A Responsible Position
There was the muffled sound of many feet in the basement as David
slipped across to the doorway of the store, where was situated the
letter-box through which he would be able to pass a signal to Constable
Hemming; and for a while he stood still listening.
'Better make absolutely sure that they are coming up here,' he told
himself, tip-toeing back towards the head of the basement stairs. 'And
there's another thing to consider. If they have entered through that
cupboard, they will escape that way, unless, of course--my word! that
would alter matters very materially.'
For at first sight, and remembering what he had read about other
burglaries, David had taken it for granted that the men he had seen
stepping into the basement had gained access to the cupboard through a
hole in the wall. Then, suddenly, the idea had flashed across his brain
that probably they had merely secreted themselves there during the day,
unseen by any save, perhaps, an accomplice in the store. In which case
their retreat was cut off.
'Out of the question,' he told himself, bending over the basement
banisters. 'There is that heavy parcel. They couldn't have brought that
in. No, they have broken through the wall in some manner. Let me see.'
In his mind's eye he inspected the surroundings of the store, but
obtained little help from his review of the dwellings. For though a
mixed property lay adjacent to the store, and, indeed, was attached to
its walls, the majority of the premises were divided into numerous
offices and workrooms, while there was an enormous number of tenants.
However, his reflections were suddenly cut short, for one of the four
men below suddenly put in an appearance, and came hurrying up the
stairs, his rubber soles making not a sound. Instantly David took to his
heels and ran across to the manager's office, the latter affording a
safe asylum near to the door through which he was to give his signal. He
bolted through the open swing-doors of the office, and turning round
peered through the glass screen which helped to form it. His heart began
to beat furiously; for the men had all reached the ground floor by now,
and were advancing direct for the manager's office.
'They'll see me at once, of course,' thought David, on the verge of
panic 'I can't get out without their catching sight of me. Where am I to
hide?'
The answer came to him within the second as he ran his eyes round the
office, for all the world as if he were a hunted animal. 'Ah, behind the
bookcase. That'll do for me.'
Quite close to him, with its back placed within a foot of one wall of
the office was a big desk, with a leather top, on which ink, paper, and
pens were scattered. And posted on it, right at the back, was a small
bookcase, filled with directories and a heterogeneous mixture of books
and papers, besides a bale of leather samples. It afforded the only
hiding-place possible, and David slid towards it eagerly. The space
behind was barely sufficient to accommodate him, for our hero was
inclined to be somewhat bulky, and showed promise of one day possessing
broad shoulders and big limbs. However, by pushing firmly, he was able
to roll the desk a couple of inches outward on the parquet flooring, and
that without so much as a sound. He was hardly ensconced in the space
behind when one of the strangers entered.
'Bring it in here, bring it in here,' David heard him say, with a
peculiarly nasal accent, while the words were slurred as if a foreigner
had given vent to them. 'There, lay it down, we are not ready for it
yet. Bah! why not a light here of all places? There are lamps going all
over the store, and the police know them and take no further notice. But
here, where we want them, none. _Peste!_ How stupid of the owners!'
There came a snigger from the man directly behind him, while David could
hear the deep breathing of the two who were carrying the long, strange
object.
'It's heavy, at any rate,' he told himself. 'Let's take a squint at 'em.
Jolly glad I am that there isn't a lamp going here. The light would come
through between the books and show me nicely. My word! This is a fine
peep show! There are a dozen niches through which I can get a view.
That's an electric torch. Ain't the chap careful to keep the light on
the floor too! Every one of them wearing gloves. This is interesting.'
He almost forgot to think of himself and the undoubted danger of his own
position. For the four men in the manager's office, one of them not more
than the desk's width from David, occupied the greater part of his
thoughts. It was true that there was no light in this particular part of
the store; but, then, elsewhere there were electric lamps, and the
illumination of the whole place and of this office in particular, though
not brilliant, was ample for our hero. His eyes were used to the
dimness, and as he stared between the books on their dusty shelves, he
was able first of all to detect the fact that all four burglars wore kid
gloves on their hands and rubber shoes on their feet For the rest, three
were undoubtedly of dark complexion and wore moustaches, while the
fourth, the only one whose aspect was decidedly English, was
clean-shaven. He leaned his back against the wall close to the bookcase,
and breathed heavily while David surveyed his companions.
'Can't think why them cylinders are so heavy,' our hero heard him
grumble. 'From the look of the things, with their rope coatings, you'd
say as they was that light a child could play with 'em. But, my! they
make a chap blow. Where's the safe?'
