Denby? Some new millionaire? I never heard of him.”
“Neither did I,” Duncan told him; “and we can’t find out anything about
him and that’s what makes us so suspicious. You ought to be able to get
some dope on a man who can fling two hundred thousand dollars away on a
string of pearls.”
Gibbs’ professional interest was aroused. “Did he slip it by the
Customs, then?”
“He hasn’t landed yet,” Duncan answered. “He’s on the Mauretania.”
“Why, she’s about due,” Gibbs cried.
“I know,” Duncan retorted, “I’ve just had Ford on the ’phone about it.
This fellow Denby is traveling with Montague Vaughan--son of the big
banker--and Mrs. Michael Harrington.”
“You mean _the_ Mrs. Michael Harrington?” Gibbs demanded eagerly.
“Sure,” Duncan exclaimed, “there’s only one.”
Gibbs was plainly disappointed at this ending to the story.
“If he’s a friend of Mrs. Harrington and young Vaughan, he ain’t no
smuggler. He’ll declare the necklace.”
“The Chief has a hunch he won’t,” Duncan said. “He thinks this Denby is
some slick confidence guy who has wormed his way into the Harringtons’
confidence so he won’t be suspected.”
Gibbs considered the situation for a moment.
“Maybe he ain’t traveling with the party at all but just picked ’em up
on the boat.”
Duncan shook his head. “No, he’s a friend all right. She’s taking him
down to the Harrington place at Westbury direct from the dock. One of
the stewards on the Mauretania is our agent and he sent us a copy of her
wireless to old man Harrington.”
“He sounds to me like a sort of smart-set Raffles,” Gibbs asserted.
“You’ve got it right,” Duncan said approvingly.
“What’s Taylor going to do?” Gibbs asked next.
“He’s kind of up against it,” Duncan returned. “I don’t know what he’ll
do yet. If Denby’s on the level and we pinch him and search him and
don’t find anything, think of the roar that Michael Harrington--and he’s
worth about ninety billion--will put up at Washington because we frisked
one of his pals. Why, he’d go down there and kick to his swell friends
and we’d all be fired.”
“I ain’t in on it,” Gibbs said firmly; “they’ve no cause to fire me. But
how does this Miss Cartwright come in on the job?”
“I don’t know except that she is going down to the Harringtons’ this
afternoon and Taylor’s got some scheme on hand. I tell you he’s a pretty
smart boy.”
“You bet he is,” Gibbs returned promptly, “and may be he’s smarter than
you know. Ever hear of R. J.?”
“R. J.?” Duncan repeated. “You mean that secret service agent?”
“Yes,” Gibbs told him with an air of one knowing secret things. “They
say he’s a pal of the President’s.”
“Well, what’s that to do with this?” Duncan wanted to know.
“Don’t you know who he is?”
“No,” Duncan retorted, “and neither does anyone else. Nobody but the
President and the Secretary of the Treasury knows who he really is.”
Gibbs rose from his chair and patted his chest proudly. “Well, I know,
too,” he declared.
Duncan laughed contemptuously. “Yes, you do, just the same as I do--that
he’s the biggest man in the secret service, and that’s all you know.”
Gibbs smiled complacently. “Ain’t it funny,” he observed, “that you
right here in the office don’t know?”
“Don’t know what?” Duncan retorted sharply; he disliked Gibbs in a
patronizing rôle.
“That your boss Taylor is R. J.”
“Taylor!” Duncan cried. “You’re crazy! The heat’s got you, Harry.”
“Oh, indeed!” Gibbs said sarcastically. “Do you remember the Stuyvesant
case?”
Duncan nodded.
“And do you remember that when Taylor took his vacation last year R. J.
did some great work in the Crosby case? Put two and two together, Jim,
and may be you’ll see daylight.”
“By George!” Duncan exclaimed, now impressed by Gibbs’ news. “I believe
you’re right. Taylor never will speak about this R. J., now I come to
think of it.” He raised his head as the sound of voices was heard in the
passage.
