HOW LONDON BILL TOOK A PAL
Perhaps the golden rule of all detective work is, Never let the detected
one detect. Inspector Val was alive to this ordinance of his craft, and
an hour later, when Storri cautiously emerged from the drain, he met
neither sign nor sound of Inspector Val and Mr. Duff. Feeling sure that
his exploration had not been observed, Storri wended homeward to his
rooms, his chin sunk in meditation.
Storri the next day went to New York, and immediately on arrival at that
hotel which he designed to honor with his custom he sprang into a
hansom, and within ten minutes was at a private-detective agency, being
the one whereat he aforetime procured those spies to set about the
Harley house--spies long since withdrawn. The head of this detective
bureau was a coarse-visaged, brandy-blotched man named Slater.
"And so," observed Mr. Slater, following a statement of Storri's errand,
"you want to be put next to a 'peter-man, what we call a box-worker?"
"I would like to meet the best in the business," said Storri; "one also
who is acquainted with others in his line, and who can be relied upon to
the death."
"You want something desperate, eh?" said Mr. Slater, in a tone of
suspicion. "Might I ask whether you have a safe to blow or a crib to
crack on your own private account? I'm a cautious man, myself," he
concluded, with a harsh chuckle, "and like to know what I'm getting
mixed up with."
"Your caution is to be commended," returned Storri, "and I'll answer
freely. No, I've no one to rob, no safe to break open. The truth is, I
want to prosecute a search for a certain criminal, and I think a man of
the stamp I wish to meet could help me more than a regular detective
whose person is known and who would be instantly suspected. I'm not
looking to arrest, but only to find a certain man. I shall pay him to
whom you send me for his trouble, and you for putting me in touch with
him."
"It's an irregular thing to do," remarked Mr. Slater, "but I see no
harm."
Mr. Slater rang a bell and asked for Mr. Norris.
"Norris," said Mr. Slater, "this party wants to be put next to London
Bill--wants to be made solid with Bill. That's as far as you go."
"All right," said Mr. Norris. Then addressing Storri: "If you come now,
I think I can locate your man in fifteen minutes."
Storri and Mr. Norris drove to a doggery near the East River, in the
vicinity of James Slip. It was called the Albion House. The lower floor
was a bar-room, and two or three sinister-looking characters lounged
about the room. Mr. Norris ordered beer; then he leaned across to the
barman and whispered a question.
"Why, yes," returned the barman, looking hard at Mr. Norris as though to
read his errand, "Bill's been here. But it's on the square; he ain't
doin' nothin'. I don't think he's seein' company neither."
"This is on the level, Dan," said Mr. Norris, who appeared to be on
terms of acquaintance with the barman. "Let me make you known to Mr.
Brown," he continued, introducing Storri. "Now here's all there is to
it. Mr. Brown thinks Bill can put him wise to a party he's got business
with. There's no pinch goes with it, and Mr. Brown's willing to do the
handsome."
"Well," replied the barman doubtfully, "if Bill's about, I'll see what
he thinks himself." With this, the barman, who was a brutal specimen
with lumpy shoulders and a nose that had seen better days, called one of
the loungers to preside in his stead, and retired through a door to the
rear. He returned in a moment saying that Bill would see the caller, and
jerked his stubby thumb in the direction of a back room.
"This is a boozing ken for hold-up people," explained Mr. Norris in a
whisper, as he and Storri obeyed the hint tendered by the barman's
thumb. "That bar-keep, Dan, used to be a strong-arm man himself; but
since he's got this joint, he doesn't do any work, and has turned
fall-guy for a fleet that operates along the Bowery."
Storri knew nothing of "strong-arm men," and "fall-guys," and "fleets,"
but he put no questions, and only seemed intent on meeting London Bill.
In the rear room that formidable outlaw was discovered seated at a
table. He was alone, and evidently had just come from upstairs, as a
door leading to the stairway was ajar. Mr. Norris presented Storri to
London Bill, and, this social ceremony over, made few words of it before
withdrawing altogether, leaving Storri and his new friend to themselves.
"Suppose we drink something," said London Bill, in noncommittal tones.
