WHO MADE THE FALSE KEY?
For a moment Willie was fairly speechless with astonishment. It was
too good to be true. The thing he had been unable to accomplish
through many hours of patient effort, had been accomplished
seemingly by pure luck. At last his innocence was established.
“I can’t understand it,” cried Willie, as soon as he recovered from
his astonishment. “I never dreamed you would hear me, because you
use a wave-length longer than mine and would be listening for
messages in your own wave-length.”
“Ordinarily I should have been. But Roy tried hard to get you by
wireless before he left. He wanted to send a friendly good-bye
message. He couldn’t get you, so he asked me to see if I could get
you and deliver the message. I tried several times, with no luck.
Then I made a last effort when I was about two hours out. It was a
singular coincidence. Just as I got my instruments regulated for
your wave-length, you began to call CBWC yourself. Of course, I
listened in, expecting every minute that you would be done calling.
Once in a while I shifted to my own wave-length for a moment and
then back to yours. Nobody called me, and I heard every call you
made. When you stopped calling, I tried to get you, but couldn’t.”
“That was because I left my instrument the instant I stopped calling
and went to my desk. I don’t quite see why you entered my call in
your log, though.”
“Well, we usually jot down everything out of the usual, and also
many things not out of the usual. I thought you’d like to see your
call in my log when I got back, so I wrote down that entry as a
friendly act.”
“It was indeed a friendly act,” said Willie fervently. “You have
done me the greatest service any one could do. You have made it
possible for me to clear my reputation. Will you help me do that?”
“Most assuredly. It will give me the greatest of pleasure. What do
you want me to do?”
“Mr. King ought to know about that entry in your log.”
“He ought to see the log itself. Leave it to me. I’ll show him the
entry, and I can explain things to him better than perhaps you could
yourself.”
“If you will, I can never adequately express my gratitude,” said
Willie.
“Never mind about that. It will be a pleasure to me to do it.”
So it came about that the next day saw Mr. Reynolds closeted with
Mr. King. The log-book was exhibited and explained.
“You heard every call he made?” inquired Mr. King.
“I am certain of it.”
“And you are sure he was calling between the hours of 12:15 and 1:00
P. M.?”
“Absolutely certain.”
“But he wasn’t calling every minute of that time. Wasn’t there time
for him to run to my desk, open and close a drawer, and run back
between calls?”
“Certainly. But it doesn’t stand to reason that if a fellow went to
a wireless instrument and tried hard to call his friends, that he
would run away from his instrument at the very time they might be
answering. It isn’t sense.”
“Not under ordinary circumstances. But suppose a lad in his
situation had plotted this theft and wanted to provide grounds for
an alibi. Mightn’t he do that very thing to throw us off the track?
This lad is a mighty clever boy. I’ve found that out. He’s smart as
a steel trap.”
“Your proposition is all right except for one thing. To provide an
alibi, he’d have to make sure some one heard him. He’s too sharp to
slip up that way. If he had gotten a reply to his call, your
supposition would be within the ground of reason. But under the
circumstances, it is not. No court or jury in America would ever
convict the lad under the circumstances.”
“I see you are entirely right,” said Mr. King, “and I am more
delighted than I can tell you to have this proof of his innocence.
For I accept it as proof, though we must still maintain that there
is a theoretical possibility of his doing just what I suggested.
He’s proving to be a corking good boy. And as I have watched him, I
never really believed in my heart that he was a thief. But you know
in my business we have to watch any one to whom the finger of
suspicion points. It would amaze you to know how many perfectly
respectable and even eminent citizens leave their consciences behind
when they try to get ashore here with dutiable goods. It makes us
sort of suspicious of everybody.”
Mr. Reynolds shook hands with the Chief and took his departure, but
not until he had assured Willie that the latter was entirely cleared
from suspicion. Naturally Willie was jubilant, yet his joy was
somewhat tempered by the thought that although Mr. King no longer
had any suspicion as to dishonesty on his part, it had not yet
actually been proved that he was innocent. And Willie knew that he
would never be really satisfied until the real thief was uncovered
and his own honesty was actually proved.
Could Willie have known what took place that very day, while he was
out for luncheon, he would have felt more hopeful of complete
exoneration. For hardly had Willie left his post that noon, before a
tall, shabbily attired cleaner slipped into the Chief’s office. Mr.
King looked at the man twice before he knew him. Then he said,
“Hello, Frank! What brings you here all dolled up so?”
The cleaner shut the door and laughed. “Never mind the rags, Mr.
King,” he said. “Just look at this.”
From his pocket he drew forth an object wrapped in tissue paper. He
took off the wrapper and laid the object on the Treasury Agent’s
desk.
