A hurried message to the Holland Agency brought four plain clothes men
from the private reserve, under the leadership of superintendent Cleary.
Monty met them at the doorway of the club house, wearing a rough and
tumble suit.
They sped downtown, toward the East River, the criminologist on the
seat where he could direct the driver. At Twenty-sixth Street, near
the docks, they dismounted and Shirley gave his directions to the
detectives.
“I want you to slide along these doorways, working yourselves separately
down the water front until you are opposite the yacht club landing. I
will work on an independent line. You must get busy when I shoot, yell
or whistle,--I can't tell which. As the popular song goes, 'You're here
and I'm here, so what do we care?' This is a chance for the Holland
Agency to get a great story in the papers for saving young Van Cleft
from the kidnappers.”
He left them at the corner, and crossing to the other pavement, began
to stagger aimlessly down the street, looking for all the world like a
longshoreman returning home from a bacchanalian celebration from
some nearby Snug Harbor. It was a familiar type of pedestrian in this
neighborhood at this time of the morning.
“That guy's a cool one, Mike,” said Cleary to one of his men. “These
college ginks ain't so bad at that when you get to know 'em with their
dress-suits off.”
“He's a reg'lar feller, that's all,” was Mike's philosophical response.
“Edjication couldn't kill it in 'im.”
A hundred yards offshore was the beautiful steam yacht of the Van
Clefts', the “White Swan.” Lights on the deck and a few glowing
portholes showed unusual activity aboard. Shirley's hint to Warren about
the contemplated trip to southern climes was the exact truth. Naked
truth, he had found, was ofttimes a more valuable artifice than
Munchausen artistry of the most consummate craft! The longshoreman,
apparently befuddled in his bearings, wandered toward the dock, which
protruded into the river, a part of the club property. He staggered,
tumbled and lay prostrate on the snowy planks.
Then he crawled awkwardly toward one of the big spiles at the side of
the structure, where he passed into a profound slumber. This, too, was
a conventional procedure for the neighborhood! A man walked across the
street, from the darkness of a deserted hallway: he gave the somnolent
one a kick. The longshoreman grunted, rolled over, and continued to
snore obliviously.
An automobile honk-honked up Twenty-third Street, and then swung around
in a swift curve toward the dock. The investigating kicker slunk away,
down the street. The limousine drew up at the entrance to the tender
gangway. Accompanied by a portly servant, a young man in a fur coat,
stepped from the machine.
“Give them another call with your horn, Sam,” he directed. “The boat
will be in for me, then.”
This was done. A scraping noise came from the hanging stairway of the
dock, and a voice called up from the darkness: “Here we are, sir!”
Howard Van Cleft leaned over the edge and looked down, somewhat
nervously. A reassuring word came up from the boat, rocking against the
spiles.
“You was a bit late, sir. You said three, Mr. Van Cleft, and now it's
ten after. So the captain sent us in to wait for you. Everything's
shipshape, sir, steam up, and all the supplies aboard. Climb right down
the ladder, sir. Steady now, lads!”
This seemed to presage good. Van Cleft turned to his butler.
“Take down the luggage, Edward. Goodbye, Sam. Keep an eye on the
machines. The folks will attend to everything for you while I am away.
Good-bye.”
The butler had delivered the baggage and now returned up the ladder,
puffing with his exertions.
“Good-bye, sir,” and his voice was more emotional than usual. “Watch
yourself, sir, if you please, sir. You're the last Van Cleft, and
we need you, sir.” The old man touched his hat, and climbed into the
automobile, as Van Cleft climbed down the ladder. The machine sped away
under the skilful guidance of Sam.
“Steady, sir, steady--There, we have you now, sir,--Quick, men! Up the
river with the tide. Row like hell!--Keep your oars muffled--here comes
the other boat.”
All this seemed naturally the accompaniment of the embarkment of Van
Cleft's yachting cruise, but the sleeping longshoreman suddenly arose to
his feet and blew a shrill police whistle. Next instant the flash of
his pocket-lamp illumined the dark boat below him. A volley of curses
greeted this untoward action! A revolver barked from the hand of a big
man in the stern. Young Van Cleft lay face downward in the boat, neatly
gagged and bound. As the light still flickered over the surprised
oarsmen, an answering shot evidenced better aim. The man in the back of
the bobbing vessel groaned as he fell forward upon the prostrate body of
the pinioned millionaire. One oarsman disappeared over the side of the
boat, to glide into the unfathomable darkness, with skilful strokes.
“Hold still! I'll kill the first man who makes a move!”
As Shirley's voice rang out, Cleary with his assistants was dashing
across the open space to the end of the dock.
