She looked at him, white to the lips.
“You did this… you did this to… to Ed!” she breathed, then turned and ran down the hall. From without came the sound of a racing motor, the clash of gears, and the sound of a machine speeding through the night.
At his desk Don G. Herman sat leering in thick lipped triumph, holding the note.
There followed a silence, a silence broken only by the clacking of the office clock as it measured the seconds of eternity. Out in the night a girl was racing to save me from a frame-up, beneath the window without there crouched a dog, ears cocked forward, teeth bared, waiting for a signal from his master to sink those teeth in the throat of the crook at the desk.
By an effort I controlled myself and waited while the minutes passed. Herman returned the note to the safe, chuckling the while.
There came once more the sound of a car. Don G. Herman arose to his feet and hurried to the outer door. There was a greeting, the triumphant laugh of the politician, and Big Front Gilvray swaggered into the office, followed by the political crook.
“Took it hook, line and sinker,” gloated Gilvray. “The big sap was holding Kemper in conversation while I slipped in, used the combination we’d picked up from the secretary, opened the safe and pulled out the jewel.”
Herman clapped his hand on his leg, laughing silently, his thick, spongy lips drawn clean back from his yellow fangs.
“And he’s supposed to be the master crook of them all. The sucker. The poor, doddering sucker. You’ve arranged to have the police tipped off?”
Gilvray nodded. “Sure. Let’s let him get it all in one jolt.”
“Let’s take a look at that sparkler. I’ve always wanted to see one of those famous boys.”
Gilvray took off his coat. Beneath his arm was a leather sack, and from this sack he produced a jewel case and opened it. There came the gleam of reflected light.
“Gosh!” exclaimed Herman, “look at the size of it!”
He reached for the case, took it in his hand, peered at the gem with greed stamped all over his features. His moon eyes closed once more and his face set in an expression of cunning avarice.
“Say, couldn’t we make more by holding this ourselves?”
Gilvray smiled. “I’d thought of that but it can’t be done. It’s no good right now to anyone but a collector, and our best bet is to turn it into cash. Remember that it was my er… er… customer that tipped me off to where it was. He’d know we were holding out on him if… SAY, FOR GOD’S SAKE LET ME SEE THAT GEM!”
The trained eye of the gem man had noticed something in the appearance of the jewel, even at that distance, in that uncertain light. He snatched it.
For along moment he said nothing. He didn’t need to. His jaw sagged, and the breath wheezed out of his lungs in one deep, despairing gasp.
Herman leaned forward, watching alternately the jewel and Gilvray’s face.
“Framed, by God!” exclaimed Gilvray after a minute.
Herman recovered his presence of mind first.
“Find Jenkins,” he said shortly. “Let’s hope he hasn’t been arrested yet. He’s probably in his apartment. If he stayed at the Kemper house he’d be pinched, and he may be wise enough to start to duck. It’s a long shot, but let’s go.”
Together they raced from the room.
I walked out from behind the desk and pulled a pad of blank promissory notes from my pocket. They were forms such as are sold in stationery stores in book form, the same sort as the note Herman had shown to the girl the night I first hid behind the desk. I’d managed to get a fair look at that note after he showed it to her.
I had a small, pocket edition of my safe opener with me. I hoped I wouldn’t have to waste time by going after the big one. With all the care of a physician listening to the heart of a wealthy patient I listened to the inner workings of that safe. First, however, I solved the mystery of the little switch near the floor. The safe was insulated, and I don’t know how many volts were running through it. There was a copper plate set in the floor in front of the safe and I figured an ordinary crook would be pretty well toasted after touching the metal knob of the safe.
Herman was a fairly slick crook. He was half-smart.
The safe opened after fifteen minutes, and I located the Chadwick notes ten seconds later. Cooly, calmly, I took them over to Herman’s desk. Carefully, I traced each one of them. The signatures I traced from one particular note. Handwriting experts can tell a traced signature because the signatures of any man are never exactly identical. When two signatures compare absolutely they are tracings. In order to make a real amateurish job of it I used a fine pencil to make the first tracing, and then went over it with ink. I can do nearly anything with a pen, and I let my hand jiggle just enough so that the pencil mark underneath would show under a good microscope. To the naked eye on casual inspection the notes looked good.
When I had finished I put the copies in the safe, closed the door and took the originals with me. I went out of the window and felt Bobo jumping on me in an ecstasy of joy. He’d been pretty nervous with all that scuffling and running of feet in the room above.
We went across to the car, climbed behind the wheel and headed back for Kempers. Helen Chadwick was waiting for me at the garage. When I switched out the lights she ran forward. The first intimation I had of her presence was when Bobo’s tail began to go slap, slap against my leg. A moment later I saw her standing white against the shadow of a hedge.
“Ed, oh, Ed,” she whispered.
I got out of the car and went to her.
“Oh, Ed I’m so sorry. I’m afraid I’m partly responsible. They’ve double-crossed you some way, and the police are coming. Herman… Herman said that he was sending you to jail.”
I reached out with my arm and she snuggled up against it, her face upturned. “Run, Ed. Run away and beat them to it. I came to warn you.”
I laughed a bit, and I could feel a catch in my throat with that laugh.
“Forget it, Helen. Let’s go to the house.”
Bobo whined uneasily, running to and fro in front of me. I knew his danger sign and dropped my arm from the girl’s shoulders. Somewhere down the road a siren whined, and then from the darkness behind there came a beam of light sharply outlining me.
“One move, Jenkins, and we shoot.”
I elevated my hands casually. After all they were going to go some if they got anything on me.
“Come on into the house, men,” said someone from the dark yard, and Loring Kemper walked out into the circle of light as casually as though he always sat up all night.
We trooped into the house, and from the way the cops surrounded and watched me I could tell that the Chief didn’t propose to have Ed Jenkins slip through his fingers. The phantom crook had acquired too great a reputation. The men had been ordered to shoot to kill at the first move, and they were itching for a chance. There where they were safe because of their numbers, each and every man of them wanted to be the first, wanted to be able to strut around as the man who had killed the famous Ed Jenkins. We walked into the library.
“Look at your safe, Mr. Kemper,” said the officer in charge, his voice deep, impressive and important.
Kemper led the procession upstairs. We watched him while he opened the safe and examined the contents.
“Everything’s in order,” he said simply as he straightened and turned to the officers.
A bomb dropped in their midst would not have caused greater consternation. At length one of them found his voice.
“Do you know that this man who has been imposing on your hospitality is the greatest crook in the United States?”