The Einstein See-Saw Page 2
"But, no!" panted the bewildered old man. "I didn't. It's gone. Justgone. Last night at five o'clock I locked the office, and it wasthere, and everything was straight. What did you do? Who took it?"
The building manager conducted the poor old man into the office, shutthe door, and asked the crowd to disperse. He sat Mr. Parakeet downinto the most comfortable chair he could find, and then barkedsnappily into the telephone a few times. Then he sat and stared abouthim, stopping occasionally to reassure the old man and ask him to bepatient until things could be investigated.
The building manager was an efficient man and knew his building andhis tenants. He knew, as thoroughly as he knew his own office, thatMr. Parakeet had a medium-sized A. V. & L. Co.'s safe weighing aboutthree tons, that could not be carried up the elevator when Mr.Parakeet had moved in, and had been hoisted into the window with blockand tackle. He knew that it was physically impossible for the safe togo down any of the elevators, and knew that none of the operatorswould dare move any kind of a safe without his permission.Nevertheless, with the aid of a police-sergeant, his night-shift, andthe night-watchmen of his building and adjacent ones, it wasdefinitely established that nothing had been moved in or out of theNorth American Building during the preceding twenty-four hours, eitherby elevator or through a window to the sidewalk.
* * * * *
The newspapers took up the mystery with a shout. The prostrating losssuffered by Mr. Parakeet, amounting to over a hundred thousanddollars, added no little sensation to the story. A huge safe,disappearing into thin air, without a trace, and in its place an oldwooden crate! What a mouthful for the scareheads! For several daysnewspapers kept up items about it, dwindling in size and strategicimportance of position; for nothing further was ever found. Every bitof investigation, including that by scientific men from the Universityof Chicago, was futile; not a trace, not a suggestion did it yield.
Six days later the tall scareheads leaped out again: "Another SafeDisappears! Absolutely No Trace! Some time during the night, thesix-foot steel safe of the Simonson Loan Company vanished into thinair. In the morning a dilapidated iron oil-cask was found in itsplace. The safe was so large and heavy that it could not have beenmoved without a large truck, special hoisting apparatus, a crew ofmen, and some hours of time. The store was brightly lighted during theentire night, and two watchmen patrolled it regularly. They reportthat they saw and heard nothing unusual, and were very much amazedwhen shown the oil-cask standing where the safe had been the nightbefore." The accounts in the various papers were substantially thesame.
Newspaper readers throughout the city and its environs were very muchintrigued. Such a thing was very exciting and mystifying; but it wasso far out of touch with their own lives that it did not affect themvery much at any time except when they were reading the paper ordiscussing it in conversation. The police were the ones who were doingthe real worrying. And, when the following week two more safesdisappeared, insurance companies began to take an interest in thematter; and everyone who had any considerable amount of valuables instore began to feel panicky.
* * * * *
The circumstances surrounding the disappearance of the last of theseries, the fourth, were especially amazing. This was also a jewelrysafe. Canzoni's is a popular firm that rents a quarter of a floor in abig department store, and does a large volume of moderate-pricedbusiness. The receipts are stored in a heavy portable safe in a cornerof the silverware section until evening, when they are carried to thelarge vault of the big store. One Saturday afternoon after aparticularly busy day, Mr. Shipley, Canzoni's manager, was watchingthe hands of the clock creep toward five-thirty. He leaned on acounter and watched the clerks putting away goods for the night; heglanced idly toward the safe which he intended to open in a fewminutes. The doormen had already taken their stations to keep outfurther customers. Then he glanced back at the safe, and it wasn'tthere!
Mr. Shipley drew a deep breath. The safe disappearances he had readabout flashed through his mind. But he didn't believe it. It couldn'tbe! Yet, there was the empty corner with the birch panels forming theback of the show-windows, and no safe. In a daze, he walked over tothe corner, intending to feel about with his hands and make sure thesafe was really gone. Before he got there, there flashed into sight inplace of the safe, a barrel of dark wood; and in a moment there was astrong odor of vinegar.
