The War Terror

by Arthur B. Reeve

  CHAPTER XVII

  THE PASTE REPLICA

  Carefully Craig was going over the office. Outside of the safe, therehad apparently been nothing of value. The rest of the office was noteven wired, and it seemed to have been Schloss' idea that the fewthousands of burglary insurance amply protected him against such loss.As for the safe, its own strength and the careful wiring might wellhave been considered quite sufficient under any hitherto to-be-foreseencircumstances.

  A glass door, around the bend of a partition, opened from the hallwayinto the office and had apparently been designed with the object ofmaking visible the safe so that anyone passing might see whether anintruder was tampering with it.

  Kennedy had examined the door, perhaps in the expectation of findingfinger prints there, and was passing on to other things, when a changein his position caused his eye to catch a large oval smudge on theglass, which was visible when the light struck it at the right angle.Quickly he dusted it over with the powder, and brought out the detailmore clearly. As I examined it, while Craig made preparations to cutout the glass to preserve it, it seemed to contain a number of minutepoints and several more or less broken parallel lines. The edgesgradually trailed off into an indistinct faintness.

  Business, naturally, was at a standstill, and as we were working nearthe door, we could see that the news of Schloss' strange robbery hadleaked out and was spreading rapidly. Scores of acquaintances in thetrade stopped at the door to inquire about the rumor.

  To each, it seemed that Morris Muller, the working jeweler employed bySchloss, repeated the same story.

  "Oh," he said, "it is a big loss--yes--but big as it is, it will notbreak Mr. Schloss. And," he would add with the tradesman's idea ofhumor, "I guess he has enough to play a game of poker--eh?"

  "Poker?" asked Kennedy smiling. "Is he much of a player?"

  "Yes. Nearly every night with his friends he plays."

  Kennedy made a mental note of it. Evidently Schloss trusted Mullerimplicitly. He seemed like a partner, rather than an employee, eventhough he had not been entrusted with the secret combination.

  Outside, we ran into city detective Lieutenant Winters, the officer whowas stationed at the Maiden Lane post, guarding that famous section ofthe Dead Line established by the immortal Byrnes at Fulton Street,below which no crook was supposed to dare even to be seen. Winters hadbeen detailed on the case.

  "You have seen the safe in there?" asked Kennedy, as he was leaving tocarry on his investigation elsewhere.

  Winters seemed to be quite as skeptical as Schloss had intimated thepublic would be. "Yes," he replied, "there's been an epidemic ofrobbery with the dull times--people who want to collect their burglaryinsurance, I guess."

  "But," objected Kennedy, "Schloss carried so little."

  "Well, there was the Hale Protection. How about that?"

  Craig looked up quickly, unruffled by the patronizing air of theprofessional toward the amateur detective.

  "What is your theory?" he asked. "Do you think he robbed himself?"

  Winters shrugged his shoulders. "I've been interested in Schloss forsome time," he said enigmatically. "He has had some pretty swellcustomers. I'll keep you wised up, if anything happens," he added in aburst of graciousness, walking off.

  On the way to the subway, we paused again to see McLear.

  "Well," he asked, "what do you think of it, now?"

  "All most extraordinary," ruminated Craig. "And the queerest feature ofall is that the chief loss consists of a diamond necklace that belongedonce to Mrs. Antoinette Moulton."

  "Mrs. Lynn Moulton?" repeated McLear.

  "The same," assured Kennedy.

  McLear appeared somewhat puzzled. "Her husband is one of our oldsubscribers," he pursued. "He is a lawyer on Wall Street and quite agem collector. Last night his safe was tampered with, but this morninghe reports no loss. Not half an hour ago he had us on the wirecongratulating us on scaring off the burglars, if there had been any."

  "What is your opinion," I asked. "Is there a gang operating?"

