“Gentleman to see you, Mr. West,” said the deputy. “Won't give his name. Says it's important.”
“Show him in,” Harvey replied.
The deputy stepped back and made way for a quiet-looking man who was even larger than himself. The newcomer closed the door behind him.
“Mr. West,” he said, “Mr. Weeks ordered me to report to you. I'm Mallory, from the Pinkerton agency. I have three men outside. Have you any instructions?”
Harvey checked a smile. It reminded him of the stories of his boyhood. But in a moment it dawned upon him that if Jim thought the situation so serious, he must be very careful.
“Yes,” he answered slowly. “Put one man near the vault—here”—he opened the small door—“let no one go into the vault without my permission. Then you might put one man in the hall—somewhere out of sight—and one outside the building. You understand that there may be an attempt to get possession of the books. Do you know any of the C. & S.C. men—William C. Porter, or Frederick McNally?”
The detective shook his head.
“Well, then, just keep things right under your eye, and report every hour or so.”
The detective nodded and left the room. A little later Harvey opened the side door, and saw a man lounging in the passage, looking idly out the window.
Shortly after ten Jim came in to talk things over. He told Harvey that the C. & S.C. people had a counter move under way, but he was unable to discover its nature. He had seen McNally in company with a number of men who did not often leave Chicago. “He'll be up here, yet,” Jim added prophetically; and he went out without leaving word. “Don't know how long I'll be gone,” was all he would say; “but you'll see me off and on.”