CHAPTER XI
ESPIONAGE AT CLOSE RANGE
CASHING a modest check at the Colonial bank one morning, Trent hadfallen in line with a queue at the paying teller's window. He made it apoint to observe what went on while he waited. He was not muchinterested in bank robberies. To begin with the American Bankers'Association is a vengeful society pursuing to the death such as mulctits clients. Furthermore, a successful bank robbery, unless the work ofan inside man, needs careful planning and collaboration.
On this particular morning Trent saw a stout and jocund gentleman pushhis check across the glass entrance to the cashier's cave and receivedwithout hesitation a large sum of money. He passed the time of day withthe official, climbed into a limousine and was whirled up Broadway.
"Did yer see that?" a youth demanded who stood before Trent.
"What?" he asked quietly. It was not his pose to be interested in otherof the bank's customers.
"That guy took out twenty thousand dollars," the boy said, reverence inhis tone.
"That's a lot of money," said Trent.
"He lives well," said the lad. "I ought to know, he gets his groceriesfrom us and he only eats and drinks the best."
"He looks like it," the other said genially. If the stout and jocundgourmet had known what was in Trent's mind he would have hied him backto the bank and redeposited his cash. "It's Rudolf Liebermann, isn'tit?"
"That's Frederick Williams, and he lives on Ninety-third, near theDrive."
What additional information Trent wanted to know might be obtained fromother than this boy. To make many inquiries might, if Frederick Williamswere relieved of his roll, bring back the incident to the grocer's boy.
Directly dusk fell Anthony Trent, in the evening garb of fashion,crossed over to Riverside Drive and presently came to the heroic statueof Jeanne d'Arc which stands at the foot of Ninety-third Street. By thistime he knew the license number of the Williams' limousine and theaddress. It was one of those small residences of gray stone containing adozen rooms or so. Such houses, as he knew, were usually laid out on asimilar plan and he was familiar with it.
It was very rarely that he made a professional visit to a house withouthaving a definite plan of attack carefully worked out. This was thefirst time he sought to gain entrance to a strange house on the merechance of success. But the twenty thousand dollars in crisp notestempted him. In his last affair he had netted this sum in notes of asimilar denomination and he was superstitious enough to feel that thisaugured well for to-night's success.
Careful as ever, Trent had made his alibis in case of failure. In one ofhis pockets was a pint flask of Bourbon, empty save for a dram ofspirit. In another was a slip of paper containing the name of thehouse-holder who occupied a house with the same number as that ofWilliams, but on Ninety-fifth Street. Once before he had saved himselfby this ruse. He had protested vigorously when detected by a footmanthat he was merely playing a practical joke on his old college chum wholived, as he thought, in this particular house, but was found to be onthe next block. And in this case the emptied whiskey flask and thecheerful tipsiness of the amiable young man of fashion--Trent's mostsuccessful pose--saved him.
In his pockets nothing would be found to incriminate him. He knew wellthe folly of carrying the automatic so beloved of screen or stageRaffles. In the first place, the sudden temptation to murder in a tightpinch, and in the second the Sullivan law. In the bamboo cane, carefullyconcealed, were slender rods of steel whose presence few would suspect.He had left such a cane in Senator Scrivener's Fifth Avenue mansion whenhe was compelled to make an unrehearsed exit. Once he met the Senatorcoming down the steps of the Union Club with this cane in his hand. Hechuckled to think what might be that worthy's chagrin to know he hadbeen carrying burglar's tools with him.
As there was little light on the lower floor of Frederick Williams'house, Trent let himself in cautiously. There was a dim hanging lightwhich showed that the Williams idea of furnishing was in massive badtaste. At the rear of the hall were the kitchens. Under the swingingdoor he could see a bright light. The stairs were wide and did notcreak. Carefully he ascended them and stood breathless in a foyerbetween the two main reception-rooms. There were voices in the rearroom, which should, if Williams conformed to the majority of dwellers insuch houses, be the dining-room. Big doors shut out view and sound untilhe crept nearer and peeped through a keyhole. He could see Williamssitting in a Turkish rocker smoking a cigar. There were two other menand all three chattered volubly in German. Unfortunately it was a tongueof which the listener knew almost nothing. Reasonably fluent in French,the comprehension of German was beyond him. There was a small safe inthe corner and it was not closed. Trent felt certain that in it reposedthose notes he had come for.