Storri ordered beer in a bottle, cork untouched; Storri had heard of
knockout mixtures, and did not care to make his advent into upper
criminal circles in the rôle of victim. London Bill grinned in a wise
way, but made no comment, calling for gin himself.
"What is it?" said London Bill, after the gin had appeared and
disappeared; "what's the argument you want to hand me?"
"I don't care to talk here," observed Storri, glancing suspiciously at
the walls within touch of his hand. "Let us go outside."
"That's it," observed London Bill; "now if we was to go plantin'
ourselves in Union Square, or any little open-air place like that, it's
ten to one some Bull from the Central Office would come along an' spot
us. They're onto my mug; got it in the gallery in fact."
"We can't talk here," said Storri decidedly.
"Wait a minute," suggested London Bill, who it was clear had grown
curious as to Storri's errand, "I think I can fix the thing." He stepped
into the bar and returned with a key. "Come on," said he; "there's an
empty hall upstairs that ought to do us. It's as big as a rink."
London Bill led the way up the foul, creaking stairs, and opened a door
on the top floor. It was a room the bigness of the building, and had
been used for dancing. Drawing a couple of wooden chairs to a front
window, Storri's guide motioned him to a seat.
"Here we be," he said; "now what's it all about?"
Storri, nothing backward when assured that no one was playing
eavesdropper, began to talk, carefully avoiding his usual jerky Russian
mannerisms. You have been told of Storri's graphic clearness of
statement, once he had fully perfected the outlines of some enterprise.
In fifteen minutes, but only in vaguest way, he laid his proposal before
London Bill; the proposal was so framed that the 'peter-man understood
no more than that a bank of unusual richness was to be broken into, and
his aid was sought.
"Your share alone," whispered Storri, "will foot up for a million."
London Bill's little black eyes twinkled like those of a rat. He didn't
make reply at once, but looked out of the grimy, cobwebby pane at the
sky. The face of London Bill was rough, but not unpleasant, and, though
he had killed his man and was a desperate individual if cornered, the
only trait expressed was a patient capacity for enterprises that might
require days or even weeks in their carrying out.
"Don't you think now you're a bit of a come-on?" observed London Bill,
swinging around to Storri from his survey of the distant heavens.
"Why?" asked Storri, as cool as the other.
"This is why," returned London Bill. "Here you butt in, a dead stranger,
and make a proposition. Suppose I was to rap?"
"I'd declare that you lied," replied Storri cheerfully, "and no one with
sense would believe you. They would say that if I intended to ask your
help in such work as I have described, I wouldn't seek an introduction
through a detective agency."
"Something in that," said London Bill, a gleam of admiration in his
beady gimlet eye. "Well, I never squeal, an' only put the question to
try you out. Go on, an' tell me what it is an' where it is; whether I go
into the job or not, at least you've nothin' to be leary of in me."
Storri, who had been studying London Bill as hard as ever that cracksman
was studying him, re-began in earnest. He now laid bare the proposal in
its every corner, and showed London Bill the plans and maps, including
the valuable cross-section drawing that displayed the relation of the
Treasury Building to street levels. London Bill, who appeared to have
gifts as an engineer, bent over the maps and drawings, considering and
measuring distances.
"What sort of ground is this?" said London Bill, laying a finger on the
cross-section drawing, where it was painted dove-color as showing the
earth beneath the street; "is it clay or sand?"
"Gray clay," returned Storri, "and fairly hard and dry."
"Good," remarked London Bill; "no fear of caving." Recurring to the
drawings, London Bill proceeded: "It'll take two months to dig that
tunnel. I'll have to dip as I go in, in order to creep beneath the
footstones of the sidewall; then I'll bring the tunnel up on a long
slant. The tunnel should be four feet high and about three wide; the
earth I'd throw into the sewer, the water would wash it away. There's no
risk in digging the tunnel, as no one would get an inkling of what's
afoot until the last shove, when we made direct for the money. On that
point let me ask: How long can we count on being undisturbed after we've
got to the gold? Now if it was a bank, we'd time the play for Saturday
afternoon after closing hours; that would give us until Monday morning
at nine before they'd tumble."
