|
Main
- books.jibble.org
My Books
- IRC Hacks
Misc. Articles
- Meaning of Jibble
- M4 Su Doku
- Computer Scrapbooking
- Setting up Java
- Bootable Java
- Cookies in Java
- Dynamic Graphs
- Social Shakespeare
External Links
- Paul Mutton
- Jibble Photo Gallery
- Jibble Forums
- Google Landmarks
- Jibble Shop
- Free Books
- Intershot Ltd
|
books.jibble.org
Previous Page
| Next Page
Page 29
THE MARIONETTES
[Originally published in The Black Cat for April, 1902,
The Short Story Publishing Co.]
The policeman was standing at the corner of Twenty-fourth Street and a
prodigiously dark alley near where the elevated railroad crosses the
street. The time was two o'clock in the morning; the outlook a stretch
of cold, drizzling, unsociable blackness until the dawn.
A man, wearing a long overcoat, with his hat tilted down in front, and
carrying something in one hand, walked softly but rapidly out of the
black alley. The policeman accosted him civilly, but with the assured
air that is linked with conscious authority. The hour, the alley's musty
reputation, the pedestrian's haste, the burden he carried--these easily
combined into the "suspicious circumstances" that required illumination
at the officer's hands.
The "suspect" halted readily and tilted back his hat, exposing, in the
flicker of the electric lights, an emotionless, smooth countenance with
a rather long nose and steady dark eyes. Thrusting his gloved hand into
a side pocket of his overcoat, he drew out a card and handed it to the
policeman. Holding it to catch the uncertain light, the officer read the
name "Charles Spencer James, M. D." The street and number of the address
were of a neighborhood so solid and respectable as to subdue even
curiosity. The policeman's downward glance at the article carried in the
doctor's hand--a handsome medicine case of black leather, with small
silver mountings--further endorsed the guarantee of the card.
"All right, doctor," said the officer, stepping aside, with an air of
bulky affability. "Orders are to be extra careful. Good many burglars
and hold-ups lately. Bad night to be out. Not so cold, but--clammy."
With a formal inclination of his head, and a word or two corroborative
of the officer's estimate of the weather, Doctor James continued his
somewhat rapid progress. Three times that night had a patrolman accepted
his professional card and the sight of his paragon of a medicine case as
vouchers for his honesty of person and purpose. Had any one of those
officers seen fit, on the morrow, to test the evidence of that card he
would have found it borne out by the doctor's name on a handsome
doorplate, his presence, calm and well dressed, in his well-equipped
office--provided it were not too early, Doctor James being a late
riser--and the testimony of the neighborhood to his good citizenship,
his devotion to his family, and his success as a practitioner the two
years he had lived among them.
Therefore, it would have much surprised any one of those zealous
guardians of the peace could they have taken a peep into that immaculate
medicine case Upon opening it, the first article to be seen would have
been an elegant set of the latest conceived tools used by the "box man,"
as the ingenious safe burglar now denominates himself. Specially
designed and constructed were the implements--the short but powerful
"jimmy," the collection of curiously fashioned keys, the blued drills
and punches of the finest temper--capable of eating their way into
chilled steel as a mouse eats into a cheese, and the clamps that fasten
like a leech to the polished door of a safe and pull out the combination
knob as a dentist extracts a tooth. In a little pouch in the inner side
of the "medicine" case was a four-ounce vial of nitroglycerine, now half
empty. Underneath the tools was a mass of crumpled banknotes and a few
handfuls of gold coin, the money, altogether, amounting to eight hundred
and thirty dollars.
To a very limited circle of friends Doctor James was known as "The Swell
'Greek.'" Half of the mysterious term was a tribute to his cool and
gentlemanlike manners; the other half denoted, in the argot of the
brotherhood, the leader, the planner, the one who, by the power and
prestige of his address and position, secured the information upon which
they based their plans and desperate enterprises.
Of this elect circle the other members were Skitsie Morgan and Gum
Decker, expert "box men," and Leopold Pretzfelder, a jeweller downtown,
who manipulated the "sparklers" and other ornaments collected by the
working trio. All good and loyal men, as loose-tongued as Memnon and as
fickle as the North Star.
That night's work had not been considered by the firm to have yielded
more than a moderate repayal for their pains. An old-style two-story
side-bolt safe in the dingy office of a very wealthy old-style dry-goods
firm on a Saturday night should have excreted more than twenty-five
hundred dollars. But that was all they found, and they had divided it,
the three of them, into equal shares upon the spot, as was their custom.
Ten or twelve thousand was what they expected. But one of the
proprietors had proved to be just a trifle too old-style. Just after
dark he had carried home in a shirt box most of the funds on hand.
Previous Page
| Next Page
|
|