Things spun around with Mr. Shipley for a few moments. He grasped acounter and looked wildly about him. Clerks were hurrying with thecovering of counters; no one seemed to have noticed anything. He stooda moment, gritted his teeth, and breathed deeply, and soon was masterof himself. He stood and waited until the last customer was gone, andthen called several clerks and pointed to where the safe had stood.
Within the space of a month, thirteen safes and three million dollarsworth of money or property had disappeared. The police were dazed anddesperate, and business was in a panic. Scientific men were appealedto, to help solve the riddle, but were helpless. Many of them agreedthat though in theory such things were explainable, science was as yetfar from any known means of bringing them about in actuality.Insurance companies spent fabulous sums on investigation, and, failingto get results, raised their premiums to impossible levels.
PART III
_The Lady of the Picture_
Phil Hurren, often known as "Zip" Hurren, reporter on the _Examiner_,felt, on the day the managing editor called him into the sanctum, thatfortune could smile on him no more brightly. There wasn't anythingbrighter.
"You stand well with the detective bureau," his boss had said; "andyou've followed this safe-disappearing stuff pretty closely. You'rerelieved of everything else for the time being. Get on that business,and see that the public hears from the _Examiner_!"
Phil knew better than to say any more, for before he recovered fromhis surprise, the editor had turned his back, buried himself in hiswork on the desk, and forgotten that Phil was there. Nor did Philwaste any real time in rejoicing. That is why he was called "Zip."When things happened, whether it was luck or system, Phil was usuallythere. In sixty seconds more, Phil was in a taxicab, whirling towardpolice headquarters.
Luck or system, he didn't know, but he struck it again. The big wagonwas just starting away from the station door when he arrived, crowdedinside with bluecoats and plainclothes-men. The burly, red-faced manwith chevrons on his sleeve, sitting beside the driver, saw Phil jumpout, and motioned with his hand. Phil leaped up on the back step ofthe vehicle and hung on for dear life with his fingers through thewire grating as they careened through the streets. The men on theinside grinned at him; a number of them knew him and liked him.Gradually the door was opened and he crowded in. He found SergeantJohnson and eyed him mutely.
"How the hell do you find these things out, I'd like to know," thesergeant exclaimed. "Are you a mind-reader?"
"I don't really know anything," Phil admitted with that humility whichthe police like on the part of newspaper men and seldom meet with. "Doyou mind?"
"No objection," grunted the sergeant. "Been watching all the oldcrooks since these safes have been popping. Nothin' much on any ofthem, except this slippery wop, Tony Costello. No, we haven't caughthim at anything. Seems to be keeping close and minding his ownbusiness. Working in his laboratory. Ought to make a good living if heturned honest; clever guy, he seems. But he's been too prosperouslately. Lots of machinery delivered to his place; we traced it to themanufacturers and find it cost thousands. Big deposits in his banks.But, no trace of his having sold anything or worked at anythingoutside his own place. So, we're running over to surprise him and helphim get the cobwebs out of his closets."
* * * * *
The raid on Tony Costello's shop and laboratory disclosed nothingwhatever. They surrounded the place effectively and surprised Tonygenuinely. But a thorough search of every nook and cranny reve
alednothing whatever of a suspicious nature. There was merely a tremendousamount of apparatus and machinery that none of the raiding partyunderstood anything about. Tony's person was also thoroughly searched,and the leather-framed photograph of the beautiful unknown girl wasfound.
"Who's this?" the sergeant demanded. "She don't look like anyone thatmight belong to your crowd."
"I don't know," Tony replied.
"Whad'ya mean, don't know?" The sergeant gave him a rough shake."What'ya carryin' it for, then?"
"I had really forgotten that it was in my pocket," Tony repliedcalmly, at his ease. "I found it in a hotel room one day, and likedthe looks of it."
"I know you're lying there," the sergeant