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Page 82
He opened one of the boxes, and gazed at the contents with interest.
It contained a quantity of haired paper, almost an exact duplicate of
the haired paper used in the making of banknotes.
He looked at another box. This also contained paper. The third box
held a quantity of counterfeits, the amount of which made even the
matter-of-fact detective gasp.
"If they ever floated these, they would be the richest gang of
counterfeiters in the world!" was his mental comment. He had no idea
of the exact amount, but saw that it would total up to a tremendous sum.
He turned to one of the metal boxes. It was empty, and he set it down
again. Then he took up another box that was fairly heavy, and threw
open the cover.
There, resting on some thick blotting paper, was a counterfeit plate--a
plate undoubtedly used for printing the backs of the spurious $100
bills!
Adam Adams could not help but gaze at that plate with interest. How
the Secret Service men had worked to bring that plate to light, and
arrest the users! And here he, in following up the clues of one crime,
had stumbled upon the broad trail of another.
As he put the plate down, a noise reached his ears. By instinct, he
blew out the lantern and listened. The noise was that from footsteps
at a distance. Then he heard a murmur of voices, quickly growing
louder.
"They have discovered my escape," he told himself. And then he blamed
himself for not having made better use of his time in an endeavor to
get away.
He stepped out of the vault, and listened with strained ears. The
counterfeiters had separated, and were searching in all directions for
him.
"If they come this way, I'll have to fight," he reasoned. "I might as
well die that way, as to be killed in cold blood."
But then a sudden idea came to him, and as quickly as he had left the
vault, he returned to it. Footsteps were coming closer, and he had no
time to spare.
One of the shelves of the vault was close to the top and very broad.
Up on this climbed the detective, and laid out at full length, as close
to the wall as possible. In front of him he held two of the wooden
boxes containing the haired paper.
Somebody came closer, and he heard talking in the passageway at the
foot of the stone steps. A hand was placed on the door of the vault.
"Who left this unlocked?" came in Matlock Styles' voice.
"Is it unlocked?" asked another of the band.
"Yes."
"That is strange. It was locked yesterday; I am sure of it."
"Maybe that bloody rascal got here!" growled the Englishman.
"How could he work the combination?"
"Oh, some of those chaps are keener than you think. Wait, hold up the
light."
Matlock Styles opened the door and gazed into the vault. For the
moment he saw nothing.
"Not here," he said briefly. "Come on; we'll have to look elsewhere."
CHAPTER XXVI
DOOMED TO DIE
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