The Craig Kennedy Scientific Detective MEGAPACK ®. Brander Matthews
force before an attractive offer had taken him into this position of great responsibility.
“Herman Schloss, one of the best known of Maiden Lane jewelers,” he continued, “has been robbed of goods worth two or three hundred thousand dollars—and in spite of every modern protection. So that you will get it clearly, let me show you what we do here.”
He ushered us into a large room, on the walls of which were hundreds of little indicators. From the front they looked like rows of little square compartments, tier on tier, about the size of ordinary post office boxes. Closer examination showed that each was equipped with a delicate needle arranged to oscillate backward and forward upon the very minutest interference with the electric current. Under the boxes, each of which bore a number, was a series of drops and buzzers numbered to correspond with the boxes.
“In nearly every office in Maiden Lane where gems and valuable jewelry are stored,” explained McLear, “this electrical system of ours is installed. When the safes are closed at night and the doors swung together, a current of electricity is constantly shooting around the safes, conducted by cleverly concealed wires. These wires are picked up by a cable system which finds its way to this central office. Once here, the wires are safeguarded in such manner that foreign currents from other wires or from lightning cannot disturb the system.”
We looked with intense interest at this huge electrical pulse that felt every change over so vast and rich an area.
“Passing a big dividing board,” he went on, “they are distributed and connected each in its place to the delicate tangent galvanometers and sensitive indicators you see in this room. These instantly announce the most minute change in the working of the current, and each office has a distinct separate metallic circuit. Why, even a hole as small as a lead pencil in anything protected would sound the alarm here.”
Kennedy nodded appreciatively.
“You see,” continued McLear, glad to be able to talk to one who followed him so closely, “it is another evidence of science finding for us greater security in the use of a tiny electric wire than in massive walls of steel and intricate lock devices. But here is a case in which, it seems, every known protection has failed. We can’t afford to pass that by. If we have fallen down we want to know how, as well as to catch the burglar.”
“How are the signals given?” I asked.
“Well, when the day’s business is over, for instance, Schloss would swing the heavy safe doors together and over them place the doors of a wooden cabinet. That signals an alarm to us here. We answer it and if the proper signal is returned, all right. After that no one can tamper with the safe later in the night without sounding an alarm that would bring a quick investigation.”
“But suppose that it became necessary to open the safe before the next morning. Might not some trusted employee return to the office, open it, give the proper signals and loot the safe?”
“No indeed,” he answered confidently. “The very moment anyone touches the cabinet, the alarm is sounded. Even if the proper code signal is returned, it is not sufficient. A couple of our trusted men from the central office hustle around there anyhow and they don’t leave until they are satisfied that everything is right. We have the authorized signatures on hand of those who are supposed to open the safe and a duplicate of one of them must be given or there is an arrest.”
McLear considered for a moment.
“For instance, Schloss, like all the rest, was assigned a box in which was deposited a sealed envelope containing a key to the office and his own signature, in this case, since he alone knew the combination. Now, when an alarm is sounded, as it was last night, and the key removed to gain entrance to the office, a record is made and the key has to be sealed up again by Schloss. A report is also submitted showing when the signals are received and anything else that is worth recording. Last night our men found nothing wrong, apparently. But this morning we learn of the robbery.”
“The point is, then,” ruminated Kennedy, “what happened in the interval between the ringing of the alarm and the arrival of the special officers? I think I’ll drop around and look Schloss’ place over,” he added quietly, evidently eager to begin at the actual scene of the crime.
On the door of the office to which McLear took us was one of those small blue plates which chance visitors to Maiden Lane must have seen often. To the initiated—be he crook or jeweler—this simple sign means that the merchant is a member of the Jewelers’ Security Alliance, enough in itself, it would seem, to make the boldest burglar hesitate. For it is the motto of this organization to “get” the thief at any cost and at any time. Still, it had not deterred the burglar in this instance.
“I know people are going to think it is a fake burglary,” exclaimed Schloss, a stout, prosperous-looking gem broker, as we introduced ourselves. “But over two hundred thousands dollars’ worth of stones are gone,” he half groaned. “Think of it, man,” he added, “one of the greatest robberies since the Dead Line was established. And if they can get away with it, why, no one down here is protected any more. Half a billion dollars in jewels in Maiden Lane and John Street are easy prey for the cracksmen!”
Staggering though the loss must have been to him, he had apparently recovered from the first shock of the discovery and had begun the fight to get back what had been lost.
It was, as McLear had intimated, a most amazing burglary, too. The door of Schloss’ safe was open when Kennedy and I arrived and found the excited jeweler nervously pacing the office. Surrounding the safe, I noticed a wooden framework constructed in such a way as to be a part of the decorative scheme of the office.
Schloss banged the heavy doors shut.
“There, that’s just how it was—shut as tight as a drum. There was absolutely no mark of anyone tampering with the combination lock. And yet the safe was looted!”
“How did you discover it?” asked Craig. “I presume you carry burglary insurance?”
Schloss looked up quickly. “That’s what I expected as a first question. No, I carried very little insurance. You see, I thought the safe, one of those new chrome steel affairs, was about impregnable. I never lost a moment’s sleep over it; didn’t think it possible for anyone to get into it. For, as you see, it is completely wired by the Hale Electric Protection—that wooden framework about it. No one could touch that when it was set without jangling a bell at the central office which would send men scurrying here to protect the place.”
“But they must have got past it,” suggested Kennedy.
“Yes—they must have. At least this morning I received the regular Hale report. It said that their wires registered last night as though some one was tampering with the safe. But by the time they got around, in less than five minutes, there was no one here, nothing seemed to be disturbed. So they set it down to induction or electrolysis, or something the matter with the wires. I got the report the first thing when I arrived here with my assistant, Muller.”
Kennedy was on his knees, going over the safe with a fine brush and some powder, looking now and then through a small magnifying glass.
“Not a finger print,” he muttered. “The cracksman must have worn gloves. But how did he get in? There isn’t a mark of ‘soup’ having been used to blow it up, nor of a ‘can-opener’ to rip it open, if that were possible, nor of an electric or any other kind of drill.”
“I’ve read of those fellows who burn their way in,” said Schloss.
“But there is no hole,” objected Kennedy, “not a trace of the use of thermit to burn the way in or of the oxyacetylene blowpipe to cut a piece out. Most extraordinary,” he murmured.
“You see,” shrugged Schloss, “everyone will say it must have been opened by one who knew the combination. But I am the only one. I have never written it down or told anyone, not even Muller. You understand what I am up against?”
“There’s the touch system,” I suggested. “You remember, Craig, the old fellow who used to file his finger tips to the quick until