“It’s only half finished.” Knight pounced upon the numbered sheet and crumpled it. “You will have to come back later. Just when, I can’t say. Inform Clink of the complication. Hurry, fellow, hurry!”
Knight had fully aroused himself. He opened the door and pushed Cady into the hall. The rat-faced bell boy scurried along the corridor. A few seconds after he was out of sight, Marquette appeared from the other end of the hall. Knight waved a greeting.
Marquette entered the Englishman’s room. Knight was still holding his crumpled, uncompleted note. He tossed it into the wastebasket, motioned Marquette to a chair and went into the bedroom to dress.
Ten minutes later, Knight returned. He found Vic standing by the window. The secret service operative seemed pleased by the quickness that Knight had shown.
“We’ll snatch a cup of coffee,” declared Marquette. “Then we’ll head for Wesdren’s. We ought to be there by eleven. That’s why I wanted you to be ready at ten-thirty sharp.”
“I overslept,” said Knight. “A comfortable hotel, this. Well, old fellow, let’s be on our way.”
IT was ten minutes after eleven when a taxi pulled up in front of a massive brownstone mansion in the Northwest district. Marquette and Knight alighted. They ascended the steps, rang the bell, and were ushered into a huge hallway.
“Jove!” exclaimed the Englishman. “This place is a veritable fortress! Just where is the strong room, Marquette?”
“Downstairs,” replied Vic. “We’ll be going there soon. Here comes the flunky; I guess Mr. Wesdren is waiting for us.”
A servant ushered the visitors into a room at the side of the hall. It looked like a reception room; a moment later, a further door opened and Caleb Wesdren bowed to the visitors.
“This is Mr. Knight,” introduced Vic Marquette. “Meet Mr. Wesdren, Knight.”
Wesdren shook hands with the Britisher. There was keenness in the executive’s gaze as he studied this man who passed as Jarvis Knight. The Englishman could tell from Wesdren’s manner that the executive had been informed that Jarvis Knight was an alias for Eric Delka.
A smile showed upon Wesdren’s square-jawed face as Knight gave him a firm handclasp. The Britisher was forcible, even though his appearance was different from that of a usual Scotland Yard inspector.
Wesdren led the way into a magnificently furnished office. There the arrivals found Senator Ross Releston. While the gray-haired man was shaking hands, Wesdren pressed a button beside the desk.
Three distant buzzes sounded.
“I am summoning Jollister,” explained Wesdren. “Let us hope that he is somewhere about. He stayed here last night, instead of going to his apartment. And by the way, inspector” — Wesdren lowered his voice as he turned to Knight — “Jollister does not know that you are Eric Delka.”
The Englishman nodded. Marquette whispered a warning word. Vic had heard approaching footsteps. A moment later a side door opened and Craig Jollister entered.
The vault expert was an odd-looking person. He was tall and long-limbed but his massive head seemed to be on the wrong shoulders. It would have better suited a bulkier, more squatty frame.
Jollister’s face was sallow and deeply lined. His forehead bulged; his dark hair formed a bushy shock above his brow. His eyes were keen, deep-set orbs that carried a shrewd glare despite their noticeable blink.
“You wanted to speak to me, Mr. Wesdren?” rumbled Jollister.
“Yes,” replied Wesdren, in a serious tone. “This gentleman, Jollister, is Jarvis Knight, a friend of mine from England. He represents banking interests in London. They are interested in the installation of new strong rooms.”
Jollister showed eagerness in his nod as he shook hands with Knight. The Englishman was impressed by the firmness of Jollister’s grip. He had not expected it from such a flabby-looking hand.
“On that account,” resumed Wesdren, “I have offered to show my strong room to Mr. Knight. It might mean, Jollister, that he would turn some business your way.”
“Good,” rumbled Jollister. “I might be interested, if Mr. Knight likes the strong room. You told him, though, that I am going on a vacation?”
“That can be discussed later.” Rising, Wesdren clapped Jollister on the back. “You are always talking about vacations, Jollister. I really believe that some time you will take one. A long one, I mean. You have taken plenty of short ones.”
“My work is a strain.” Jollister’s glower was indication of the man’s eccentricity. “I demand rest periods between my efforts.”
“Certainly, Jollister,” nodded Wesdren, in a humoring tone, “certainly. Come. Let us go down to the strong room.”
THEY left by the door that Jollister had entered. Wesdren led the way down a rear flight of thick, stone steps. Knight observed that the walls were of concrete. They came to the bottom; there Wesdren pointed to a formidable door of heavy steel.
“Jollister’s creation,” explained the executive. “Triple-locked, with three combinations. I alone have the numbers. Kindly stand back, gentlemen, while I open the door.”
Wesdren approached and began to turn the dials, obscuring them as he worked. He spoke to his companions as he proceeded with the unlocking.
“One lock is Jollister’s,” explained Wesdren. “It is the best of the three. But he insisted that other experts install the other locks. Men of my choice; not his.”
“Quite fair-minded of you, Jollister,” remarked Knight.
“Not at all,” growled the expert. “My intention was to share the responsibility; that was all. I can’t tell who is going to learn these combinations.”
“Jollister’s point,” laughed Wesdren, as he finished with the third dial, “concerns the possibility of someone entering the strong room. He fears that someone may gain the combinations. Should the locks all be Jollister’s, he might be under suspicion. But since three men have installed locks independently, no individual lock-maker could be held at fault.”
Wesdren swung the big door outward. He stepped into a blackened room and pressed a light switch.
The others entered; they found themselves in a square room that measured twenty feet in each direction.
Floor, walls and ceiling were of steel. Huge sheets of metal formed a solid paneling, with riveted strips as the dividing points. Wesdren turned to Knight: he noted an expression of admiration upon the Britisher’s face.
“All these walls,” explained Wesdren, “are backed by concrete. They are also protected by hidden wiring between the steel armor and the stone. It forms a permanent alarm system.
“Jollister chose the plans from a dozen that Senator Releston and I submitted to him. He had full charge of the installation. This vault, however, is entirely his own work.”
Wesdren pointed to one side of the room. He indicated a shiny door that glistened formidably. Jarvis Knight nodded in admiration; his expression indicated that he had never seen a stronger-looking vault.
“The walls were nothing,” spoke Jollister, suddenly, his bass voice booming through the room. “Bah! Apprentices can mold concrete and rivet steel. I left that duty to the workmen. This vault is my masterpiece.”
“Open it, Jollister,” suggested Wesdren; then, as the long-limbed expert lumbered forward, the executive added to the others: “Jollister’s qualms were limited to the door of the strong room. He allowed other experts to insert their locks there; but considered it unnecessary with the vault.”
“It is my masterpiece!” boomed Jollister, turning about, with his hand on a dial. “I would allow others to do work on the outside barriers. But I wanted none to share in this creation. I hold the combination, yes. But I cannot enter this strong room to use it, except by Mr. Wesdren’s wish.”