In the corner of the foyer was a carven teakwood table with a glass top,and on it was a large Boston fern. It would be easy enough to crouchthere unobserved. The only possibility of discovery was the remotecontingency that Williams and his friends might choose to use thisfoyer. But Trent had seen that it was not furnished as a sitting-room.
He had barely determined on his hiding place when he found the suddennecessity to use it. Williams arose quickly and advanced to the door.When he threw it open the path of light left the unbidden one completelyobscured. The three men passed by him and entered the drawing-room infront. Trent caught a view of a luxuriously overfurnished room and agrand piano. Then Williams began to play a part of a Brahms sonata sowell that Trent's heart warmed toward him. But his appreciation of themaster did not permit him to listen to the whole movement. He creptcautiously from his cover and into the room the three had just vacated.If there were other of Williams' friends or family here Trent might becalled upon to exercise his undoubted talents. One man he would nothesitate to attack since his working knowledge of jiu-jitsu was beyondthe average. If there were two, attack would be useless in the absenceof a revolver. But if the coast were clear--ah, then, a competence, allthe golf and fishing he desired. There would be only the Countess todeal with at his leisure.
The room was empty, but _the safe was closed_! Williams was not devoidof caution. A glance at the thing showed Trent that in an uninterruptedhalf hour he could learn its secrets. But he could hardly be assured ofthat at nine o'clock at night. His very presence in the room was fraughtwith danger. The one door leading from it opened into a butler's pantryfrom which a flight of stairs led into the kitchen part of the house.Downstairs he could hear faucets running. A dumbwaiter offered a way ofescape if he were put to it. To the side of the dumbwaiter was azinc-lined compartment used for drying dishes. It was four feet long andthree in height and a shelf bisected it. This he took out carefully andplaced upon the floor of the compartment, making an ample space forconcealment. A radiator opened into it, giving the heat desired, and twoiron gratings in the doors afforded Trent the opportunity to overhearwhat might be said. He satisfied himself that the doors openednoiselessly. The burglar's role was not always an heroic one, he toldhimself, and thought of the popular misconception of such activities.
It must have been an hour later when he heard sounds in the adjoiningroom. By this time he was fighting against the drowsiness induced bythe heat of his prison.
The swinging door between the butler's pantry and the dining-room wasthrown open and Williams came in. He leaned over the staircase andshouted something in German to some one in the kitchen, who answered himin the same tongue. There was the sound below of locking and bolting thedoors. The servants had evidently been sent to bed.
When Williams went back to the other room the door between did not swingto by four or five inches. So far as Williams was concerned thiscarelessness was to cost him more than he guessed. Even in his hidingplace the conversation was audible to Trent, although its meaning wasincomprehensible.
He was suddenly awakened to a more vivid interest when he became awarethat it was now English that they were talking. There was a newcomer inthe room, a man with a nasal carrying voice and a prodigious brogue.
"This, gentlemen," he heard Williams say, "is Mr. O'Sheill, who has doneso much good work for us and for the freedom of oppressed, starving,shackled Ireland, which we shall free. I may tell Mr. O'Sheill that thehighest personages in the Fatherland weep bitter tears for Ireland'swrongs."
"That's all right," said the Sinn Feiner a trifle ungraciously, "butwhat's behind yonder door?"
For answer one of the other men flung it open, turned up the lights andpermitted Mr. O'Sheill to make his examination. Trent heard the man'sheavy tread as he descended the stairway and found at the bottom alocked door.
"You've got to be careful," O'Sheill said when he rejoined Williams andthe rest. "These damned secret service men are everywhere, they tellme."
"That is why we have rented a private house," one of the Germansdeclared. "At an hotel privacy is impossible. We have had ourexperiences."
These scraps of conversation aroused Anthony Trent immediately. Itrequired only a cursory knowledge of the affairs of the moment for aduller man than he to realize that he had come across the scent of oneof those plots which were so hampering his government in theirprosecution of the war. Very cautiously he crawled from his hiding placeand made his silent way to the barely opened door.
O'Sheill was lighting a large cigar. His was a suspicious, dour face.Williams, urbane and florid, was very patient.
"That I do not tell you the names of my colleagues," he said, "is of nomoment. It is sufficient to say that you have the honor to be in thepresence of one of the most illustrious personages in my country." Herehe bowed in the direction of a small, thin, dapper man who did notreturn the salutation.
