There was pandemonium on the Sefalonia for the last four hours before she reached dock. The horror of a death on shipboard was deepened by the fact that Cornelius Blunn, who had consistently declined to allow any doctor to examine him, had shown no signs whatever of the heart disease which had ended his life so abruptly. But apart from the tragedy itself there were two men on the steamer, Prince Lutrecht and Prince von Diss, whom the event seemed to have reduced to an almost hysterical state. The captain scarcely knew how to deal with the situation which their importunities created. They refused even to leave his room. Their persistence was becoming intolerable.
“Commander,” Prince Lutrecht said earnestly, “you are an Englishman, and I know that you are a lover of fair play. I tell you that last night there was stolen from Cornelius Blunn’s room a casket containing political documents of the most vital importance to the future of the world. Those documents, if they fell into the wrong hands, might lead to a terrible and disastrous war. They were carried about by Cornelius Blunn in defiance of our wishes and it might very well be that he has met with his death in defending them. But they have been stolen and are, at the present moment, concealed upon this ship, and I appeal to you, as the one responsible person here, to assist us towards their restoration.”
“But what can I do, Prince?” the captain expostulated. “I have nine hundred and seventy-five passengers on board. Do you wish every one of them searched?”
“Not every one,” Prince Lutrecht replied. “The person who must be responsible for this robbery is Mr. Grant Slattery. He and Cornelius Blunn were enemies, yet he was always stopping to speak to him. He learned the way into his suite. Without a doubt Slattery was the thief.”
“I have already done more than I have any right to do in that matter,” the commander pointed out. “I have had Mr. Grant Slattery’s rooms searched. Besides, the steward saw him going down into his stateroom at a reasonable hour. I cannot see the slightest evidence against the young man.”
“He has probably passed the casket on to some one,” Prince von Diss declared. “We must insist upon having the staterooms and baggage of his friends searched.”
“Including, I presume, the belongings of Lord Yeovil?” the commander asked with a patient smile.
“The casket must be found,” Prince Lutrecht persisted.
“Gentlemen,” the commander said, “I will discuss the matter with my officers and see whether any search in conjunction with the Customs examination can be effected. I tell you frankly that, so far as regards the personal and official luggage of the Prime Minister of my country, I should not allow it to be touched. You must excuse me. We shall be taking up the pilot within half an hour.”
“Captain,” Prince Lutrecht announced in desperation, “I am prepared to give a reward of one million dollars for the recovery of that casket and its contents.”
“There is no harm in announcing the fact,” was the cold reply. “You must excuse me now. I have my duties to attend to.”
Nothing happened. No discovery was made. As the great steamer backed up to her place alongside the dock, she was boarded by a small army of detectives, members of the police force and journalists. The Customs House officials, miraculously worked into a state of intense excitement, made almost savage onslaughts upon the general baggage. There was a rumour—many people declared they had seen it in black and white—that a million dollars would be paid for a small casket of dull yellow metal which had been stolen on board the Sefalonia. A great many people thought a million dollars a very useful sum of money and did their best to earn it, the consequence being that the majority of the passengers from the Sefalonia were detained many hours before they got away. Grant Slattery, who was met by Hodson, with Lord Yeovil and Susan, were amongst the earliest to leave. They all drove together towards the hotel in Park Avenue at which the latter were staying the night before their departure for Washington. Halfway there, Hodson, who had been looking out of the little window behind, redirected the driver.
“We are being followed,” he announced, “by at least two taxicabs. I have told him to drive to Police Headquarters. It is the only safe place for an hour or so. Sorry to detain you and your daughter. Lord Yeovil, but if we had gone on to the hotel there would only have been some shooting on the sidewalk. There’ll be some trouble here, but we’ll do it on the rush.”
The only luggage they had with them were two official-looking black boxes on which the name of the Right Honourable the Earl of Yeovil was painted in white letters. These had not been subjected to search and were inside the car with them.
“Which one?” Hodson asked.
Grant touched the box nearest to him with his foot. Hodson picked it up.
“It is just three steps across the sidewalk,” he said. “Even if they wing me I’ll get there. Don’t let the young lady move. We won’t hang round many seconds. They’ll probably try a rush.”
Susan passed her arm through Grant’s.
“You must stay and protect me,” she insisted.
He patted her hand. The light of battle was in his eyes.
“It may take both of us to get that safely inside,” he warned her.
They swung round the last corner. Hodson held the box under his arm. Grant, with his automatic in his right hand, crouched by his side. Before they had drawn up against the curb, Hodson had flung the door open and made his spring. A taxicab from behind came crashing into the back of their car, without, however, doing serious damage. Hodson, quick on his feet, was halfway across the sidewalk before the first shot was fired. He staggered for a moment and Grant, rushing past him like a footballer who takes a pass, snatched the box from under his arm and, bending low, dashed past the astonished bystanders into the shelter of the building. Hodson stumbled after him. Policemen and detectives came running up, closing around them.
“Get those fellows in the taxicabs, if you can,” Hodson cried, stooping down to feel his leg. “Green and his gang, by the looks of them. This way, Grant!”
They penetrated into the heart of the building, Hodson limping slightly from the effects of the bullet which had grazed his shin bone. They entered without ceremony an inner room. An astonished-looking secretary jumped up from the table and his Chief, recognising Hodson, looked more astonished still.
“My God, we’ve done it!” the latter exclaimed. “Sorry, sir. We’ve got the material here to hang a thousand men. Cornelius Blunn’s handbook to the German Empire in America, and all the rest of it.”
The functionary stood up.
“You’d better get to work,” he advised. “Your last report was perfectly true, Hodson. I shouldn’t be surprised if they attempted to bomb the place.”
Grant produced the key to the casket, and Hodson drew out the books. The police official spoke on the telephone and half a dozen detectives with automatic pistols guarded the door, while a small corps of policemen guarded the entrance to the building.
“Now,” Hodson said, “I think we can get to work on this little business.”
Grant left Police Headquarters half an hour later to find Lord Yeovil and Susan still waiting. They drove off towards the hotel, and Grant at once unburdened himself.
“It is the most amazing scheme that’s ever been conceived,” he declared. “Scores of names in every city in the States, every one with their exactly assigned task on an exactly stipulated day. They all had their station, all their peculiar functions. Brooklyn Bridge, for instance, would have been blown up the day the German fleet appeared in sight. So far as we could see, there wouldn’t have been an important bridge left in the country. The Japanese programme out west was worse. There will be over two hundred arrests to-day. There will be trouble in the city to-night, though, if the news gets about.”
They arrived at the hotel.
“You’re staying here, Grant?” Lord Yeovil enquired.
Grant shook his head.
“I will come and dine, if I may, sir,” he replied. “I haven’t got a scrap of writing now of any sort, but I’m a marked man. I’m best away from your hotel.”
“How absurd!” Susan exclaimed. “Why, we’re in this as much as you are. We brought the box away.”
“To tell you the truth,” Grant confided, “I think we are all quite safe for the moment. They must know that our object in going to Police Headquarters was to leave the documents there.”
The car drew up at the hotel in Park Avenue. Grant walked across the pavement first and back again.
“All clear,” he announced. “No one’s bothered even to follow us. Listen.”
They stood at the entrance to the hotel, listening. Away down towards the city, they heard the sound of three or four dull explosions, following one another quickly.
“That is the end of the civil war,” Grant said grimly. “Or the beginning of it.”