“There he is,” Duncan whispered busying himself with a sheaf of
declarations.
Gibbs looked toward the opening door nervously. It was one thing to
criticize the deputy-surveyor in his absence and another to meet his
look and endure his satire. His collar seemed suddenly too small, and he
chewed his cigar violently.
CHAPTER FIVE
Daniel Taylor entered quickly without acknowledging the presence of his
inferiors and crossed to his desk by the window. He was a man above
medium height, broad of shoulder, thick through the chest and giving the
idea of one who was alert and aggressive mentally and physically. Those
in the service who had set themselves against him had been broken. His
path had been strewn with other men’s regrets; but Taylor climbed
steadily, never caring for what was below, but grasping eagerly for
power.
Naturally a man of his type must have had other qualities than mere
aggressiveness to aid him in such vigorous competition. He had commended
himself to the powers above him for snap judgment and quick action. And
although men of his temperament must inevitably make mistakes, it was
notorious that Taylor made fewer than his rivals.
Toward men like Duncan and Gibbs who were not destined to rise, men who
could be replaced without trouble, Taylor paid small heed. They did what
he told them and if they failed he never forgot. It was to the men
above him that Taylor showed what small social gifts nature had given
him. He had sworn to rise in the service and he cultivated only those
who might aid him.
After glancing over the papers arranged on his desk he called to Duncan:
“Has Miss Cartwright been here yet?”
“No, sir,” Duncan responded promptly.
His superior pushed the buzzer on his desk and then looked across at the
uncomfortable Gibbs. “Want to see me?” he snapped.
“Yes, sir,” Gibbs made answer as Peter the doorkeeper entered in answer
to Taylor’s summons.
“Then wait outside,” Taylor said, “I’ll see you in five minutes.”
“Yes, sir,” Gibbs said obediently and made his exit.
The deputy-surveyor turned toward the attendant. “Peter, let me know the
instant Miss Cartwright arrives. Don’t forget; it’s important. That’s
all.”
He dismissed Peter with a nod and then called to Duncan.
“Did Bronson of the New York Burglar Insurance Company send over some
papers to me relating to the theft of Miss Cartwright’s jewels?”
Duncan took a long envelope and laid it on his chief’s desk. “Here they
are, sir.”
Taylor looked at the documents eagerly. “By George!” he cried, when he
had looked into them, “I knew I was right. I knew there was something
queer about the way her diamonds were stolen.”
Duncan looked at him frowning. He prided himself upon his grasp of
detail and here was the Chief talking about a case he knew naught of.
“What diamonds?” he asked. “The case wasn’t in our office, was it?”
“No,” said Taylor, “this is a little outside job my friend Bronson’s
mixed up in, but it may be a help to us.” He went on reading the papers
and presently exclaimed: “It’s a frame-up. She wasn’t robbed, although
she collected from the company on a false claim.”
“But I can’t see--” the puzzled Duncan returned.
“No,” said his chief, cutting him short. “If you could, you’d have my
job. Has the Mauretania got to Quarantine yet?”
“Not yet, sir,” Duncan answered.
“Telephone Brown to notify you the minute she does. Tell him we’ve got
to know as soon as possible whether Denby declares that necklace;
everything depends on that.”
“But he may declare it,” Duncan observed sagely.
“If he does we haven’t a case,” his superior said briefly, “but I’ve a
feeling there’s not going to be a declaration.”
“I think so, too,” Duncan asserted, “and I’m holding Ford and Hammett to
search him.”
Taylor frowned and drummed on the desk with his fingers. “I don’t know
that I want him searched. Let them do nothing without my instructions.”
“But, Chief,” Duncan protested, “if he doesn’t declare the necklace and
you don’t have him searched he’ll smuggle it in.”
