Part 21 (1/2)
”Hardly that, I'm afraid,” replied Cleek. ”I think it was accident which put a _stop_ to the proceedings here, not one which created them. We now know perfectly well that the woman was in this house--undiscovered and unsuspected for days; and you may safely lay your life that she wasn't idle, wasn't stopping here for nothing.
The pile of papers burnt shows very clearly that considerable intelligence had been forwarded to her brother, so it is safe to infer that she was wiring it to him constantly.”
”But how was it possible for her to obtain that information?” queried Sir Charles. ”I again declare to you most solemnly, Mr. Cleek, that no one entered or left the room, that no word was spoken that could be said to have any bearing upon secret matters, so nothing could possibly be overheard; and how could the woman read doc.u.ments which were never out of our sight for a minute? Granted that she had some means of wiring intelligence to her brother--indeed, we now know that to have been the case--how under G.o.d's heaven did she obtain that intelligence?”
”Well, that's a facer, certainly, Sir Charles; but with such a past-mistress of ingenuity as she--well, you never know. Sure she couldn't possibly have managed to get into the room and hide herself somewhere, you think?”
”I am positive she couldn't. The thing isn't possible. There's no place where she _could_ have hidden. Come in and see.”
He unlocked the door and, followed by the rest, led the way into the room where the inquiry into the dockmaster's affairs had been held. A glance about it was sufficient to corroborate Sir Charles's statement.
On one side stood a large fireproof safe, closely locked; on the other were two windows--iron-grilled and with inside shutters of steel; at one end was a large flat-topped table, at which Sir Charles and MacInery had conducted their investigation of the books, et cetera, and at the other a smaller writing-table, upon which stood a typewriter set on a sound-deadening square of felt, and over which hung a white-disked electric bulb. There were five chairs, and not another mortal thing. No cupboard, no wardrobe, no chest--nothing under heaven in which a creature any bigger than a cat could have hidden.
”You see,” said Sir Charles, with a wave of the hand, ”she couldn't have hidden in here, neither could she have hidden outside and overheard, for nothing was said that could have been of any use to her.”
”Quite confident of that?”
”Oh, I can answer for that, Mr. Cleek,” put in young Grimsd.i.c.k. ”We were so careful upon that point that Sir Charles never dictated even the smallest thing that he wanted recorded; merely pa.s.sed over the papers and said: 'Copy that where I have marked it'; and to save my table from being overcrowded, I scratched down the marked paragraphs in shorthand, and prepared to transcribe them on the typewriter later. Why, sir, look here; the diabolical part of the mystery is that those two fragments of sentences flashed out at the telegraph office at the time of that frightful peal of thunder, and at that very instant I was in the act of transcribing them on the typewriter.”
”h.e.l.lo! h.e.l.lo!” rapped out Cleek, twitching round sharply. ”Sure of that, are you--absolutely sure?”
”Beyond all question, Mr. Cleek. Sir Charles will tell you that the thunder-clap was so violent and so sudden that both he and Mr.
MacInery fairly jumped. As for me, I was so startled that I struck a wrong letter by mistake and had to rub out a word and type it over again. Come and see. The paper is still on my table, and I can show you the erasure and the alteration. Now, n.o.body could have seen that paper, at that particular time; not a solitary word had been spoken with regard to it, and it wasn't more than half a minute before that Sir Charles himself had taken it out of the safe. Look, sir, here's the paper and here's the place where I erased the word--see?”
Cleek walked over to the typewriter and looked at the paper, saw the erasure, lifted it, looked at other typed sheets lying under it, and then knotted up his brows.
”H'm!” he said reflectively, and looked farther. ”You've got a devilish hard touch for a man who does this sort of thing constantly, and ought therefore to be an adept in the art of typewriting evenly.
And there are other errors and erasures. Look here, my friend, I don't believe you're used to this machine.”
”No, sir, I'm not. I'm not accustomed to a s.h.i.+ft key. My own machine hasn't one.”
”Your own! By Gad! What are you using this machine for, then, if you've got one of your own? And why didn't you bring your own when you came here on important business like this?”
”I did; but as we found this one already here I started in on it; and when I found it difficult to work, I went out to get my own, which I'd left in the outer room, just as I'd taken it from the carrier who brought it over. But the careless beggar must have handled it as if it were a trunk, for the spring was broken, the carriage wouldn't work, and two of the type bars were snapped off.”
”By _Jupiter!_” Cleek's voice struck in so suddenly and with such vehemence that it was almost a bark, like that of a startled terrier, and Mr. Narkom, knowing the signs, fairly jumped at him.
”You've found out something, _I_ know!” he cried. ”What is it, old chap--eh?”
”Let me alone, let me alone!” flung back Cleek, irritably. ”I want the dockmaster! I want him at once! Where is the man? Oh, there you are, Mr. Beachman. Speak up--quickly. Was that 'Hilmann' woman ever allowed to enter this room? Did she ever make use of this typewriter at any time?”
”Yes, sir--often,” he replied. ”She was one of the best and most careful typists I ever saw. Used to attend to all my correspondence for me and----Good G.o.d, man, what are you doing? Don't you know that that thing's Government property?”
For Cleek, not waiting for him to finish what he was saying, had suddenly laid hands on the machine, found it screwed fast to the table and, catching up the nearest chair, was now smas.h.i.+ng and banging away at it with all his force.
”Government destruction, you mean!” he gave back sharply. ”Didn't I tell you she was a very demon of ingenuity, stupid? Didn't I say----Victory! Now then, look here--all of you! Here's a pretty little contrivance, if you like.”
He had battered the typewriter from its fastenings and sent it cras.h.i.+ng to the floor, a wreck, not ten seconds before; now, his hand, which, immediately thereafter, had been moving rapidly over the surface of the sound-deadening square of felt beneath, whisked that, too, from the table, and let them all see the discovery he had made.
Protruding from the surface of that table and set at regular intervals there were forty-two needle points of steel--one for each key of the typewriter--which a moment before had pierced the felt's surface just sufficient to meet the bottom of the ”key” above it, and to be driven downward when that key was depressed.