CHAPTER FOUR
Less than an hour before the Mauretania reached Quarantine, JamesDuncan, whose rank was that of Customs Inspector and present assignmentthe more important one of assistant to Daniel Taylor, a Deputy-Surveyor,threw away the stub of cigar and reached for the telephone.
When central had given him his number he called out: "Is that you,Ford?" Apparently the central had not erred and his face took on a lookof intentness as he gave the man at the other end of the line hisinstructions. "Say, Ford," he called, "I've got something mightyimportant for you. Directly the Mauretania gets into Quarantine, gothrough the declarations and 'phone me right away whether a man namedSteven Denby declares a pearl necklace valued at two hundred thousanddollars. No. No, not that name, Denby, D-E-N-B-Y. Steven Denby. That'sright. A big case you say? I should bet it is a big case. Never you mindwho's handling it, Ford. It may be R. J., or it may not. Don't you worryabout a little thing like that. It's your job to 'phone me as soon asyou get a peek at those declarations. Let Hammett work with you.Bye-bye."
He hung up the receiver and leaned back in his chair, well satisfiedwith himself. He was a spare, hatchet-faced man, who held down hispresent position because he was used to those storm warnings he couldsee on his chief's face and knew enough to work in the dark and neverask for explanations.
He did not, for instance, lean back in his chair and smoke cigars with alordly air when Deputy-Surveyor Daniel Taylor was sitting in his bigdesk in the window opposite. At such times Duncan worked with silentfury and felt he had evened up matters when he found a Customs Inspectorwhom he could impress with his own superiority.
When a step in the outside passage warned him that his chief mightpossibly be coming in, he settled down in an attitude of work. But thereentered only Harry Gibbs, dressed in the uniform of a Customs Inspector.Gibbs was a fat, easy man, whose existence was all the more pleasantbecause of his eager interest in gossip. None knew so well as Gibbs theundercurrent of speculation which the lesser lights of the Customs termoffice politics. If the Collector frowned, Gibbs instantly dismissed themen upon whom his displeasure had fallen and conjured up erroneousreasons concerning high official wrath. Since Duncan was near to a manin power, Gibbs welcomed any opportunity to converse with him. He seldomcame away from such an interview empty-handed. He was a pleasant enoughcreature and filled with mild wonder at the vagaries of Providence.
Just now he seemed hot but that was not unusual, for he was rarelycomfortable during the summer months as he complained frequently. Heseemed worried, Duncan thought.
"Hello, Jim," he said when he entered.
Duncan assumed the inquisitorial air his chief had in a marked degree.
"Thought you were searching tourists on the Olympic this afternoon," hereplied.
Gibbs mopped his perspiring head, "I was," he answered. "I had twothousand crazy women, all of 'em swearing they hadn't brought in athing. Gosh! Women is liars."
"What are you doing over here?" Duncan asked.
"I brought along a dame they want your boss Taylor to look over. Itneeds a smart guy like him to land her. Where is he?"
"Down with Malone now; he'll be back soon."
Gibbs sank into a chair with a sigh of relief. "He don't have to hurryon my account. I'll be tickled to stay here all day. I'm sick ofsearching trunks that's got nothing in 'em but clothes. It ain't likethe good old days, Jim. In them times if you treated a tourist righthe'd hand you his business card, and when you showed up in his officenext day, he'd come across without a squeal. I used to know thedown-town business section pretty well in them days."
"So did I. Why, when I was inspector, if you had any luck picking outyour passenger you'd find twenty dollars lying right on the top tray ofthe first trunk he opened up for you."
Gibbs sighed again. It seemed the golden age was passing.
"And believe me," he said, "when that happened to me I never opened anymore of his trunks, I just labeled the whole bunch. But now--why, sincethis new administration got in I'm so honest it's pitiful."
Duncan nodded acquiescence.
"It's a hell of a thing when a government official has to live on hissalary," he said regretfully. "They didn't ought to expect it of us."
"What do they care?" Gibbs asserted bitterly, and then added with thatinquiring air which had frequently been mistaken for intelligence:"Ain't it funny that it's always women who smuggle? They'll look youright in the eye and lie like the very devil, and if you do land 'emthey ain't ashamed, only sore!"
Duncan assumed his most superior air.
"I guess men are honester than women, Jim, and that's the whole secret."
"They certainly are about smuggling," the other returned. "Why, wegrabbed one of these here rich society women this morning and pulled outabout forty yards of old lace--and say, where do you think she had itstowed?"
"Sewed it round her petticoat," Duncan said with a grin. He had hadexperience.
Gibbs shook his head, "No. It was in a hot-water bottle. That was a newone on me. Well, when we pinched her she just turned on me as cool asyou please: 'You've got me now, but damn you, I've fooled you lots oftimes before!'"