[Illustration: "It'll Take Two Months to Dig that Tunnel."]
"We can do better than that," returned Storri. "Saturday, May
twenty-eighth, is the anniversary of the death of a former Secretary of
the Treasury, and a special holiday has been already declared for that
day. Monday, May thirtieth, is Decoration Day, a general holiday. We
should have, you see, from Friday at four o'clock until Tuesday at ten;
time enough to carry out several fortunes in twenty-pound packages worth
five thousand dollars each."
"How do you expect to get away with the swag?" asked London Bill.
"Steam yacht," replied Storri sententiously. "I shall carry it from the
mouth of the drain to the yacht with a launch. It's as silent as a bird
flying, is that launch. Oh, I've thought everything out in full; I can
get the yacht and the launch. The latter will freight an even ton every
trip. Do you know how much gold money it takes to make a ton?"
"Half a million dollars," said London Bill, with his professional grin.
"You see, partner, I've had to do a deal of studyin' along the same line
as yourself."
"Precisely," returned Storri, disregarding the compliment implied by the
epithet partner; "five hundred thousand dollars. We shall have seven
hours a night for three nights, in which to freight the gold from the
mouth of the drain to the yacht."
"Four nights," said London Bill correctively; "Friday, Saturday, Sunday,
and Monday nights. I can carry that tunnel to a place within two hours
of the stuff, with the Treasury full of people; no one would catch on.
Take my word for it, you can begin getting out the gold the moment it
turns dark on Friday night. Let's pray for a storm for those four
nights."
"Your argument is right," observed Storri, "but there's a point you
overlook. We shall have but three nights; Monday and Monday night will
be required to take the yacht down the river, and into the open ocean.
The instant the loss is discovered, they'll know the business was
managed with the yacht; they will recall her as having been in the river
the three or four days before. I mean to repaint her from black to
white, the moment we're out of sight from the shore. I shall change her
name, and have papers ready to match the change. Oh, my friend, you will
see that I"--here Storri, who had studiously refrained from his usual
bragging, exultant, staccato style of speech, and aped the plain and
commonplace, almost forget himself; he was on the brink of giving his
name, which thus far had been withheld. He checked himself in time, and
ended soberly by saying: "You will see that I have left nothing
unconsidered."
"Seven hours a night," ruminated London Bill, "and three nights: In
considering everything, as you say, have you figured on how many trips
your launch, bearing five hundred thousand dollars a trip, can make
between shore an' ship?"
"The launch can make as many as twenty-one trips a night. In three
nights she ought to put more than thirty millions of dollars aboard the
yacht. That region around the drain's mouth is wholly deserted. By
working without lights there isn't a chance of being detected."
"Thirty millions!" repeated London Bill, grinning cynically, "and all in
five-thousand-dollar sacks! Did it ever occur to you that it will take
some time to carry the gold down to the drain's mouth? It's close by
three-quarters of a mile, that trip is."
"My friend," retorted Storri, with just a tinge of patronage, "leave
that to me. I'll find a way to send the gold to the drain's mouth
without breeding any backaches. All you are to do is dig the tunnel, and
dig it so we can reach the gold."
"That's simple," observed London Bill. "I shall dig so as to undermine
an end of one of those steel slabs that make the vault's floor, running
my tunnel for the rear end of the vault. The weight of the gold will
force down the slab when undermined. I'll open that vault like lifting
the cover of a chest, only the cover will drop from the bottom instead
of lifting from the top. The minute that slab of steel drops six inches,
the sacks of gold will begin sliding into our tunnel of their own
accord. You needn't worry about my part of the job; I can take thirty
millions out of the vault if you can get them to the mouth of the
drain."
"I can get them to the mouth of the drain," responded Storri
confidently, "and another thirty with them. The real limit to our
operations is the yacht itself. The one I have in mind will only carry
one hundred tons, and thirty millions in gold makes sixty tons, to say
nothing of ship's stores and coal."
"What place will you head the boat for when the job's done?"
"That," said Storri, "I shall leave to be settled in the open Atlantic.
The question now is: Are you going with me? I've told you that your
share is to be a million."