“I know, I know,” Taylor said impatiently, “but I’ve got to be cautious
how I go about taking liberties with a friend of Michael Harrington’s.
He has more influence than you’ve any idea of. We’ve got to be sure we
have the goods on Denby.”
Duncan looked at the other with grudging admiration. “Well, I guess it
won’t take R. J. very long to land him.”
Taylor turned on the speaker with a scowl. “What’s he got to do with
this?”
“I thought you might have interested him in it,” Duncan said meaningly.
“I don’t know anything about him,” Taylor returned.
It was like the Chief to refuse to take his underlings into his
confidence, Duncan thought, so he took his cue and changed the subject.
“Well,” he said, reverting to the proposed search of Denby, “if we don’t
go through him at the dock, what are we going to do?”
“Let him slide through easily and think he’s fooled us,” Taylor said.
“He may be pretty clever. Do you remember that man who stuck the
sapphire we were hunting for into a big rosy apple he gave to a woman in
the second cabin and then took it away from her before she had time to
eat it? We’ll see if he talks to anyone, but I think he’ll take the
pearls right down to Westbury. He’ll be off his guard when once he gets
down there.”
“Have you got one of the Harrington servants to spy for us?” Duncan
cried.
“I’ve got what will be better than that with a little luck,” Taylor said
with a smile. “Don’t you know that Miss Ethel Cartwright is going down
to Westbury this afternoon to spend the week-end with the Harringtons?”
“You don’t mean you’re going to use her?” Duncan exclaimed, incredulity
in his tone.
“It wouldn’t be a bad idea, would it, Jim?”
“It would be a peach of an idea if you could do it, but can you?”
Taylor chuckled. It was plain he had some scheme in his crafty brain
that pleased him more than a little.
“I’m going to answer that as soon as I’ve had a little confidential chat
with Miss Cartwright.”
He broke off to turn to the doorway through which Gibbs’ head protruded.
“Can I see you now, Chief?” Gibbs asked.
“What is it?” Taylor snapped.
“There’s a deaf and dumb chicken out here,” Gibbs replied anxiously.
“A what?” the other demanded.
“A girl that can’t hear or speak or write. They say she’s smuggled a
bracelet in but they’ve searched her eight times and can’t get a trace
of it, so they sent her to you.”
“They don’t expect me to make the ninth attempt, do they?” the Chief
queries.
“Why, no,” Gibbs told him, “but they thought you might hand her the
third degree.”
“Bring her in,” the autocrat commanded. When Gibbs had closed the door
Taylor turned to Duncan. “She’s probably bluffing. Put that chair here.
We’ll try the gun gag on her. There’s a revolver in my second drawer.
When I say ‘Go,’ you shoot. Got it?”
“Yes, sir,” Duncan said, anticipating a theatrical scene in which his
chief would shine as usual. Duncan always enjoyed such episodes; he felt
he shone with reflected power.
Gibbs dragged in a young girl and stood her in front of the chair to
which the Chief had beckoned. “Sit down,” Gibbs commanded. The afflicted
woman who was named, so Gibbs said, Sarah Peabody, remained standing.
“Hey, _squattez-vous,_” her captor commanded again in a louder voice.
Still Sarah was unmoved. Gibbs scratched his head and summoned his
linguistic attainments to his aid.
“_Setzen sie_,” he shouted, but Miss Peabody remained erect.
Gibbs turned away with a gesture of despairing dignity. “I’m done,” he
asserted; “that’s all the languages I know. I used to think it was a
terrible thing that women could talk, but I guess the Almighty knowed
more than I did.”
Duncan essayed more active measures. He pushed her into the seat. “Hey
you,” cried he, “sit down there.”
Gibbs watched a little apprehensively. If Sarah Peabody had been normal,
he would have pictured her as a slangy and fluent young woman with a
full-sized temper. He had dealt with such before and they invariably
defeated him in wordy combat. In duels of this sort Gibbs was slow to
get off the mark.
