The Man from Scotland Yard

CHAPTER XVII. IN THE STRONG ROOM

“The door is the spot to watch.”

Vic Marquette gave this advice to his two companions. The secret service operative had completed a brief survey of the strong room. He was pointing to the heavy barrier which had closed automatically after the departure of Releston and Wesdren.

“It looks tough,” stated Cardona, as he eyed the door’s interior. “But since Jollister was the guy who built it, he shouldn’t have much trouble in cracking it.”

Jarvis Knight made no comment. He had taken a cigarette case from his pocket — the metal one that bore the initials “E.D.” Extracting a cigarette, Knight clicked the case shut. He struck a match and began to puff smoke while he stared in meditative fashion.

“What’s on your mind, Delka?” questioned Marquette, as he noted the Britisher’s concentration. “Figuring something we haven’t thought of yet?”

“I am thinking about Jollister,” returned tire Englishman. “A canny sort, that chap. I wonder if he possesses the boldness for which we give him credit.”

“You mean that you think he really took it on the lam?”

“Resorted to flight? I rather think so!”

“Then we’re wasting our time here in the vault room.”

Knight shook his head.

“There is no reason why Jollister should come here in person,” he explained. “If he has planned a way to open that door, he could easily entrust the work to others. As for the vault itself, he could simply give the combination to his hirelings.”

“You’re figuring Jollister as the big shot?” queried Marquette. “Swinging around to our idea, Delka?”

“Yes,” Knight nodded. “It is inconceivable that a group of raiders could enter this house utterly unseen. Even if Jollister has prepared a way for them, they would run the risk of a clash with the secret service men.”

“Maybe Jollister doesn’t know that Hamilton and the others aren’t real servants.”

“Quite true. That, Marquette, explains why he would be willing to risk a raid. Four stupid menials would offer poor resistance. Nevertheless, they must be taken into consequence.”

BOTH Marquette and Cardona nodded. Knight puffed his cigarette and casually flicked ashes on the steel floor. He resumed his discourse, while the others listened intently. For the first time since his arrival in America, the Englishman was developing a theory in a manner that might befit inspector Eric Delka, of Scotland Yard.

“Let us consider Jollister,” stated the man who called himself Jarvis Knight. “He had carte blanche in the construction of this strong room. He had a choice, of course: to do an honest job or to plan for crime.

“Whichever the case, his task ended with the completion of the strong room. It appears to be formidable; yet we know that the outer door might be easily opened, if Jollister has deliberately prepared it for simple access.

“Force of numbers; swiftness of action — those should prove to be essentials. Let us picture a coming raid. One that may strike tonight. A band of desperadoes, entering this house. An alarm given by Hamilton or some other man among the supposed servants.

“That would mean a battle upstairs. A squad of half a dozen, driving back the four guards. Keeping them occupied; making them believe that the strong room remained intact. Meanwhile, a picked band has entered here.

“Outer door — vault door — both yielding promptly, thanks to instructions given by Jollister. A rifling of the vault — a swift escape — all accomplished while those shock troops are still engaged in upstairs battle.”

Knight paused to mote the impression that his words had made. Marquette looked at Cardona, who nodded; then Vic paced across the room. He swung about to face Knight.

“You’ve outlined it, Delka,” agreed Vic. “It’s a cinch that no one is going to blast through concrete and steel. I know that Jollister had a chance to frame this room the way he wanted and the door was the bet he needed.”

“Particularly,” chuckled Knight, “because he insisted upon those other locks. That, Marquette, shows the craftiness of a schemer; it also indicates the criminal tendency to overdo one point.”

“Jollister’s taken it on the lam,” assured Marquette. “Maybe he’ll show up in Chicago; maybe he won’t show up anywhere. That’s where he’s wise. He’s got an alibi if he wants it.”

“And he’s left an outfit to do the heavy work,” put in Cardona. “That’s where Cady came in. A go-between, with some guy like Rigger Luxley ready with a mob.”

“He’s not a go-between,” corrected Knight. “Say, rather, a spy, keeping watch upon me. Let me develop the theory further, before we stress that point.”

“GOOD idea,” said Vic Marquette. “We’re still on Jollister. He’s beat it, probably in a car. The raid is scheduled for tonight. If the mob that heads for this strong room has time, they’ll blow the whole place after they’ve snagged the swag.

“Suppose Jollister is down in Norfolk, or some place like that. He’ll read about it. If the bluff has worked; if it looks like a regular soup job, he’ll head for Chicago. He’ll play innocent.

“But if something goes blooey, and Jollister’s hunted, all he’ll have to do is keep on going. Out of Norfolk, or wherever he’s headed, while we’re still trying to find him in the middle West.”

“That sizes it,” decided Cardona, “But either way — whether Jollister’s named or not — what are the crooks going to do with the swag afterward?”

“I can answer that,” smiled Knight. “The spoils will go to Jed Barthue. That is his specialty — smuggling things away. The man is crafty; as yet, we have encountered no trace of him. But we know that he is in the game.”

“How’s that?” demanded Cardona. “If we’ve got no trace of Barthue—”

“We have seen Cady,” interposed Knight. “I have classed the man as a spy. His purpose has been to watch me.”

“Because you’re the fellow who’s after Jed Barthue?”

“Precisely. Everything has been arranged. However, I fear that the one man whom we shall never capture is Jed Barthue.”

“Too slippery?”

“No; he will be warned after we capture the raiders tonight. We have been speculating upon impossibilities. We have forgotten that we hold the trump cards.”

