This second door was the one which was permanently barred on the inside.

Two men were seated in the study, the room most remote from the vault.

One was Bart Melken; the other was Garforth Lydell himself. The banker was a man of fifty years. His iron-gray hair alone betrayed his age. Physically, he was in the pink of condition.

Bart Melken, nervous and palefaced, seemed a weakling compared to his intended father-in-law. Garforth Lydell, although not a large man, showed action and power in every mood or gesture.

The two were talking about Lydell’s trip. Melken was questioning Lydell about conditions in Florida. The banker made an open-handed gesture.

“Don’t ask me about Florida,” he said. “I was only there part of the time that I was away.”

“Where else were you?” queried Melken in surprise.

“Cuba,” returned Lydell. “The Bahamas. Even Puerto Rico.”

“On business?”

“Pleasure. I was incognito.” Lydell smiled. “In fact, I came north — well, let us say a few days ago — in order to attend to a few matters here. I didn’t want to appear in New York as returned from Florida until I was ready to swing the big deal that I intend to handle over the week-end.”

“It involves a large sum?”

“Millions, Bart. Actual securities will be handled to the extent of half a million. They are in my vault — here at the house.”

“Do you think they are safe in your vault?”

“Perfectly. I would trust them there even if they were my own. It happens, however, that they belong to other people.”

“You are responsible for them, though.”

“Yes, in a sense. I should not like to have them stolen. Nevertheless, they were fairly thrust upon me. I am keeping them at the risk of the owners.”

“That seems unbelievable.”

“Not in the affairs of the large corporations involved. To them, securities — to a certain amount of course — are merely certificates. It is surprising how lax some people are about handling them.

“Tonight, Bart” — Lydell was chuckling as he spoke — “I could rob my own vault with one-hundred-percent profit. I mentioned that to Yvonne at dinner. She was horrified.”

“Where is Yvonne?” asked Bart. “I expected to find her downstairs when I arrived.”

“She had a slight headache,” declared Garforth Lydell. “She told me to call her when you arrived. I forgot about it, when we began to talk together. I shall call her now.”

The banker arose and clapped his prospective son-in-law on the shoulder. He seemed to have a fatherly interest in Bart Melken.

“You’ll have to entertain yourself for fifteen or twenty minutes,” said Lydell. “I’m going upstairs to unpack a trunk. After that, I’ll call Yvonne. I think it is best not to disturb her for a little while.”

Garforth Lydell was smiling as he left the study. Bart Melken stared after him. This was one of the first real talks he had ever had with Lydell. The banker had always been cordial, but rather formal in the past.

NOW, as Bart reviewed the year that he had been engaged to Yvonne, he could see that Lydell had been watching him more closely than he had supposed. It was just after his engagement to Yvonne, Bart recalled, that he had landed in the trouble that had caused him to appeal to Bing Claver.

Thus Bart’s acquaintance with Garforth Lydell had begun almost simultaneously with his term of service to The Jackdaw. The coincidence was something that Bart had never appreciated before tonight. Strained and nervous, the young man began to wonder.

Bart’s mind was in that hectic state where delusions come to prominence. Thoughts flashed through his brain — thoughts that were names. Garforth Lydell — Bing Claver — The Jackdaw — the last name kept thrumming through Bart’s mental activities.

The Jackdaw!

That mysterious chieftain had imposed a special task for tonight. Bart was to pave the way for an impressive theft the stealing of half a million dollars in securities. Valuables in the custody of Garforth Lydell; securities which the banker had said were not his own.

Would it hurt Lydell if these were stolen? No — the banker had stated that the loss would not be his own. The thought was a salve to Bart Melken’s conscience. Mechanically, he arose from the chair in which he was seated, and took the one beyond Garforth Lydell’s desk. He opened the central drawer, finding it unlocked.

Directly before his eyes, Bart Melken saw a key. He recognized it as the key that would unlock the door in the library; the steel door to the vault. Either chance or design had favored Bart tonight. Hastily, the young man removed the key.

There were no servants in the house. Two had been on duty while Yvonne had been living here alone, during her widowed father’s absence. Garforth Lydell had had the key in his possession; he had left it in this drawer, apparently through force of habit or perhaps forgetfulness.

Alone, on the ground floor of the house, Bart Melken had the opportunity he wished. It was his chance to clear the way for The Jackdaw’s final haul, to relieve himself of servitude to the clever supercrook.

Key in hand, Bart Melken hurried from the study. He went across the hall, after passing through the living room. He paused momentarily at the foot of the stairs. There was no sound from above. Garforth Lydell might just as well be outside the house as here.

Bart Melken entered the library. He stopped there for a moment. As he did, a pair of eyes were focused upon him from the window. A face showed there, against the pane. Bart Melken did not see it. He would have recognized it if he had. It was the face of his friend, Farrell Sarborn.

Bart reached the steel door. He unlocked it with a trembling hand. As he did, an action occurred far behind him — at the front door of the house. That portal opened; into the hallway stepped a slender, skulking figure — Doctor Lysander Dubrong.

The physician advanced to the doorway of the library. Peering craftily, he saw Bart Melken unlocking the steel door. A suave smile registered itself upon the doctor’s lips. Dubrong moved back to the front door, and slipped out into the darkness.

Farrell Sarborn’s face was no longer at the side window. It had disappeared when Melken had approached the steel door. Thus neither Sarborn nor Dubrong had seen the other.

The steel door was open. Stepping down two paces, Bart Melken found himself beside the disused door that was barred on the inside. The bar grated as Bart manipulated it. It came clear. The door was free upon its hinges.

The way was open to The Jackdaw.

BART backed toward the library. He stood there trembling, ready to depart. As he turned, the sound of a footfall frightened him. He swung to face the last person whom he had expected to encounter: Yvonne Lydell.

“Bart!” The girl’s word was a low and startled whisper. “Bart!”

Melken stood aghast.

“What are you doing?” Yvonne’s question was breathless. “What are you doing — here in the vault?”

“It’s all right, Yvonne!” Bart’s words were husky. “You — you must not say anything. You — your father is—”

“Bart!” gasped Yvonne. The girl’s eyes were wide. “Bart! You have opened the other door—”

The sentence ended. Yvonne was staring beyond her fiance. Instinctively, Bart Melken turned in that direction. He saw the cause of Yvonne Lydell’s horror.

The farther door had opened. Its grating hinges had attracted the girl’s notice. Framed in the doorway stood a man, his face obscured by a mask. In his hand, he clutched a shining revolver.

Yvonne Lydell was speechless. She did not know the might of this arrival. Bart Melken, too, found his throat dry and incapable of utterance.

For the first time, The Jackdaw’s minion was face to face with his crime-dealing chief.

The Jackdaw had arrived!