For the pursuit of ways that are dark and tricks that are vain, which Bret Harte once attributed to his famous “Heathen Chinee,” Barrows couldn’t have selected a better place than those back rooms in Marsten’s house. Marsten’s place cost him a hundred dollars a month in rent, which was about twice what a house in that locality in New Haven is worth to the ordinary, law-abiding citizen. But Marsten never felt that he was paying too much. It was a house that was very hard to get into, for one thing.
From the street it looked like an ordinary place. True, the windows were nearly always dark, but that was the owner’s own business. The front door looked very innocent. If you wanted to get in, you found an ordinary wooden door, which was open. Behind that was a panel of shaded glass, through which nothing of what went on inside was visible, although a strong electric light shone down on any visitor who rang the bell. That bell was a work of art in itself. It established an electric current which resulted, by a complicated and most ingenious system of mirrors, in revealing, to an observer carefully stationed for the purpose within the house, the appearance of whoever rang it. If the guard was made suspicious, the door was not opened, no matter how hard the bell might be rung.
A few favored visitors, for greater convenience, were intrusted with a code way of ringing that bell, which secured immediate admittance, at any hour of the day or night, for Marsten had friends who were likely, at almost any time, to require a quick and readily available hiding place. For Marsten was in the habit, when gambling profits were a trifle slow, of doing some extra business in the way of receiving stolen goods. He was very careful about this, and Detective Jones and the other shining lights of the New Haven police had not even suspected this phase of his activities as yet.
This secret signal for gaining quick admittance to the house was changed every few days, by way of precaution, lest, in some manner, some person hostile to Mr. Marsten and his way of making a living should discover it. Riggs, Foote, Barrows, Bascom, and a few others knew of it, and at half past ten promptly on the night of the day on which Dick Merriwell made his deposit of five thousand dollars in the Elm National Bank, Riggs pressed the button twice in long rings, and then three times in very rapid succession. It was the right code signal, and he was admitted at once, to be greeted with a smile by Marsten.
“You’re very lucky, Mr. Riggs,” said Marsten. “There are times when I am afraid that my friend Barrows is misguided, but he has been greatly moved by the wrongs and sufferings of men in your position. As long as his motives are good, I know of no reason why I should take it on myself to criticize the means he uses to reform bad conditions. Follow me. I will take you to him.”
Riggs, when he was taken upstairs, had to wait a few minutes for Barrows. He found himself in what looked like a miniature machine shop. There were several peculiar instruments around. One resembled a vacuum cleaner. Then there were a number of delicate tools, all attached to lengths of insulated wire, with plugs at the other end, evidently adapted to use with an ordinary electric-light circuit. In one corner of the room, a young man bent over a desk, industriously plying a very fine camel’s-hair brush. He had half a dozen of these brushes, of incredible delicacy, each resting on a little dish of paint, of different colors. This young man, who might have been recognized as Bascom, the wireless operator of the Marina, had Jim Phillips been there, paid no attention at all to Riggs. He seemed to have plenty to keep him busy without displaying any idle curiosity, and he worked as if he were fascinated by his task, and took an artistic pride in doing it as well as it could be done.
Then Barrows entered, brisk, confident, looking more like the man who had been so sure of success before the defeat of his plans for making a killing on the boat race at New London.
“All right, Riggs,” he said. “I think it looks pretty well. Now we want to get right down to business. There’s no use wasting time here. They might make an inspection of your books before you expected them, you know, and the sooner things are straightened out so that you have nothing to fear, the better you will feel. Have you got those numbers?”
“Yes,” said Riggs, taking a notebook from his pocket. “Here is a record of every bank note above ten dollars in value that was in the vaults to-night. And here are the numbers that I substituted in the official record. I passed up all that are likely to be used in the course of business to-morrow, and worked simply with the reserve cash, that would not be touched except in an emergency. All our customers make it a point to give us a few days’ notice, when possible, before making a large withdrawal, so that we can be ready for them without any trouble. But there is nothing of that sort in sight for several days.”
“Good,” said Barrows. “Now we shall be able to arrange that part of it all right. Bascom, I want you to listen with me now, to the questions I shall ask Riggs and to his answers. This is your part—and it is the hardest part of the whole business, in a way.”