Gibbs leaned back in enjoyment of his own imitation of the societylady's voice and watched Duncan looking over some declaration papers.Duncan looked up with a smile. "Say, here's another new one. Declarationfrom a college professor who paid duty on spending seventy-five francsto have his shoes half-soled in Paris."
But Gibbs was not to be outdone.
"That's nothing," said he, "a gink this morning declared a gold tooth.I didn't know how to classify it so I just told him nobody'd know ifhe'd keep his mouth shut. It was a back tooth. He did slip me a cigar,but women who are smugglin' seem to think it ain't honest to give aninspector any kind of tip." Gibbs dived into an inner pocket and broughtout a bunch of aigrettes. "The most I can do now is these aigrettes. Inipped 'em off of a lady coming down the gangplank of the Olympic. Theyain't bad, Jim."
Duncan rose from his chair and came over to Gibbs' side and took theplume from his hand.
"Can't you guys ever get out of the habit of grafting?" he demanded."Queer," he continued, looking at the delicate feathers closely, "howsome soft, timid little bit of a woman is willing to wear things likethat. Do you know where they come from?"
"From some factory, I s'pose," Gibbs answered with an air of candor.
"No they don't," Duncan told him. "They take 'em from the mother birdjust when she's had her young ones; they leave her half dead with thelittle ones starving. Pretty tough, I call it, on dumb animals," heconcluded, with so sentimental a tone as to leave poor Gibbs amazed. Hewas still more amazed when his fellow inspector put them in his ownpocket and went back to his desk.
"Say, Jim," Gibbs expostulated, "what are you doing with them?"
"Why, my wife was asking this morning if I couldn't get her a bunch.These'll come in just right."
"You're a funny guy to talk about grafting," Gibbs grumbled, "I ain'tshowing you nothin' more."
"Never you mind me," Duncan commanded. "You keep your own eyes peeled.Old man Taylor's been raising the deuce around here about reports thatsome of you fellows still take tips."
Gibbs had heard such rumors too often for them to affect him now. "Oh,it's just the usual August holler," he declared.
Duncan contradicted him, "No, it isn't," he observed. "It's because theCollector and the Secretary of the Treasury have started aninvestigation about who's getting the rake-off for allowing stuff toslip through. I heard the Secretary was coming over here to-day. Youkeep your eyes peeled, Harry."
"If times don't change," Gibbs said with an air of gloom, "I'm goinginto the police department."
He turned about to see if the steps he heard at the door were those ofthe man he had come to see. He breathed relief when he saw it was onlyPeter, the doorkeeper.
"Mr. Duncan," said the man, "Miss Ethel Cartwright has just 'phonedthat she's on her way and would be here in fifteen minutes."
Gibbs l
ooked from one to the other with his accustomed mild interest. Hecould see that the news of which he could make little had excitedDuncan. It was evidently something important. Directly the doorkeeperhad gone Duncan called his chief on the telephone and Gibbs saunterednearer the 'phone. To hear both sides of the conversation would make itmuch easier.
"Got a cigar, Jim?" he inquired casually of the other, who was holdingthe wire.
"Yes," said Duncan, taking one from his pocket.
Gibbs reached a fat hand over for it, "Thanks," he returned simply.
Duncan bit the end off and put it in his own mouth. "And I'm going tosmoke it myself," he observed.
Gibbs shook his head reprovingly at this want of generosity and took acigar from his own pocket. "All right then; I'll have to smoke one of myown."
Just then Duncan began to speak over the wire. "Hello. Hello, Chief.Miss Ethel Cartwright just 'phoned she'd be here in fifteen minutes....Yes, sir.... I'll have her wait."
When he had rung off, Gibbs could see his interest was increasing."What do you think of her falling for a bum stall like that?"
"Who?" Gibbs demanded. "Which? What stall?"
"Why, Miss Cartwright!" said Duncan. "Ain't I talking about her?"
"Well, who is she?" the aggrieved Gibbs cried. "Is she a smuggler?"
"No. She's a swell society girl," said Duncan in a superior manner.
"If she ain't a smuggler, what's she here for then?" Gibbs had a gentlepertinacity in sticking to his point.
"The Chief wants to use her in the Denby case, so he had me write her aletter saying we'd received a package from Paris containing dutiablegoods, a diamond ring, and would she kindly call this afternoon andstraighten out the matter." Duncan now assumed an air of triumph. "Andshe fell for a fake like that!"
"I get you," said Gibbs. "But what does he want her for?"
"I told you, the Denby case."
"What's that?" Gibbs entreated.
Duncan lowered his voice. "The biggest smuggling job Taylor everhandled."
"You don't say so," Gibbs returned, duly impressed. "Why, nobody's toldme anything about it."
"Can you keep your mouth shut?" Duncan inquired mysteriously.
"Sure," Gibbs declared. "I ain't married."
