'We must telephone to the police. There's a telephone in the waiting-room, isn't there?'
The patrol admitted that there was, but his manner hinted a low opinion of the utility of the police. He stood mute while Simon Shawn told the telephone receiver what had occurred in the bowels of the earth beneath Hugo's.
'Wait a minute,' said the telephone, and then, after a pause: 'Are you there? I'm Inspector Winter.'
'That's him as has charge of all the strong-room cases,' the patrol interjected to Simon.
'I've got Mr. Jack Galpin here, as it happens,' said the telephone.
'Mr. Jack Galpin?' Simon questioned.
'He's just done eighteen months for an attempt in Lombard Street,' the patrol explained. 'I've heard of him.'
'I'll come down with him immediately in a cab,' said the telephone.
When Simon returned to the impregnable door of Vault 39 he listened in vain for a sound. Then he knocked with his pen-knife on the polished steel, and presently there was an answering signal from within—a series of scarcely perceptible irregular taps. It struck him that the irregularity of the taps formed a rhythm, and after a few seconds he recognised the rhythm of the Intermezzo from 'Cavalleria Rusticana,' which he had played for Hugo that very morning.
It was at this moment that the messenger-boy attached to the department came whistling into the steel corridors, and delivered to the patrol a small white packet, which, he said, Mr. Brown had handed to him with instructions to hand it to the patrol. He had seen Mr. Brown in a cab outside the building, and Mr. Brown had the appearance of being very ill.