"One thirtieth?" said London Bill, with the ring of complaint in his
voice.
"One thirtieth," returned Storri with emphasis. "Where else can you get
one million for ten weeks' digging and a six-months' cruise in a yacht?
Besides, there will be a dozen others to share; to say nothing of the
yacht, and what it costs to coal her and buy her stores. Come now; do
you go with me?"
London Bill put out a small, hairy hand, and gave Storri a squeeze of
acquiescence that was almost a mate for the grip bestowed upon our
nobleman by Richard that snow-freighted day in November.
"I'm with you, live or die," said London Bill; "an' I never weaken, an'
never split on a pal."
Storri and London Bill put in an hour discussing plans. There were to be
no more men brought into the affair until late in May. London Bill would
come to Washington and commence his tunnel work at once. It would be a
slow employment and require care; it was best to have plenty of time.
"Because," explained London Bill, "if these maps an' drawings ain't
accurate to the splinter of an inch, it may throw me abroad in my
digging. In that case I'd need an extra week or so to find myself."
Storri coincided with the view, but added that the yacht would have to
be manned as early as the middle of May.
"The men needn't know the purpose," said Storri, "till the last moment.
When it comes to selecting them, I shall ask your advice."
"I can give you that to-day," said London Bill, "better than in May.
I'll be busy in my tunnel in May, and won't have time to come out.
Here's what I'll do: I'll call up Dan right now. Dan's an old sailor, as
well as a first-class gun and hold-up man--the gang calls him Steamboat
Dan. I'll call Dan, an' put him into the play. Then when the time comes,
Dan will get you the men, an' of the right proper sort. There won't be
one of 'em who hasn't done a stretch."
"But," remonstrated Storri uneasily, "are you sure of this Steamboat
Dan?"
"I wouldn't be lushin' gin in his crib else," responded London Bill.
"No, Dan's as sure as death. Besides, I'm not goin' to put him wise; I
shall only tell him to do whatever you ask, whenever you show up."
London Bill called Dan, and the trio broadened their confidence in each
other with further gin and beer. Dan gave his word for whatever was
required; Storri had but to appear and issue his orders.
"You'll be in at the finish, Dan," said London Bill; "an' for the
others, pick out a dozen of the flossiest coves you can find. You'll be
bringin' them to where I'm workin', d'ye see; an' the job will be ripe."
"Will it be much of a play?" asked Dan.
"Biggest ever," said London Bill; "an' yet, no harder than prickin' a
blister."
Storri jumped into the cab, which had waited for him at the door, and
rattled swiftly away. Within five minutes thereafter, a ragged gamin
strutted into the Albion bar.
"Be you Steamboat Dan?" chirped the gamin, fixing the eye of a sparrow
upon that tapster.
"Well, s'ppose I be?" said Dan, not too well pleased with the
sparrow-eyed.
"Then this is for you," quoth the gamin, thrusting a note across the
bar.
Dan glanced at the note; next he smote the bar, accompanying the smiting
with soft curses.
"What's the row?" asked one of the loungers.
"Nothin'," said Dan, his face clearing into a look of easy craft.
"Here's a pal of mine gets himself run over an' fractured by the cable
cars, an' is took to the hospital. You hold down the bar, Jimmy, while I
go look him over."
The person addressed as Jimmy had no objection to an arrangement that
meant free drinks, and once he was installed Dan put on his hat and
moved rapidly up the street. A turn or two and a brisk walk of ten
minutes found him in Mulberry Bend. Dan walked more slowly, and was
rewarded by the sight of Inspector Val sauntering along half a block
ahead. The great thief-taker rounded a corner, and albeit Dan made no
effort to overtake him, he was scrupulous to make the same turn. As he
came into the cross-street he glanced about for Inspector Val; that
personage was nowhere to be seen. Dan kept on his way, and before he had
journeyed another block Inspector Val caught up with him from the rear,
and passed him. Two doors further and Inspector Val entered an Italian
restaurant; Dan, after going fifty yards beyond and returning, stepped
into the same place. As he laid his hand on the restaurant's door, he
shot a swift look up and down the street. There was no one in view whom
he knew, and Dan brought a breath of relief.