  "My belief is," he answered, reminiscently of his days on the detectiveforce, "that none of the loot will be recovered until they start to'fence' it. That would be my lay--to look for the fence. Why, think ofall the big robberies that have been pulled off lately. Remember," hewent on, "the spoils of a burglary consist generally of preciousstones. They are not currency. They must be turned into currency--orwhat's the use of robbery?

  "But merely to offer them for sale at an ordinary jeweler's would besuspicious. Even pawnbrokers are on the watch. You see what I amdriving at? I think there is a man or a group of men whose business itis to pay cash for stolen property and who have ways of returning gemsinto the regular trade channels. In all these robberies we get aglimpse of as dark and mysterious a criminal as has ever been recorded.He may be--anybody. About his legitimacy, I believe, no question hasever been raised. And, I tell you, his arrest is going to create agreater sensation than even the remarkable series of robberies that hehas planned or made possible. The question is, to my mind, who is thisfence?"

  McLear's telephone rang and he handed the instrument to Craig.

  "Yes, this is Professor Kennedy," answered Craig. "Oh, too bad you'vehad to try all over to get me. I've been going from one place toanother gathering clues and have made good progress, considering I'vehardly started. Why--what's the matter? Really?"

  An interval followed, during which McLear left to answer a personalcall on another wire.

  As Kennedy hung up the receiver, his face wore a peculiar look. "It wasMrs. Moulton," he blurted out. "She thinks that her husband has foundout that the necklace is paste."

  "How?" I asked.

  "The paste replica is gone from her wall safe in the Deluxe."

  I turned, startled at the information. Even Kennedy himself wasperplexed at the sudden succession of events. I had nothing to say.

  Evidently, however, his rule was when in doubt play a trump, for,twenty minutes later found us in the office of Lynn Moulton, the famouscorporation lawyer, in Wall Street.

  Moulton was a handsome man of past fifty with a youthful face againsthis iron gray hair and mustache, well dressed, genial, a man who seemedkeenly in love with the good things of life.

  "It is rumored," began Kennedy, "that an attempt was made on your safehere at the office last night."

  "Yes," he admitted, taking off his glasses and polishing themcarefully. "I suppose there is no need of concealment, especially as Ihear that a somewhat similar attempt was made on the safe of my friendHerman Schloss in Maiden Lane."

  "You lost nothing?"

  Moulton put his glasses on and looked Kennedy in the face frankly.

  "Nothing, fortunately," he said, then went on slowly. "You see, in mylater years, I have been something of a collector of precious stonesmyself. I don't wear them, but I have always taken the keenest pleasurein owning them and when I was married it gave me a great deal morepleasure to have them set in rings, pendants, tiaras, necklaces, andother forms for my wife."

  He had risen, with the air of a busy man who had given the subject allthe consideration he could afford and whose work proceeded almost byschedule. "This morning I found my safe tampered with, but, as I said,fortunately something must have scared off the burglars."

  He bowed us out politely. What was the explanation, I wondered. Itseemed, on the face of things, that Antoinette Moulton feared herhusband. Did he know something else already, and did she know he knew?To all appearances he took it very calmly, if he did know. Perhaps thatwas what she feared, his very calmness.

  "I must see Mrs. Moulton again," remarked Kennedy, as we left.

  The Moultons lived, we found, in one of the largest suites of a newapartment hotel, the Deluxe, and in spite of the fact that our arrivalhad been announced some minutes before we saw Mrs. Moulton, it wasevident that she had been crying hysterically over the loss of thepaste jewels and what it implied.

  "I missed it this morning, after my return from seein
g you," shereplied in answer to Craig's inquiry, then added, wide-eyed with alarm,"What shall I do? He must have opened the wall safe and found thereplica. I don't dare ask him point-blank."

  "Are you sure he did it?" asked Kennedy, more, I felt, for its moraleffect on her than through any doubt in his own mind.

  "Not sure. But then the wall safe shows no marks, and the replica isgone."

  "Might I see your jewel case?" he asked.