“That hits it, Delka,” declared the Federal man. “We’ve got it all doped out; we know that the crooks are going to pick this for a set-up. See it, Cardona? They won’t be expecting to find us down here.

“All we’ve got to do is watch that door. When the mob barges in, give it to them. We’ll drive them up; and, meanwhile, their pals will be getting more than they expect from Hamilton and the others upstairs.

“You’re right about Barthue, Delka. He’ll take it on the lam when he hears the news. He’s under cover; he’ll be due for a get-away. And maybe we’ll have trouble nabbing Jollister.

“But our main idea is to protect this place and mop up the crooks. Then we’ll be able to move fast, trailing Jollister and Barthue. They’ll both be licked — without the swag — and with us holding prisoners who may be able to squeal.

“It’s going to be a surprise stunt, all right; but we’re the ones who are pulling it. We’re taking no chances. The whole thing looks hot. Have your guns ready; I’m going to douse this light. Then we’ll wait and listen.”

Marquette pulled a short-barreled revolver from his pocket. Cardona and Knight prepared to draw their guns while they watched the secret service man step toward the light switch.

Then, in a moment of tenseness, came a sharp click from behind the trio. Instinctively, the three men wheeled to stare at the far wall of the strong room. Vic Marquette uttered a startled growl.

The click had come from beyond the steel wall. With it, a panel had slid back to reveal an opening.

Framed in a lighted passage were three leering ruffians, each with a ready revolver. They held the watchers covered.

“Stick ‘em up!”

RESISTANCE was useless. Marquette alone had drawn his gun; he had no chance to use it. He dropped the revolver; it clattered on the steel floor.

Ruffians bounded forward and backed the prisoners against the wall. They frisked their victims and took guns from Cardona and Knight.

Others were coming from the passage. The raiders numbered more than half a dozen. Joe Cardona, staring stolidly, realized from whence they had arrived. He remembered that old garage in back of Wesdren’s mansion.

This passage came from there. The concrete had been laid by workmen in the know. They had left an opening; it had been covered with a sheet of solid steel. But the metal formed a sliding doorway.

To Vic Marquette, the advent of the raiders was proof of supercleverness on the part of Craig Jollister.

Vic remembered that the vault expert had spoken slightingly of the concrete laying and the wall construction

In fact, Jollister had practically disclaimed connection with the preparation of the strong room itself. He had talked about the doors that he had created; he had boasted about his master vault. Yet the truth remained that Jollister had been given full authority to construct the entire strong room.

Crooks were growling as they brandished their revolvers. They had backed their prisoners to a corner near the vault. Their lips showed contemptuous grins as they stood away and held the victims covered.

Marquette was fuming with suppressed rage; Cardona was staring stolidly. Knight, however, was calm.

His lips wore a slight smile. He had lowered his hands slightly; he spoke to one of the armed ruffians.

“May I help myself to a cigarette?” he inquired casually.

“Sure,” snorted the crook. “We’ve frisked you. Smoke up if you want.”

Knight reached in his pocket and extracted the cigarette case. Marquette and Cardona stared while the Britisher calmly drew matches from his vest pocket and lighted a cigarette. He replaced the matches: in their place he brought out a silver coin. Cardona recognized the Indian rupee piece that he had seen in New York.

“Where is Clink?” questioned Knight, looking at the half dozen rogues.

“He’s comin’ through,” growled a crook. “Him an’ a couple more, maybe. Whatta you want Clink for?”

“I must speak with him,” replied Knight. “Ah” — his smile broadened as he saw a tall, dark-faced man enter from the passage — “this must be Clink.”

Clink Huron stared at mention of his name. The crook who was covering Knight made a gesture with his gun.

“This guy wants to spill somethin’, Clink.”

“Sure,” interrupted Clink. “Let him. I’ve never seen him before; but if he wants to talk, he can.”

Calmly, Knight stepped forward. He had caught the glimmer of silver upon Clink’s vest. The racketeer was wearing Cady’s coin button. Knight pointed to the emblem.

“I can match it,” he asserted. He extended his hand and showed his silver rupee. “This introduces us. There is no reason why I should keep my identity secret any longer. I am Jed Barthue.”

KNIGHT chuckled as he made the statement. He threw a glance toward Marquette and Cardona. At sight of sneering lips, the two prisoners clenched their upraised fists. They would have been pleased to fall upon this man who had passed himself as Eric Delka, but they were restrained by the leveled guns of Clink Huron’s henchmen.

“Cady mentioned you,” remarked Knight, casually, spinning the rupee as he turned to Clink. “He was gone this afternoon, though, when I had an answer prepared for delivery through you.

“I have arranged everything. Take the swag to the Skyview Plaza and stow it in my wardrobe trunks. I have arranged to ship it aboard a tramp steamer. I shall notify you later regarding the name of the vessel; you can hold Marquette and Cardona until then. After that, bring them aboard.”

“They will make good hostages” — Knight chuckled uglily as he glanced at Vic and Joe — “just as good as Eric Delka would have been. I had to get rid of him, you know, after he escaped from the Zouave. But these chaps will make no escape. I shall be aboard with them—”

“Yeah?” Clink interrupted with a savage growl that made Knight turn about. Knight stared as he saw the muzzle of a revolver, squarely in front of his eyes. “Well, you’ve got another guess coming! Your stall won’t work!”

“Move back with those other mugs. Since you like to talk so much, we’ll let you give us the real lowdown. We’re in no hurry.” Clink paused; then spat denunciation. “Come on! Spill the lowdown! We’re listening to you, Delka!”