“What is it, Sheridan?” asked Mr. King. “Wax?”
“Correct. Take a good look at it.”
Mr. King picked up the wax and looked at it. Then he sat bolt
upright in his chair. “Looks like the impression of a key in it,” he
suggested.
“Let me have the key to your desk drawer,” said the Secret Service
man. “I mean the drawer from which those papers were taken.”
Mr. King pulled out his keys and removed one from the ring. He
handed it to Sheridan. The latter laid it on the wax beside the
impression already there, and pressed hard on it. When he lifted the
key two distinct impressions stood side by side in the wax. And the
impressions were duplicates.
“I felt certain of it,” said the Secret Service man.
“Where did you get that wax?” demanded the Treasury Agent.
“Found it—in this building.” And that was every word about the
matter the Secret Service man would say. “I’ll tell you the sequel
the minute I find it.” And the big member of the cleaning force
picked up a spittoon, as though that was what he had come for, and
hurried down the corridor with it.
A few days later he returned. He did not bring back the cuspidor,
however, but in its place came a tall, lanky, swaggering lad, with
an evil leer on his face. When Willie saw the lad entering the
anteroom he leaped to his feet, apprehensive of trouble. The visitor
was his predecessor. The “smart” look had gone from his face,
however. In its place was a sullen, defiant, ugly expression that
fairly startled Willie. And when the former office boy glared at
Willie, with a world of hatred shining in his eyes, Willie was
certain he was in for trouble. His heart beat quick and he glanced
about to see what he could defend himself with. His alarm was
needless, however, for close behind young Smith came a large
individual who plainly belonged to the cleaning force. Willie had to
look at the man several times before he realized that he was looking
at the big Secret Service man. The disguise was complete. A sigh of
relief escaped from Willie’s lips when he realized who the big
fellow was. But he had no idea what could bring young Smith and
Sheridan into the Special Agent’s office together.
Nor did he at once find out, for the Secret Service man and his
companion passed into the inner office, after the briefest
announcement of their arrival, and the door was closed.
Once inside the door, Sheridan drew from his pocket a thin, flat,
narrow strip of metal. One end of it was plain. Little tooth-like
projections had been filed along one edge at the other end. On the
Special Agent’s desk Sheridan laid the piece of wax he had exhibited
during his earlier visit. Beside the wax he placed the thin metal
strip. Without a word the Special Agent picked up wax and metal and
applied the one to the other. The end of the metal that had been
filed into a key fitted exactly into the impressions of the desk key
in the wax.
“So that’s the story, is it?” said Mr. King, looking up. “A wax
impression of my key and a false key filed from the pattern. It is
needless to ask who did it. What I want to know is how you found
it.”
“That wasn’t an easy job,” said Sheridan. “There wasn’t much to go
on, but the little we had proved to be sufficient.”
“Sit down, and let me have the whole story,” said Mr. King, his keen
face alight with interest.
The Secret Service man motioned to Tom Smith to be seated and then
drew a chair forward for himself.
“Although circumstances pointed strongly to young Brown,” he said,
“they were far from being conclusive. If we had had proof that
Willie was about your office here at the time we know he was in the
building during the particular luncheon hour when the papers were
taken, we should have had a pretty tight case against him. With him
in this room or at his desk, it would be impossible for another
person to get to your desk without his knowledge. Hence it would
follow that he must be the thief. But if he was in his wireless
room, as he claims he was, and has since proved he was, there was
nothing to prevent another person from slipping in here unseen, and
opening your desk. So we had those two lines of investigation to
pursue. My predecessor proceeded on the theory that Willie was
likely the culprit and acted accordingly. And he had some reason to
do so, too. For years you have kept valuable papers in your desk,
untouched. New employees have come and old ones gone, yet nothing
was ever taken. But now comes this new boy, and almost at the first
opportunity for him to steal, the papers disappear. The desk was
unlocked by a false key, of course; and we know that a little time
previously Willie had the keys in his pocket when he left the
building. He could easily have had a false key made. It really was a
strong case.”
“It certainly was,” said Mr. King. “I didn’t want to believe the lad
was guilty, but I almost had to.”
“Well,” went on the Secret Service man, “my predecessor worked along
that theory and got nowhere. His open questioning, of course, told
everybody who he was, and then his usefulness was gone. So the Chief
put me on the job.”
“I see,” said Mr. King. “Even I did not know you were on it until
you came in with that wax.”
“Exactly. That’s the only way you can succeed in this business. You
mustn’t let your identity be known. So I kept under cover. I knew
that if Willie’s statement about being in the wireless room was
true,—and personally I had faith in it—then some one else slipped in
here while the office was apparently unoccupied, got your papers,
and slipped out unobserved. That’s evident. It is also evident that
whoever did it at some time most likely had your key, in order to
have a false one made. Who could have had your key? If one office
boy had it, another might, eh?”
