“You don’t understand!” Kenleigh burst out, with a groan. “This means absolute ruin to me! A hundred thousand dollars in bonds—payable to bearer—and—and, God help me, they weren’t mine!”
“Say”—Meighan, still busily occupied with the fractured safe, spoke gruffly, though not unkindly, over his shoulder—“I understand all right, but don’t lose your nerve, Mr. Kenleigh. It won’t get you anywhere, and it doesn’t follow because the swag is gone that we can’t get it back. I know the guy that pulled this job.”
“You—what!“ Kenleigh, his face lighting up as though with a sudden hope, stepped quickly toward the detective. “What did you say? You know who did it!”
“Don’t get excited!” advised Meighan coolly. “Sure, I know! That is, it’s a toss-up between one of two, and that’s easy. We’ll round ‘em both up before morning, and then I guess it won’t be much of a trick to pick the winner. They won’t be looking for trouble as quick as this. We’ll get ‘em, all right. It’s a toss-up between Mug Garretty and the Magpie.”
Kenleigh was staring incredulously at the detective.
“How do you know?” he gasped out. “I—I don’t—”
“I daresay you don’t.” Meighan was chuckling now. “It’s like this, Mr. Kenleigh. A crook’s like any one else, like an artist, say—you get to know ‘em, get to spot ‘em, especially safe workers, from certain peculiarities about their work. They can’t any more help it than stop breathing. Here, for instance, the way he—” Meighan stopped suddenly. He had been pulling the mattress away from the front of the safe, and now, with a sharp, exultant exclamation, he stooped quickly and picked up a small object from the floor. He held it out, twirling It between thumb and forefinger, for Kenleigh’s inspection—a flashy scarf pin, horseshoe-shaped, of blatantly imitation diamonds.
Kenleigh shook his head bewilderingly.
“I suppose you mean that you recognise it?” he ventured.
“Recognize it!” Meighan laughed low, and, stepping past Kenleigh to the desk, picked up the telephone, and called Headquarters. “Recognise it!” With the receiver to his ear, waiting for his connection, he turned toward Kenleigh. “Why, say, walk over to the Bowery and show it to the first person you meet, and he’d call the turn. Pretty, isn’t it? When he’s dolled up, he’s some—hello!” He swung around to the telephone. “Headquarters?… Meighan speaking from Kenleigh’s apartment… Get a drag out for the Magpie on the jump…. Eh?… Yes!… Left his visiting card…. What?… Yes, wound a mattress around the box and souped it; his scarf pin must have caught in the ticking and pulled out…. Sure, that’s the one—the horseshoe—found it on the floor…. What?… Yes, the chances are ten to one he will, it’s his only play…. All right, I’ll get Mr. Kenleigh’s story meanwhile…. I’ll be here till you ‘phone…. Yes…. All right!”
Meighan hung up the receiver, sat down in a chair, and motioned toward another that was close alongside the desk.
“Turn out the light, Mr. Kenleigh,” he said abruptly; “and sit down here.”
Kenleigh looked his amazement.
“Turn out the light?” he repeated perplexedly.
“Yes,” Meighan nodded. “And at once, please.”
Obeying mechanically, Kenleigh moved toward the electric-light switch. There was a faint click, and the apartment was in darkness. Came then the sound of Kenleigh making his way back across the room, and settling himself in the chair beside the detective.
“I—I don’t quite see,” said Kenleigh, a little nervously. “I—”
“You will in a minute,” interrupted Meighan, in a low voice. “Don’t make any noise now, and don’t speak much above a whisper. That little glass stick pin is worth twenty years to the Magpie. See? When he finds that he has lost it, he’ll take any risk to make sure that he didn’t lose it here. Get the idea? It would plant him for keeps, and nobody knows it any better than he does.”
“You mean he’ll come back here?” whispered Kenleigh eagerly.
Meighan chuckled.
“Sure, he’ll come back here—if he isn’t nabbed beforehand! It’s the only chance he’s got. Don’t you worry, Mr. Kenleigh. He’s a shy bird, is the Magpie, or he’d have been up the river long before now, but we’ve got him coming and going this deal. Now then, I haven’t got the details from you yet. What time this evening did you get back here before you went out to dine?”
It was quite dark now, and Jimmie Dale leaned forward a little to catch the words. Both men were speaking in guarded undertones.
“About six o’clock,” Kenleigh answered. “I came straight from the office. I put the bonds in that safe there, and I should say it was a quarter to seven by the time I had dressed and gone out again.”
“And, say, half past eleven when you got back. So some time between seven o’clock and half past eleven, Mr. Magpie got into the courtyard, put a jimmy at work on the bathroom window beyond the bedroom there, got busy—more likely to be nearer eleven than seven—he would have been back before now, otherwise, eh?” Meighan seemed to be communing with himself, rather than talking to Kenleigh. “Wouldn’t make such an awful noise—didn’t need much juice on that safe—pretty slick with the smother game—didn’t raise an item, anyway.”
There was silence for a moment. Then Meighan spoke again:
“Let’s have your story, Mr. Kenleigh. How did you come to bring a hundred thousand dollars’ worth of bonds home with you? And how did the Magpie get onto the lay?”
“I don’t know, unless he stood in with the bond firm’s messenger; that’s the only way in which I could account for it,” said Kenleigh huskily. “And I’ve no right to say that God knows I’ve no wish to get an innocent man into trouble. I’ve no proof—but I can’t see any other solution.” Kenleigh’s voice broke. He seemed to steady himself with an effort. “I’m an insurance broker with an office on Wall Street, as I daresay you know. A client of mine, a well-known millionaire here in the city, wanted a hundred thousand dollars’ worth of the Canadian War Loan bonds, but for business reasons, he has a large German connection, he did not want his name to appear in the transaction.” Kenleigh hesitated.
“Sure!” said Meighan. “I see. Wise guy! Go on!”
“He commissioned me to get them for him.” Kenleigh’s voice was agitated as he continued. “I telephoned Thorpe, LeLand and Company, the brokers, where I was personally known, explained the circumstances, and placed the order. My client was to give me a check for the amount on the delivery of the bonds to him. I was to place this to my own credit in the bank, and check against it in favour of Thorpe, LeLand and Company. They sent the bonds over to my office by a messenger about five o’clock this afternoon. It was too late to put them in a safe-deposit vault. I locked them first in my office safe, and then I grew nervous about them, and took them out again.”
“Anybody see you do that?” queried Meighan quickly.
“No; I don’t see how they could. I’ve only a small one-room