"Then just take a peek out of the door, will you?" Duncan directed.
The other did as he was bid. "It's all right," he declared, finding thecorridor empty.
"I never know when he may stop out there and listen to what I'm saying.You can hear pretty plain."
"He is the original pussy-foot, ain't he," Gibbs returned. He had knownof Taylor's reputation for finding out what was going on in his officeby any method. "Now, what's it all about?"
Duncan grew very confidential.
"Last week the Chief got a cable from Harlow, a salesman in Cartier's."
"What's Cartier's?" Gibbs inquired.
"The biggest jewelry shop in Paris. Harlow's our secret agent there. Hiscable said that an American named Steven Denby had bought a pearlnecklace there for a million francs. That's two hundred thousanddollars."
"Gee!" Gibbs cried, duly impressed by such a sum, "But who's StevenDenby? Some new millionaire? I never heard of him."
"Neither did I," Duncan told him; "and we can't find out anything abouthim and that's what makes us so suspicious. You ought to be able to getsome dope on a man who can fling two hundred thousand dollars away on astring of pearls."
Gibbs' professional interest was aroused. "Did he slip it by theCustoms, then?"
"He hasn't landed yet," Duncan answered. "He's on the Mauretania."
"Why, she's about due," Gibbs cried.
"I know," Duncan retorted, "I've just had Ford on the 'phone about it.This fellow Denby is traveling with Montague Vaughan--son of the bigbanker--and Mrs. Michael Harrington."
"You mean _the_ Mrs. Michael Harrington?" Gibbs demanded eagerly.
"Sure," Duncan exclaimed, "there's only one."
Gibbs was plainly disappointed at this ending to the story.
"If he's a friend of Mrs. Harrington and young Vaughan, he ain't nosmuggler. He'll declare the necklace."
"The Chief has a hunch he won't," Duncan said. "He thinks this Denby issome slick confidence guy who has wormed his way into the Harringtons'confidence so he won't be suspected."
Gibbs considered the situation for a moment.
"Maybe he ain't traveling with the party at all but just picked 'em upon the boat."
Duncan shook his head. "No, he's a friend all right. She's taking himdown to the Harrington place at Westbury direct from the dock. One ofthe stewards on the Mauretania is our agent and he sent us a copy of herwireless to old man Harrington."
"He sounds to me like a sort of smart-set Raffles," Gibbs asserted.
"You've got it right," Duncan said approvingly.
"What's Taylor going to do?" Gibbs asked next.
"He's kind of up against it," Duncan returned. "I don't know what he'lldo yet. If Denby's on the level and we pinch him and search him anddon't find anything, think of the roar that Michael Harrington--and he'sworth about ninety billion--will put up at Washington because we friskedone of his pals. Why, he'd go down there and kick to his swell friendsand we'd all be fired."
"I ain't in on it," Gibbs said firmly; "they've no cause to fire me. Buthow does this Miss Cartwright come in on the job?"
"I don't know except that she is going down to the Harringtons' thisafternoon and Taylor's got some scheme on hand. I tell you he's a prettysmart boy."
"You bet he is," Gibbs returned promptly, "and may be he's smarter thanyou know. Ever hear of R. J.?"
"R. J.?" Duncan repeated. "You mean that secret service agent?"
"Yes," Gibbs told him with an air of one knowing secret things. "Theysay he's a pal of the President's."
"Well, what's that to do with this?" Duncan wanted to know.
"Don't you know who he is?"
"No," Duncan retorted, "and neither does anyone else. Nobody but thePresident and the Secretary of the Treasury knows who he really is."
Gibbs rose from his chair and patted his chest proudly. "Well, I know,too," he declared.
Duncan laughed contemptuously. "Yes, you do, just the same as I do--thathe's the biggest man in the secret service, and that's all you know."
Gibbs smiled complacently. "Ain't it funny," he observed, "that youright here in the office don't know?"
"Don't know what?" Duncan retorted sharply; he disliked Gibbs in apatronizing role.
"That your boss Taylor is R. J."
"Taylor!" Duncan cried. "You're crazy! The heat's got you, Harry."
"Oh, indeed!" Gibbs said sarcastically. "Do you remember the Stuyvesantcase?"
Duncan nodded.
"And do you remember that when Taylor took his vacation last year R. J.did some great work in the Crosby case? Put two and two together, Jim,and may be you'll see daylight."
"By George!" Duncan exclaimed, now impressed by Gibbs' news. "I believeyou're right. Taylor never will speak about this R. J., now I come tothink of it." He raised his head as the sound of voices was heard in thepassage.
"There he is," Duncan whispered busying himself with a sheaf ofdeclarations.
Gibbs looked toward the opening door nervously. It was one thing tocriticize the deputy-surveyor in his absence and another to meet hislook and endure his satire. His collar seemed suddenly too small, and hechewed his cigar violently.
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