"This bein' a stool ain't no hit with me," sighed Dan, "but will any
sport show me how to sidestep it?"
As no sport was there to hear the plaint of Dan, the latter must have
despaired of a reply before he put the question. Once more he cheerfully
greeted Inspector Val, and the two withdrew to a private room.
"Dan," said Inspector Val, when they were seated at a table with a flask
of chianti between them, "I needn't tell you that you're still wanted
for that trick you turned in Chicago, or remind you of the many little
things I've overlooked in your case in New York."
"No, Inspector," replied Dan, sorrowfully tasting his chianti, "I'm dead
onto 'em all. What is it? Give it a name."
"Do you know what that black-bearded man wanted in your place?"
"No," said Dan, "I don't."
"He came to meet London Bill, and you floor-managed the play."
"But I don't know what he wanted of Bill," said Dan, a bit staggered.
"Well, I know what he wanted of Bill. And I know what he will want of
you. I'll tell you what you are to do; and if you cross me, or fall
down, it will mean several spaces in Joliet, so have a care. I'll put
you easy on one point. Neither you, nor London Bill, nor any of the pals
you'll put into this game about the middle of May, will get the collar.
You have my word for that."
"Your word goes with me, Inspector," interjected Dan, plainly relieved,
and bending to his chianti as though after all it might not be red
poison.
"Good; my word goes with you--which is fortunate for you. These are your
orders: You're to say never a word; and you're to proceed with this as
though nothing queer was in the wind. As fast as you know anything, you
will find that I'll call for it. Do whatever this black-bearded party
asks; go with him as far as he wants to go, and go with your eyes shut.
I'll step in and get him when the time comes; he's the one I'm after.
Now you understand: say nothing, do whatever the black-beard desires;
and when I want to see you I'll send. And be careful about London Bill;
he's foxy. That was why I let you go by me a moment ago; I didn't know
but Bill was fly enough to tail you here. He'll be gone, however, in a
day, or at the most two, and then you'll have no more risk with Bill."
"How did you know Bill was goin' to-morrow? It wasn't settled thirty
minutes ago."
"I know it just as I know that you, about May fifteenth, will pick up a
dozen or more pals who are whole crooks and half sailors; that you will
then leave on a boat, probably a steam yacht, May twenty-sixth, bound
for Washington; and that the job of bin-cracking you will engage in is
to be pulled off May twenty-seventh to twenty-ninth inclusive."
"You know more'n me, Inspector," observed Dan, with wonder undisguised.
"If I didn't I wouldn't be telling you what to do. That's all, Dan; have
you got your orders straight?"
"Straight as a gun," declared Dan, wiping the last drops of the chianti
from his mouth.
"Screw out then," commanded Inspector Val, "and come only when I send
for you."
Two days later, a laborer, clean-shaven and of rather superior exterior,
fastened a tape measure to the iron cover of a manhole that opened into
the drain that ran by the side of the Treasury Building. Tape fastened,
the laborer unwound its length along the asphalt for perhaps one hundred
feet. Then he began to re-wind the tape into its circular box. As he
followed the incoming tape towards the end that was fastened to the
manhole cover, winding as he went, he paused for the ghost of a second
squarely opposite the little basement door-way in the Treasury Building,
where the old watchman stood smoking his pipe on the evening that Storri
was told of the gold inside. The old watchman, being on day duty now,
was standing in that same door-way, smoking the self-same pipe, and had
his ignorant eye listlessly fixed upon the laborer, busy with his
measurements. As the laborer paused abreast of the door, he glanced down
at the tape.
"The even seventy feet from the center of that manhole," he murmured, as
though he thus registered the figures in his mind.
And the old watchman, and the pedestrians hurrying along the pavement,
thought the laborer busy with his measurements from the manhole to the
little Treasury door had been at work for the public.
That night, had it not been for the moonless dark of it, you might have
seen the same laborer who had been so concerned with tape-measures and
distances near the Treasury Building, a long shallow basket stoutly
woven of willow on his arm, making secretly for the mouth of the drain
that once witnessed the investigations of Storri. The basket concealed a
short pickax of the sort that miners use, a little spade such as
children play with on the seashore, but very strong, and a pinch-bar, or
"jimmy," about two feet long. Besides these suspicious implements, there
were food, a flask of whisky, another of coffee, and a bicycle lamp, to
make up the basket's furniture.