"I came for the money," said O'Sheill.
"You came first for your instructions," snapped the illustriouspersonage coldly.
"That's so, yer Honor," O'Sheill answered. There was something menacingin the tone of the other man and he recognized it.
"This money," said Williams, "is given for very definite purposes and anaccounting will be demanded."
"Ain't you satisfied with the way I managed it at Cork?" O'Sheilldemanded.
"It was a beginning," Williams conceded. "Here is what you must do:Wherever along the Irish coast the English bluejackets and the Americansailors foregather you must stir up bad blood. I do not pretend to giveyou any more precise direction than this. Let the Americans understandthat the British call them cowards. Let the British think the same ofthe Yankees. Let there be bitter street fights, not in obscure drinkingdens, but in the public streets in the light of day. I will see to itthat the news gets back here and let Americans have something to thinkabout when the next draft is raised. Find men in England to do what youmust do in your own country. Let there be black blood between Briton andAmerican from Belfast to Portsmouth. Let there be doubt andrecrimination so that preparations are hindered here."
The man who passed as Williams looked venomous as he said this. The manto whom he spoke, thinking in his ignorance that he was indeed helpinghis native land instead of hurting it, and forgetful that in aiding theenemies of America he was stabbing a country which had ever been afaithful friend of Erin's, gave particulars of his operations whichTrent memorized as best he might. He was appalled to hear to what lengththese men were prepared to go if only the good relations between theAllies might be brought to naught.
So engrossed was he with the importance of what he heard that thepassing of the large sum of money from Williams to the Sinn Feiner lostmuch of its entrancing interest. Trent meant to have the money, but heintended also to give the Department of Justice what help he could.
It was not the first time that he had gone from one floor to another bymeans of a dumbwaiter. It was never an easy operation and rarely anoiseless one. In this instance he was fortunate in finding well-oiledpulleys. It was only when he stepped out in the kitchen that he ran intodanger. There was a man asleep on a folding bed which had been drawnacross the door. To leave by the front door immediately was imperative.Even were it possible to leave by a rear entrance he would find himselfin the little garden at the back and could only get out by climbing adozen fences. This would be to court observation and run unnecessaryrisks.
To invite electrocution by killing men was no part of Anthony Trent'spractice. It was plain that the servant was slumbering fitfully and theact of stepping over him to freedom likely to awaken him instantly. Evenif he had the needed rope at hand binding and gagging a vigorous man wasat best a matter of noise and struggle. But something had to be done. Hemust reach the street in time to follow O'Sheill.
Superimposed on the bed's frame was a mattress and army blanket.Directly behind the sleeper's head was a door which led, as Trent knewfrom his knowledge of house design, to the cellar. It opened inward andwithout noise. He bent quietly over the man, put his hands gentlybeneath the mattress and then with a tremendous effort flung him,mattress, army blanket and all, down the cellar stairs. There was aclatter of breaking bottles, a cry that died away almost as it wasuttered, and then the door was shut on silence.
* * * * *
A little later Williams, feeling the need for iced beer and cheesesandwiches, rang the bell for Fritz. When he received no answer hedescended to the kitchen with the intention of buffeting soundly a manwho could so forget his duties to his superiors. Mr. Williams found onlythe bare bed. Fritz, with his bedding, had disappeared.
A front door unlocked when instructions had been exact as to thenecessity of its careful fastening at all hours, brought uneasyconjectures to his mind. It was only so long as he and his companionswere invested with the immunity of neutrality that he was of value tohis native land. Of late he had been conscious of Secret Serviceactivities.
Obedient to his training, Williams instantly reported the matter to thethin, acid-faced man under whose instructions he had been commanded toact.
"They have taken Fritz away," he cried.
"Who?" demanded his superior.
"The Secret Service," said Williams wildly. He was now beginning toascribe aggressive skill to a service at which he had formerly sneered.
Going down to the kitchen, they were startled by a feeble cry from thecellar. There they discovered the frightened Fritz, cut about the facefrom the bottles he had broken in his fall. His injuries gave him lessconcern than the admission he had slept at his post. He was, therefore,of no aid to them.
"I do not know," he repeated as they questioned him. "There must havebeen many of them. One man alone could not do it."
The thin man turned to Williams: "This O'Sheill is in danger. Armyourself and go to his hotel. It will go badly with you if harm comes tohim."