asked Carrados.
“Upon my word, I never noticed,” admitted the other.
“Parkinson would have noticed,” was the severe comment.
“I am not Parkinson,” retorted Mr Carlyle, with asperity, “and, strictly as one dear friend to another, Max, permit me to add, that while cherishing an unbounded admiration for your remarkable gifts, I have the strongest suspicion that the whole incident is a ridiculous mare’s nest, bred in the fantastic imagination of an enthusiastic criminologist.”
Mr Carrados received this outburst with the utmost benignity. “Come and have a coffee, Louis,” he suggested. “Mehmed’s is only a street away.”
Mehmed proved to be a cosmopolitan gentleman from Mocha whose shop resembled a house from the outside and an Oriental divan when one was within. A turbaned Arab placed cigarettes and cups of coffee spiced with saffron before the customers, gave salaam and withdrew.
“You know, my dear chap,” continued Mr Carlyle, sipping his black coffee and wondering privately whether it was really very good or very bad, “speaking quite seriously, the one fishy detail—our ginger friend’s watching for the other to leave—may be open to a dozen very innocent explanations.”
“So innocent that to-morrow I intend taking a safe myself.”
“You think that everything is all right?”
“On the contrary, I am convinced that something is very wrong.”
“Then why——?”
“I shall keep nothing there, but it will give me the entrée. I should advise you, Louis, in the first place to empty your safe with all possible speed, and in the second to leave your business card on the manager.”
Mr Carlyle pushed his cup away, convinced now that the coffee was really very bad.
“But, my dear Max, the place—‘The Safe’—is impregnable!”
“When I was in the States, three years ago, the head porter at one hotel took pains to impress on me that the building was absolutely fireproof. I at once had my things taken off to another hotel. Two weeks later the first place was burnt out. It was fireproof, I believe, but of course the furniture and the fittings were not and the walls gave way.”
“Very ingenious,” admitted Mr Carlyle, “but why did you really go? You know you can’t humbug me with your superhuman sixth sense, my friend.”
Carrados smiled pleasantly, thereby encouraging the watchful attendant to draw near and replenish their tiny cups.
“Perhaps,” replied the blind man, “because so many careless people were satisfied that it was fireproof.”
“Ah-ha, there you are—the greater the confidence the greater the risk. But only if your self-confidence results in carelessness. Now do you know how this place is secured, Max?”
“I am told that they lock the door at night,” replied Carrados, with bland malice.
“And hide the key under the mat to be ready for the first arrival in the morning,” crowed Mr Carlyle, in the same playful spirit. “Dear old chap! Well, let me tell you——”
“That force is out of the question. Quite so,” admitted his friend.
“That simplifies the argument. Let us consider fraud. There again the precautions are so rigid that many people pronounce the forms a nuisance. I confess that I do not. I regard them as a means of protecting my own property and I cheerfully sign my name and give my password, which the manager compares with his record-book before he releases the first lock of my safe. The signature is burned before my eyes in a sort of crucible there, the password is of my own choosing and is written only in a book that no one but the manager ever sees, and my key is the sole one in existence.”
“No duplicate or master-key?”
“Neither. If a key is lost it takes a skilful mechanic half-a-day to cut his way in. Then you must remember that clients of a safe-deposit are not multitudinous. All are known more or less by sight to the officials there, and a stranger would receive close attention. Now, Max, by what combination of circumstances is a rogue to know my password, to be able to forge my signature, to possess himself of my key, and to resemble me personally? And, finally, how is he possibly to determine beforehand whether there is anything in my safe to repay so elaborate a plant?” Mr Carlyle concluded in triumph and was so carried away by the strength of his position that he drank off the contents of his second cup before he realized what he was doing.
“At the hotel I just spoke of,” replied Carrados, “there was an attendant whose one duty in case of alarm was to secure three iron doors. On the night of the fire he had a bad attack of toothache and slipped away for just a quarter of an hour to have the thing out. There was a most up-to-date system of automatic fire alarm; it had been tested only the day before and the electrician, finding some part not absolutely to his satisfaction, had taken it away and not had time to replace it. The night watchman, it turned out, had received leave to present himself a couple of hours later on that particular night, and the hotel fireman, whose duties he took over, had missed being notified. Lastly, there was a big riverside blaze at the same time and all the engines were down at the other end of the city.”
Mr Carlyle committed himself to a dubious monosyllable. Carrados leaned forward a little.
“All these circumstances formed a coincidence of pure chance. Is it not conceivable, Louis, that an even more remarkable series might be brought about by design?”
“Our tawny friend?”
“Possibly. Only he was not really tawny.” Mr Carlyle’s easy attitude suddenly stiffened into rigid attention. “He wore a false moustache.”
“He wore a false moustache!” repeated the amazed gentleman. “And you cannot see! No, really, Max, this is beyond the limit!”
“If only you would not trust your dear, blundering old eyes so implicitly you would get nearer that limit yourself,” retorted Carrados. “The man carried a five-yard aura of spirit gum, emphasized by a warm, perspiring skin. That inevitably suggested one thing. I looked for further evidence of making-up and found it—these preparations all smell. The hair you described was characteristically that of a wig—worn long to hide the joining and made wavy to minimize the length. All these things are trifles. As yet we have not gone beyond the initial stage of suspicion. I will tell you another trifle. When this man retired to a compartment with his deed-box, he never even opened it. Possibly it contains a brick and a newspaper. He is only watching.”
“Watching the bookmaker.”
“True, but it may go far wider than that. Everything points to a plot of careful elaboration. Still, if you are satisfied——”
“I am quite satisfied,” replied Mr Carlyle gallantly. “I regard ‘The Safe’ almost as a national institution, and as such I have an implicit faith in its precautions against every kind of force or fraud.” So far Mr Carlyle’s attitude had been suggestive of a rock, but at this point he took out his watch, hummed a little to pass the time, consulted his watch again, and continued: “I am afraid that there were one or two papers which I overlooked. It would perhaps save me coming again to-morrow if I went back now——”
