to leave the theatre one had vanished and Teddy had it here."
"That was the first time you missed it?"
"Yes."
"But it might have gone earlier in the evening--mislaid or lost or
stolen?"
"I remember taking them off in the box. I sat in the corner farthest
from the stage--the front row, of course--and I placed them on the
support."
"Where anyone in the next box could abstract one without much difficulty
at a favourable moment."
"That is quite likely. But we didn't see anyone in the next box."
"I have half an idea that I caught sight of someone hanging back,"
volunteered Straithwaite.
"Thank you," said Carrados, turning towards him almost gratefully. "That
is most important--that you think you saw someone hanging back. Now the
other glove, Mrs Straithwaite; what became of that?"
"An odd glove is not very much good, is it?" said Stephanie. "Certainly
I wore it coming back. I think I threw it down somewhere in here.
Probably it is still about. We are in a frantic muddle and nothing is
being done."
The second glove was found on the floor in a corner. Carrados received
it and laid it with the other.
"You use a very faint and characteristic scent, I notice, Mrs
Straithwaite," he observed.
"Yes; it is rather sweet, isn't it? I don't know the name because it is
in Russian. A friend in the Embassy sent me some bottles from
Petersburg."
"But on Tuesday you supplemented it with something stronger," he
continued, raising the gloves delicately one after the other to his
face.
"Oh, eucalyptus; rather," she admitted. "I simply drenched my
handkerchief with it."
"You have other gloves of the same pattern?"
"Have I? Now let me think! Did you give them to me, Teddy?"
"No," replied Straithwaite from the other end of the room. He had
lounged across to the window and his attitude detached him from the
discussion. "Didn't Whitstable?" he added shortly.
"Of course. Then there are three pairs, Mr Carrados, because I never let
Bimbi lose more than that to me at once, poor boy."
"I think you are rather tiring yourself out, Stephanie," warned her
husband.
Carrados's attention seemed to leap to the voice; then he turned
courteously to his hostess.
"I appreciate that you have had a trying time lately, Mrs Straithwaite,"
he said. "Every moment I have been hoping to let you out of the
witness-box----"
"Perhaps to-morrow----" began Straithwaite, recrossing the room.
"Impossible; I leave town to-night," replied Carrados firmly. "You have
three pairs of these gloves, Mrs Straithwaite. Here is one. The other
two----?"
"One pair I have not worn yet. The other--good gracious, I haven't been
out since Tuesday! I suppose it is in my glove-box."
"I must see it, please."
Straithwaite opened his mouth, but as his wife obediently rose to her
feet to comply he turned sharply away with the word unspoken.
"These are they," she said, returning.
"Mr Carrados and I will finish our investigation in my room," interposed
Straithwaite, with quiet assertiveness. "I should advise you to lie down
for half-an-hour, Stephanie, if you don't want to be a nervous wreck
to-morrow."
"You must allow the culprit to endorse that good advice, Mrs
Straithwaite," added Carrados. He had been examining the second pair of
gloves as they spoke and he now handed them back again. "They are
undoubtedly of the same set," he admitted, with extinguished interest,
"and so our clue runs out."
"I hope you don't mind," apologized Straithwaite, as he led his guest to
his own smoking-room. "Stephanie," he confided, becoming more cordial as
two doors separated them from the lady, "is a creature of nerves and
indiscretions. She forgets. To-night she will not sleep. To-morrow she
will suffer." Carrados divined the grin. "So shall I!"
"On the contrary, pray accept my regrets," said the visitor. "Besides,"
he continued, "there is nothing more for me to do here, I suppose...."
"It is a mystery," admitted Straithwaite, with polite agreement. "Will
you try a cigarette?"
"Thanks. Can you see if my car is below?" They exchanged cigarettes and
stood at the window lighting them.
"There is one point, by the way, that may have some significance."
Carrados had begun to recross the room and stopped to pick up the two
fictitious messages. "You will have noticed that this is the outside
sheet of a programme. It is not the most suitable for the purpose; the
first inner sheet is more convenient to write on, but there the date
appears. You see the inference? The programme was obtained before----"
"Perhaps. Well----?" for Carrados had broken off abruptly and was
listening.
