SOLVED
Fay valued his liberty too highly to turn back and search for the reason
of the inaction of MacKeenon and Sir Richard Colstrom.
“This way,” he said to Saidee Isaacs as he pointed toward a
gravel-strewn roadway which wound around a red brick house. “Follow me
and we’ll work west where they can’t find us.”
“But—” she said, turning and looking back.
“No, come on! There may be a trick in the way they acted.”
She followed him reluctantly. The thought had come to her that they were
leaving something unanswered in the House of the Two Lions. She turned
for a second time and sought it out. It showed dark and unimposing
through the dew-laden branches of the trees.
Fay urged her on. Their progress after the girl’s second back glance was
a dodging one wherein he took every precaution. There were Bobbies
about. Sir Richard had the entire night force of Scotland Yard to
unleash upon their trail. The braying of the runners out of Vine Street
might be heard at any moment.
Finally, as they stopped by a fern-covered crescent, a whistle shrilled
which drove them into the shelter of a clump of box-wood. The silver
notes were repeated. They rang the air. They paled the girl’s olive
cheeks. She glanced eastward as if seeking protection from Sir Richard.
Turning toward Fay, she moved her lips inaudibly. He laughed with a
sudden thought. The danger was only fancied.
A four-wheeler with an ancient nag between the shafts, clattered around
a square. It drew up under a low arc light and took aboard a passenger
who replaced his whistle in the pocket of his mackintosh.
“Two blasts,” explained Fay, “brings a deep-sea cab. One—a hansom!”
She glanced up at a corner lamp and said:
“Kentwater Road! I’m not going any further!”
“Why?”
She turned and stared toward the east. “Do you remember Sir Richard
saying ‘Come here, Mac, come here?’”
“Yes, I do.”
“What did he mean by that? Why didn’t Mr. MacKeenon follow us? He
could.”
Fay hesitated. He went back over the scene in the great room where
Saidee Isaacs had switched off the lights. “Yes, he could,” he admitted
finally. “I wonder why he didn’t?”
Her hand grasped his overcoat sleeve. “I believe they found the
cipher-key! Don’t you see—they must have found it!”
“They found something more important than us.”
“We’re going back!”
“No! I don’t think we had better do that.”
“Yes we are, Chester. We’re going back and give ourselves up. Isn’t your
freedom less than the key to the cipher? Think what it will do to the
world. Think of the benefit of it.”
“I’d like to know,” he admitted, staring in the direction of the House
of the Two Lions. “I’d almost take a chance to find out.”
“Come on back. We’ll soon know. It’s the only thing to do, Chester.”
He felt her arm within his own. They retraced their steps. A motor car
with H.M.S. plates dashed swiftly by them. A second car turned into the
street upon which was the House of the Lions. It was evident that
something of moment had happened. Fay thought he recognized a familiar
figure in the tonneau of the first car. The man, whoever it was, held
the steady poise of a prime minister.
Fay stopped and drew Saidee Isaacs into the cove of a hedge. He glanced
out and south along the street upon which was the House of the Lions.
Three great motors stood there with their flaming electrics burning
cones of fire in the night. A figure in tweed passed up the stairway and
was admitted through the front door.
“That may have been the Prime Minister,” said Saidee Isaacs.
Fay stared upward at the leaden vault of the London sky. He was between
two minds. The House of the Lions might be a cunningly-baited trap of
the superior order.
“Come on, Saidee,” he said, throwing away his last resolve for safety.
“We’ll go in the house. We’ll see Sir Richard. If it’s a trap—they’ll
never give me another chance for a get-away.”
She thrust her hands in the pockets of her skirt and leaned toward him.
“I never knew Sir Richard to play false,” she said. “He’s too smart a
man to do anything like that. I don’t think we needed to run away.”
Fay arched his brows. He followed her down the sidewalk and turned with
her into the pathway which led to the House of the Lions. He stood on
the steps as she knocked lightly. The three motors were blocking the
road. Their chauffeurs were huddled in the front seats waiting for
orders. They all had the appearance of sincerity. Fay entered the door
after the girl.
