The Yellow Face

by Fred M. White

"Now there's a clever man for you," Rigby cried. "Quite as clever a man as Anstruther, and I should say a great deal more subtle. But let us go as far as Shannon Street police station, and tell Bates our story."

Bates had been detained rather late. He had only just come in, and was preparing to go home when the two friends entered. He had no need to ask if they had anything of importance to communicate to him--he could glean that from the expression of the friends' faces. He led the way to his private room, and passed the cigarettes across the table.

"It's about Carrington," Rigby explained. "But perhaps I had better go back a bit, and tell you one or two little things you don't know."

It was a fairly long story, and it thoroughly aroused Bates to a sense of action. His questions were clear and intelligent; he followed the narrative, punctuating it here and there with shrewd suggestions.

"Mind you," he said. "I have been expecting something like this for a long time. All the same, I can see that you gentlemen have only told me half the story. Still, I can't complain, especially as I see my way to make a good thing out of this. When I tell the people at Scotland Yard all I know they are pretty sure to put me on the case--indeed, I will make a special favor of it. You say that you saw Anstruther blowing up all those locks, and you are pretty sure that the great bulk of the plunder is in Carrington's private safe. You don't suggest that Anstruther carried that service of plate home with him?"

"Anstruther wouldn't be such a fool," Rigby said curtly. "He is much too cool a hand for that. He will feel quite sure that the stuff is perfectly safe where it is, and fetch it away from the City a bit at a time. Of course, he won't do this till the affair has blown over and he is quite safe in so doing."

Bates was inclined to share the speaker's opinion. There was no more to be said for the present, and he intimated his intention to go up to Scotland Yard and ask the authorities to put him on the case. Jack and Rigby went their respective ways, a clock somewhere striking two when they parted at length.

Precisely as Bates had prophesied, the mysterious burglary at the City and Provincial Bank caused the greatest sensation the following morning. The later editions of the evening papers were full of it. Carrington had been interviewed by more than one bright reporter; indeed, he had been dragged out of bed for the purpose, and he had been understood to say that the bank's loss could not fall far short of a million unless the thieves could be promptly arrested. The story was vividly told, Carrington's distress and agitation being expressly accentuated.

But this was not the worst part of the distracted bank manager's story. There had been in the possession of the bank a tremendous lot of valuable personal property belonging to various esteemed clients. All this had disappeared, and more than one great lady in London was mourning the loss of her family jewels. The greatest sympathy was felt with the bank; it was only one or two carping critics who were asking questions.

They were pertinent questions, too; a desire, for instance, to know what Carrington could possibly be doing on the bank premises at so late an hour. But these were merely pin pricks, and the great bulk of the population felt nothing but sympathy for Carrington. The only people who had a fairly good grip of the real state of the case besides Rigby and his companions were the Barmouths and Claire Helmsley. Jack saw Claire in Lady Barmouth's drawing-room late the following morning, and explained to her and Lady Barmouth what had happened the night previous.