CHAPTER XIV
WHO MADE THE FALSE KEY?
For a moment Willie was fairly speechless with astonishment. It was too good to be true. The thing he had been unable to accomplish through many hours of patient effort, had been accomplished seemingly by pure luck. At last his innocence was established.
“I can’t understand it,” cried Willie, as soon as he recovered from his astonishment. “I never dreamed you would hear me, because you use a wave-length longer than mine and would be listening for messages in your own wave-length.”
“Ordinarily I should have been. But Roy tried hard to get you by wireless before he left. He wanted to send a friendly good-bye message. He couldn’t get you, so he asked me to see if I could get you and deliver the message. I tried several times, with no luck. Then I made a last effort when I was about two hours out. It was a singular coincidence. Just as I got my instruments regulated for your wave-length, you began to call CBWC yourself. Of course, I listened in, expecting every minute that you would be done calling. Once in a while I shifted to my own wave-length for a moment and then back to yours. Nobody called me, and I heard every call you made. When you stopped calling, I tried to get you, but couldn’t.”
“That was because I left my instrument the instant I stopped calling and went to my desk. I don’t quite see why you entered my call in your log, though.”
“Well, we usually jot down everything out of the usual, and also many things not out of the usual. I thought you’d like to see your call in my log when I got back, so I wrote down that entry as a friendly act.”
“It was indeed a friendly act,” said Willie fervently. “You have done me the greatest service any one could do. You have made it possible for me to clear my reputation. Will you help me do that?”
“Most assuredly. It will give me the greatest of pleasure. What do you want me to do?”
“Mr. King ought to know about that entry in your log.”
“He ought to see the log itself. Leave it to me. I’ll show him the entry, and I can explain things to him better than perhaps you could yourself.”
“If you will, I can never adequately express my gratitude,” said Willie.
“Never mind about that. It will be a pleasure to me to do it.”
So it came about that the next day saw Mr. Reynolds closeted with Mr. King. The log-book was exhibited and explained.
“You heard every call he made?” inquired Mr. King.
“I am certain of it.”
“And you are sure he was calling between the hours of 12:15 and 1:00 P. M.?”
“Absolutely certain.”
“But he wasn’t calling every minute of that time. Wasn’t there time for him to run to my desk, open and close a drawer, and run back between calls?”
“Certainly. But it doesn’t stand to reason that if a fellow went to a wireless instrument and tried hard to call his friends, that he would run away from his instrument at the very time they might be answering. It isn’t sense.”
“Not under ordinary circumstances. But suppose a lad in his situation had plotted this theft and wanted to provide grounds for an alibi. Mightn’t he do that very thing to throw us off the track? This lad is a mighty clever boy. I’ve found that out. He’s smart as a steel trap.”
“Your proposition is all right except for one thing. To provide an alibi, he’d have to make sure some one heard him. He’s too sharp to slip up that way. If he had gotten a reply to his call, your supposition would be within the ground of reason. But under the circumstances, it is not. No court or jury in America would ever convict the lad under the circumstances.”
“I see you are entirely right,” said Mr. King, “and I am more delighted than I can tell you to have this proof of his innocence. For I accept it as proof, though we must still maintain that there is a theoretical possibility of his doing just what I suggested. He’s proving to be a corking good boy. And as I have watched him, I never really believed in my heart that he was a thief. But you know in my business we have to watch any one to whom the finger of suspicion points. It would amaze you to know how many perfectly respectable and even eminent citizens leave their consciences behind when they try to get ashore here with dutiable goods. It makes us sort of suspicious of everybody.”
Mr. Reynolds shook hands with the Chief and took his departure, but not until he had assured Willie that the latter was entirely cleared from suspicion. Naturally Willie was jubilant, yet his joy was somewhat tempered by the thought that although Mr. King no longer had any suspicion as to dishonesty on his part, it had not yet actually been proved that he was innocent. And Willie knew that he would never be really satisfied until the real thief was uncovered and his own honesty was actually proved.
Could Willie have known what took place that very day, while he was out for luncheon, he would have felt more hopeful of complete exoneration. For hardly had Willie left his post that noon, before a tall, shabbily attired cleaner slipped into the Chief’s office. Mr. King looked at the man twice before he knew him. Then he said, “Hello, Frank! What brings you here all dolled up so?”
The cleaner shut the door and laughed. “Never mind the rags, Mr. King,” he said. “Just look at this.”
From his pocket he drew forth an object wrapped in tissue paper. He took off the wrapper and laid the object on the Treasury Agent’s desk.