Sir Richard beamed through the gloom of a half-illuminated hallway. “Ah,
my runaways!” he chuckled. “Come right in! We’ve company of note
tonight—a cracksman, a lady of class, a Prime Minister, an M. P. and the
Secretary of the Home Office. I want you to meet them, Fay. They are
terribly interested in how you found the secret of the German
dye-cipher. You should have stayed until the discovery,” he added with
cryptic smiling.
Fay allowed the girl to precede him through the doorway which opened
into the large room where stood three men who held themselves like
Empire-builders. These men stared curiously at Sir Richard as he
motioned for MacKeenon and the little Scotch detective to take places at
the door.
The chief of the investigation bureau rounded the table, drew up a chair
and sat down. He leaned forward and fastened upon Saidee Isaacs and Fay
the level scrutiny of a man who was vastly pleased with the turn of
affairs. He rubbed his hands and beamed upon the company. In some
manner, his strong jaw had softened. The bulges at the sides were not so
prominent.
“Germany,” he began speaking, “is checkmated. All that sad country knows
about making dyes shall now be known to England and America. The secret
is out!”
The smaller member of the group of three men, whom Fay surmised was the
Prime Minister who had fought Germany to a knock-out, stepped to the
table and threw back the lid of the nearest tin box. He brought forth a
sheet of paper between his steady, well-manicured fingers. He held it
out with a smile.
Sir Richard reached for this sheet as he darted a sly aside toward Fay.
“We have here,” said the chief, “an ordinary piece of fairly good
typewriting paper. It was made in Germany. It contains thirty-two lines
of letters—grouped three letters together. They read
‘aaahhhsssaaacccstopxxxgggssstttstopmmmwww’ and so on. It has long been
suspected that the cipher was written between the lines or on the back
of the sheets. No chemical reaction that we tried brought any
satisfactory result. We tried them all. It remained for chance to solve
the puzzle in a satisfactory manner.”
Sir Richard glanced at the cluster of lights that bathed the room in
white. He blinked and held out the sheet. He reached and picked up the
pair of tinted goggles which MacKeenon had brought from the stable.
“These glasses,” he said, “are not sufficiently opaque to answer the
purpose. Fay,” he added with a twinkle, “you are to be complimented on
your enterprise. You took that safe, in the country north and east of
here, like Haig took Cambrai. You held the secret. You lost it and
gained it again. You threw it away and then thought better of the matter
when you followed the cardsharper to see why he wore smoked-glasses. I
know why he wore them!”
“Why?” said Fay quickly.
“Because he’s a genius in his own peculiar line. I hope to have the
pleasure of sending him away sometime. With the kind of glasses he
wears, no man is safe in a friendly poker game.”
Fay stared at Saidee Isaacs. She crimsoned over the memory of the
thirty-odd pounds she had lost to Harry Raymond.
“I’d like to know how he does it?” she asked.
Sir Richard laid the sheet of paper on the table. He tossed the tinted
glasses to one side as he rose and pointed toward the snap-switch on the
wainscoting.
“Turn it off, Mac,” he said. “Put this room in complete darkness. Then
we’ll all see the answer to the puzzle. It was too simple for the best
cipher experts in the world to solve.”
The inspector reached upward and snapped off the switch. The room was
plunged into Stygian darkness. Fay widened his eyes and tried to make
out details. There was a glow from the side windows which gradually
brought out shadows.
“Come here, Chester,” commanded Sir Richard. “Come around the table and
stand by my side. Look over my shoulder and tell me what you see on the
paper. Keep yours eyes shaded with your hands to shut out all light.
Now, what d’you see?”
Fay rounded the table and glided to Sir Richard’s side. He leaned over
and strained his eyes as he stared blankly at the paper.
He saw nothing but fine black lines at first. He cupped his palms and
pressed them to his temples. He moved his head back and forth from the
page.
“Keep at it!” said Sir Richard with a positive chuckle.
Fay strained his glance. He saw then the first white glow of fire which
moved phosphorescently between the typed-lines. It steadied. It
disappeared. It came again—this time more prominently.
“Good God!” he exclaimed. “It’s there!”