Taylor came toward the afflicted one and looked shrewdly into her face.
“She’s not shamming,” said he. “She’s got that stupid look they all have
when they’re deaf and dumb.” He watched her closely as he said this.
“She ain’t spoke all day,” Gibbs volunteered, “and no woman what could,
would keep from talking that long.”
“Women will do a lot for diamonds,” his chief observed.
“None of ’em ever do me for none,” Gibbs remarked placidly.
Suddenly Taylor addressed the girl roughly. “If you’re acting,” he
cried, “you’d better give it up, because I’m certain to find out, and if
I do, I’ll send you to jail.” Still the girl paid no attention but only
stared ahead blankly. “So you won’t answer, eh?” said her inquisitor.
“Going to force my hand, are you?” He raised his hand to signal Duncan
and then added: “Go.”
The loud report of the revolver, while it made Gibbs jump, had no effect
upon the young woman. Taylor shook his head wisely. “I guess she’s deaf
and dumb all right, poor girl. What’s it all about, Gibbs? What is it
you think she’s done?”
“She’s got a bracelet chuck-full of diamonds, and we can’t find it.”
“How do you know she’s got it?” the Chief asked.
“She showed it to a woman who was in the same cabin,” Gibbs returned,
“and the woman came and tipped us off.”
“Why, the dirty hussy!” cried the girl, who had previously been bereft
of hearing and speech, rising to her feet, her eyes flashing, and her
whole face denoting rage.
Gibbs looked at her, his eyes bulging with startled surprise, and then
turned his ox-like gaze upon Taylor.
“For the love of Mike!” said Gibbs at length, but Sarah Peabody cut
short any other exclamations.
“Do you know why she told about me?” the girl demanded. “She wanted to
alibi herself and make you folks thinks she was an honest God-fearing
lady that would never smuggle--and she had four times as much as I did.
Why, it was her who put me up to smuggling and taught me to be deaf and
dumb.” Sarah ground her white teeth in anger. “I’d like to meet her
again some time.”
“You shall,” Taylor cried. “When we arrest her we’ll need your evidence
to testify against her.”
“You can bet I won’t be deaf and dumb then,” Miss Peabody cried
viciously.
“Where’s the bracelet?” Taylor snapped. “Don’t waste time now.”
But the smuggler was no fool and not intimidated by his tones. “Wait a
minute,” she said craftily. “What’s going to happen to me?”
“Produce it, pay the duty, and we’ll let you go free for the tip.”
“You’re on,” said Sarah joyously. “Just take a look at the ring handle
of my parasol. I’ve painted over the stones, that’s all.”
Gibbs grabbed it from her and examined it closely. “Well, can you
approach that?” he said helplessly. “And I’ve been carrying it around
all day!”
Taylor turned from his examination of the parasol as Peter the
doorkeeper entered. “Miss Cartwright here?” he asked quickly.
“Yes, sir,” answered the man. “She’s just arrived.”
“Bring her in as soon as these get out,” Taylor said dismissing him.
“Take her away now, Gibbs,” he said, indicating the owner of the magic
parasol. “Turn her over to Shorey, he can handle her from now on.”
“All right, sir,” Gibbs said, still undecided as to why he had been
fooled.
Sarah looked at him with scorn. “I’ll be glad to have someone else on
the job. I’m sick o’ trottin’ around with a fat guy like him.”
“Say, now,” Gibbs protested in an injured manner.
But Taylor had a bigger scheme on hand and waved her away impatiently.
“Take her along, Gibbs.”
She gave Taylor an impudent little nod of farewell. “Ta-ta old Sport. I
certainly fooled you, when you had that gun shot off.”
Gibbs had grabbed her by the arm and was now pushing her toward the
door. “And I could have kept it up,” Miss Peabody asserted in a shrill
tone, “if it hadn’t made me sore, her putting over one on me like that.
And she was so blamed nice to me. But when one woman’s nice to another
she means mischief, you can bet your B. V. D.’s.”