“What is it, Sheridan?” asked Mr. King. “Wax?”
“Correct. Take a good look at it.”
Mr. King picked up the wax and looked at it. Then he sat bolt upright in his chair. “Looks like the impression of a key in it,” he suggested.
“Let me have the key to your desk drawer,” said the Secret Service man. “I mean the drawer from which those papers were taken.”
Mr. King pulled out his keys and removed one from the ring. He handed it to Sheridan. The latter laid it on the wax beside the impression already there, and pressed hard on it. When he lifted the key two distinct impressions stood side by side in the wax. And the impressions were duplicates.
“I felt certain of it,” said the Secret Service man.
“Where did you get that wax?” demanded the Treasury Agent.
“Found it—in this building.” And that was every word about the matter the Secret Service man would say. “I’ll tell you the sequel the minute I find it.” And the big member of the cleaning force picked up a spittoon, as though that was what he had come for, and hurried down the corridor with it.
A few days later he returned. He did not bring back the cuspidor, however, but in its place came a tall, lanky, swaggering lad, with an evil leer on his face. When Willie saw the lad entering the anteroom he leaped to his feet, apprehensive of trouble. The visitor was his predecessor. The “smart” look had gone from his face, however. In its place was a sullen, defiant, ugly expression that fairly startled Willie. And when the former office boy glared at Willie, with a world of hatred shining in his eyes, Willie was certain he was in for trouble. His heart beat quick and he glanced about to see what he could defend himself with. His alarm was needless, however, for close behind young Smith came a large individual who plainly belonged to the cleaning force. Willie had to look at the man several times before he realized that he was looking at the big Secret Service man. The disguise was complete. A sigh of relief escaped from Willie’s lips when he realized who the big fellow was. But he had no idea what could bring young Smith and Sheridan into the Special Agent’s office together.
Nor did he at once find out, for the Secret Service man and his companion passed into the inner office, after the briefest announcement of their arrival, and the door was closed.
Once inside the door, Sheridan drew from his pocket a thin, flat, narrow strip of metal. One end of it was plain. Little tooth-like projections had been filed along one edge at the other end. On the Special Agent’s desk Sheridan laid the piece of wax he had exhibited during his earlier visit. Beside the wax he placed the thin metal strip. Without a word the Special Agent picked up wax and metal and applied the one to the other. The end of the metal that had been filed into a key fitted exactly into the impressions of the desk key in the wax.
“So that’s the story, is it?” said Mr. King, looking up. “A wax impression of my key and a false key filed from the pattern. It is needless to ask who did it. What I want to know is how you found it.”
“That wasn’t an easy job,” said Sheridan. “There wasn’t much to go on, but the little we had proved to be sufficient.”
“Sit down, and let me have the whole story,” said Mr. King, his keen face alight with interest.
The Secret Service man motioned to Tom Smith to be seated and then drew a chair forward for himself.
“Although circumstances pointed strongly to young Brown,” he said, “they were far from being conclusive. If we had had proof that Willie was about your office here at the time we know he was in the building during the particular luncheon hour when the papers were taken, we should have had a pretty tight case against him. With him in this room or at his desk, it would be impossible for another person to get to your desk without his knowledge. Hence it would follow that he must be the thief. But if he was in his wireless room, as he claims he was, and has since proved he was, there was nothing to prevent another person from slipping in here unseen, and opening your desk. So we had those two lines of investigation to pursue. My predecessor proceeded on the theory that Willie was likely the culprit and acted accordingly. And he had some reason to do so, too. For years you have kept valuable papers in your desk, untouched. New employees have come and old ones gone, yet nothing was ever taken. But now comes this new boy, and almost at the first opportunity for him to steal, the papers disappear. The desk was unlocked by a false key, of course; and we know that a little time previously Willie had the keys in his pocket when he left the building. He could easily have had a false key made. It really was a strong case.”
“It certainly was,” said Mr. King. “I didn’t want to believe the lad was guilty, but I almost had to.”
“Well,” went on the Secret Service man, “my predecessor worked along that theory and got nowhere. His open questioning, of course, told everybody who he was, and then his usefulness was gone. So the Chief put me on the job.”
“I see,” said Mr. King. “Even I did not know you were on it until you came in with that wax.”
