THE SOUL OF LOGAN BLACK
Wilton Barnstable, the great detective, having witnessed Loge's
outburst of wrath, had thought it signified a quarrel between thieves,
as his words to Cleggett indicated. He had thought Cleggett a crook,
and Loge's ally.
Loge, on the other hand, had thought Cleggett a detective. He had
addressed him as "Mr. Detective" that morning at Morris's. Loge
believed the Jasper B. and the Annabel Lee to be allied against him.
Whereas Cleggett, until he had recognized Wilton Barnstable in the
boat, had thought it likely that the Annabel Lee and Morris's were
allied against the Jasper B.
Now that Cleggett knew the commander of the Annabel Lee to be Wilton
Barnstable, his first impulse was to go to the Great Detective and
invite his cooperation against Loge and the gang at Morris's. But
almost instantly he reflected that he could not do this. For there was
the box of Reginald Maltravers! Indeed, how did he know that it was
not the box of Reginald Maltravers which had brought the Great
Detective to that vicinity? This man--of world-wide fame, and reputed
to possess an almost miraculous instinct in the unraveling of criminal
mysteries--might be even now on the trail of Lady Agatha. If so, he
was Cleggett's enemy. When it came to a choice between the championship
of Lady Agatha and the defiance of Wilton Barnstable, and all that he
represented, Cleggett did not hesitate for an instant.
There were still some aspects of the situation in which he found
himself that were as puzzling as ever to Cleggett. It is true that he
now knew why Loge's men had been in the hold of the vessel; they had
been there, no doubt, in an attempt to get possession of the oblong,
unpainted box which had caused Loge's explosion of wrath; the box which
was the real thing Loge had tried to buy from Cleggett when he dickered
for the purchase of the Jasper B. But why this box should have been in
the hold of the vessel, Cleggett could not understand. And how Loge's
men had been able to get into and out of the hold without his knowledge
still perplexed him.
The motive behind the attempt to dynamite the vessel was clear. Having
failed to purchase it, having failed to recover the box from it, Loge
had sought to destroy it with all on board. But the strange character
of this explosion still defied his powers of analysis. And then there
was the tenth Earl of Claiborne's signet ring on the dead hand. Beyond
the fact that it was a circumstance which connected his fortunes with
those of Lady Agatha, he could make nothing at all of the signet ring.
What, he asked himself again and again, was the connection of the
criminal gang at Morris's with the proudest Earl in England?
Loge himself was a puzzle to Cleggett. The man was a counterfeiter.
That he knew. The "queer" twenty-dollar bill, which he had practically
acknowledged, left no doubt of that. But he was more than a
counterfeiter. Cleggett believed him to be also an anarchist. At
least he was associated with anarchists.
But counterfeiting and anarchy are not ordinarily found together. The
anarchist is not a criminal in the more sordid sense. He is the enemy
of society as at present organized. He considers society to be built
on a thieving basis; he is not himself a thief. He scorns and hates
society, wishes to see it overturned, and believes himself superior to
it. He will commit the most savage atrocities for the cause and
cheerfully die for his principles. The anarchist is not a crook. He
is an idealist.
Convinced that the unpainted oblong box would furnish a clew to the
man's real personality, Cleggett, assisted by Lady Agatha and Dr.
Farnsworth, opened it in the cabin.
They first took out a number of plates, some broken, some intact, for
the manufacture of counterfeit notes of various denominations. There
was some of the fibrous paper used in this process. There was a
quantity of the apparatus essential to engraving the plates. This
stuff more than half filled the box. Then there were a number of books.
"Elementary textbooks," said Dr. Farnsworth, glancing at them. On the
flyleaf of one of them was written in a bold, firm hand: "Logan Black."
"Loge--or Logan Black," said Dr. Farnsworth, "has been giving himself
an education in the manufacture of high explosives."
"But THESE aren't textbooks," said Lady Agatha, who had pulled out
three long, narrow volumes from the pile. "They're in manuscript, and
they look more like account books."
The first of them, in Loge's handwriting, contained a series of notes,
mostly unintelligible to Cleggett, dealing with experiments in two
sorts of manufacture: first, the preparation of counterfeit money;
second, the production of dynamite bombs.
The second of the manuscript books was in cipher. Cleggett might have
deciphered it without assistance, for he was skilled in these matters,
but the labor was not necessary. The book was for Loge's own eye. A
loose sheet of paper folded between the leaves gave the key.
The book showed that Loge had been employed as an expert operator, in
the pay of a certain radical organization, to pull off dynamiting jobs
in various parts of the country. This was his account book with the
organization. He had done his work and taken his pay as methodically
as a plumber might. And he had been paid well. Cleggett guessed that
Loge was not particularly interested in the work in its relationship to
the revolutionary cause; it was the money to be made in this way, and
not any particular sympathy with his employers, which attracted Loge,
so Cleggett divined. Cleggett was astonished at the number of jobs
which Loge had engineered. The book threw light on mysterious
explosions which had occurred throughout a period of five years.
