“I guess you’re right,” replied the other secret-service man. “But I thought there was a bigger game to it. We don’t know where Birch had the stuff printed.”
“That doesn’t matter so much.”
“Well, who engraved the plates?”
“Listen, Jim. We want to find out about all of it. But we might just as well quit kidding ourselves. Birch is liable to tell us everything in time. He won’t stick to that story that the stuff was brought in to him, and that the plates must have been planted.
“Now we’re after the engraver, and the place where the printing was done. I figure that Birch hired some fellow to make the plates. The man got paid and cleared out.
“That may have been a year or more ago. We’ll center on Birch. Make him come clean. That’s our only course.”
“I guess you’re right,” agreed Jim, reluctantly.
“Meanwhile,” continued Waltham, “lay off being foolish. This is an order — not a suggestion. Get that, Jim?”
“What do you mean — being foolish?”
“Well, just before we raided, you saw a car pulling away from Birch’s place. You sent Guysel after it. Guysel saw it go in a garage. Remember? He didn’t even get the number of the car.
“Then he saw a man come out and take a taxi. He followed the cab to a house. He spotted the place. Yesterday you went in there. What did you find?”
“Nothing.”
“Was the place empty?”
“Yes.”
“Who lives there?”
“A man named Bronson.”
Waltham snorted.
“I’m glad you found that out,” he said. “Do you know who this Bronson is?”
“No.”
“He’s Tiger Bronson. Big political man. Has plenty of influence. He could reach far enough to get you in wrong. Lucky for you he was out of town. Why didn’t you raid the mayor’s house, too?”
The sarcasm was biting.
“You’re right, Waltham,” admitted Jim. “It must have been a crazy notion on my part. I had the idea we were working on the wrong end of this business.
“Guysel was sure that the fellow who went to Bronson’s house had been at Birch’s. It might mean that there was some phony stuff at Bronson’s. Guysel kept watch and tipped me off that the house was empty. So we went through it.”
“If there had been anything there,” replied Waltham, “it would probably have been hidden where you couldn’t find it.”
“Not in that place,” replied Jim. “We even found the safe open! What do you think of that? About five thousand dollars in real cash there. I thought we had something when I saw it.
“I guess if the bills had been counterfeit, Bronson would have had the safe locked. No, sir. It was real cash. A lot of it in ten-dollar bills.”
Waltham’s face did not change. He shook his head as he continued talking.
“You walked into trouble, all right, Joe,” he said. “It’s lucky you got out of it.”
“We searched the place,” said Joe.
“We even looked through letters, and papers in the safe. There weren’t many of them. They didn’t tell us a thing.”
“You see, I figured that maybe there’d be letters from Birch — or some evidence we could work on. But there was nothing.”
“Bronson is a politician,” explained Waltham. “He’s not a crook. He has too many ways to make money. Why should he risk counterfeiting?”
“Well, I didn’t know that.”
“You should have known it.”
“I didn’t find any letters or papers that looked at all suspicious. We read all that were in the place. There weren’t any bonds or other valuables. Nothing but the cash.”
“Bronson probably keeps most of his stuff in a safe-deposit vault.”
The men were silent. Then Waltham spoke:
“This trail ends with Birch,” he said. “We only slipped in one thing. That was Aaron’s fault. He let Birch burn the stuff.”
“Birch caught him unawares.”
“That wasn’t all Aaron’s fault. He thought we were coming downstairs. He didn’t know it was Birch. But he should have been ready for anything.”
“We should have had Vic Marquette to do that job.”
“Right enough. But Vic isn’t available right now.”
“Where is he?”
“Nobody knows. You know how Vic is. Gets the wildest clues, and drops out of sight. Every now and then he has luck. But this time he missed out. While he’s away in the sticks, we nab Birch.”
“I guess I’m like Vic,” observed Jim. “I always look for something more than there is. I wish I had Vic’s nerve!”
“You looked for too much,” was Waltham’s comment. “What did we have to work on? We caught a crook passing counterfeit bills. He told us where he got them — from Birch — and that he was going back to get more that night. So we raided. If Marquette had been with us, we might have got the goods as well as the plates. That’s all.”
The conversation ended. The visiting agent left his chief, and took the elevator to the lobby. A few minutes later a bell boy walked down the stairs. He was the one who had listened through the door of the room adjoining 418.
He entered the door of a private dining room. He did not come out. When the head waiter entered the room a few minutes later, to prepare for a private party of diners, there was no one in the place.
CHAPTER XX
AFTER DARK
Tiger Bronson’s house was deserted. The overlord of gangdom had gone away that afternoon. It was early in the evening. Bronson frequently did not return to his home until midnight.
The former politician was not afraid of burglars. No gangster would have dared to enter his place. Furthermore, there was little of value there, except in Tiger Bronson’s modern safe.
Yet to-night, some one was entering the building. A figure was climbing the black wall to the second story. The wall was composed of rough bricks, and the unseen visitor used them as easily as if they had been a ladder.
The window of Bronson’s side room was opened by an invisible hand. A shape entered. Then a tiny light appeared amid the darkness. It flickered here and there, going and coming, as though the intruder who held it was engaged in a tour of inspection.
The visitor was searching for something; and it must be in this room. For he kept to the one center of activity. The light stopped at the safe.
A long, slender hand appeared. On the third finger a mysterious gem gleamed with reflected crimson. With amazing precision the hand worked at the dials.
The safe came open. The light revealed small piles of papers, and a stack of bank notes that were held together by a red rubber band.
A hand set the light in a position from which it showed the interior of the safe. The strange visitor went through all the articles with methodical precision.
When the search had been completed, everything was replaced in the exact original position. The light went out; the safe door closed.
Now began a tour of inspection throughout the room. Books and magazines came under the darting ray of the little light. Finally the search was centered upon Tiger Bronson’s small desk. A few papers and letters lay there. Invisible eyes inspected them and read them.
At the end of an hour, the room had been examined to the utmost. Nothing had escaped the untiring searcher. Yet apparently his task was not ended.
The light went out, and all was still. In the darkness, a great brain was at work. The invisible searcher was not satisfied with the absence of incriminating documents.
The light again appeared by the desk. The same left hand, with its glowing jewel picked up every article, from paper clips to penholders. A blotter was taken between the hands, as the light momentarily vanished.