“Yes,” said Sir Richard. “It is there! What do you make out between the
first and second line? Be careful, don’t touch the paper. That’s it—what
do you make out?”
“Werke-Maintz,” said Fay.
“Go on—it reads easy after your eyes accustom themselves to the dark.
What’s between the next lines of typing?”
“Der est.... Blau die.... Alizarine.... Sapphire.... H₂SO₄ ... HNO₃—”
“And the next?”
“Carbanthrene Blau...?”
“Yes, and indigo and all the fast colors are there. They are worked out
to the minutest details and formulae. They throw the field wide open to
the world. There will be no more secret dyes!”
Sir Richard grasped Fay’s right arm and continued:
“D’you see the trick, now? The trifle—lighter than any air? D’you see
what baffled the cipher experts of four countries for two years?”
“Yes, I see it, now,” said Fay. “The formulae are written in radium.”
“Radium salt, which is white, upon white paper!” blurted Sir Richard.
“The only way you could ever see it—is in the dark!”
Fay straightened his back. He tried to pierce the gloom in the direction
of Saidee Isaacs. He glanced down at the table. The sheet of paper had
been whisked away by Sir Richard, who placed it in the box.
MacKeenon switched on the light. The room was filled with dazzling
brilliancy. Sir Richard pointed to the sheath of cipher papers which
were piled in the tin containers.
“See anything there now?” he asked Fay.
The cracksman passed his hand over his eyes and stared at the topmost
sheet. The cipher-writing had vanished. The lines of letters, which had
been typed for a blind, alone showed.
“Now I know,” sad Fay, “how Ace-in-the-hole Harry worked the gulls on
the passenger boats. He wore heavy smoked glasses and marked the backs
of the cards with phosphor or luminous paint. It was the same thing as
putting the light out—as far as he was concerned.”
“The trifles!” chuckled Sir Richard. “You threw Mononsonburg’s key away.
Those glasses were thick enough and dark enough to read the writing on
the sheets in daylight. The secrets of the German dyes are written
between the lines by a fine pen dipped in radium salts.”
The Prime Minister drew out a flat watch and consulted it. He turned
toward two men high in the Government whom Sir Richard had called.
“Gentlemen,” he said, “we must be going. Sir Richard has entertained us
exceedingly. I’d sum the matter up by saying everything was tried except
putting out the light. But then, who would have thought of so simple a
thing as that?”
Sir Richard nodded to Saidee Isaacs.
“She thought of it!” he exclaimed. “The credit goes to her. I’ve no
doubt she thought she was helping a pal—but she did more than that.”
Fay thrust his hands into the side pockets of his coat and declared:
“You’re right, Sir Richard! That little lady did us a good turn. I don’t
see how Scotland Yard can get along without a woman inspector or two. I
never heard anybody say that a member of the fair sex would overlook a
trifle.”
The Prime Minister was in the act of placing his hat on his head. He
bowed, instead, and passed Saidee Isaacs as he stepped toward the door.
He was followed by the silent members of his Government. The door
remained open. The great motors throbbed with life. The clash of their
gears woke echoes in the house as they started away.
MacKeenon and the little old Scot remained in the doorway. They glanced
at Fay and the girl. Their eyes swung toward Sir Richard, who had seated
himself in the chair which was before the three cipher boxes.
Keen-sniffing, the two detectives waited for the order. A chain clicked
in the inspector’s side pocket. He shifted his weight to his right foot.
He glanced for a second time at Sir Richard.
“Mac!”
MacKeenon started and stood erect.
“Mac,” repeated Sir Richard. “Mac, you may take these three boxes, with
the cipher solved, over to the big safe in Scotland Yard. Give them to
Cragen, who will be responsible for them.”
The inspector hesitated and glanced at Fay.
“Go on, Mac!” said Sir Richard sternly. “Do what I say. You and Simpson
shall guard them over. Leave me alone with Fay and the girl. Shut the
door when you go out.”
Fay watched the two baffled Scots lift the tin boxes, cram them under
their arms and start down the hallway. The door slammed. MacKeenon, in
passing, had kicked it with his foot.
