CHAPTER XXV
THE WATCHER IN BANK CHAMBERS
At about five o'clock that afternoon Inspector Bristol, who hadspent several hours in Soho upon the scene of the murder of theGreek, was walking along Fleet Street, bound for the offices of theReport. As he passed the court, on the corner of which stands abranch of the London County and Provincial Bank, his eye wasattracted by a curious phenomenon.
There are reflectors above the bank windows which face the court,and it appeared to Bristol that there was a hole in one of these,the furthermost from the corner. A tiny beam of light shone fromthe bank window on to the reflector, or from the reflector on tothe window, which circumstance in itself was not curious. Butabove the reflector, at an acute angle, this mysterious beam wasseemingly projected upward. Walking a little way up the court hesaw that it shone through, and cast a disc of light upon theceiling of an office on the first floor of Bank Chambers above.
It is every detective's business to be observant, and althoughmany thousands of passersby must have cast their eyes in the samedirection that day, there is small matter for wonder in the factthat Bristol alone took the trouble to inquire into the mystery--forhis trained eye told him that there was a mystery here.
Possibly he was in that passive frame of mind when the brain isparticularly receptive of trivial impressions; for after a futilesearch of the Soho cigar store for anything resembling a clue, hewas quite resigned to the idea of failure in the case of Hassan andCompany. He walked down the court and into the entrance of BankChambers. An Inspection of the board upon the wall showed him thatthe first floor apparently was occupied by three firms, two of themlegal, for this is the neighbourhood of the law courts, and thethird a press agency. He stepped up to the first floor. Past thedoors bearing the names of the solicitors and past that belongingto the press agent he proceeded to a fourth suite of offices.Here, pinned upon the door frame, appeared a card which bore thelegend--
THE CONGO FIBRE COMPANY
Evidently the Congo Fibre Company had so recently taken possessionof the offices that there had been no time to inscribe their titleeither upon the doors or upon the board in the hall.
Inspector Bristol was much impressed, for into one of the roomsoccupied by the Fibre Company shone that curious disc of lightwhich first had drawn his attention to Bank Chambers. He rappedon the door, turned the handle, and entered. The sole furnitureof the office in which he found himself apparently consisted ofone desk and an office stool, which stool was occupied by an officeboy. The windows opened on the court, and a door marked "Private"evidently communicated with an inner office whose windows likewisemust open on the court. It was the ceiling of this inner office,unless the detective's calculation erred, which he was anxious toinspect.
"Yes, sir?" said the boy tentatively.
Bristol produced a card which bore the uncompromising legend: JohnHenry Smith.
"Take my card to Mr. Boulter, boy," he said tersely. The boystared.
"Mr. Boulter, sir? There isn't any one of that name here."
"Oh!" said Bristol, looking around him in apparent surprise: "howlong is he gone?"
"I don't know, sir. I've only been here three weeks, and Mr.Knowlson only took the offices a month ago."
"Oh," commented Bristol, "then take my card to Mr. Knowlson; hewill probably be able to give me Mr. Boulter's present address."
The boy hesitated. The detective had that authoritative mannerwhich awes the youthful mind.
"He's out, sir," he said, but without conviction.
"Is he?" rapped Bristol. "Well, I'll leave my card."
He turned and quitted the office, carefully closing the door behindhim. Three seconds later he reopened it, and peering in, was intime to see the boy knock upon the private door. A little wicket,or movable panel, was let down, the card of John Henry Smith waspassed through to someone unseen, and the wicket was reclosed!
The boy turned and met the wrathful eye of the detective. Bristolreentered, closing the door behind him.
"See here, young fellow," said he, "I don't stand for those tricks!Why didn't you tell me Mr. Knowlson was in?"
"I'm very sorry, sir!"--the boy quailed beneath his glance--"buthe won't see any one who hasn't an appointment."
"Is there someone with him, then?"
"No."
"Well, what's he doing?"
