Following that wire’s course, they, too, descended until, in the fulness of time, the end was reached in a far corner of the cellar underneath the building.
There, behind an upturned empty cask, they came upon yet another wire, which wound upward, and was found afterward to travel out and up beside the “leader” until it joined the private wire of the dockyard just outside the dormer window of what had once been Miss Greta Hilmann’s bedroom. And to these wires—the one descending and the other ascending from behind that empty cask in the cellar—there was a singular contrivance attached. To one, a plain, everyday instrument for dispatching telegrams by the Morse system; to the other, a curious little keyboard which was an exact counterpart of the keyboard to the typewriter upstairs; and besides this there lay some remnants of food from the store cupboard of the house, and a sheaf of paper leaves covered with typewritten characters.
“Gentlemen, the absolute end of the riddle at last,” said Cleek as he took up one of those leaves. “Look at them—Government secrets every one. And I, like an ass, forgot to remember that Nicolo Ferrand was one of the cleverest mechanicians and one of the craftiest ‘wire workers’ that the underworld boasts. Look, Sir Charles; look, Mr. Narkom. Every touch of a letter on the keyboard of the typewriter upstairs registered its exact duplicate on this infernal contrivance down here, and fast as it was recorded, that vixen wired it on to Boris Borovonski. Can’t you understand now why she left her post and flew to him? The shock which killed him and travelled with lessened force down the wire to the telegraph operator was felt here, and the instrument she used was, in all probability, disabled. She knew then, of course, that something had happened to her brother, and in a panic flew to find out what.
“But even the shrewdest slip up sometimes and overlook things. Her foolish slip lay in this: that she forgot to take with her these original drafts of the intelligence she had wired to the dead man.”
“Ah, weel,” said Mr. Alexander MacInery, who, like a true Scotsman, never liked to be found at the small end of the horn upon any occasion, “after all, ’tis no more than I expected. I said it was accident that was at the bottom of it, and accident it’s turned out to be.”
“No doubt,” agreed Cleek, with one of his peculiar smiles. “But, personally, I always like to think that there’s a Power above, and when men—and nations—have played the game squarely——Shan’t we be going upstairs, Sir Charles? Mr. Narkom and I have a long ride back to town, and the afternoon is on the decline.”
It was still farther on that road, however, before he was able to actually tear himself away from the dockyard and be off home; for there were those little legal necessities which are the penalty of dealing with Government affairs to be attended to; there was the boring business of meeting high officials, and listening to compliments and congratulations, and he was really glad when the limousine, answering to orders, rolled up, the final good-byes were said, and he and Mr. Narkom swung off townward together.
But despite the fact that he had just carried to a successful conclusion a case which would go far to enhance his reputation and to hasten the day for which he had so long and so earnestly worked, Cleek was singularly uncommunicative, markedly abstracted, as they rode back through the streets of Portsmouth Town on their way to the highroad; and had the superintendent been more observant and less wrapped up in the glory that was to be theirs as the result of the day’s adventure, he might have discovered that, while his ally seemed to be dozing stupidly when he was not leaning back in a corner and smoking, he was all the time keeping a close watch of the crowded streets through which they were speeding as if looking for some one or something he expected to see. Nor did he relax this peculiar system of vigilance even after the town itself had dropped away into the far distance, and the car was scudding along over the broad stretches and the less-frequented thoroughfares of the open country.
“I shall not go all the way back with you, if you don’t mind, Mr. Narkom,” he said, breaking silence abruptly, as they raced along. “Just set me down at the place where you picked me up this morning, please, and I will do the rest of the journey by train.”
“Cinnamon! Why?”