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“Don’t you get it, Vic?” chimed in Cardona. “I see the lay already. Barthue’s the peddler. He’s over here to grab the stuff when it’s handed to him.”

“I get it,” growled Marquette. “But just the same, Barthue ought to be a lead to the big shot.”

“Quite the reverse, old top,” chuckled Knight. “The head of the ring might he the lead to Barthue; but that makes it the other way about.”

“Which means we’ve got to watch for trouble at Wesdren’s. To cover anybody who shows up there.”

“Just so. I can assure you” — again the curled smile accompanied Knight’s words — “that when Jed Barthue receives stolen goods, the rascal promptly places himself beyond capture.”

MARQUETTE paced back and forth across the room. He was nodding his full understanding. He finally paused, seated himself again, and spoke in a decisive tone.

“Senator Releston went down to Washington, last night,” informed the secret service operative. “Caleb Wesdren left early this morning. I’m going this afternoon. I want you to go with me, Knight.”

“I shall he pleased to accompany you.”

“We’ll make an appointment with the senator and Wesdren for tomorrow. Then we’ll have a chance to look over the job that this fellow Jollister has done.”

“Who, may I ask, is Jollister?”

“An expert on safes and vaults. He just finished fixing Wesdren’s strong room.”

“The place that will house the models?”

“Yes. Maybe we’ll see Jollister when we’re down there. He’s somewhere around New York, at present. But he’s due in Washington. If Jollister—”

Marquette broke off. Someone was rapping at the door. Knight delivered a quizzical look as he spun the coin that he was holding in his hand. Then he stepped across the room and opened the door. A bell boy was standing in the hall.

“Mr. Jarvis Knight?”

The hell hop put the question in a rough tone. Knight eyed the fellow and noted his shifty eyes and nervous twitch. The uniformed attendant was Cady.

“I am Jarvis Knight.” The Englishman’s tone was deliberate, despite its slight gruffness. “Why did you come here?”

CADY had edged one hand to the sharp-cut vest of his bell hop’s uniform. He lifted an edge of the red cloth. His thumb pressed an object that hooked like a rounded badge.

Knight’s sharp eyes saw the motion. They recognized the imprint of the silver disk that Cady showed.

The badge was a coin; its surface the reverse side of an Indian rupee. Cady caught Knight’s glance.

Shifting, the fake bell hop hunched his belt. The badge went from view beneath the gaudy red vest.

“I ask you again” — Knight’s tone was gruff — “who told you to come here? I did not summon you—”

As he spoke, the sharp-faced Britisher opened his hand almost beneath Cady’s eyes. The bell hop saw the gleam of silver. He stared at the profile of the British monarch, on the obverse side of a silver rupee.

Knight gave the coin a slight flip. It turned over and showed the reverse which matched Cady’s badge.

The rat-faced arrival grinned; his lips lost their twitch.

“Brought up a message for you, sir,” informed Cady. He fumbled beneath his brass-buttoned coat. “Here it is, Mr. Knight. Thought maybe there might be an answer.”

Knight received the envelope that Cady proffered. Stepping back into the room, he tore open the flap and drew out a message, which he read carefully.

Cady, at the door, stared toward Vic Marquette and Joe Cardona, noticing them for the first time.

The fake bell hop met Vic’s gaze; but when his eyes turned to Joe’s, the nervous twitch reappeared on Cady’s face. For a moment, he appeared ready to bolt; then, with an effort, he held his ground.

“Any answer, Mr. Knight?”

The Englishman shook his head to Cady’s strained question. He glanced at the fake bell boy; then pointed toward the suit that he had taken off before Marquette and Cardona had arrived.

“Have this pressed at once,” he ordered. “Within the next half hour. Be prompt, my good fellow. I am packing shortly.”

Cady muttered a reply as he picked up the discarded clothing. The action gave him a quick out. He took it.

Knight followed Cady to the door and closed the barrier when the man had gone. Strolling back, he gave another spin to the rupee. It jounced from his fingers and bounded along the carpet to where Joe Cardona was seated. The detective picked up the coin and glanced at it.

“What’s this?” queried Cardona. “A shilling?”

“A rupee,” replied Knight, receiving the coin. “Worth a few pence more than a shilling. I happened to have it with me when I returned from India, where I operated with the C.I.D. I’ve carried it since; as a lucky piece, you know.”

Knight pocketed the coin, he swung briskly into a new subject: the matter of train times to Washington.

Marquette stated that he would be leaving at half past two. Knight glanced at the wrist watch that he was wearing; the one which he had picked up from the writing desk.

“The bally thing has stopped,” he remarked. “I must have forgotten to wind it. What time do you have?”

“Quarter past one,” replied Marquette, glancing at his own watch. “I’ll have to be packing, if I want to catch the two-thirty. Let’s go, Cardona. You’ll meet me on the train, Knight?”

“Positively.” Knight shook hands as he accompanied his visitors to the door. “It won’t take me long to pack, since I have scarcely unpacked for a starter. Goodbye, gentlemen.”

As soon as Marquette and Cardona had left. Knight pulled out the envelope that Cady had given him. He had thrust the message in his pocket after his first perusal. Seating himself at the writing desk, he gave it a more careful study.

The message was in code. It formed a cryptogram that consisted entirely of numbers, separated by dashes. Knight smiled as he studied the symbols. All the numbers were between one and twenty-six.

Drawing a pencil from his pocket, Knight began to make check marks through the message. He had not quite completed his task when he heard a cautious rap at the door. Hastily, Knight pocketed the message. He opened the door to find Cady back again, with the suit unpressed.

“Come in,” ordered Knight, abruptly. “Give me that suit. You blighter! Coming here so boldly!”

“I didn’t know Joe Cardona would be here,” pleaded Cady. “I hadn’t figured on nobody. Who was the other guy?”

“A secret service man named Marquette.”

“He looked like a Fed. Say, Jed, you’d better slip me that answer in a hurry. I don’t want to hang around here no longer.”

Knight glowered as he heard Cady’s words. He gripped the fellow by one arm and spat low, hissed words.

“Who told you to call me Jed? Listen, you idiot; I’m Jarvis Knight! Move along now. There’ll be no answer today.

“But the chief expects one—”

“Of course he does. Have him locate me in Washington. I’m going there this afternoon. I’ll send him an answer later. You know what was in that note you gave me, don’t you?”

“I don’t know the code; but it was something about Delka — that maybe he got off that boat — off the Zouave—”

“You say ‘maybe’?” Knight sneered. “Let me give you some real news. Delka did escape from the Zouave. He was here.”

“Passing himself as Knight?”

“Certainly. But I was wise enough to anticipate it. I had a fierce struggle with him. That is when you should have arrived, you dummy.”

“What happened to him?”

“I pitched him out the window!”

“Whew!” Cady stood openmouthed. “Say — you don’t mean that guy that they thought jumped off the roof—”