"I don't know, sir; I've never been in to see!"
"What! never been in that room?"
"Never!" declared the boy solemnly. "And I don't mind tellingyou," he added, recovering something of his natural confidence,"that I am leaving on the 31st. This job ain't any use to me!"
"Too much work?" suggested Bristol.
"No work at all!" returned the boy indignantly. "I'm just herefor a blessed buffer, that's what I'm here for, a buffer!"
"What do you mean?"
"I just have to sit here and see that nobody gets into thatoffice. Lively, ain't it? Where's the prospects?"
Bristol surveyed him thoughtfully.
"Look here, my lad," he said quietly; "is that door locked?"
"Always," replied the boy.
"Does Mr. Knowlson come to that shutter when you knock?"
"Yes."
"Then go and knock!"
The boy obeyed with alacrity. He rapped loudly on the door, notnoticing or not caring that the visitor was standing directlybehind him. The shutter was lowered and a grizzled, bearded faceshowed for a moment through the opening.
Bristol leant over the boy and pushed a card through into the handof the man beyond. On this occasion it did not bear the legend"John Henry Smith," but the following--
CHIEF INSPECTOR BRISTOL C.I.D. NEW SCOTLAND YARD
"Good afternoon, Mr. Knowlson," said the detective dryly. "I wantto come in!"
There followed a moment of silence, from which Bristol divined thathe had blundered upon some mystery, possibly upon a big case; thena key was turned in the lock and the door thrown open.
"Come right in, Inspector," invited a strident voice. "Carter, youcan go home."
Bristol entered warily, but not warily enough. For as the doorwas banged upon his entrance he faced around only in time tofind himself looking down the barrel of a Colt automatic.
With his back to the door which contained the wicket, now reclosed,stood the man with the bearded face. The revolver was held in hisleft hand; his right arm terminated in a bandaged stump. Butwithout that his steel-gray eyes would have betrayed him to thedetective.
"Good God!" whispered Bristol. "It's Earl Dexter!"
"It is!" replied the cracksman, "and you've looked in at a realinconvenient time! My visitors mostly seem to have that knack.I'll have to ask you to stay, Inspector. Sit down in that chairyonder."
Bristol knew his man too well to think of opening any argument atthat time. He sat down as directed, and ignoring the revolverwhich covered him all the time, began coolly to survey the roomin which he found himself. In several respects it was anextraordinary apartment.
The only bright patch in the room was the shining disc upon theceiling; and the detective noted with interest that this markedthe position of an arrangement of mirrors. A white-covered table,entirely bare, stood upon the floor immediately beneath thismysterious apparatus. With the exception of one or two ordinaryitems of furniture and a small hand lathe, the office otherwisewas unfurnished. Bristol turned his eyes again upon the daringman who so audaciously had trapped him--the man who had stolen theslipper of the Prophet and suffered the loss of his hand by thescimitar of an Hashishin as a result. When he had least expectedto find one, Fate had thrown a clue in Bristol's way. He reflectedgrimly that it was like to prove of little use to him.
"Now," said Dexter, "you can do as you please, of course, but youknow me pretty well and I advise you to sit quiet."
"I am sitting quiet!" was the reply.
"I am sorry," continued
Dexter, with a quick glance at his maimedarm, "that I can't tie you up, but I am expecting a friend anymoment now."
He suddenly raised the wicket with a twitch of his elbow and,without removing his gaze from the watchful detective, criedsharply--
"Carter!"
But there was no reply.
"Good; he's gone!"
Dexter sat down facing Bristol.
"I have lost my hand in this game, Mr. Bristol," he said genially,"and had some narrow squeaks of losing my head; but having gone sofar and lost so much I'm going through, if I don't meet a funeral!You see I'm up against two tough propositions."
Bristol nodded sympathetically.