"You hear someone coming up the steps?"
"It is the general stairway."
"Mr Straithwaite, I don't know how far this has gone in other quarters.
We may only have a few seconds before we are interrupted."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean that the man who is now on the stairs is a policeman or has worn
the uniform. If he stops at your door----"
The heavy tread ceased. Then came the authoritative knock.
"Wait," muttered Carrados, laying his hand impressively on
Straithwaite's tremulous arm. "I may recognize the voice."
They heard the servant pass along the hall and the door unlatched; then
caught the jumble of a gruff inquiry.
"Inspector Beedel of Scotland Yard!" The servant repassed their door on
her way to the drawing-room. "It is no good disguising the fact from
you, Mr Straithwaite, that you may no longer be at liberty. But I am.
_Is there anything you wish done?_"
There was no time for deliberation. Straithwaite was indeed between the
unenviable alternatives of the familiar proverb, but, to do him justice,
his voice had lost scarcely a ripple of its usual sang-froid.
"Thanks," he replied, taking a small stamped and addressed parcel from
his pocket, "you might drop this into some obscure pillar-box, if you
will."
"The Markham necklace?"
"Exactly. I was going out to post it when you came."
"I am sure you were."
"And if you could spare five minutes later--if I am here----"
Carrados slid his cigarette-case under some papers on the desk.
"I will call for that," he assented. "Let us say about half-past eight."
* * * * *
"I am still at large, you see, Mr Carrados; though after reflecting on
the studied formality of the inspector's business here, I imagine that
you will scarcely be surprised."
"I have made it a habit," admitted Carrados, "never to be surprised."
"However, I still want to cut a rather different figure in your eyes.
You regard me, Mr Carrados, either as a detected rogue or a repentant
ass?"
"Another excellent rule is never to form deductions from uncertainties."
Straithwaite made a gesture of mild impatience.
"You only give me ten minutes. If I am to put my case before you, Mr
Carrados, we cannot fence with phrases.... To-day you have had an
exceptional opportunity of penetrating into our mode of life. You will,
I do not doubt, have summed up our perpetual indebtedness and the easy
credit that our connexion procures; Stephanie's social ambitions and
expensive popularity; her utterly extravagant incapacity to see any
other possible existence; and my tacit acquiescence. You will, I know,
have correctly gauged her irresponsible, neurotic temperament, and
judged the result of it in conflict with my own. What possibly has
escaped you, for in society one has to disguise these things, is that I
still love my wife.
"When you dare not trust the soundness of your reins you do not try to
pull up a bolting horse. For three years I have endeavoured to guide
Stephanie round awkward comers with as little visible restraint as
possible. When we differ over any project upon which she has set her
heart Stephanie has one strong argument."
"That you no longer love her?"
"Well, perhaps; but more forcibly expressed. She rushes to the top of
the building--there are six floors, Mr Carrados, and we are on the
second--and climbing on to the banister she announces her intention of
throwing herself down into the basement. In the meanwhile I have
followed her and drag her back again. One day I shall stay where I am
and let her do as she intends."
"I hope not," said Carrados gravely.
"Oh, don't be concerned. She will then climb back herself. But it will
mark an epoch. It was by that threat that she obtained my acquiescence
to this scheme--that and the certainty that she would otherwise go on
without me. But I had no intention of allowing her to land herself--to
say nothing of us both--behind the bars of a prison if I could help it.
And, above all, I wished to cure her of her fatuous delusion that she is
clever, in the hope that she may then give up being foolish.
"To fail her on the occasion was merely to postpone the attempt. I
conceived the idea of seeming to cooperate and at the same time
involving us in what appeared to be a clever counter-fraud. The thought
of the real loss will perhaps have a good effect; the publicity will
certainly prevent her from daring a second 'theft.' A sordid story, Mr
Carrados," he concluded. "Do not forget your cigarette-case in reality."
The paternal shake of Carrados's head over the recital was neutralized
by his benevolent smile.
"Yes, yes," he said. "I think we can classify you, Mr Straithwaite. One
point--the glove?"