Even Taylor smiled as she went. He had nearly met defeat but his
habitual luck had made him victor in the end. He hoped it would aid him
in a far more difficult interview which was to come.
Duncan took advantage of his good humor to ask a question.
“Do you really think you can get Miss Cartwright to help us on the Denby
case?”
He had so often seen her name in the society columns that he doubted if
his chief, clever as he was, could successfully influence her.
Taylor looked at him curiously. There was in his eyes a look that spoke
of more than a faint hope of success. Few knew better than Duncan of his
ability to make men and women his tools.
“Jim,” he said with an air of confidence, “I wouldn’t be a bit surprised
if she offered to help us.”
The door opened and Peter entered.
“Miss Ethel Cartwright,” he announced.
Taylor rose to his feet as she entered and bowed with what grace he
could as he motioned her to a chair.
Miss Cartwright was a tall, strikingly pretty woman of twenty-seven, who
looked at the deputy-surveyor with the perfect self-possession which
comes so easily to those whose families have long been of the cultured
and leisured classes. It was plain that this rather languid young lady
regarded him merely as some official whom she was bound to see regarding
a matter of business.
“Sorry if I kept you waiting, Miss Cartwright,” Taylor said briskly.
“It doesn’t matter in the least,” she returned graciously. “I’ve never
been at the Customs before. I found it quite interesting.”
“My name is Taylor,” he said, “and I’m a deputy-surveyor.”
“You wanted to see me about a ring, I think, didn’t you?”
“Yes,” he answered. “The intention evidently was to smuggle it through
the Customs.”
“Do you really think so?” she demanded, interested. “I haven’t the
faintest idea who could have sent it to me.”
“Of course you haven’t,” he said in his blandest, most reassuring
manner. It was a manner that made the listening Duncan wonder what was
to follow. His chief was always most deadly when he purred. “It’s a
mistake,” he continued, “but the record will probably shed some light on
the matter. Duncan,” he called sharply, “go and get those papers
relating to Miss Cartwright.”
His assistant looked at him blankly.
“Papers?” he repeated. “What papers, sir?”
“The papers relating to the package sent Miss Cartwright from Paris.”
There was a significance in his tone that was not lost on Duncan. Gibbs
would have argued it out, but Duncan though in the dark followed his
cue.
“Oh, _those_ papers,” he answered. “I’ll get ’em, sir.”
When he had gone the girl turned to Taylor.
“Do you know,” she asserted, “I feel quite excited at being here and
sitting in a chair in which you probably often examine smugglers. One
reads about it constantly.”
“It’s being done all the time,” he responded, “among all sorts of
people. Now, Miss Cartwright, since we are talking of smuggling, I’d
like to have a little business chat with you if I may.”
The girl looked at him astonished. She could not conceive that a man
like the one looking at her could be serious in talking of a business
proposition.
“With me?” she demanded, and Taylor could see that the idea was not
pleasing. He resolved to abandon his usual hectoring tactics and adopt
softer modes.
“I mean it,” he asserted. “You said you’ve read about all this smuggling
and so on. Believe me, you’ve not read a thousandth part of what’s going
on all the time, despite all our efforts to check it. The difficult part
is that many of the women are so socially prominent that it isn’t easy
to detect them. They move in the sort of world you move in.” He leaned
forward and spoke impressively. “But it’s a world where neither I nor my
men could pass muster for a moment. Do you follow me?”
“I hear what you say,” she said, “but--”
He interrupted her, “Miss Cartwright, we are looking for someone who
belongs in society by right. Someone who is clever enough to provide us
with information and yet never be suspected. We want someone above
suspicion. We want someone, for instance, like you.”
That his proposition was offensive to her he could see from the faint
flush that passed over her face and the rather haughty tone that she
adopted.
“Really, Mr. Taylor,” she cried, “you probably mean well, but--”
Again he cut her short.