  "Surely. I'll get it. The wall safe is in Lynn's room. I shall probablyhave to fuss a long time with the combination."

  In fact she could not have been very familiar with it for it tookseveral minutes before she returned. Meanwhile, Kennedy, who had beendrumming absently on the arms of his chair, suddenly rose and walkedquietly over to a scrap basket that stood beside an escritoire. It hadevidently just been emptied, for the rooms must have been cleanedseveral hours before. He bent down over it and picked up two scraps ofpaper adhering to the wicker work. The rest had evidently been thrownaway.

  I bent over to read them. One was:

  --rest Nettie-- --dying to see--

  The other read:

  --cherche to-d --love and ma --rman.

  What did it mean? Hastily, I could fill in "Dearest Nettie," and "I amdying to see you." Kennedy added, "The Recherche to-day," that beingthe name of a new apartment uptown, as well as "love and many kisses."But "--rman"--what did that mean? Could it be Herman--Herman Schloss?

  She was returning and we resumed our seats quickly.

  Kennedy took the jewel case from her and examined it carefully. Therewas not a mark on it.

  "Mrs. Moulton," he said slowly, rising and handing it back to her,"have you told me all?"

  "Why--yes," she answered.

  Kennedy shook his head gravely.

  "I'm afraid not. You must tell me everything."

  "No--no," she cried vehemently, "there is nothing more."

  We left and outside the Deluxe he paused, looked about, caught sight ofa taxicab and hailed it.

  "Where?" asked the driver.

  "Across the street," he said, "and wait. Put the window in back of youdown so I can talk. I'll tell you where to go presently. Now, Walter,sit back as far as you can. This may seem like an underhand thing todo, but we've got to get what that woman won't tell us or give up thecase."

  Perhaps half an hour we waited, still puzzling over the scraps ofpaper. Suddenly I felt a nudge from Kennedy. Antoinette Moulton wasstanding in the doorway across the street. Evidently she preferred notto ride in her own car, for a moment later she entered a taxicab.

  "Follow that black cab," said Kennedy to our driver.

  Sure enough, it stopped in front of the Recherche Apartments and Mrs.Moulton stepped out and almost ran in.

  We waited a moment, then Kennedy followed. The elevator that had takenher up had just returned to the ground floor.

  "The same floor again," remarked Kennedy, jauntily stepping in andnodding familiarly to the elevator boy.

  Then he paused suddenly, looked at his watch, fixed his gazethoughtfully on me an instant, and exclaimed. "By George--no. I can'tgo up yet. I clean forgot that engagement at the hotel. One moment,son. Let us out. We'll be back again."

  Considerably mystified, I followed him to the sidewalk.

  "You're entitled to an explanation," he laughed catching my bewilderedlook as he opened the cab door. "I didn't want to go up now while sheis there, but I wanted to get on good terms with that boy. We'll waituntil she comes down, then go up."

  "Where?" I asked.

  "That's what I am going through all this elaborate preparation to findout. I have no more idea than you have."

  It could not have been more than twenty minutes later when Mrs. Moultonemerged rather hurriedly, and drove away.

  While we had been waiting I had observed a man on the other side of thestreet who seemed unduly interested in the Recherche, too, for he hadwalked up and down the block no less than six times. Kennedy saw him,and as he made no effort to follow Mrs. Moulton, Kennedy did not do soeither. In fact a little quick glance which she had given at our cabhad raised a fear that she might have discovered that she was beingfollowed.

  Kennedy and I paid off our cabman and sauntered into the Recherche inthe most debonair manner we could assume.

  "Now, son, we'll go up," he said to the boy who, remembering us, andnow not at all clear in his mind that he might not have seen us beforethat, whisked us to the tenth floor.

  "Let me see," said Kennedy, "it's number one hundred and--er---"

  "Three," prompted the boy.

  He pressed the buzzer and a neatly dressed colored maid responded.