The laborer entered the drain's mouth, and when beyond chance of
observation from without, he paused as aforetime had Storri to light his
lamp. As the match illuminated his face, you would have identified the
features of London Bill, celebrated safe-blower, box-worker, and
'peter-man, presently about to begin his first night's work on that
thirty-million-dollar job over which he and Storri had shaken hands.
Having lighted his lamp, London Bill journeyed on his way until the same
bend in the great drain that had hidden Storri shut him out from view.
London Bill splashingly proceeded to the second turn in the drain; from
that point he counted the manholes until he stood beneath the one from
which you saw him measuring with the tape. As nearly as he might, London
Bill, going northward in the drain, slowly paced off seventy feet from
the manhole; then he halted and drove two large spikes between the
bricks that formed the walls, using the pinch-bar to do the driving. On
these nails he hung his basket and fixed his lamp, the latter so as to
light the opposite wall. Being disencumbered of the basket, London Bill
took the tape and again made his measurements, this time more accurately
than might be done by pacing.
London Bill got to work, breast-high and where the lamplight fell, on
the wall of the drain nearest the Treasury, and with the point of the
pinch-bar began taking out the bricks. Our cracksman worked slowly and
surely, laying the bricks in the bottom of the drain so as to form a
floor on which to stand. In this way he soon found himself above the
water, which thereafter muttered about the bricks instead of his boots,
as was the former uncomfortable condition.
After three hours of toil, the last brick was removed; a circular hole
four feet in diameter showed in the wall of the drain. Beyond was the
earth--gray clay, as Storri had said. Seizing the little spade, London
Bill threw a handful into the water; it was instantly dissolved and
washed away.
"There's current enough," said London Bill, in a satisfied whisper, "to
clear away the dirt as fast as I dig it, which is a chunk of luck my
way."
London Bill, being fairly launched upon his great work, crept into the
drain every night and crept forth every morning, and the hours of his
creeping were respectively eleven and four. Through the day he lay in
convenient, non-inquisitive lodgings, which he cared for himself. London
Bill did not go about the town, having no wish for company, being of the
bloodhound inveterate breed that, once embarked upon an enterprise, does
nothing, thinks nothing, save said enterprise until it is accomplished.
It was this dogged, single-hearted persistency, coupled with his cunning
and his desperate courage, that made London Bill the foremost figure of
his old but criminal guild of 'peter-men.
There was a rich man's son who infested the club; and, being a snob with
a liking for noble nearnesses, Croesus Jr. had wormed himself into
Storri's regards as far as Storri would permit. Croesus Jr., fond of
display, bought a little steam yacht--one hundred tons. After two costly
months of yachting, Croesus Jr., waxing thrifty and bewailing expense,
laid up the yacht in a shipyard on the Harlem River. The yacht's name
was _Zulu Queen_. The _Zulu Queen_ measured one hundred and ten feet
over all, and since she was of unusual beam, her draught was light. In a
beam sea the _Zulu Queen_ would all but roll her stacks overboard; in a
head sea she pounded until one feared for her safety; in smooth water,
full steam ahead, she could snap off seventeen knots. She had a
twenty-foot launch, equal to fourteen knots, that made no more noise
than a sewing machine. Altogether there were worse as well as better
boats upon the sea than was the _Zulu Queen_.
Croesus Jr., disliking expense as noted, did not care to keep the _Zulu
Queen_ in commission. And yet the rust of retirement was eating into her
value! A yacht, a horse, and a woman, to keep at their best, should be
constantly in commission. Croesus Jr. offered the _Zulu Queen_ to Storri
for the spring and summer, Storri to foot the bills. This was a
sagacious move on the part of Croesus Jr. and meant to kill a brace of
birds with one stone. He would keep the _Zulu Queen_ steamed up at
another's cost, thereby avoiding the wharf rent as well as the rust of
her banishment; also he would please a nobleman. Storri accepted the
disinterested offer of the _Zulu Queen_ from Croesus Jr.; that was just
before he met London Bill.
