Then there sounded the voice of a man with authority, and a sergeant came down the hall. He had arrived a little late, apparently, but there was something in his bearing which showed the importance he gave the case.
“Thelma!” he shouted. “Are you all right, Thelma?” and there seemed more than mere anxiety in his voice.
Then she spoke, that girl on the sofa — the girl with the mole, the girl I knew as Maude Enders.
“Jake a million,” she said. “Get the men out of here while I put some clothes on.”
She was sitting up on the couch, and there was an end of the couch cover which she was holding up beneath her chin. The officers had been so excited over capturing me, over the tumbled mass of jewelry which had come from the safe, that they had hardly noticed her.
“Benny’s on the floor,” she went on, “and he’s been pretty badly done up. Get the men out. I’m a sight.”
The sergeant snapped out crisp orders, and the men left the room, taking me with them. The girl said something else I could not catch, and the sergeant bawled out another order. “Hold that bird, Jenkins. Don’t take him to the wagon,” he said.
Thereafter the door banged shut and I could hear nothing other than the excited comments of the policemen who had staged the raid, a summary of my past crimes, speculation as to whether or not I had committed the murder, and puzzled comment on the fact that I had not tried to escape when I heard the siren.
I said nothing.
The law had me in its toils. I could not even make a defense. The truth could never be told. Any story I might try to make stand up before a jury would be instantly ridiculed when the prosecutor showed the string of convictions after my name. Society damned me, just as I damned society. Laws were made for the protection of the innocent, not to insure a fair trial for a crook.
And then the door was thrown open and the sergeant snapped an order, as crisp as the rattle of a machine gun.
“Jenkins, there — turn him loose and send him in here, alone. Alone, mind you; then go through the house and keep out of this room until I call you.”
In wondering silence the men complied with his orders. Their responsibilities ceased when I went through that door, but they took good care that I did go through it. I was covered by no less than three shotguns as I went into the room.
The door banged shut and I noticed the girl with the mole sitting still on the edge of the sofa, some other clothes around her, and some of her old ones pinned up. The man with the battered face was laying back on the sofa. Behind the desk, in the chair where Icy-Eyes had sat, there was the sergeant, and his keen gray eyes went over my every feature.
“Jenkins,” he said crisply, “you are a wonder. We can’t follow your every move in the whole thing, but you have done us all a great service.
“As you probably have surmised, Thelma here is a police ‘lure,’ a girl who has gone from the night life to helping the police. This was the toughest job we have ever had to tackle. No one knew of her identity as a tool of the police other than the Weasel. We suspected that he had warned you, but others suspected him as well of having interests against the interests of this crime ring, and he was killed.
“This man,” with a gesture toward the crumpled corpse of Icy-Eyes, “was the greatest criminal of modem times. He had unlimited financial resources, and he organized a regular crime syndicate. He got his start through bootlegging, and whatever else prohibition may have done, either of good or bad, it has certainly made it easy for the criminal classes to organize, to get funds for their war on society. This man had a genius for organization and for discipline, and he recognized the weakness of crooks in general. He wielded absolute power, and he knew no limits. He took the whole composite mass of crookdom and organized it. He had fences on a salary, gem cutters, even owned jewelry stores. Thelma and Benny got the dope. Thelma made the contact and got Benny into the game.
“But all the time you kept butting in. Twice Thelma tipped us off to give you a free hand, just in the nick of time, and the police facilitated your escape instead of hindered it. Several times you did us good turns. All of the time Thelma was collecting lists of names, places and properties. Now we can crush out the whole thing.
“What you have done tonight, and why, is known to but three of us aside from yourself, and those whom you took into your confidence. As far as the department is concerned, there will never be so much as a whisper. Are you satisfied?”
I looked at their faces.
“I am free to go?”
He nodded. “Not only that, but the police are going to be more friendly with you. We have seen something of what you are up against. If you want to come on the force as a secret operative there will be an opening.”
I shook my head, but said nothing. I would not hurt the feelings of Thelma, the police lure, by saying ill of her profession. Each man to his taste.
“Thanks,” I said. “I’ll be going.”
He extended his hand.
“Here’s to a brave man,” he said, and his eyes were two shining points of light as his hand clasped mine.
There came a tumble of feminine charm, of fluttering silk, and then two bare arms went around my neck, and two warm lips pressed to mine.
“That’s my tribute,” said the girl with the mole, and then, half hysterically, she grabbed a handkerchief and began daubing at my mouth.
“My lips came off,” she giggled, “and you’re going to see her tonight — this morning. It would never do to have my mouth plastered on your face.”
It was indeed morning.
I stepped to the door and looked at the sergeant.
He nodded, threw it open, and escorted me to the battered outer door.
“Boys,” he said, “the department has nothing on Ed Jenkins, nothing at all. Good morning, Jenkins.”
I walked down the steps, on to the cement walk. Dawn was breaking. A rooster crowed somewhere in the distance. Behind me I saw the startled faces of half a score of policemen and detectives.
“The Phantom Crook — through our fingers again!” exclaimed a voice behind me. “How did he do it?”
They never knew the answer.
I strolled out into the crisp air as casually as a banker taking an early morning constitutional.
They were sitting up for me at Kemper’s house, and there was a chorus of relieved exclamations when I came walking in.
My taxicab was waiting outside, but, somehow I sensed I should not mention the fact. The driveway to the garage was a distance back from the house.
I smiled at the girl.
“It’s finished, Helen. The paper is destroyed and Icy-Eyes has been paid in full of account.”
Her eyes were big, luminous.
“Ed,” she said, slowly, “you stayed behind to get that paper. I didn’t think of it at the time. How did you escape the police?”
I rubbed the back of my hand over my lips.
“Easy,” I grinned, “the detectives were kissing me when I left.”
Kemper laughed, but his wife watched me narrowly.
I fancied I saw a slight shudder come over the girl’s face.
“Ed… Ed — tell me — did you poison him?”
I shook my head.
“Poison would have been too good for him, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. It was sort of sneaky. However, there wasn’t any need for it. I planted a green dye in those needles, and knew that the note would do the rest. You see I know crooks, and I knew that the gems would be delivered to him at the place where he kept his other gems, knew that no one except him would have the time to take a small wrench and take out the crown, knew that when he was pricked and saw that note, he would spill the beans. I understand the psychological processes of crooks and knew that as soon as the men he had associated with him realized he was doomed, they would set on him like wolves, and that he would go down before the pack.