The Man from Scotland Yard

CHAPTER XII. FROM THE STRONG ROOM

AT twenty minutes after ten the next morning, Cady arrived in the corridor outside of room 604. The sneaky crook was wearing his bell-hop’s uniform. He looked about cautiously, however, before he rapped at Jarvis Knight’s door.

There was no response. Cady’s face twisted. The phony bell boy gave another look along the corridor then rapped more loudly; he seemed determined to gain a response.

The door opened. Cady bowled in to find Jarvis Knight attired in slippers and dressing gown, blinking sleepily. Knight made no effort to close the door, so Cady took that duty upon himself.

“Well, well,” laughed the Englishman, gruffly. “What’s up? Why show so much excitement, chappie?”

“This is the fifth time I’ve been in here,” whispered Cady, hoarsely. “I called on the telephone a couple of times. I was thinking that maybe you’d croaked.”

“I had a large evening,” explained Knight, sitting down and rubbing his head. “That beggar Marquette is a real man about town. Deucedly well acquainted with the bright spots of Washington. It was four o’clock when I rollicked home.”

“It’s twenty after ten now,” informed Cady.

“My word!” exclaimed Knight. “Marquette is to be here at half after. It’s fortunate that you finally roused me. You must bob out of sight before he arrives.”

“I’ve got to get that answer,” stated Cady. “Listen, Jed — I mean Knight — Clink gave me a buzz this morning. Told me I had to get that answer to him, so he could pass it along to the big boy.”

“That’s not astonishing,” remarked Knight. “I presumed that Clink would be anxious. He did not display anger, did he?”

“He seemed sore about something,” replied Cady. “Maybe it’s because he’s been keeping under cover since he blew into town yesterday. He slipped me that note when I met him at the Union Depot.”

“You explained why I could not give you the reply last night?”

“Sure! He called me up from wherever he is. I told him all about it. Said he guessed he wouldn’t need the answer. But this morning, he tells me he’s got to have one. I’m to get it and hold it until he calls again and tells me where to meet him.”

“And in the meantime,” remarked Knight, staring severely, “keep that waistcoat downward. So it will cover the silver rupee that you are still wearing. I keep my coin out of sight, all the while.”

He reached into the pocket of the dressing gown and produced the rupee. Cady nodded, as he understood that Knight always kept the coin on his person.

“Very well,” decided the sharp-faced Britisher. “Clink shall have his answer. I shall prepare it at once.”

THERE was a table in the living room. Knight went to it and produced paper and ink. Cady watched him behind the careful inscription of a note. Knight appeared to be using the code from memory.

Cady noted that the Britisher wrote several numbers swiftly; then paused to concentrate before he began another group. He had inscribed three times when he uttered a growl and crumpled the sheet. Knight tossed the paper in wastebasket and began a new message.

This time, he wrote the first lines swiftly; then resumed his process of deliberation. Cady was fidgety; and Knight noticed it. He shot an angry glance toward the bell hop.

“Stop making me nervous,” growled Knight. “How can I write this message while you are shifting about? Curb your impatience—”

At that moment the telephone bell range. Knight arose to answer it. Cady’s face twitched nervously as the stoop-shouldered crook listened to the brief conversation.

“Hello…” said Knight, gruffly. “Oh, hello… Yes… Certainly, Marquette… What’s that? Hello… Hello…”

Hastily, Knight clashed the receiver and swung to Cady. He motioned to the door.

“Marquette’s on his way up,” explained Knight. “I was about to tell him to wait in the hobby, when he said he would come here. He broke off before I could stop him.”

“I’ll scram,” acknowledged Cady. “Slip me the note, quick.”

“It’s only half finished.” Knight pounced upon the numbered sheet and crumpled it. “You will have to come back later. Just when, I can’t say. Inform Clink of the complication. Hurry, fellow, hurry!”

Knight had fully aroused himself. He opened the door and pushed Cady into the hall. The rat-faced bell boy scurried along the corridor. A few seconds after he was out of sight, Marquette appeared from the other end of the hall. Knight waved a greeting.

Marquette entered the Englishman’s room. Knight was still holding his crumpled, uncompleted note. He tossed it into the wastebasket, motioned Marquette to a chair and went into the bedroom to dress.

Ten minutes later, Knight returned. He found Vic standing by the window. The secret service operative seemed pleased by the quickness that Knight had shown.

