The Yellow Face

by Fred M. White

"I am coming to that presently," Bates said coolly. "Now you were at your wits' ends to know what to do. You knew perfectly well that many of your clients would require their jewels for Lady Barmouth's dance. They were not forthcoming, for the simple reason that they had been pledged elsewhere. You had not the necessary cunning to devise some scheme to shift the blame from your shoulders, so you called in your friend Anstruther. It was he who hit upon the idea of the burglary. It was you who placed temptation in the way of the night watchmen through the medium of a couple of bottles of drugged port wine. After that the rest was easy. You had only to enter the bank with your own keys----"

"Stop a moment," Carrington cried eagerly. "You seem to forget that even I cannot enter the vaults of the bank without duplicate keys in the possession of various cashiers."

"Now, listen to me," Bates said impressively. "This discussion is absolutely irregular. It is my plain duty to arrest you at once and convey you to Bow Street. But if you help me, I may be in the position later on to do you a service. We know precisely how Anstruther used the dynamite; we know precisely what happened in the vaults, and how most of the few valuables that remained were conveyed to your own private safe. More than that, we are perfectly well aware what fee Anstruther demanded for his trouble. Need I go into the matter of that service of Cellini plate?"

Carrington threw up his hands with a gesture of despair. He was crushed and beaten to the ground by the tremendous weight of evidence with which Bates was overwhelming him.

"It is no use fighting any longer," he said. "I confess to everything. I shall plead guilty, and afford you every information in my power. Do you want me to come along with you now?"

On the whole, Bates rather thought not. He had effected his purpose, and sooner or later Carrington would have to become his prisoner. He knew that the latter would speak freely enough, like the craven coward that he was; but there was Anstruther to be thought of. Bates rose to leave.

"You can remain where you are for the present," he said. "But if you will take my advice, you will make no attempt to escape--you are too carefully watched for that; and now, good-night."

Bates went off in the direction of the City feeling that the last hour had not been wasted. On the strength of recent information, he would have felt justified in arresting Anstruther also. But he had a wholesome admiration for that individual, and the more evidence secured against him the better. Therefore it was that Bates was about to carry out the latter part of the programme, in which he was to play the part of substitute for "Simple Charlie." The programme had been easily arranged. There had been no difficulty in persuading the burglar to write the desired letter to Anstruther, and Bates had made up his mind from the first that the mythical Maggs should be none other than himself. From first to last the thing worked admirably. Anstruther was utterly deceived by the detective's admirable disguise, which he had assumed after leaving Carrington, and had fallen headlong into the trap.

Therefore it was that the two men stood facing one another in Carrington's office. Anstruther white and furious, Bates coolly contemptuous, with a revolver in his hand.

"What have you to say for yourself?" Bates asked. "Have you any reason to show why I should not take you straight to Bow Street on the charge of burglary?"