"One is as safe in the jungle as in New York," he said. "I have told you, gentlemen, that I am always prepared for a strange fate. It could overtake me here, in this house, as well as in a foreign clime. That is one of the oddities of life.
"The parachute jumper dies from a fall down a short flight of steps. The man who catches rattlesnakes, dies from the bite of a mad poodle. It has been so always. Achilles, famous warrior, was slain from an arrow shot in the heel. Pyhrrus, the great general, perished from a tile which a woman dropped upon his head."
As the conversation continued, Doctor Savette found himself taking an increased interest in Lamont Cranston's statements. The man talked impressively and many of his words were interpreted by the physician in an unusual way.
As the guests began to depart, Savette lingered. He had been hearing many chance remarks that indicated Cranston's great wealth. He was loath to leave.
At last, Savette was the only guest who remained. Reluctantly, he turned to send a servant for his hat. It was then that Cranston restrained him.
"I forgot that you arrived late, doctor," he said. "On that account, you were not here when I showed my friends my den. It will be disarranged tomorrow. Can you wait a few minutes — long enough to view it? I can assure you that you will find it interesting."
"Certainly," said Savette.
Cranston led the way to a back room on the second floor. Despite his sophistication, Savette was astonished at the sight before him.
Lamont Cranston had collected many curios. Hunting spears from the Amazon; tiger heads from India; odd tapestries from China. The den was a veritable museum; but it possessed unusual features which impressed Savette.
Every object had a history. This tapestry had hung in the imperial palace at Peking. This lota bowl was the gift of a Hindu fakir in Benares. That rifle was a present from a squat Boer who had carried it against the British in South Africa. Skins, rugs, silken ropes — all were spread about the room in abundance.
"Marvelous!" exclaimed Savette, as he listened to Cranston's brief explanations of what the objects signified.
"Marvelous, tonight — yes," declared Cranston. "Tomorrow — just so many more items in storage. That is my one regret, doctor. I hate to see these objects put away."
"I do not blame you."
Cranston detected a glow in the physician's eyes. He became thoughtful; then spoke in a quiet tone.
"Perhaps you would like to keep some of these trifles," he said. "If so, you are welcome to any of them for which you may have a place."
"I could not think of it!" exclaimed Savette.
"Why not?" asked Cranston.
"I would be responsible for their safety," rejoined the physician. "Suppose that something happened to them while—"
"What of it?" Cranston's tone was careless. "Something might happen to them in storage. Particularly the skins and rugs. I would prefer to leave them with someone like yourself. Someone who would appreciate them.
"I have had several friends in mind, but, unfortunately, all are out of town. These guests of mine tonight wealthy, but not appreciative. They buy what they want. Let them. You are the only one who has expressed real admiration for these objects."
Cranston pressed a button on the wall. His valet came to the room.
"Richards," said Cranston, "where did you leave that large empty box. The heavy one, you know—"
"In the downstairs hallway, sir," responded the valet.
"Come along," suggested Cranston to Savette. "I have the very thing we need." He led the physician to the hall below. There, at the rear of the hallway, stood a large box with a door-like front, triple-locked with padlocks. Cranston thumped it in and out to show its solidity.
"This is the very thing," he said. "I am serious, doctor. I would consider it both a favor and an honor if you would provide a comfortable home for some of my rugs and skins. Add a few of the more interesting trophies if you wish.
"I am going away for a long time. I may never come back. I attach no strings to my offer.
"When I return from my present trip, I shall have a supply of new curios that will be larger than the old collection. Larger and of more recent interest."
"You are leaving for two years?" asked Savette.
"Possibly," said Cranston. "It might interest you to know my method, doctor. Many persons have wondered how I manage my affairs while I am away. It is very simple." He leaned against the box, and pointed upward, toward the second floor.
"When I leave here," he said, "the only luggage that I carry is a large, heavy portmanteau suitcase. I do not know whether I am going to the tropics or the frozen north. I buy the articles I need — trunks and all when I reach my destination. I dispose of them before I return, so I have no more baggage returning than going.
"My suitcase contains some pet objects, of course my favorite revolver, a few books, other articles that I am sure to need, and may not be able to obtain where I am going. More important, however, are my drafts and negotiable funds. I carry a supply of gold, of course. All that refers to my traveling affairs.
"But my affairs here in New York are so arranged that I can conduct them as I choose. My resources are very large. I have an old family lawyer — a lolling, stupid fellow — who is just the man I require. He knows nothing, except how to follow directions.
"If I make out checks and mail them to New York or elsewhere, they are honored as if I were here. I, alone, know where I keep my accounts. If I notify my lawyer to deliver securities or other valuables, he does as I tell him. Thus I can watch the rise and fall of the market, no matter where I am, and act accordingly."
"Then you really rely on no one," said Savette. "That is, upon no one but yourself?"
"No, indeed," corrected Cranston. "I sometimes write to friends. For instance, I might write to you and to Bartram, my lawyer, at the same time. My letter to you would request you to obtain one hundred shares of a certain stock from Bartram, to sell them on a certain day, and to deposit the money to my account in a certain bank."
"And Bartram would give me the stocks?"
"Certainly, when you identified yourself. My letter to him would verify that. He is just an office boy. I keep him" — Cranston laughed — "chiefly to be on hand to settle my estate if I should die while I am away."
"Remarkable!" exclaimed Savette.
"Remarkable, but very simple," said Cranston. "I like to do things my own way. One time, in San Francisco, I met an old schoolmate who needed twenty-five thousand dollars. The bank would grant him the loan if he had security. So I wired Bartram to send him forty thousand dollars' worth of certain bonds. Bartram had never heard of the man. That did not matter. He sent the bonds."
"Amazing!" said Savette. "I should think that you would be beset by swindlers—"
"Never," said Cranston. "I do not speak of my affairs to crooks, doctor. In fact, you are one of the very small number of persons who know anything at all about my methods. I have a complete record of my assets in my suitcase.
"Right now" — Cranston spoke calmly — "I could raise three million dollars, through my banks and through Bartram. All on the strength of my signature, by mail."
"Have you experienced any losses through this loose system?"
"It is not a loose system. It is a tight one. I know my own affairs. I keep my own records. I lend money, I trust people. I use good judgment.