The Treasury Agent nodded assent.
“So that pointed to young Smith here. If he had a key, he was likely
crafty enough not to use it while he was still office boy, because
suspicion would almost certainly fall on him. But when he had been
shifted to another department, then he could use it, and if he got
away unseen, suspicion would point to his successor.”
“Plain as daylight,” said Mr. King.
“I found that there was one other reason that might figure. Smith
here has been bullying Willie. He has threatened to beat him the
first time he caught him outside alone. So he evidently had hard
feelings toward him. That suggested the possibility of theft for the
purpose of getting Willie into trouble. I don’t believe he did it
for that reason, but there was the possibility, you see.” Sheridan
paused to light a cigar.
“I do see,” said Mr. King.
“Again, who would be better able to slip in here unobserved than
some one who knew intimately the habits of everybody in the office?
He knew how to approach the office so as to avoid observation, and
how to get in and out by back ways, if any existed. There was every
reason to believe that if Willie Brown didn’t take the papers, Tom
Smith did. So I went after Tom Smith.”
“How did you get him?”
“Well, I cleaned spittoons and mopped floors and washed woodwork,
and nobody paid any more attention to me than they do to any other
scrub men. As a cleaner I could be in the offices after the clerical
forces went home. Then I searched. It took me a long time to find
that wax. But finally I found it tucked away in a crack far up on
the under side of Smith’s desk. Only the most thorough search would
have revealed it. When I found the wax I was confident I was on the
right trail. When you gave me a duplicate impression in the wax, I
knew I was right. The thing that remained was to find the key.”
“How did you ever do it?”
Sheridan chuckled. “I reasoned that, as long as he believed himself
unsuspected, Smith would carry the key in his pocket. He might want
to put the papers back in the desk or to make another raid. So I had
to figure out a way to get that key. One day I was in the court,
where trucks drive in, washing things down with a hose. Smith
happened to skip out through the court on an errand. I saw him
coming and made sure that he got a thorough drenching, particularly
from the waist down. Of course I was awfully sorry for the accident
and did all I could to make amends. I got some dry clothes quick and
helped the lad skin out of his wet ones. You bet I went through his
pockets fast. I had that key before the wet trousers were fairly off
of him. That was all I needed. It fitted the wax impression exactly.
But I let him go for a day or two. I watched him like a hawk. Twice
I saw him examining the places where I wet him and where he took off
his wet clothes. I knew he was hunting for his key. Finally he came
to me and asked me if, in cleaning up, I had found a key. He said he
had dropped his latch-key, and he described it.”
Sheridan paused and looked at Smith, who sat with his head down,
looking at the floor.
“I said, ‘Yes. I found the key. Is this it?’ And I showed him that
skeleton key. He said it was. I asked him if he was sure.
“‘I certainly am,’ he replied.
“‘Well,’ I said, ‘that’s exactly what I want to know, because that
key fits Mr. King’s desk and was used to open his desk the day his
papers were stolen.’ You should have seen him when I told him that,
Mr. King. He wilted like a lily in a hot room. Then he began to
bluster, and try to bluff it out; but I told him it was no use to
lie about it and that we had him dead to rights. So in the end he
confessed everything. He still has the papers, and I told him that
if he would return the papers we would try to get him off as easy as
possible.”
Mr. King wheeled in his chair and faced his former office boy. “So
that’s the kind of boy you are, eh?” he said. “It’s too bad Mr.
Sheridan made such a promise to you. You are more than a thief. I
fully believe that you would have allowed my new office boy to go to
prison when you were the guilty one yourself. I suppose I am bound
by Mr. Sheridan’s promise. But let me tell you that if you do not
come across with those papers at once, and if you do not do
everything in your power to make amends to Willie, I won’t consider
that I am bound by it. I’ll do my best to see that you get the
maximum instead of the minimum punishment.”
Then Mr. King turned to Sheridan. “Take him out of here as quick as
you can get him out,” he said. “I’m getting madder every minute.”
Sheridan hustled his sullen prisoner out of the office. No sooner
had they crossed the threshold than the buzzer rang violently.
Willie fairly flew to his Chief’s desk. For a moment Mr. King was
silent. Then he held out his hand.
“Willie,” he said, “shake hands. The boy that just left this office
is the thief that stole my papers. Your honesty is absolutely
proved. I want to congratulate you. You have borne yourself
splendidly during this ordeal. You will reap your reward, for you
now have my absolute confidence.”