"That was an afterthought. I had arranged the whole story and the first
note was to be brought to me by an attendant. Then, on my way, in my
overcoat pocket I discovered a pair of Stephanie's gloves which she had
asked me to carry the day before. The suggestion flashed--how much more
convincing if I could arrange for her to seem to drop the writing in
that way. As she said, the next box _was_ empty; I merely took
possession of it for a few minutes and quietly drew across one of her
gloves. And that reminds me--of course there was nothing in it, but your
interest in them made me rather nervous."
Carrados laughed outright. Then he stood up and held out his hand.
"Good-night, Mr Straithwaite," he said, with real friendliness. "Let me
give you the quaker's advice: Don't attempt another conspiracy--but if
you do, don't produce a 'pair' of gloves of which one is still
suggestive of scent, and the other identifiable with eucalyptus!"
"Oh----!" said Straithwaite.
"Quite so. But at all hazard suppress a second pair that has the same
peculiarity. Think over what it must mean. Good-bye."
Twelve minutes later Mr Carlyle was called to the telephone.
"It is eight-fifty-five and I am at Charing Cross," said a voice he
knew. "If you want local colour contrive an excuse to be with Markham
when the first post arrives to-morrow." A few more words followed, and
an affectionate valediction.
"One moment, my dear Max, one moment. Do I understand you to say that
you will post me on the report of the case from Dover?"
"No, Louis," replied Carrados, with cryptic discrimination. "I only said
that I will post you on _a_ report of the case from Dover."
THE LAST EXPLOIT OF HARRY THE ACTOR
The one insignificant fact upon which turned the following incident in
the joint experiences of Mr Carlyle and Max Carrados was merely this:
that having called upon his friend just at the moment when the private
detective was on the point of leaving his office to go to the safe
deposit in Lucas Street, Piccadilly, the blind amateur accompanied him,
and for ten minutes amused himself by sitting quite quietly among the
palms in the centre of the circular hall while Mr Carlyle was occupied
with his deed-box in one of the little compartments provided for the
purpose.
The Lucas Street depository was then (it has since been converted into a
picture palace) generally accepted as being one of the strongest places
in London. The front of the building was constructed to represent a
gigantic safe door, and under the colloquial designation of "The Safe"
the place had passed into a synonym for all that was secure and
impregnable. Half of the marketable securities in the west of London
were popularly reported to have seen the inside of its coffers at one
time or another, together with the same generous proportion of family
jewels. However exaggerated an estimate this might be, the substratum of
truth was solid and auriferous enough to dazzle the imagination. When
ordinary safes were being carried bodily away with impunity or
ingeniously fused open by the scientifically equipped cracksman, nervous
bond-holders turned with relief to the attractions of an establishment
whose modest claim was summed up in its telegraphic address:
"Impregnable." To it went also the jewel-case between the lady's social
engagements, and when in due course "the family" journeyed north--or
south, east or west--whenever, in short, the London house was closed,
its capacious storerooms received the plate-chest as an established
custom. Not a few traders also--jewellers, financiers, dealers in
pictures, antiques and costly bijouterie, for instance--constantly used
its facilities for any stock that they did not requite immediately to
hand.
There was only one entrance to the place, an exaggerated keyhole, to
carry out the similitude of the safe-door alluded to. The ground floor
was occupied by the ordinary offices of the company; all the
strong-rooms and safes lay in the steel-cased basement. This was reached
both by a lift and by a flight of steps. In either case the visitor
found before him a grille of massive proportions. Behind its bars stood
a formidable commissionaire who never left his post, his sole duty being
to open and close the grille to arriving and departing clients. Beyond
this, a short passage led into the round central hall where Carrados was
waiting. From this part, other passages radiated off to the vaults and
strong-rooms, each one barred from the hall by a grille scarcely less
ponderous than the first one. The doors of the various private rooms put
at the disposal of the company's clients, and that of the manager's
office, filled the wall-space between the radiating passages. Everything
was very quiet, everything looked very bright, and everything seemed
hopelessly impregnable.
"But I wonder?" ran Carrados's dubious reflection; as he reached this
point.