'S-s-sh, my friend. People will find us before we find the safe if you
make such a bother,' declared the man who had led the way into the
office, and who for a moment had used his electric torch. 'The safe is
here, without doubt, seeing that it was here this morning, and such
things are not moved as easily as are boxes. Behold the safe, my
friend.'
Tucked away in his hiding-place David went hot all over, till beads of
perspiration streamed from his forehead, and his clothing clung to him
uncomfortably; for in the leader of the gang--for such the speaker
seemed to be--he suddenly recognised an official of the store who had
had some years of service with his employers, and who was an expert in
the jewellery department.
'And is a burglar all the while,' thought David, common sense telling
him that the man was an expert in this branch also; for otherwise, how
could he wear such a business-like air? How could he appear so
unconcerned, so used to midnight entries into closed premises? 'Queer,'
thought our hero. 'It just shows his cunning. The articles which have
been disappearing have not been stones or jewellery. Valuable furs have
gone, and Henricksen has nothing to do with that department. So they're
after the safe? I should laugh right out if it didn't happen to be
distinctly dangerous; for our manager took care to empty it. There are
useless books inside; nothing more.'
'Behold the safe, my friend,' said Henricksen again, triumphantly, his
eyes flashing as he turned towards the clean-shaven man beside the
bookcase, while his electric torch played on the huge mass of painted
steel, wherein the most valuable jewels and the money of the store were
wont to rest at night. 'You grumble at the weight of a couple of
cylinders; let us see if you will grumble when we come to handle the
gold. But we must be moving; there is big work before us, and it is now
twenty minutes after midnight. Yes, precisely that time.'
His coolness was amazing. David saw him refer to a neat little watch
strapped to his left wrist, and noted at the same moment that the gloves
he wore were of reddish colour, while the left one was split up the
back. Then his eyes went to the cylinders lying snugly on the floor, and
from them to the other men.
'They might be any nationality,' he thought. 'To look at them now they
don't appear to be ruffians, but there you are, old ideas are being
exploded every day of the year. A criminal face does not always mean a
murderer or a burglar. Some of the most cunning fellows known to the
police of late have had quite a sanctimonious appearance. The
well-groomed, gentlemanly criminal who is a clever hypocrite has a
better chance to-day than the man with the face of a bull dog, the
forehead of a Cree Indian, and the narrow, half-closed eyes of a Chinee.
What are they up to now?'
He might well ask the question, for David was not used to burglarious
enterprises. Up till this moment he had hardly dared to imagine how the
men would endeavour to force the huge safe in the office. Then he
remembered the cylinders, and remembering them, and drawing upon his
slender engineering knowledge, he realised that modern methods are
adopted not alone by scientists who mostly discover them, and by
up-to-date manufacturers, but also by up-to-date malefactors. The
oxy-acetylene flame, he knew, would eat its way into a mass of steel so
tough that not even a finely-tempered drill would touch it. Also, that
it would burn a path far sooner than the same could be formed by the
aid of the best of tools. His past knowledge told him all that. But how
would these men set about the task, and----
'That's not the sort of thing I want to be interested in just now,' he
suddenly told himself. 'I want to get out of this, and without their
knowing; how's that to be done? A fine fool I shall look if I have to
watch their operations and see them get away without summoning those
posted outside. How's it to be done?'
He might ask himself the question a thousand times, but yet there was no
answer. Puzzle his wits as he might, he could see no way out of the
difficulty. He was trapped; he was virtually a prisoner. A movement on
his part would be fatal; these men were armed perhaps.
'Armed--that's a shooter, a magazine pistol!' He almost said the words
aloud of a sudden, for his danger was brought full face before him. The
man, Henricksen, pulled something from his trouser pocket and deposited
it on the desk behind which David was crouching. The thing glittered in
the feeble rays. It flashed brightly as the electric torch happened to
cast a beam in its direction. It was a Browning pistol without a shadow
of doubt. It brought David Harbor to a full stop for the moment; even
his heart seemed to arrest its palpitations.
'Unstrap the rugs,' he heard Henricksen say, as if he were a mile off,
'fix the props, and let us get going. When all is ready Spolikoff will
get along and watch the door and windows, while Ovanovitch will mount
the stairs and clear every jewel that he thinks worth having. The
Admiral will lend me a hand. Got those glasses, Admiral?'
The individual alluded to, he with the clean-shaven face, searched in an
inner pocket, and produced two long cases. He placed them on the desk,
and then proceeded to help his companions. Nor could there now be a
doubt in David's mind that the gang was experienced and well drilled.
