To Vic Marquette, the advent of the raiders was proof of supercleverness on the part of Craig Jollister.
Vic remembered that the vault expert had spoken slightingly of the concrete laying and the wall construction
In fact, Jollister had practically disclaimed connection with the preparation of the strong room itself. He had talked about the doors that he had created; he had boasted about his master vault. Yet the truth remained that Jollister had been given full authority to construct the entire strong room.
Crooks were growling as they brandished their revolvers. They had backed their prisoners to a corner near the vault. Their lips showed contemptuous grins as they stood away and held the victims covered.
Marquette was fuming with suppressed rage; Cardona was staring stolidly. Knight, however, was calm.
His lips wore a slight smile. He had lowered his hands slightly; he spoke to one of the armed ruffians.
“May I help myself to a cigarette?” he inquired casually.
“Sure,” snorted the crook. “We’ve frisked you. Smoke up if you want.”
Knight reached in his pocket and extracted the cigarette case. Marquette and Cardona stared while the Britisher calmly drew matches from his vest pocket and lighted a cigarette. He replaced the matches: in their place he brought out a silver coin. Cardona recognized the Indian rupee piece that he had seen in New York.
“Where is Clink?” questioned Knight, looking at the half dozen rogues.
“He’s comin’ through,” growled a crook. “Him an’ a couple more, maybe. Whatta you want Clink for?”
“I must speak with him,” replied Knight. “Ah” — his smile broadened as he saw a tall, dark-faced man enter from the passage — “this must be Clink.”
Clink Huron stared at mention of his name. The crook who was covering Knight made a gesture with his gun.
“This guy wants to spill somethin’, Clink.”
“Sure,” interrupted Clink. “Let him. I’ve never seen him before; but if he wants to talk, he can.”
Calmly, Knight stepped forward. He had caught the glimmer of silver upon Clink’s vest. The racketeer was wearing Cady’s coin button. Knight pointed to the emblem.
“I can match it,” he asserted. He extended his hand and showed his silver rupee. “This introduces us. There is no reason why I should keep my identity secret any longer. I am Jed Barthue.”
KNIGHT chuckled as he made the statement. He threw a glance toward Marquette and Cardona. At sight of sneering lips, the two prisoners clenched their upraised fists. They would have been pleased to fall upon this man who had passed himself as Eric Delka, but they were restrained by the leveled guns of Clink Huron’s henchmen.
“Cady mentioned you,” remarked Knight, casually, spinning the rupee as he turned to Clink. “He was gone this afternoon, though, when I had an answer prepared for delivery through you.
“I have arranged everything. Take the swag to the Skyview Plaza and stow it in my wardrobe trunks. I have arranged to ship it aboard a tramp steamer. I shall notify you later regarding the name of the vessel; you can hold Marquette and Cardona until then. After that, bring them aboard.”
“They will make good hostages” — Knight chuckled uglily as he glanced at Vic and Joe — “just as good as Eric Delka would have been. I had to get rid of him, you know, after he escaped from the Zouave. But these chaps will make no escape. I shall be aboard with them—”
“Yeah?” Clink interrupted with a savage growl that made Knight turn about. Knight stared as he saw the muzzle of a revolver, squarely in front of his eyes. “Well, you’ve got another guess coming! Your stall won’t work!”
“Move back with those other mugs. Since you like to talk so much, we’ll let you give us the real lowdown. We’re in no hurry.” Clink paused; then spat denunciation. “Come on! Spill the lowdown! We’re listening to you, Delka!”
CHAPTER XVIII. THE FINAL WORD
“IT’S no use, Delka,” sneered Clink Huron. “Your game was up when you muffed those coded messages. Cady got a copy the answer that you started, then threw in the wastebasket. It didn’t click.”
The man called Jarvis Knight made no response. He stared steady at Clink Huron. The heavy-brewed crook delivered another laugh.
“You’re going on the spot, Delka,” he insisted. “It’s no use trying to keep up the bluff. We’re rubbing you out along with Marquette and Cardona. So you might as well talk for their benefit.”
“All right.” The Englishman finished his cigarette and tossed it on the floor. “I’ll square myself. I bluffed you chaps” — he was speaking to Marquette and Cardona — “because it looked like the best method. But I didn’t bluff you about myself. I am Eric Delka. My only false information concerned Jed Barthue.”
“You mean Barthue didn’t come to New York?” queried Marquette, forgetful of his surroundings because of his surprise.
“He came, all right” — Delka’s chuckle was a pleasant one — “and he encountered me aboard the Doranic, just before we reached the States. The scoundrel tossed me overboard, to be picked up by the Zouave.”
“You were in the fight on the boat?” asked Cardona. “Mixed up in that mutiny?”
“At first, I was,” returned Delka. “But some loyal chaps among the crew came to my rescue. They brought me ashore, somewhere in your state of New Jersey. They gave me dollar bills for some English pounds, and I bought a new suit of clothes and came to New York.”
“You got there just before I called you at the Goliath?” queried Marquette.
“Not at all,” said Delka. “I arrived much earlier. But I did not introduce myself to any one. I went to the suite that I had reserved and was lucky enough to find it unlocked, while expressmen were bringing up my luggage. I secreted myself in the inner room, to await Jed Barthue.”
“Barthue?” quizzed Marquette. “You mean he—”
It was Clink who broke into the discussion.
“Yeah,” snarled the leader of the crooks, “Barthue was coming there to pass himself as Delka, under the name of Jarvis Knight. Go on, Delka. Spill the rest of it.”
“BARTHUE did come there,” stated Delka, bringing out his cigarette case. “I watched him empty his pockets. The bounder was about to attire himself in a suit from my wardrobe. He answered your telephone call, Marquette. Very smoothly toned, he was. His gruffness must have been a pretence aboard the Doranic.”
“I thought it time to stop the beggar’s masquerade. I confronted him with a revolver. My word! Jed showed more fight than I had imagined he would. He actually wrested the weapon from me, and drove me back against the window ledge.”
“Then fortune favored me; I gained a lucky opportunity and, almost without intending it, I pitched the blighter out through the open window. So there I was in my own capacity: Eric Delka, otherwise Jarvis Knight, with Jed Barthue finished.”
“Say,” put in Cardona. “that guy who we thought committed suicide—”
“Was Jed Barthue,” inserted Delka. “I put on his wrist watch because my own was stopped when I was thrown into the water. Then, among Barthue’s effects, I found a silver rupee. I wondered about that coin—”
“Until Cady flashed this one,” snorted Clink. “I thought Cady pulled a boner. You were smart, Delka, to play ball with Cady. He thought you were Barthue, all right.”
“But I couldn’t master that confounded code,” declared Delka, with a wry grimace. “That was what stopped me. You know, Cardona” — Delka spoke soberly as he turned to his fellow prisoner — “Before we go to blighty, I owe you an apology. I intended to tell you that the supposed suicide was Jed Barthue; I wanted to tell Marquette.”