“We’ll snatch a cup of coffee,” declared Marquette. “Then we’ll head for Wesdren’s. We ought to be there by eleven. That’s why I wanted you to be ready at ten-thirty sharp.”

“I overslept,” said Knight. “A comfortable hotel, this. Well, old fellow, let’s be on our way.”

IT was ten minutes after eleven when a taxi pulled up in front of a massive brownstone mansion in the Northwest district. Marquette and Knight alighted. They ascended the steps, rang the bell, and were ushered into a huge hallway.

“Jove!” exclaimed the Englishman. “This place is a veritable fortress! Just where is the strong room, Marquette?”

“Downstairs,” replied Vic. “We’ll be going there soon. Here comes the flunky; I guess Mr. Wesdren is waiting for us.”

A servant ushered the visitors into a room at the side of the hall. It looked like a reception room; a moment later, a further door opened and Caleb Wesdren bowed to the visitors.

“This is Mr. Knight,” introduced Vic Marquette. “Meet Mr. Wesdren, Knight.”

Wesdren shook hands with the Britisher. There was keenness in the executive’s gaze as he studied this man who passed as Jarvis Knight. The Englishman could tell from Wesdren’s manner that the executive had been informed that Jarvis Knight was an alias for Eric Delka.

A smile showed upon Wesdren’s square-jawed face as Knight gave him a firm handclasp. The Britisher was forcible, even though his appearance was different from that of a usual Scotland Yard inspector.

Wesdren led the way into a magnificently furnished office. There the arrivals found Senator Ross Releston. While the gray-haired man was shaking hands, Wesdren pressed a button beside the desk.

Three distant buzzes sounded.

“I am summoning Jollister,” explained Wesdren. “Let us hope that he is somewhere about. He stayed here last night, instead of going to his apartment. And by the way, inspector” — Wesdren lowered his voice as he turned to Knight — “Jollister does not know that you are Eric Delka.”

The Englishman nodded. Marquette whispered a warning word. Vic had heard approaching footsteps. A moment later a side door opened and Craig Jollister entered.

The vault expert was an odd-looking person. He was tall and long-limbed but his massive head seemed to be on the wrong shoulders. It would have better suited a bulkier, more squatty frame.

Jollister’s face was sallow and deeply lined. His forehead bulged; his dark hair formed a bushy shock above his brow. His eyes were keen, deep-set orbs that carried a shrewd glare despite their noticeable blink.

“You wanted to speak to me, Mr. Wesdren?” rumbled Jollister.

“Yes,” replied Wesdren, in a serious tone. “This gentleman, Jollister, is Jarvis Knight, a friend of mine from England. He represents banking interests in London. They are interested in the installation of new strong rooms.”

Jollister showed eagerness in his nod as he shook hands with Knight. The Englishman was impressed by the firmness of Jollister’s grip. He had not expected it from such a flabby-looking hand.

“On that account,” resumed Wesdren, “I have offered to show my strong room to Mr. Knight. It might mean, Jollister, that he would turn some business your way.”

“Good,” rumbled Jollister. “I might be interested, if Mr. Knight likes the strong room. You told him, though, that I am going on a vacation?”

“That can be discussed later.” Rising, Wesdren clapped Jollister on the back. “You are always talking about vacations, Jollister. I really believe that some time you will take one. A long one, I mean. You have taken plenty of short ones.”

“My work is a strain.” Jollister’s glower was indication of the man’s eccentricity. “I demand rest periods between my efforts.”

“Certainly, Jollister,” nodded Wesdren, in a humoring tone, “certainly. Come. Let us go down to the strong room.”

THEY left by the door that Jollister had entered. Wesdren led the way down a rear flight of thick, stone steps. Knight observed that the walls were of concrete. They came to the bottom; there Wesdren pointed to a formidable door of heavy steel.

“Jollister’s creation,” explained the executive. “Triple-locked, with three combinations. I alone have the numbers. Kindly stand back, gentlemen, while I open the door.”

Wesdren approached and began to turn the dials, obscuring them as he worked. He spoke to his companions as he proceeded with the unlocking.

“One lock is Jollister’s,” explained Wesdren. “It is the best of the three. But he insisted that other experts install the other locks. Men of my choice; not his.”

“Quite fair-minded of you, Jollister,” remarked Knight.

“Not at all,” growled the expert. “My intention was to share the responsibility; that was all. I can’t tell who is going to learn these combinations.”