"Sorry to have kept you so long, my dear Max," broke in Mr Carlyle's
crisp voice. He had emerged from his compartment and was crossing the
hall, deed-box in hand. "Another minute and I will be with you."
Carrados smiled and nodded and resumed his former expression, which was
merely that of an uninterested gentleman waiting patiently for another.
It is something of an attainment to watch closely without betraying
undue curiosity, but others of the senses--hearing and smelling, for
instance--can be keenly engaged while the observer possibly has the
appearance of falling asleep.
"Now," announced Mr Carlyle, returning briskly to his friend's chair,
and drawing on his grey suede gloves.
"You are in no particular hurry?"
"No," admitted the professional man, with the slowness of mild surprise.
"Not at all. What do you propose?"
"It is very pleasant here," replied Carrados tranquilly. "Very cool and
restful with this armoured steel between us and the dust and scurry of
the hot July afternoon above. I propose remaining here for a few
minutes longer."
"Certainly," agreed Mr Carlyle, taking the nearest chair and eyeing
Carrados as though he had a shrewd suspicion of something more than met
the ear. "I believe some very interesting people rent safes here. We may
encounter a bishop, or a winning jockey, or even a musical comedy
actress. Unfortunately it seems to be rather a slack time."
"Two men came down while you were in your cubicle," remarked Carrados
casually. "The first took the lift. I imagine that he was a middle-aged,
rather portly man. He carried a stick, wore a silk hat, and used
spectacles for close sight. The other came by the stairway. I infer that
he arrived at the top immediately after the lift had gone. He ran down
the steps, so that the two were admitted at the same time, but the
second man, though the more active of the pair, hung back for a moment
in the passage and the portly one was the first to go to his safe."
Mr Carlyle's knowing look expressed: "Go on, my friend; you are coming
to something." But he merely contributed an encouraging "Yes?"
"When you emerged just now our second man quietly opened the door of his
pen a fraction. Doubtless he looked out. Then he closed it as quietly
again. You were not his man, Louis."
"I am grateful," said Mr Carlyle expressively. "What next, Louis?"
"That is all; they are still closeted."
Both were silent for a moment. Mr Carlyle's feeling was one of
unconfessed perplexity. So far the incident was utterly trivial in his
eyes; but he knew that the trifles which appeared significant to Max had
a way of standing out like signposts when the time came to look back
over an episode. Carrados's sightless faculties seemed indeed to keep
him just a move ahead as the game progressed.
"Is there really anything in it, Max?" he asked at length.
"Who can say?" replied Carrados. "At least we may wait to see them go.
Those tin deed-boxes now. There is one to each safe, I think?"
"Yes, so I imagine. The practice is to carry the box to your private
lair and there unlock it and do your business. Then you lock it up again
and take it back to your safe."
"Steady! our first man," whispered Carrados hurriedly. "Here, look at
this with me." He opened a paper--a prospectus--which he pulled from his
pocket, and they affected to study its contents together.
"You were about right, my friend," muttered Mr Carlyle, pointing to a
paragraph of assumed interest. "Hat, stick and spectacles. He is a
clean-shaven, pink-faced old boy. I believe--yes, I know the man by
sight. He is a bookmaker in a large way, I am told."
"Here comes the other," whispered Carrados.
The bookmaker passed across the hall, joined on his way by the manager
whose duty it was to counterlock the safe, and disappeared along one of
the passages. The second man sauntered up and down, waiting his turn. Mr
Carlyle reported his movements in an undertone and described him. He was
a younger man than the other, of medium height, and passably well
dressed in a quiet lounge suit, green Alpine hat and brown shoes. By the
time the detective had reached his wavy chestnut hair, large and rather
ragged moustache, and sandy, freckled complexion, the first man had
completed his business and was leaving the place.
"It isn't an exchange lay, at all events," said Mr Carlyle. "His inner
case is only half the size of the other and couldn't possibly be
substituted."
"Come up now," said Carrados, rising. "There is nothing more to be
learned down here."
They requisitioned the lift and on the steps outside the gigantic
keyhole stood for a few minutes discussing an investment as a couple of
trustees or a lawyer and a client who were parting there might do. Fifty
yards away, a very large silk hat with a very curly brim marked the
progress of the bookmaker towards Piccadilly.