There was not a hitch, not a false move in the proceedings. They went
about the work like men who had done the same before, and who in each
case knew what was required of them. A huge, thick rug or mat--David
could not tell which--was unwound from the outside of the two
rope-covered cylinders, and was quickly supported on four wooden legs,
so contrived as to telescope at the will of the owners. A second rug was
slung at one side, making a species of tent, the roof being meant
without doubt to arrest the glare of the flame about to be employed, and
keep it from reflecting on the ceiling. While the side curtain would
keep the rays from the shop windows and from the eyes of curious or
suspicious passers.
'And now for the burner,' Henricksen said, seating himself on a chair
beneath the tent, and donning a pair of dark-coloured spectacles. 'Put
on your pair of glasses, Admiral. I've known a man pretty nigh blinded
by the glare of the flame, and in any case, supposing there was trouble,
you wouldn't be able to see when you wanted to hook it. Fix those rubber
tubes. We'll have things going nicely in a second.'
David took in a long breath as he watched the scene, and once more his
eyes surveyed each member of the gang. 'Two Russians,' he told himself,
looking at the dark moustached men told off to leave the office.
'Spolikoff and Ovanovitch. The sort of alien not wanted in this country,
and the Admiral is, I suppose, an ex-sailor--a bad hat, dismissed from
the lower deck, a confirmed criminal. The only Englishman amongst
them--what an artful fellow Henricksen must be! Who would have thought
that the man employed in the jewellery store could be such a
double-faced rascal! And there's his pistol.'
Yes, there it was, twinkling in the dim light, fascinating David,
drawing his eyes in its direction every half minute, inviting him to
inspect it further, rousing his envy, making his fingers itch to possess
and handle it.
'Why not? With a long reach I could do it. Why not? It's a risk. I'll
take it.'
It was typical of the lad that he should come to a sudden decision, and
having so decided, should proceed to carry the task out with all his
courage and determination. Was that not David's character? Had he not
already shown courage and determination? What were Mrs. Clayhill's words
on our hero? 'Stubborn and obstinate,' she had misrepresented him.
'Perseveres in a thing he has decided on; just like his father.'
At such times her none too pleasant features bore a somewhat ferocious
aspect 'Ain't she just angry?' David used to say, as he went his way,
deeming it best to absent himself for the moment. 'Just sparks flashing
from her eyes. She doesn't seem as if she could be friendly. I must be
an out and out obstinate fellow.'
And so he was. David was an obstinate fellow without a shadow of doubt,
but with this saving clause--he was not selfish, and he was possessed of
common sense; he could criticise his own actions and impulses. If he
once, on maturer reflection, came to the conclusion that a certain
decision was wrong, he had the sense to change it. His obstinacy was
confined to matters wherein he felt that there could be no error.
Witness his intention of fending for himself, of making his way alone in
the world. David had that as a fixed and firm-rooted purpose before him
now. His strong chin squared itself in the most emphatic manner whenever
the matter crossed his mind, which was nearly always. But here was the
pistol.
'I'll have it,' he told himself, his muscles tightening. 'One long
stretch and there it is. Ah! they're turning their backs; I'll have a
chance before very long.'
'Now the match; set the flame going,' he heard Henricksen say, and
looking beneath the tent-like structure saw a sudden flash, and the
profiles of this man and the 'Admiral.' The latter was holding a match
towards the end of the long brass burner which Henricksen gripped in his
hands. David noticed that two separate pipes converged towards the end
into one, from which a small flame now spouted, while Henricksen
controlled two taps, one for each of the tubes, with his fingers.
Farther back a rubber tube went to each of those of metal leading to
the burner, and ended at one of the cylinders, or rather, to put it in
the correct order, began there, carrying the gas to the burner.
'You two get off,' said Henricksen, seeing that he had a flame.
'Spolikoff, keep moving up and down, and if you hear a latch click, sit
down as tight as possible. The police look into the store every time
they pass, and might see you. Admiral, pull that rug round a bit. The
light will break too much round the corner.'
What a clever criminal he was! David marvelled that it could be the same
sleek, suave man who waited in the jewellery department, and enticed
customers to buy the things he offered. Then his eyes closed suddenly,
for Henricksen's fingers manipulated the taps of his burner, and at once
a fierce flame spurted out, casting about it a dazzling light. Peering
round the corner of the rug which the 'Admiral' had drawn towards him,
and shading his eyes behind an enormous directory, David caught a
glimpse of the intensely hot jet of flame playing on the door of the
safe in the neighbourhood of the lock. It seemed that he could actually
see the paint peeling off, while, almost at once, the metal beneath
became white hot. In less time than he could have believed it possible
it seemed to be pitting, as if the flame were devouring portions of it.