After meeting that eminent bandit, Storri drove to Harlem, and gave
orders for overhauling the _Zulu Queen_, as well as for storing and
coaling her to the limit of her lockers and bunkers. She was to be made
ready for the crew and cruise by May first. Storri was armed with the
written order of Croesus Jr., and the shipyard people offered no demur;
since they charged all bills in true maritime fashion to the _Zulu
Queen_, and neither to Storri nor yet Croesus Jr., the latter provident
young person must finally face the expense--a financial disaster which
Croesus Jr. never foresaw, albeit Storri was not so blind. As London
Bill plies darksome spade and pick and pinch-bar, the Harlem shipmen are
furnishing and coaling and storing the _Zulu Queen_.
Storri said nothing of London Bill and the _Zulu Queen_ to the San Reve.
He had well-nigh given up the club, being willing to postpone all chance
of meeting either Mr. Harley or Richard, and was, therefore, a more
frequent visitor to Grant Place--a social situation that pleased the San
Reve vastly.
The San Reve used to dog Storri when he left her; and, inasmuch as she
never once traced him to the Harley house or its vicinity, her jealousy
began to sleep. But the San Reve, while she haunted the steps of Storri,
could not always follow his thoughts, and they went often to the
Harleys. Storri had the Harleys ever on his mind; each day served to
intensify his hatred for Mr. Harley, and to render more sultry that
passion for Dorothy which was both love and hate. Little by little his
lawless imagination suggested methods by which he might have revenge on
Mr. Harley and gain possession of Dorothy; and the methods so suggested,
like the ingenious cogs of a wheel, mashed into that other enterprise of
gold which had enlisted the _Zulu Queen_ and London Bill. The thought of
revenge on Mr. Harley, and a physical conquest of Dorothy the beautiful,
grew and broadened and extended itself like some plant of evil in
Storri's heart. It worked itself out into leaf and twig and bud of
sinful detail until the execution thereof seemed the thing feasible;
with that the face of Storri began to wear a look of criminal triumph in
anticipation.
The San Reve observed this latter phenomenon and read it for a good
sign, holding it to be evidence of the contentment born of their happier
relations, and also of clearing skies of stocks. It spoke of fair
weather in both love and business, and the San Reve was at considerable
care not to disturb Storri with either query or comment.
To show how wrong was the San Reve, glance at this fragment of the
thought of Storri.
"What should be better," mused Storri, with that leer which Satan gave
him, "than to carry away the gold of these pig Americans, and the
daughter of one of them, on the same night? We should be off the coast
of Africa in a fortnight, and were I to tire of her I could sell her to
the Moors. Who would hear of her after that?"
Thus did Storri rear his sinful castles in the air; and as he brooded
his black designs, smoking his cigars and tossing off his brandy in
silence, the San Reve sat drinking him in with adoring gray-green eyes,
pleasing herself by conjecturing his meditations, and going miles to
leeward of the truth. Had the San Reve but guessed them, there might
have descended an interruption, and Storri's purposes suffered a
postponement at once grisly and grim.
Richard, about this time, troubled the club with his presence no oftener
than did Storri--and that was natural enough. He must see so much of
Dorothy at either her own house or Bess Marklin's, he was left scanty
time for clubs. It is wonderful how love will engage the hours and
occupy the faculties of a man.
One evening as Richard was coming from the Harley house he met Inspector
Val. Richard, wrapped in visions whereof the constituent elements were
roses and music with starlight over all, was careless of routes, and
Inspector Val led him past the Treasury Building, across the White Lot
between the Monument and the White House, until they stood at the
drain's mouth, of which you have heard so much. The stream was rushing
forth a clayey gray.
"Do you see?" asked Inspector Val, pointing to the stream.
"See what?" said Richard, waxing impatient, as a man will when roused
from loving dreams to consider a question of sewage.
"The color," replied Inspector Val. "That shows our man to be
industriously at his task. No, no explanation now; on the twenty-seventh
of May we'll come again, and the drain itself shall furnish a solution
to the puzzle."