Saidee Isaacs bobbed her hat and flashed a glance at the door. She
turned and walked toward Sir Richard. She paused and stood in the center
of the room. The chief of the Criminal Investigation Division had
dropped his chin on his breast in an attitude of profound abstraction.
Fay softly moved to the girl’s side. The two remained silent and
thoughtful over the period of a long minute. They watched Sir Richard
like quick-witted children. Their eyes, although different in color,
contained the same steady stare.
“You were a fool,” suddenly said the chief without lifting his chin.
“You blundered and blundered and blundered, Fay. You did everything
wrong. And yet everything wrong came out all right in the end. I think
I’ll have to both condemn and praise you.”
Saidee Isaacs took one quick step toward the table. Fay stopped her with
a reaching arm. There was a quizzical smile on the cracksman’s face. He
had read Sir Richard aright.
“I think—” started the chief of the investigation division, “I think
that you are just a bad boy grown up.”
Sir Richard sat bolt upright. He leveled a steady finger across the
polished surface of the table.
“You’re a fool in a fool’s paradise. You can’t move contrary to fifty
million people, and get away with it. There is a place for such who
break the laws—a house with a Thousand Doors! What have you got to say,
Fay? Do you want to go back to Dartmoor—or do you square it?”
Fay reached upward, fingered his lapel and removed the little silver
greyhound. He tossed it to the table with a quick jerk of his wrist. He
stood with folded arms.
“I’m ready to go,” he said, “if you won’t trust me—, all the time!”
The chief’s eyes narrowed to slits of steel. His fingers reached across
the table and snatched up the insignia of the King’s couriers.
“Come here,” he said to Saidee Isaacs.
She glanced at Fay, then moved around the table and stood at Sir
Richard’s side.
“You may take this trifle of esteem and fasten it upon Chester’s lapel,
again,” the chief said. “We always have a place for men like him.”
Fay overheard the order and stepped swiftly forward.
“I’ll take it,” he said, “on one promise. Just one!”
“And what is that promise I’m to give?” asked Sir Richard smilingly.
“On your solemn word that you’ll trust me next time you send me out on a
mission.”
“My word for that, Chester. You’re too high-spirited to lead the life
you were leading. You’ll have your chance now. The war is over—peace has
been signed—but England and your country are just coming into their own.
Look at Mesopotamia and Arabia and Africa—look at Russia and the
Balkans. We’ve got to send men there for certain purposes. You’ll do
nicely! There’s no better commission in the world than the one I offer
you. It’s free-lancing!”
“I’ll take it,” said Fay.
Saidee Isaacs glided forward and pinned the little silver greyhound back
on his left lapel. She stepped away with her head thrown high.
Sir Richard leaned over the table. “There’s moderate expenses goes with
that,” he said. “Now you’ll be getting salutes from the Bow Street
runners instead of dodging them. Are you satisfied with the turn of
affairs?”
Fay smiled as he hooked his arm with Saidee Isaacs. “We’re going now,”
he said. “I’ll report tomorrow. I’ll be subject to your call in all
cases except putting men in prisons—I draw a line at that—Sir Richard.”
“Good-by!” boomed the chief. “Good-by, Saidee! See that he watches his
step!”
Fay opened the door and led her down the hallway. They stood on the
porch between the lions. They passed down the gravel walk.
Turning and glancing back, she said:
“Sir Richard is a gentleman!”
Fay raised his left hand and fingered the little silver greyhound. He
was silent as he led her northward and then toward the West End of
London. They both heard the chimes of Big Ben on the House of
Parliament. Its notes were striking over the housetops of the city.
They passed through deep aisles of yews and poplars and sturdy English
oaks. They reached Rose Crescent and the road which led to the river.
Their arms were linked as a policeman stepped out from a clump of
box-wood and eyed them intently.
Fay saluted with his left hand to his plaid cap. The “Bobby” stood with
his great red palms on his knees. He smiled slowly—broadly.
They vanished in the gloom of Rose Crescent—merged as one. The Bobby
sighed. He could not have drawn down a fairer picture of contentment had
he called upon the highest stars.
THE END