“Shove out that boat-hook and hold onto the dock!” was the additional
order, accompanied by a punctuation mark in the form of another bullet
which splintered the gunwale of the boat. Looking as they were, into the
dazzling eye of the bulb light, the men were uncertain of the number of
their assailants: surrender was natural. Cleary's men made quick work
of them. The boat from the yacht now hove to by this time, filled with
excited and profane sailormen. The skipper of the “White Swan,” revolver
drawn, stood in its bow as it bumped against the stairway. Howard Van
Cleft was unbound: dazed but happy he tried to talk.
“What--why--who?” he mumbled.
“Pat Cleary, from the Holland Detective Agency,” was Shirley's response.
“There, handcuff these men quick. Two cops are coming. We want the
credit of this job before the rookies beat us to it.”
Van Cleft recognized the speaker, and caught his hand fervently.
Shirley, though, was too busy for gratitude. He gave another quick
direction.
“Hurry on board your yacht tender and get underway. Your life isn't
worth a penny if you stay in town another hour. These men will be
attended to. Good luck and goodbye.”
The young man rapidly transferred his luggage to his own boat. They
were soon out of view on their way to the larger vessel. Shirley turned
toward Cleary.
“I'll file the charge against these two men. They tried to rob me and
make their getaway in this boat. You were down here as a bodyguard for
Van Cleft, who, of course, knew nothing about the matter as he left for
his cruise. So his name can be kept out of it entirely. And the fact
that you helped to save him from paying fifty thousand dollars in
blackmail, will not injure the size of Captain Cronin's bill. Get me?”
“It's got!” laughed Cleary.
Two patrolmen were dumfounded when they reached the spot to find four
men in handcuffs in charge of six armed guardians. The superintendent
explained the situation as laid out by Shirley. The cavalcade took its
way to the East Twenty-first Street Police Station, where the complaint
was filed. Sullen and perplexed about their failure, the men were all
locked in their cells, after their leader had his shoulder dressed by an
interne summoned from the nearby Bellevue Hospital.
Shirley and Cleary returned with the others to the waiting automobile,
after these formalities. The prisoners had been given the customary
opportunity to telephone to friends, but strangely enough did not avail
themselves of it.
“We're cutting down the ranks of the enemy, Cleary,” observed the
detective as he lit a cigarette. “But I wonder who it was that escaped
in the water?”
“He'll be next in the net. But say, Mr. Shirley, what percentage do you
get for all this work, I'm awondering?” was the answering query. The
criminologist laughed.
“Thanks, my dear man, simply thanks. That's a rare thing for a
well-to-do man to get since the I.W.W. proved to the world that it's a
crime for a man to own more than ten dollars, or even to earn it! But
I wish you would drop me off about half a block from the Somerset
Apartments, on Fifty-sixth Street. I want to watch for a late arrival.”
He waited in the shadows of the houses on the opposite side of the
street. After half an hour he was rewarded by the sight of Mr. Shine
Taylor dismounting from a taxicab. The young gentleman wore a heavy
overcoat over a bedraggled suit. One of his snowy spats was missing;
his hat was dripping, still, from its early immersion. He entered the
building, after a cautious survey of the deserted street, with a stiff
and exhausted gait.
Shirley was satisfied with this new knot in the string. He returned to
his rooms at the club, to gain fresh strength for the trailing on the
morrow. And this time, he felt that he deserved his rest!
Next morning, after his usual plunge and rub-down, he ordered breakfast
in his rooms. He instructed the clerk to send up a Remwood typewriter,
and began his experiments with the code of the diary.
From an old note-book, in which were tabulated the order of letter
recurrences according to their frequency in ordinary English words, he
freshened his memory. This was the natural sequence, in direct ratio to
the use of the letters: “E: T: A: O: N: I: S: B: M, etc.” The use of “E”
was double that of any other. Yet on the pages of the book he found that
the most frequently recurring symbol was “R” which was, ordinarily, one
of the least used in the alphabet. “T,” which would have been second
in popularity, naturally, was seen only a few times in proportion. “Y,”
also seldom used, appeared very often. The symbol “A” was used with
surprising frequency.
“Let me see,” he mused. “This code is strictly typewritten. It must be
arranged on some mechanical twist of the typing method. A is used so
many times that it might be safe to assume that it is used for a space,
as all the words in this code run together. If A is used that way,
what takes its place? S would by rights be seventh on the list, but the
average I have made shows that it is about third or fourth.”
Carefully he jotted down in separate columns on a piece of paper the
individual repetitions of letters on the page of “January 7, 1915.” He
arrived at the conclusion, then, that “R” was used for “E,” that “S”
took the place of “A” and that “Y” alternated in this cipher for “T”
which was second on his little list.