“Exactly. That’s the only way you can succeed in this business. You mustn’t let your identity be known. So I kept under cover. I knew that if Willie’s statement about being in the wireless room was true,—and personally I had faith in it—then some one else slipped in here while the office was apparently unoccupied, got your papers, and slipped out unobserved. That’s evident. It is also evident that whoever did it at some time most likely had your key, in order to have a false one made. Who could have had your key? If one office boy had it, another might, eh?”
The Treasury Agent nodded assent.
“So that pointed to young Smith here. If he had a key, he was likely crafty enough not to use it while he was still office boy, because suspicion would almost certainly fall on him. But when he had been shifted to another department, then he could use it, and if he got away unseen, suspicion would point to his successor.”
“Plain as daylight,” said Mr. King.
“I found that there was one other reason that might figure. Smith here has been bullying Willie. He has threatened to beat him the first time he caught him outside alone. So he evidently had hard feelings toward him. That suggested the possibility of theft for the purpose of getting Willie into trouble. I don’t believe he did it for that reason, but there was the possibility, you see.” Sheridan paused to light a cigar.
“I do see,” said Mr. King.
“Again, who would be better able to slip in here unobserved than some one who knew intimately the habits of everybody in the office? He knew how to approach the office so as to avoid observation, and how to get in and out by back ways, if any existed. There was every reason to believe that if Willie Brown didn’t take the papers, Tom Smith did. So I went after Tom Smith.”
“How did you get him?”
“Well, I cleaned spittoons and mopped floors and washed woodwork, and nobody paid any more attention to me than they do to any other scrub men. As a cleaner I could be in the offices after the clerical forces went home. Then I searched. It took me a long time to find that wax. But finally I found it tucked away in a crack far up on the under side of Smith’s desk. Only the most thorough search would have revealed it. When I found the wax I was confident I was on the right trail. When you gave me a duplicate impression in the wax, I knew I was right. The thing that remained was to find the key.”
“How did you ever do it?”
Sheridan chuckled. “I reasoned that, as long as he believed himself unsuspected, Smith would carry the key in his pocket. He might want to put the papers back in the desk or to make another raid. So I had to figure out a way to get that key. One day I was in the court, where trucks drive in, washing things down with a hose. Smith happened to skip out through the court on an errand. I saw him coming and made sure that he got a thorough drenching, particularly from the waist down. Of course I was awfully sorry for the accident and did all I could to make amends. I got some dry clothes quick and helped the lad skin out of his wet ones. You bet I went through his pockets fast. I had that key before the wet trousers were fairly off of him. That was all I needed. It fitted the wax impression exactly. But I let him go for a day or two. I watched him like a hawk. Twice I saw him examining the places where I wet him and where he took off his wet clothes. I knew he was hunting for his key. Finally he came to me and asked me if, in cleaning up, I had found a key. He said he had dropped his latch-key, and he described it.”
Sheridan paused and looked at Smith, who sat with his head down, looking at the floor.
“I said, ‘Yes. I found the key. Is this it?’ And I showed him that skeleton key. He said it was. I asked him if he was sure.
“‘I certainly am,’ he replied.
“‘Well,’ I said, ‘that’s exactly what I want to know, because that key fits Mr. King’s desk and was used to open his desk the day his papers were stolen.’ You should have seen him when I told him that, Mr. King. He wilted like a lily in a hot room. Then he began to bluster, and try to bluff it out; but I told him it was no use to lie about it and that we had him dead to rights. So in the end he confessed everything. He still has the papers, and I told him that if he would return the papers we would try to get him off as easy as possible.”
Mr. King wheeled in his chair and faced his former office boy. “So that’s the kind of boy you are, eh?” he said. “It’s too bad Mr. Sheridan made such a promise to you. You are more than a thief. I fully believe that you would have allowed my new office boy to go to prison when you were the guilty one yourself. I suppose I am bound by Mr. Sheridan’s promise. But let me tell you that if you do not come across with those papers at once, and if you do not do everything in your power to make amends to Willie, I won’t consider that I am bound by it. I’ll do my best to see that you get the maximum instead of the minimum punishment.”
Then Mr. King turned to Sheridan. “Take him out of here as quick as you can get him out,” he said. “I’m getting madder every minute.”
Sheridan hustled his sullen prisoner out of the office. No sooner had they crossed the threshold than the buzzer rang violently. Willie fairly flew to his Chief’s desk. For a moment Mr. King was silent. Then he held out his hand.
“Willie,” he said, “shake hands. The boy that just left this office is the thief that stole my papers. Your honesty is absolutely proved. I want to congratulate you. You have borne yourself splendidly during this ordeal. You will reap your reward, for you now have my absolute confidence.”