  "I had an appointment here with Mrs. Moulton this morning," remarkedKennedy.

  "She has just gone," replied the maid, off her guard.

  "And was to meet Mr. Schloss here in half an hour," he added quickly.

  It was the maid's turn to look surprised.

  "I didn't think he was to be here," she said. "He's had some--"

  "Trouble at the office," supplied Kennedy. "That's what it was about.Perhaps he hasn't been able to get away yet. But I had the appointment.Ah, I see a telephone in the hall. May I?"

  He had stepped politely in, and by dint of cleverly keeping his fingeron the hook in the half light, he carried on a one-sided conversationwith himself long enough to get a good chance to look about.

  There was an air of quiet and refinement about the apartment in theRecherche. It was darkened to give the little glowing electric bulbs intheir silken shades a full chance to simulate right. The deep velvetycarpets were noiseless to the foot, and the draperies, the pictures,the bronzes, all bespoke taste.

  But the chief objects of interest to Craig were the little square greenbaize-covered tables on one of which lay neatly stacked a pile ofgilt-edged cards and a mahogany box full of ivory chips of red, whiteand blue.

  It was none of the old-time gambling places, like Danfield's, with itssteel door which Craig had once cut through with an oxyacetyleneblowpipe in order to rescue a young spendthrift from himself.

  Kennedy seemed perfectly well satisfied merely with a cursory view ofthe place, as he hung up the receiver and thanked the maid politely forallowing him to use it.

  "This is up-to-date gambling in cleaned-up New York," he remarked as wewaited for the elevator to return for us. "And the worst of it all isthat it gets the women as well as the men. Once they are caught in thenet, they are the most powerful lure to men that the gamblers have yetdevised."

  We rode down in silence, and as we went down the steps to the street, Inoticed the man whom we had seen watching the place, lurking down atthe lower corner. Kennedy quickened his pace and came up behind him.

  "Why, Winters!" exclaimed Craig. "You here?"

  "I might say the same to you," grinned the detective not displeasedevidently that our trail had crossed his. "I suppose you are lookingfor Schloss, too. He's up in the Recherche a great deal, playing poker.I understand he owns an interest in the game up there."

  Kennedy nodded, but said nothing.

  "I just saw one of the cappers for the place go out before you went in."

  "Capper?" repeated Kennedy surprised. "Antoinette Moulton a steerer fora gambling joint? What can a rich society woman have to do with a placelike that or a man like Schloss?"

  Winters smiled sardonically. "Society ladies to-day often get intoscrapes of which their husbands know nothing," he remarked. "You didn'tknow before that Antoinette Moulton, like many of her friends in thesmart set, was a gambler--and loser--did you?"

  Craig shook his head. He had more of human than scientific interest ina case of a woman of her caliber gone wrong.

  "But you must have read of the famous Moulton diamonds?"

  "Yes," said Craig, blankly, as if it were all news to him.

  "Schloss has them--or at least had them. The jewels she wore at theopera this winter were paste, I understand."

  "Does Mo
ulton play?" he asked.

  "I think so--but not here, naturally. In a way, I suppose, it is hisfault. They all do it. The example of one drives on another."

  Instantly there flashed over my mind a host of possibilities. Perhaps,after all, Winters had been right. Schloss had taken this way to makesure of the jewels so that she could not redeem them. Suddenly anotherexplanation crowded that out. Had Mrs. Moulton robbed the safe herself,or hired some one else to do it for her, and had that person gone backon her?

  Then a horrid possibility occurred to me. Whatever Antoinette Moultonmay have been and done, some one must have her in his power. What asituation for the woman! My sympathy went out to her in her supremestruggle. Even if it had been a real robbery, Schloss might easilyrecover from it. But for her every event spelled ruin and seemed onlyto be bringing that ruin closer.

  We left Winters, still watching on the trail of Schloss, and went onuptown to the laboratory.