“Jollister’s point,” laughed Wesdren, as he finished with the third dial, “concerns the possibility of someone entering the strong room. He fears that someone may gain the combinations. Should the locks all be Jollister’s, he might be under suspicion. But since three men have installed locks independently, no individual lock-maker could be held at fault.”

Wesdren swung the big door outward. He stepped into a blackened room and pressed a light switch.

The others entered; they found themselves in a square room that measured twenty feet in each direction.

Floor, walls and ceiling were of steel. Huge sheets of metal formed a solid paneling, with riveted strips as the dividing points. Wesdren turned to Knight: he noted an expression of admiration upon the Britisher’s face.

“All these walls,” explained Wesdren, “are backed by concrete. They are also protected by hidden wiring between the steel armor and the stone. It forms a permanent alarm system.

“Jollister chose the plans from a dozen that Senator Releston and I submitted to him. He had full charge of the installation. This vault, however, is entirely his own work.”

Wesdren pointed to one side of the room. He indicated a shiny door that glistened formidably. Jarvis Knight nodded in admiration; his expression indicated that he had never seen a stronger-looking vault.

“The walls were nothing,” spoke Jollister, suddenly, his bass voice booming through the room. “Bah! Apprentices can mold concrete and rivet steel. I left that duty to the workmen. This vault is my masterpiece.”

“Open it, Jollister,” suggested Wesdren; then, as the long-limbed expert lumbered forward, the executive added to the others: “Jollister’s qualms were limited to the door of the strong room. He allowed other experts to insert their locks there; but considered it unnecessary with the vault.”

“It is my masterpiece!” boomed Jollister, turning about, with his hand on a dial. “I would allow others to do work on the outside barriers. But I wanted none to share in this creation. I hold the combination, yes. But I cannot enter this strong room to use it, except by Mr. Wesdren’s wish.”

“Another point,” laughed Wesdren. “Jollister has reference to his insistence that others place locks upon the strong room door. Those locks keep even him from coming here.”

JOLLISTER finished with the combination of the vault. The glistening door swung wide. Through inner bars, the visitors spied coffers of varied sizes beyond the metal boxes were small doors in the depth of the wall.

“Models in the coffers,” asserted Wesdren. “Plans in the deposit boxes. Well, gentlemen, you have seen all. Close the door, Jollister.”

The expert obeyed. He turned the dials to lock the vault. Wesdren crossed the strong room; the others noted that the large outer door was shut. Wesdren laughed as Releston uttered an exclamation of surprise.

“Do not worry, senator,” said the executive. “We are not locked in. The door closes automatically but it is easily opened from this side.

“You see” — he drew down three handles, one by one — “no strong room needs a combination on the inside. The protection is necessary on the outside only.”

Wesdren pushed the door open and ushered his visitors out into entry. He followed and spoke as the others were going up the stairs. At Wesdren’s suggestion, all turned about. They watched the door of the strong room swing slowly shut of its own momentum.

The door stopped silently. Wesdren joggled the handle that opened it. The handle did not budge.

Wesdren pointed to the three dials.

“The automatic closing loses the combination,” he explained. “No matter if someone forgets to shut the door, the strong room will be closed. Of its own action.”

The visitors started up the stairs, Jollister with them. Wesdren followed. He had turned out the light in the strong room; but there was still a glowing incandescent in the little entry.

Silence reigned beneath that single light. Then the glare showed an amazing manifestation. Slowly, the door of the strong room opened outward. A figure appeared from the gloom.

Garbed in cloak and slouch hat, this weird shape stepped clear of the strong room door. The big barrier, again released, moved slowly shut and finished with its silent swing. Hardly had it closed before the entry light went out. Wesdren had clicked it from upstairs.

A soft laugh sounded in the pitch darkness. It was an audible token of that strange being who had come so mysteriously from the strong room; a reminder of a shrouded figure clad in black.

A tiny flashlight glimmered. Its beam glittered on the stone steps. The unseen visitant was moving softly upward. No more did the whispered laugh of The Shadow sound within walls of stone.

Caleb Wesdren had shown pride in the formidable structure of his strong room. Craig Jollister had taken credit for the building of that impregnable chamber.

Yet hard on the departure of executive and expert had come proof that the steel-lined strong room was not impenetrable. Out of its depths had stepped a strange intruder, whose very presence showed that he had found a mode of secret entrance.

Like a living ghost, The Shadow had issued forth; his whispered mirth had sounded as a mockery of the stronghold which he had left.