But it was the third manuscript book which displayed the real Logan
Black.
This was also in cipher. Dr. Farnsworth and Cleggett had translated
but a few lines of it when they perceived that it was a diary. With a
vanity almost inconceivable to those who have not reflected upon the
criminal nature, Loge had written here the tale of his own life, for
his own reading. He had written it in loving detail. It was, in fact,
the book in which he looked when he wished to admire himself.
"It is odd," said Cleggett, "that so clever a man should write down his
own story in this way."
"This book," said Farnsworth, "would be a boon to a psychologist
interested in criminology. You say it is odd. But with a certain type
of criminal, it is almost usual. The human soul is full of strange
impulses. One of the strangest is towards just this sort of record.
Cunning, and the vanity which destroys cunning, often exist side by
side. The criminal of a certain type almost worships himself; he is
profoundly impressed with his own cleverness. He is a braggart; he
swaggers; he defeats himself. A strange idiocy mingles with his
cleverness."
"Even people who are not criminals do just that sort of thing," said
Lady Agatha. "Look at Samuel Pepys. He was one of the most timid of
beings. And he valued his place in the world mightily. But he wrote
down the story of his own disgrace in his diary--it had to come out of
him! And then, timid and cautious as he was, he did not destroy the
book! He let it get out of his possession."
It was an evil, a monstrous personality which leered out of Logan
Black's diary. Boastful of his own iniquity, swaggering in his
wickedness, fatuous with self-love, he recounted his deeds with gusto
and with particularity. They did not read a quarter of this terrible
autobiography at the time, but they read enough to see the man in the
process of building up a criminal organization of his own, with
ramifications of the most surprising nature.
"This man," said Dr. Farnsworth, with a shudder, "actually has the
ambition to be the head of nothing less than a crime trust."
"It seems to be something more than an ambition," said Cleggett. "It
seems to be almost an accomplished fact."
"Ugh!" said Lady Agatha, with a gesture of disgust, "he's like a great
horrid spider spinning webs!"
Interested in anarchy only on its practical side, as the paid dynamiter
of the inner circle of radicals, Logan Black in his diary jeered at and
mocked the cause he served. And more than that, the man seemed to take
a perverted pleasure in attaching to himself young enthusiasts of the
radical type, eager to follow him as the disinterested leader of a
group of Reds, and then betraying them into the most sordid sort of
crime. Cleggett found--and could imagine the grimace of malevolent
satisfaction with which it had been written--this note:
Heinrich is about ready to leave off talking his cant of universal
brotherhood, and make a little easy money in the way I have shown him.
It will be interesting to see what happens in side of Heinrich when he
realizes he is not an idealist, but a criminal. Will he stick to me on
the new lay? But those Germans are so sentimental--he may commit
suicide.
Cleggett recalled the manhandling Heinrich had received. A little
farther along he came upon this entry:
The Italian-American boy is a find. Jones and Giuseppe! Puritan
father, Italian mother--and he worships me! It will be a test for my
personal magnetism, the handling of Gieseppe Jones will. He hates a
thief worse than the devil hates holy water. If I could make him steal
for me, I would know that I could do anything.
"That's our young poet in the forecastle!" said Cleggett. "I wonder if
Loge still held him." And then as the memory of the boy's ravings came
to him he mused: "Yes--he held the boy! That is what the fellow meant
in his delirium. Do you remember that he kept saying: 'I'm a
revolutionist, not a crook!'? And yet he continued to obey Loge!"
"Is it not strange," said Lady Agatha, "that the man should take such
pride in working ruin?"
All three were silent for a space. And then they looked at each other
with a shiver. The sense of the strong and sinister personality of
Logan Black struck on their spirits like a bleak wind.
Cleggett was the first to recover himself.
"God willing," he said solemnly, "I will bring that man to justice
personally!"
Just then two bells struck. It had taken them more time than they had
realized to make even a partial examination of the contents of the box.
Cleggett, when the bell sounded, looked at his watch to see what time
it was--he was still a little unfamiliar with the nautical system.
"He will go to any length to get this back into his possession," said
Cleggett, as he dumped the heap of incriminating evidence back into the
box and began to nail the boards on again.
"Any length," echoed the Doctor.
Pat upon the thought came the sound of taxicabs without. They went on
deck and saw a sinister procession rolling by. It consisted of three
machines, and there were three men in each cab. Loge and Pierre were
in the foremost one. None of the company vouchsafed so much as a
glance in the direction of the Jasper B. as the cabs whirled past
towards Morris's. It was undoubtedly a reinforcement of gunmen.
"Ah!" said Cleggett, pointing to them. "The real battle is about to
begin! They are making ready for the attack!"