Fur the benefit of the reader who may be interested enough to work
out this little problem, along the lines of Shirley's deductions the
arrangement of the so-called “Standard” keyboard is here shown, as it
was on the “Number Four” machine of Warren's Remwood, and the duplicate
machine which Shirley was using.
Q W E R T Y U I O P
A S D F G H J K L;
Z X C V B N M,.
Shift SPACE BAR Shift
Key Key
This diagram represents the “lower case” or small letters, capitals
being made by holding down one of the shift keys on either side, and
striking the other letter at the same time, there being two symbols on
each metal type key. As only small letters were used through the code
Shirley did not bother about the capitals. He realized at last, that if
his theory of substitution were correct the writer had struck the key
to the right of the three frequent letters. He had the inception of the
scheme.
Starting with the first line of the sentences so jumbled on the page
for January 7, 1915, he began to reverse the operation, copying it off,
hitting on the typewriter the keyboard letter to the left of the one
indicated in the order of the cipher.
The result was gratifying. He continued for several lines, having
trouble only with the letter “P.” At last he realized that the only
substitution for that could be “Q.” In other words, “A” had been used
for the space letter throughout, and for all the other symbols the one
on the right had been struck, except “P” which being at the end of the
line had been merely swung to the first letter on the other end of it!
No wonder Warren had been so confident of its baffling simplicity! Many
of the well-known rules for reading codes would not work with this one,
and had it not been for Shirley's suspicion, aroused in the library
of the arch-schemer the night before, he would hardly have given the
typewriter, as a mechanical aide, a second thought. Warren's desire to
drop the subject of machines had planted a dangerous seed.
Laboriously Shirley typed off the material of the entire page for the
fatal Thursday, and his elation knew no bounds as he realized that here
was a key to many of the activities of his enemy. He donned his hat and
coat and hurried over to the Hotel California to show his discovery
to Helene. She invited him up to her suite at once, where he wasted no
words but exhibited the triumphant result of his efforts. He handed her
his own transcription, and this is what she read:
“January 7, 1915, Thursday.
“learned from bank de cleyster drew six thousand in morning monk assigned
to taxi work for tea shine assigned to fix generator margie fairfax date
with de cleyster at five, shine and joe hawley covering game jake and
ben assigned black car for me paid phil one hundred covering special
work job finished riverside drive at eighty third sharp deposited night
and day four thousand safe deposit fifteen hundred lent dolly marion two
hundred for dress for party with van cleft next afternoon advanced shine
one thousand to cover option of yacht sunbeam paid to broker that night
ordered provisions telephone for yacht two month cruise monk assigned
for job next day advanced shine five hundred on account work on
wellington serral matter repairs black machine fifty party apartment
same night champagne one hundred fifty caterer one hundred tips fifty
five to janitor taxis twelve must stir phil up on work for grimsby
matter memorandum arrange for yacht mooring on east river instead of
north after wednesday eighth job finis memorandum settle telephone
exchange proceeds not later than monday paid electrician special wiring
two hundred in full settlement.”
“There, Miss Helene, how do you like my little game of letter building?”
There was a boyish gleam of triumph in his smile as he turned toward
her.
“You are a wizard, but how did you work it all out?” There was no
smile in her face, only a mingled horror at the revelations of this
calculating monster in his businesslike murder work, and an unfeigned
admiration for Shirley's keenness.
“A very old method, but one which would have availed for naught without
your help. The letter paper which you used and the unmistakable identity
of Warren's machine are two more bars of iron with which to imprison
him. The paper of that note is the same on which they wrote to Van
Ceft for money, and their threats to me. This shows from a microscopic
examination of its texture. I will give the whole book to a trustworthy
stenographer: more than six months of these little confessions are
tabulated here. Warren was evidently so used to this code that he could
write in it as easily as I do with the straight alphabet. His training
in German universities developed a thoroughness, a methodical recording
of every thing, which is apt to cost him dearly. And his undoubted
vanity prompted him to have a little volume of his own in that library
to which he could turn occasionally for the retrospection of his own
cleverness. Now, I must investigate this clever telephone system. I
think I have the clue necessary.”
He intrusted the book to Helene for the morning, promising to return
in an hour or two with new information, drolly refusing to tell her his
destination.
“You're a bad, bold boy, and should be spanked, for not letting some
one know where to look for you in case you get into difficulties,” she
pouted. “Perhaps I will do some equally foolish thing myself.”
“If you knew how you frightened me yesterday!” he began.
“Did you really worry and really care?” But Shirley had slipped out of
the door, leaving her to wonder, and then begin that long delayed letter
to Jack.