“This is on the level, all right,” Duncan announced after prolonged scrutiny.
Denby turned to the deputy-surveyor.
“Taylor,” he said gravely, “for three years the Government has been trying to land the big blackmailer in the Customs. They brought me into it and I set a trap with a necklace as a bait. The whole thing was a plant from Harlow’s tip, the telegram I sent myself this afternoon, to the accidental dropping of the pearls, so that you could see them through the screen. You walked right into it, Taylor. Twice before you came and looked into other traps and had some sort of intuition and kept out of them. This time, Taylor, it worked.”
“You can’t get away with that,” Taylor said threateningly. “I’m not going to listen to this.”
“Wait a minute,” Denby advised him. “You’ve been in the service long enough to know that the rough stuff won’t go. You’d only get the worst of it; so take things easily.”
He smiled pleasantly at the other men. “I’m glad to find you boys weren’t in on this. Take him along with you, and this, too.” He tossed the necklace on the table from which it slid to the floor at Gibbs’ feet.
Gibbs made a quick step forward to recover it, but trod on part of the string and crushed many of the stones. Poor Gibbs looked at the damage he had done aghast. If the thing were worth two hundred thousand dollars, a ponderous calculation forced the dreadful knowledge upon him that he had destroyed possibly a quarter of them. Fifty thousand dollars! Tears came to his eyes. “Honest to goodness,” he groaned, looking imploringly at the august R. J., “I couldn’t help it.”
“Don’t worry,” Denby laughed. “They’re fakes. Take what’s left as Exhibit A.”
Gibbs recovered his ease of manner quickly and took a few steps nearer the fallen Chief. “And to think I’ve been working for a crook two years and never knew it,” he said, with a childlike air of wonder.
Taylor looked at Denby with rage and despair.