The suitcase, they pointed out, unquestionably had been provided for carrying away this Smith's share of the proceeds of the robbery, and its emptiness was conclusive evidence that he, in turn, had been cheated of that share and stabbed when he attempted to protest. To them, the police, the dead man simply was one crook the less to require their attention — and good riddance. Nor, to them, did he even provide one of their dearly beloved clues.
The government officers were not interested at all in the death or murder, except for its possible value as an indication of the gang's identity, presupposing that there was a gang that had turned the trick. The man's face and description were not on file at any police headquarters in the country and cabled inquiry abroad did not serve to identify him as a known or suspected criminal.
The Pinkerton operatives, acting directly for the bank and the Bankers' Protective Association, were, like the secret service men, far more interested in the recovery of the vanished treasure than in avenging the death of an unknown and, presumably, unimportant stranger, who probably had received only his just deserts.
So the main facts of the case were, and so they remained without a single illuminating ray of enlightenment at the end of a week after the discovery of the crime. Of course the police arrested a number of tramps, I. W. W.'s, ex-convicts and others known unfavorably to the force, but were forced reluctantly to let them go again, for lack of a single item of even police evidence that would warrant their further detention as suspicious characters. That is one of the annoyances of police administration under our puerile system of limiting the power of the guardians of our wealth and safety. Now in Russia—
Oh, yes, Stein reported daily to the officials of the Totem National that he was "making progress." But nothing whatever had been discovered to indicate the means taken by the thieves to enter or leave the vault or the bank building itself. The guards, regular and special watchmen, the patrolman on the beat, had seen nothing, heard nothing. All doors and locks were in perfect condition, as they had been left the night before the robbery. There were no signs of violence other than the dead body and the litter within the vault. No tool-marks, no finger-prints, no tampering with combinations, nothing that appeared in any way different from the way it should be.
The treasure had disappeared. The dead man's body had appeared.
That was all and it remained all.
Until—
Chapter V
"I came in for a little help, Tom," said Jim Carranaugh to.Tom Peiperson, head of the Seattle Advertising Service, as the big man entered his friend's office.
"Sorry, but I'm down to small change. If that will do you any—"
"It's not bracing you I am — this time. I want a little advice, maybe a little help into the bargain."
"Cheapest thing I know."
"I'm up against a queer sort of proposition."
"Let's have it."
"You noticed about that last shipment of gold from Skagway — two hundred thousand dollars' worth on the Bertha?"
"Yes. Saw it in the window of the Totem National. Now if they only would let me handle their advertising I'd—"
"Never mind about that now, Tom. If you can help me pull off this stunt I'll whack up more than all the banks in Seattle would spend for advertising in a year."
"That sounds reasonable. Proceed."
"Can you — will you keep mum if I tell you something that the newspapers would break their city editors' necks to get hold of?"
"I can and will."
"Listen: That two hundred thousand in gold, along with over eight hundred thousand more in money and securities, was stolen from the Totem National a week ago last night."
"What! Who? Stolen! When? I haven't seen a word about it in the papers. Where'd you get the story? Have they caught—"
" 'Cease firing.' The 'what' I've just told you. I'll give you details in a minute. The 'who' is for us to find out. You haven't seen anything about it in the papers for the very good reason that they neither know nor suspect anything about it — and are not apt to unless and until the thing is cleared up."
"Then how, where did you—"
"I've just come from an interview with old man Snedeker — president of the Totem, you know. He sent for me this morning, swore me to secrecy by every oath a banker knows and told me all about it. Seems Stein, the Pinkertons, and the secret service men have been working at the case for a week without finding the smell of a smell. Snedeker said he was disgusted with the whole outfit, had heard of the work I did in that 'Praxiteles' affair — I didn't interrupt to tell him that you did as much or more than I in clearing that up — and that if I could do as well in this case for him there'd be a cool fifty thousand in it for me — and no questions asked. I gathered that he meant he was much more anxious about the bank's recovering the money than about catching the thieves, though of course he wants them snagged too if possible. So it's up to us. Think of it, Tom! Fifty thousand bucks!"
"Sounds very luscious. But why the 'us'? Where do I come in?"
"Fifty-fifty with me. Or, better — twenty-five — twenty-five."
"But you're the only original Sherlock, Jim. I'm ready to tackle any problem in the advertising line, but when it comes to—"
"How about the 'Praxiteles' case?"
"That wasn't de-teck-eting. That was just advertising. You don't expect me to run a personal, do you, saying: 'The gentlemen who robbed the Totem National Bank will learn of something to their disadvantage if they will call at the office of James Carranaugh, Sleuth.'?"
"No-o-o. Not quite that."
" 'Not quite'! What in the name of the Chilkat gods do you expect me to do?"
"Nothing — that is, I want you to tell me. I thought you might be able to help me locate or find out something about a chap by the name of 'Samuel Smith,' who stopped at seven Seattle hotels one day last week."
"What's that? At seven hotels? Is this Smith a man or a convention?"
"That's one of the things that I don't know, that we have to find out. But he, or they, is, are — that is, were—"
"Give her more gas, Jim, your engine's missing fire."
"Don't josh, Tom. This is the biggest thing I've ever had a chance to tackle, one of the biggest ever pulled off on the Coast, and if I — we can make good before the government men, Pinkertons and police, our reputation's made, and with that reward we can buy that island in the South Seas and all—"
"Wait until you catch your hare. To return to this Samuel Smith — where does he come in?"
"He stopped at seven hotels—"
"So you said. That's unusual but not necessarily criminal."
"And they found him in the vault."
"Hold on! What's that? 'Found him in the vault'? I thought you said, a minute ago, that they hadn't caught anyone, didn't know who did it? If they've got him what's the use of—"
"They've got Smith all right — at the morgue. But that hasn't helped any — yet."
"At the — he's dead?"
"As dead as they make 'em. About eight inches of knife in his back."
"Better back 'way up, Jim, and tell me the whole story if you want me to help, if I can help you at all. It's beginning to get interesting."
"It'll get a heap more SO before we're through, or I miss my guess. Well, Snedeker told me—"
There is no need of repeating what Carranaugh told Peiperson of what Snedeker had told him.