Then, very suddenly, the 'Admiral' pulled at the rug again, and the
glare and the figures beneath the tent were obliterated. David gently
removed one of the ponderous volumes, stretched his arm through the
opening, and possessed himself of the Browning revolver.
'So far, so good!' he thought. 'Now to get out of the place. Wonder
whether I could climb over the glass partition? No, wouldn't do; I
should be seen by Henricksen at once.'
He forgot for the second that the ruffian who went by that name, and who
in his everyday life was looked upon as a clever and capable salesman in
the store, was at that moment wearing dark spectacles, through which he
could see nothing but the glare of the acetylene flame. David failed to
remember that, even armed with those glasses, the glare was such that a
man manipulating the blow-pipe would require a few moments rest to
accustom his eyes to lesser illumination. Then the thought occurred to
him. He stretched his neck round the edge of the bookcase, and caught a
glimpse of the flame. Its brilliance was intense. It caused his pupils
to contract with painful suddenness, and turning his head away, he found
that everything was a dark blank. For the moment his own eyes were
useless. The experience emboldened him.
'I'll creep out and across the office behind the tent,' he said. 'Then
I'll dodge the Russian Spolikoff. Ah! what's that?'
A motor horn sounded suddenly out in the street, and he heard the rattle
of a passing automobile. The next instant there came a sharp click,
which was easily heard above the gentle roar of the oxy-acetylene flame.
Promptly the glare died down. Henricksen had manipulated the taps and
had shut down the gas.
'Stay still,' David heard him whisper to the man known as the
'Admiral.' 'It's a policeman inspecting. He won't see the glare; he
couldn't with this tent. What's he making all that noise about?'
It was Constable Hemming without a doubt, and if the truth had been
guessed at, the honest fellow had suddenly become fearful for the safety
of our hero. There was a second constable on duty with him, patrolling
the outskirts of the store, and the latter had reported a sudden glare
within. Hemming was sceptical; but he went at once to the letter-box,
and opened the flap with a loud click. Yes, there did seem to be a glare
over the manager's office, he thought, but it died away at once.
'He's been having a feed,' he suggested to his comrade. 'Switched on a
light in the office for a while, and then turned it out again. He'll
have heard the latch go, he'd have shouted if there was trouble.'
But the sound he had made had been sufficient to alarm Henricksen and
his comrades. David saw the 'Admiral' suddenly crouch close to the floor
and grope in his pocket. Henricksen tore his glasses from his eyes, and
emerging from the tent, groped on the desk for the weapon he had left
there. A growl escaped him as he failed to find it. His fingers ran over
the leather surface, over the pens and ink bottle and paper, but still
they were unsuccessful. Then he turned to his comrade.
'That fellow made a heap of noise,' he said. 'I thought he might be
suspicious. Suppose he didn't see or hear Spolikoff; but where's my
Browning? I could swear that I left it on the desk here.'
'I saw you,' came the answer. 'You put it down close to the ink bottle:
ain't it there?'
'Not a sign of it. Can't very well see yet, for that glare is terrific
in spite of smoked glasses. But I've run my fingers everywhere, and
there's no shooter. Spolikoff's taken it perhaps.'
Meanwhile, David had crouched behind the bookcase again, and for the
moment almost shivered. It was true that he was now armed; but would
that help him against such miscreants, considering he was like a rat in
a trap, hemmed in the closest quarters? He even thought wildly of making
a dash for the outside of the manager's office, and was bracing his
muscles for the effort, when a dusky figure came sliding in through the
glass doorway, to be detected instantly by our hero, but not so by the
others, for their backs were in that direction, while even if it had
been otherwise their eyes were still hardly fit for such a task.
'S-s-shish!' said the man, whispering. 'It's Spolikoff. A policeman came
to the opening and rattled. I dived down and sat still; then I managed
to get to a place where I could see through a chink in the shutters. Two
constables were talking outside. I saw them part and walk away along the
pavement. It's all clear again.'
The 'Admiral' gave vent to a sigh of relief, and wiped the sweat from
his forehead, while Henricksen turned round and stared hard at the man,
still unable to see him.
'You get back to that peep hole right away,' he commanded gruffly, 'and
watch out for the police. Give us a signal when they're coming. I'm
afraid they may see the glare. Did you walk off with my shooter?'