The lift in the hall behind them swirled up again and the gate clashed.
The second man walked leisurely out and sauntered away without a
backward glance.
"He has gone in the opposite direction," exclaimed Mr Carlyle, rather
blankly. "It isn't the 'lame goat' nor the 'follow-me-on,' nor even the
homely but efficacious sand-bag."
"What colour were his eyes?" asked Carrados.
"Upon my word, I never noticed," admitted the other.
"Parkinson would have noticed," was the severe comment.
"I am not Parkinson," retorted Mr Carlyle, with asperity, "and, strictly
as one dear friend to another, Max, permit me to add, that while
cherishing an unbounded admiration for your remarkable gifts, I have the
strongest suspicion that the whole incident is a ridiculous mare's nest,
bred in the fantastic imagination of an enthusiastic criminologist."
Mr Carrados received this outburst with the utmost benignity. "Come and
have a coffee, Louis," he suggested. "Mehmed's is only a street away."
Mehmed proved to be a cosmopolitan gentleman from Mocha whose shop
resembled a house from the outside and an Oriental divan when one was
within. A turbaned Arab placed cigarettes and cups of coffee spiced with
saffron before the customers, gave salaam and withdrew.
"You know, my dear chap," continued Mr Carlyle, sipping his black coffee
and wondering privately whether it was really very good or very bad,
"speaking quite seriously, the one fishy detail--our ginger friend's
watching for the other to leave--may be open to a dozen very innocent
explanations."
"So innocent that to-morrow I intend taking a safe myself."
"You think that everything is all right?"
"On the contrary, I am convinced that something is very wrong."
"Then why----?"
"I shall keep nothing there, but it will give me the _entree_. I should
advise you, Louis, in the first place to empty your safe with all
possible speed, and in the second to leave your business card on the
manager."
Mr Carlyle pushed his cup away, convinced now that the coffee was really
very bad.
"But, my dear Max, the place--'The Safe'--is impregnable!"
"When I was in the States, three years ago, the head porter at one hotel
took pains to impress on me that the building was absolutely fireproof.
I at once had my things taken off to another hotel. Two weeks later the
first place was burnt out. It _was_ fireproof, I believe, but of course
the furniture and the fittings were not and the walls gave way."
"Very ingenious," admitted Mr Carlyle, "but why did you really go? You
know you can't humbug me with your superhuman sixth sense, my friend."
Carrados smiled pleasantly, thereby encouraging the watchful attendant
to draw near and replenish their tiny cups.
"Perhaps," replied the blind man, "because so many careless people were
satisfied that it was fireproof."
"Ah-ha, there you are--the greater the confidence the greater the risk.
But only if your self-confidence results in carelessness. Now do you
know how this place is secured, Max?"
"I am told that they lock the door at night," replied Carrados, with
bland malice.
"And hide the key under the mat to be ready for the first arrival in the
morning," crowed Mr Carlyle, in the same playful spirit. "Dear old chap!
Well, let me tell you----"
"That force is out of the question. Quite so," admitted his friend.
"That simplifies the argument. Let us consider fraud. There again the
precautions are so rigid that many people pronounce the forms a
nuisance. I confess that I do not. I regard them as a means of
protecting my own property and I cheerfully sign my name and give my
password, which the manager compares with his record-book before he
releases the first lock of my safe. The signature is burned before my
eyes in a sort of crucible there, the password is of my own choosing and
is written only in a book that no one but the manager ever sees, and my
key is the sole one in existence."
"No duplicate or master-key?"
"Neither. If a key is lost it takes a skilful mechanic half-a-day to cut
his way in. Then you must remember that clients of a safe-deposit are
not multitudinous. All are known more or less by sight to the officials
there, and a stranger would receive close attention. Now, Max, by what
combination of circumstances is a rogue to know my password, to be able
to forge my signature, to possess himself of my key, and to resemble me
personally? And, finally, how is he possibly to determine beforehand
whether there is anything in my safe to repay so elaborate a plant?" Mr
Carlyle concluded in triumph and was so carried away by the strength of
his position that he drank off the contents of his second cup before he
realized what he was doing.