It seemed to him that now everything was in readiness for the coming of his associates in the commission of the crime.There remained only to give them the signal in the room around the corner where they waited at a telephone.He seated himself in Gilder's chair at the desk, and drew the telephone to him.
"Give me 999 Bryant," he said.His tone was hardly louder than a whisper, but spoken with great distinctness.
There was a little wait.Then an answer in a voice he knew came over the wire.
But Garson said nothing more.Instead, he picked up a penholder from the tray on the desk, and began tapping lightly on the rim of the transmitter.It was a code message in Morse.In the room around the corner, the tapping sounded clearly, ticking out the message that the way was free for the thieves' coming.
When Garson had made an end of the telegraphing, there came a brief answer in like Morse, to which he returned a short direction.
For a final safeguard, Garson searched for and found the telephone bell-box on the surbase below the octagonal window.It was the work of only a few seconds to unscrew the bells, which he placed on the desk.So simply he made provision against any alarm from this source.He then took his pistol from his hip-pocket, examined it to make sure that the silencer was properly adjusted, and then thrust it into the right side-pocket of his coat, ready for instant use in desperate emergency.Once again, now, he produced the electric torch, and lighted it as he extinguished the lamp on the table.
Forthwith, Garson went to the door into the hall, opened it, and, leaving it ajar, made his way in silence to the outer doorway.
Presently, the doors there were freed of their bolts under his skilled fingers, and one of them swung wide.He had put out the torch now, lest its gleam might catch the gaze of some casual passer-by.So nicely had the affair been timed that hardly was the door open before the three men slipped in, and stood mute and motionless in the hall, while Garson refastened the doors.Then, a pencil of light traced the length of the hallway and Garson walked quickly back to the library.Behind him with steps as noiseless as his own came the three men to whom he had just given the message.
When all were gathered in the library, Garson shut the hall door, touched the button in the wall beside it, and the chandelier threw its radiant light on the group.
Griggs was in evening clothes, seeming a very elegant young gentleman indeed, but his two companions were of grosser type, as far as appearances went: one, Dacey, thin and wiry, with a ferret face; the other, Chicago Red, a brawny ruffian, whose stolid features nevertheless exhibited something of half-sullen good nature.
"Everything all right so far," Garson said rapidly.He turned to Griggs and pointed toward the heavy hangings that shrouded the octagonal window."Are those the things we want?" he demanded.
"Yes," was the answer of English Eddie.
"Well, then, we've got to get busy," Garson went on.His alert, strong face was set in lines of eagerness that had in it something of fierceness now.
But, before he could add a direction, he was halted by a soft buzzing from the telephone, which, though bell-less, still gave this faint warning of a call.For an instant, he hesitated while the others regarded him doubtfully.The situation offered perplexities.To give no attention to the summons might be perilous, and failure to respond might provoke investigation in some urgent matter; to answer it might easily provide a larger danger.
"We've got to take a chance." Garson spoke his decision curtly.
He went to the desk and put the receiver to his ear.
There came again the faint tapping of some one at the other end of the line, signaling a message in the Morse code.An expression of blank amazement, which grew in a flash to deep concern, showed on Garson's face as he listened tensely.
"Why, this is Mary calling," he muttered.
"Mary!" Griggs cried.His usual vacuity of expression was cast off like a mask and alarm twisted his features.Then, in the next instant, a crafty triumph gleamed from his eyes.
"Yes, she's on," Garson interpreted, a moment later, as the tapping ceased for a little.He translated in a loud whisper as the irregular ticking noise sounded again.
"I shall be there at the house almost at once.I am sending this message from the drug store around the corner.Have some one open the door for me immediately.""She's coming over," Griggs cried incredulously.
"No, I'll stop her," Garson declared firmly.
"Right! Stop her," Chicago Red vouchsafed.
But, when, after tapping a few words, the forger paused for the reply, no sound came.
"She don't answer," he exclaimed, greatly disconcerted.He tried again, still without result.At that, he hung up the receiver with a groan."She's gone----""On her way already," Griggs suggested, and there was none to doubt that it was so.
"What's she coming here for?" Garson exclaimed harshly."This ain't no place for her! Why, if anything should go wrong now----"But Griggs interrupted him with his usual breezy cheerfulness of manner.
"Oh, nothing can go wrong now, old top.I'll let her in." He drew a small torch from the skirt-pocket of his coat and crossed to the hall door, as Garson nodded assent.
"God! Why did she have to come?" Garson muttered, filled with forebodings."If anything should go wrong now!"He turned back toward the door just as it opened, and Mary darted into the room with Griggs following."What do you want here?" he demanded, with peremptory savageness in his voice, which was a tone he had never hitherto used in addressing her.