"The first," continued Dexter, "is you and Cavanagh, and Englishlaw generally. My idea--if I can get hold of the slipper again--oh! youneedn't stare; I'm out for it!--is to get the AntiquarianInstitution to ransom it. It's a line of commercial speculation Ihave worked successfully before. There's a dozen rich highbrows,cranks to a man, connected with it, and they are my likeliestbuyers--sure. But to keep the tone of the market healthy there'sHassan of Aleppo, rot him! He's a dangerous customer to approach,but you'll note I've been in negotiation with him already and amstill, if not booming, not much below par!"
"Quite so," said Bristol. "But you've cut off a pretty hefty chewnevertheless. They used to call you The Stetson Man, you used todress like a fashion plate and stop at the big hotels. Those daysare past, Dexter, I'm sorry to note. You're down to the skulkinggame now and you're nearer an advert for Clarkson than Stein-Bloch!"
"Yep," said Dexter sadly, "I plead guilty, but I think here'sCarneta!"
Bristol heard the door of the outer office open, and a moment laterthat upon which his gaze was set opened in turn, to admit a girlwho was heavily veiled, and who started and stood still in thedoorway, on perceiving the situation. Never for one unguardedmoment did the American glance aside from his prisoner.
"The Inspector's dropped in, Carneta!" he drawled in his stridentway. "You're handy with a ball of twine; see if you can inducehim to stay the night!"
The girl, immediately recovering her composure, took off her hatin a businesslike way and began to look around her, evidently insearch of a suitable length of rope with which to fasten up Bristol.
"Might I suggest," said the detective, "that if you are shortlyquitting these offices a couple of the window-cords neatly joinedwould serve admirably?"
"Thanks," drawled Dexter, nodding to his companion, who went intothe outer office, where she might be heard lowering the windows.She was gone but a few moments ere she returned again, carrying alength of knotted rope. Under cover of Dexter's revolver, Bristolstoically submitted to having his wrists tied behind him. The endof the line was then thrown through the ventilator above the doorwhich communicated with the outer office and Bristol was triced upin such a way that, his wrists being raised behind him to anuncomfortable degree, he was almost forced to stand upon tiptoe.The line was then secured.
"Very workmanlike!" commented the victim. "You'll find a largehandkerchief in my inside breast pocket. It's a clean one, andI can recommend it as a gag!"
Very promptly it was employed for the purpose, and InspectorBristol found himself helpless and constrained in a very painfulposition. Dexter laid down his revolver.
"We will now give you a free show, Inspector," he said, genially,"of our camera obscura!"
He pulled down the blinds, which Bristol noted with interest to beblack, but through an opening in one of them a mysterious ray oflight--the same that he had noticed from Fleet Street--shone uponthat point in the ceiling where the arrangement of mirrors wasattached. Dexter made some alteration, apparently in the focus ofthe lens (for Bristol had divined that in some way a lens had beenfixed in the reflector above the bank window below) and the discof light became concentrated. The white-covered table was movedslightly, and in the darkness some further manipulation wasperformed.
"Observe," came the strident voice--"we now have upon the screenhere a minute moving picture. This little device, which is notprotected in any way, is of my own invention, and proved extremelyuseful in the Arkwright jewel case, which startled Chicago. It hasproved useful now. I know almost as much concerning thearrangements below as the manager himself. In confidence, Inspector,this is my last bid for the slipper! I have plunged on it. MadameSforza, the distinguished Italian lady who recently opened anaccount below, opened it for 500 pounds cash. She has drawn aportion, but a balance remains which I am resigned to lose. Hermotor-car (hired), her references (forged), the case of jewels whichshe deposited this morning (duds!)--all represent a considerableoutlay. It's a nerve-racking line of operation, too. Any hour ofthe day may bring such a visitor as yourself, for example. In short,I am at the end of my tether."
Bristol, ignoring the increasing pain in his arms and wrists, turnedhis eyes upon the white-covered table and there saw a minute andclear-cut picture, such as one sees in a focussing screen, of theinterior of the manager's office of the London County and ProvincialBank!