The hand used the pencil to check over the entire story, carefully touching each word. Then it moved to the bottom of the sheet and wrote in script. Words appeared. Those words were thoughts, expressed in rapid writing. They were sound, accurate thoughts - clear deductions supported by the facts in Fellows’s reports on the persons involved, and based upon the finished story that stood above. The writing was as follows:
“Howard Burgess had no questionable past; but he knew more about the affairs of Geoffrey Laidlow than any other man. His control of expenditures, under the lenient millionaire, might have caused him to steal, and he may have feared discovery.
“It is probable that he made contact with Ezekiel Bingham by secretly visiting the lawyer to ask advice. Bingham - a man who holds control over crooks and who admits his own crookedness - must surely dominate Burgess.
“We may assume that he arranged the robbery, and was ready to receive whatever was stolen. When Burgess was surprised by Laidlow, his only chance of safety depended upon the murder of the millionaire.
“These facts support the case:
“First: Burgess must have known the combination to the safe. He handled ordinary affairs in the household. Many trivial papers were in the safe. Yet he disclaimed knowledge of the combination.
“Second: Burgess was wearing gloves. He wanted to be sure that no finger prints remained.
“Third: The use of the gun that was in the safe. A safe robber would have had his own revolver. He would not have trusted a strange gun, especially as there is no likelihood that he would have taken the time to examine it to see if it were loaded.
“Fourth: The safe at Laidlow’s home was antiquated and poorly protected. The millionaire kept all valuable papers in safe-deposit vaults. It is certain that the jewels were not in the safe. Yet both Burgess and Bingham stressed the fact that the imaginary burglar carried a box. They went so far as they dared to convince every one that the jewels were taken from the safe.
“Conclusion: Burgess knew that the code was in the safe. He either planned to steal the code, along with other papers, or he was merely looking for the code to copy it. He expected no interference from Laidlow, who was accustomed to read for hours before retiring. Laidlow, confident that the code could not be deciphered and believing that Burgess was trustworthy, had not concealed from Burgess the fact that the code existed. But he would tell no man where the jewels were kept for he did not even entrust them to the security of a safe-deposit vault.
“Upon the deciphering of the code hinges the fate of Laidlow’s jewels. If Bingham obtains a translation from Joyce, there will be a second robbery at the Laidlow home - a robbery that may never be brought to light. But it will not take place until the dead man’s secret has been discovered.”
The paper, with its double story, lay between the unmoving hands while the fire opal glistened and its crimson depths held their strange glow. Unseen eyes were reading from the page, and the invisible mind behind them was remembering every word.
The hands folded the paper once, and then again. The pencil wrote on the outside of the packet:
“This report would be a great help to Detective Joe Cardona. It would also interest Inspector John Malone.”
Pencil, paste and scissors disappeared, carried away by the hands. Then the long fingers gripped the folded paper and tore it once, then again and again, until it became tiny fragments which lay in a heap on the center of the table. The typed sheets met the same fate.
The hands gathered the torn paper bits until the left hand clutched them all. Not one scrap remained. The right hand picked up the watch, which registered half past six. The hands moved from the light. Only the blank top of the table remained in view.
A sharp click and the room was in absolute darkness. All was silent for a moment; then from the midst of that Stygian gloom came a soft, weird, mocking laugh - a laugh no louder than a whisper; yet a laugh that echoed and reechoed from the walls.
CHAPTER XX
A LETTER FOR HARRY
“Mr. Vincent?”
“Yes.”
“This is the clerk at the desk. There’s a letter here for you. Shall I send it up to your room?”
“Right away.”
Harry Vincent opened the door of his room and awaited the arrival of the bell boy. This was quick action.
He had visited Fellows shortly before five o’clock, and had been instructed to return to his room at the Metrolite Hotel to await orders. It was now only half past seven.
The letter arrived. It was in a long envelope which bore no return address. Harry opened it at the writing table, and saw that it was in the simple code he knew. The figure “1” appeared at the bottom.
He read the message with ease, for only a few letters had been substituted. Yet they were enough to make the note unintelligible to anyone other than Vincent.
His reading was accomplished with care.
“Report to the Excelsior Garage,” the message read. “You will find a taxicab there in your name. Put on the uniform that is in the back seat. You will find another note in the pocket. Lose no time.”
Harry stared at the message and read it a second time. Then he blinked his eyes. The writing was slowly disappearing. In a few seconds it had gone.
He held the paper close to the light.
Not the slightest trace of any ink remained.
Harry dropped the sheet of paper in the wastebasket. Now he knew what had happened to the letter that Fellows had been reading in the insurance office. He also appreciated what Fellows had meant when he had remarked that it would be unnecessary to destroy any messages that he might receive.
Harry had not yet eaten dinner, but he did not wait for that. He looked up the Excelsior Garage in the phone book, found that it was located on Tenth Avenue, and took a taxi in that direction.
He dismissed the vehicle some distance from the garage. It was obvious that he was to pose as a cab driver, and he did not know whether or not taxi-men hired the cabs of others during their leisure hours. Probably they did. Nevertheless, he could avoid any complications by arriving on foot.
He entered the garage and mentioned his name.
“So you’re the fellow that has the cab,” said the attendant. “It’s been waiting for you a couple of days. All fixed up and ready to go.”
“Where is it?”
“Over in the corner.”
Harry found the cab and looked in the back seat. He saw the uniform and felt in the pocket. The note was there.
He turned on the light in the cab, opened the envelope, and read another message with substituted letters:
“Come to Wang Foo’s before ten o’clock. Drive past. Circle the block and drive by a second time. Then park around the corner at the end of the street. Keep the cab out of sight, but loaf near the corner and watch down the block.
“When you see a Chinaman come from the tea shop, hurry back to the cab and be ready to pick up a man who will be coming from Wang Foo’s. If he does not arrive within one minute, drive down the street and watch for a passenger at the other end. The man may go the opposite way. Take him where he desires and remember his destination. Watch the meter. Collect.”
A notation following the message gave Wang Foo’s address. This was important. Harry had been to Wang Foo’s - he remembered the visit all too well - but he had been taken by a roundabout way, and until now he had no idea as to the exact location of the place.
He was due before ten o’clock. That would give him time to get some dinner. He dressed in the cab.