“Just listen a moment, Miss Cartwright,” he begged. “I have reason to
know that your family has been in financial difficulties since your
father died.” He looked at her shrewdly. “The position I hinted at could
be made very profitable. How would you like to enter the secret service
of the United States Customs?” He could see she was far from being
placated at his hint of financial reward.
“This is quite too preposterous,” she said icily. “It may possibly be
your idea of a joke, Mr. Taylor, but it is not mine.”
“I’m not joking,” he cried, “I’m in dead earnest.”
“If that’s the case,” she returned, rising, “I must ask you to get the
papers regarding the ring.”
“They’ll be here at any moment,” he answered. “I’m sorry you don’t care
to entertain my proposition, but it’s your business after all. By the
way,” he added, after a moment’s pause, “there’s another little matter
I’d like to take up with you while we’re waiting. Do you recall a George
Bronson, the claim agent of the New York Burglar Insurance Company, the
company which insured the jewels that were stolen from you?”
“I think I do,” she returned slowly, “but--”
“Well, that company has had a great deal of trouble with society women
who have got money by pawning their jewels and then putting in a claim
that they were stolen and so recovering from the company on the alleged
loss.”
The girl looked at him, frowning. “Are you trying to insinuate that--”
“Certainly not,” Taylor purred amiably. “Why, no. I’m merely explaining
that that’s what Bronson thought at first, but after investigating, he
found out how absurd the idea was.”
“Naturally,” she said coldly.
She had come into the deputy-surveyor’s office with an agreeable
curiosity regarding a present sent her from Paris. But the longer she
stayed, the less certain did she feel concerning this hard-faced man
opposite her, who had the strangest manner and made the most
extraordinary propositions. What business was it of his that her jewels
had been stolen?
“But there were some things he could not understand,” Taylor went on.
“May I ask,” she cried, “what Mr. Bronson’s inability to understand has
to do with you?”
“Simply,” said Taylor with an appearance of great frankness, “that he
happens to be a very good friend of mine and often consults me about
things that puzzle him. The theft of those jewels of yours mystified him
greatly.”
“Mystified him?” the girl retorted. “It was perfectly simple.”
“Perhaps you won’t mind telling me the circumstances of the case.”
“Really,” she returned sub-acidly, “I don’t quite understand how this
concerns the Customs.”
“It doesn’t,” he agreed readily, “I am acting only as Bronson’s friend
and if you’ll answer my questions I may be able to recover the jewels
for you.”
The girl’s face cleared. So far from acting inimically, Mr. Taylor was
actually going to help her. She smiled for the first time, and resumed
her seat.
“That will be splendid,” she exclaimed. “I did not understand. Of course
I’ll tell you everything I know.”
“The first feature that impressed Bronson,” said the deputy-surveyor,
“and me, I’m bound to add, was that the theft seemed to be an inside
job.”
“What does that mean?” Miss Cartwright queried, interested.
“That there was no evidence that a thief had broken into your home.”
“But what other explanation could there be?” she inquired. “Our family
consists of just my mother, my sister and myself, and two old servants
who have lived with us for years, so of course it wasn’t any of us.”
“Naturally not,” Taylor agreed as though this explanation had solved his
doubts. “But how did you come to discover the loss of the diamonds?”
“I didn’t discover it myself,” she told him. “I was at Bar Harbor.”
“Oh,” said Taylor with the confidential air of a family physician. “You
were away. I see! Who did find out?”
“My sister. It was she who missed them.”
“Oh, your sister missed them, did she?” he said.
He pushed the buzzer and wrote something on a slip of paper.
“So of course,” the girl continued, “it must have been some thief from
the outside.”
Taylor looked thoughtful. “I suppose you’re right,” he admitted, and
then asked quickly: “I wonder if you’d mind telephoning your sister to
come down here now?”
“Why, she came with me,” Miss Cartwright returned. “She’s outside.”