Spolikoff denied the charge promptly. 'Here's my own,' he said. 'But
perhaps Ovanovitch took it; he has a way of borrowing things! I will go
and ask him.'
'You'll just get right off to that peep hole,' he was commanded.
'Ovanovitch can hand over the gun when he comes down. Should say he'll
not be long; that place upstairs don't take long clearing. My! won't
this be a haul! I've done the firm in for a thousand pounds already
during the past six weeks. Monday's their day for banking, and I reckon
we shall clear double the amount once we get this safe open. Get along,
Spolikoff. Now, Admiral, put your back to it; we've a long job before
us.'
David breathed more easily as Henricksen gave up for the moment his
quest for the revolver. Then he watched the two men creep into the tent
again, and drag the side curtain still more round them. He waited till
the glare of the flame once more reached his eyes, and then began to
slide along to the far side of the bookcase. Bang! crash! A volume which
had been resting unbeknown to him on the very edge of the desk toppled
over at the movement, and went to the floor with a thud. Henricksen and
his comrade darted from beneath their covering as if they had been shot.
'What was it? What was it?' the former asked breathlessly, evidently
scared by the noise. 'Something fell quite close to us. Look about.'
But that was just exactly what they found a difficulty in doing, for
they had again donned their smoked spectacles, and had had their flame
playing on the safe. However, the 'Admiral' dropped on to his knees and
went groping about the floor close to the desk till his fingers came in
contact with the fallen book. A low guffaw broke from him.
'Here's what's caused all the pother,' he laughed. 'In searching for
that shooter you must have just balanced the book on the edge of the
desk. Of course it went bang: it would do--just to scare us. Blessed if
these glasses don't bother a fellow. Even now I can't see a thing; it's
all feeling. But it's a book all right, no mistake about it.'
Another growl came from Henricksen: he hated such interruptions. True,
he had had to put up with them before in the course of his criminal
career, but he imagined that by now he was hardened. It angered him to
find himself so easily scared. For the moment, too, he was almost
suspicious; the strange disappearance of his revolver, coupled with the
fallen book, tended to alarm him.
'I'm jumpy to-night,' he told himself, with an oath. 'Fact is, if I am
ever to be taken I'd fifty times rather have it elsewhere, and not here
where I'm at home as it were. Come along, let's get to at the job; it'll
take a couple of hours to work round this lock.'
A couple of hours: then David had plenty of time before him. Should he
stay where he was, and not risk further movement till matters had
settled down a little?
To be absolutely candid regarding him, there was doubt in his mind on
this occasion, doubt engendered by fear of what might happen. And who,
remembering all the circumstances, could feel surprise? Where he was
there was security. He had already had it proved to him that the back of
the bookcase was an excellent hiding-place. Why not stay there in
safety, then? Why not wait a little and see what turned up?
'Bah!'--he could have kicked himself--'Funking, are you?' he almost
growled aloud. 'Putting your tail between your legs because you are
afraid of these men--afraid when you've got a revolver! Gurr!'
He flicked beads of perspiration from the corners of his eyes, and once
more squeezed stealthily along behind the case. Yet again he caught the
glare of the oxy-acetylene flame, while the gentle buzz of the jet
struck upon his ear. Another motor car passed in the street with a gurr
and a blast from its horn; then there was silence. David reached the
edge of the case, looked cunningly about him, and stole straightway to
the door. He turned to watch the glare, and caught a glimpse of the
'Admiral's' leg as it showed beyond the curtain. Then he stared into the
main portion of the store looking eagerly for Spolikoff, but without
success.
'Got to dodge him,' he told himself. 'Got to reach the door and give the
alarm. Supposing I do? What'll happen?'
He was now some fifteen paces from the office, and stood for a few
seconds considering the question. What would the burglars do once the
alarm was given, and Constable Hemming had placed his key in the lock
and thrown the door open?
[Illustration: BURGLARS AT THE STORE]
'It's as clear as daylight,' thought David. 'They'll run below right
away. Perhaps they'll shoot as they go. In any case, they'll be out and
away before the police can guess what they're doing. I've got to put a
stop to that.'
He stole forward again in the direction of the door, wondering what
course he ought to pursue; then, as if doubtful, he turned towards the
entry to the stairway leading to the basement.
'Why not?' he asked himself. 'I'll go down there and--'
His hair almost stood on end; his heart seemed to stop abruptly and his
muscles felt paralysed all in one brief second; for a figure was coming
towards him, a dusky figure, sidling silently across the floor; and in a
flash he recognised the man. It was Spolikoff, the Russian, sent by
Henricksen to keep watch and ward.