CHAPTER XXV.

THE HOLLOW BEDPOST.

It was twelve o’clock when Nick Carter entered the cabinet of the ambassador; it was past four in the morning when he went out of it, and even then he did not leave the embassy itself, but was conducted to a room by his host where he said he would take about three hours’ sleep.

The particulars of the conversation between them we need not give here. The facts of the case, so far as they concern the relation of this story, have been already given; but of one thing be assured: Nick Carter had his way in regard to the detailed confidence of the matters, and before parting with the ambassador he was in possession of all the secret.

The thing was a stupendous undertaking on the part of Russia, and had it been permitted to succeed, would have altered the map of the world to a considerable extent.

But the point of the case was this:

Important papers of vital interest to the Russian government—and of still more vital interest to the ambassador himself, so far as his reputation was concerned—had been mysteriously taken from the place where he had concealed them.

He did not believe that they would prove of any immediate value to that government which he disguised under the name of Siamese, because, as he assured the detective, it would be impossible to read even the half that had been stolen without the presence of the remaining half, which was still in his possession.

One word as to how the papers had been hidden away by the ambassador.

In the first place it must be understood that all the writing was upon exceedingly thin paper, such as is used by diplomatic agents the world over, because it has so little bulk that much of it can be put away within a very small space.

There were twenty-two of those thin sheets of paper in the stolen lot, and they had been rolled together tightly as one would roll a scroll or map. Then they had been put inside a tin cylinder that was less than an inch in diameter, and the cylinder itself, with the contents—now, where do you suppose a practical man like the ambassador would hide such an affair as that?

In his safe? Not at all.

Would he deposit them in a box at a safe-deposit institution? That would seem at first to be the logical place; but safe-deposit vaults have been opened before now, through subterfuge, and in other ways.

Moreover, it was necessary to hide them where they could be reached quickly, in case he should want them.

Well, the ambassador had selected a place most simple, after all.

Remember that the very set of papers of which the stolen ones formed one-half, had been a long time in preparation when the ambassador first came to the United States, and that the necessity for concealing them had already arisen.

One day at about that time, the ambassador, in riding through the country, across the river in Virginia, had passed, in his automobile, a place where an auction of household furniture was in progress.

He had stopped and turned back. While he looked on at the scene, more in amusement than with interest, an old-fashioned bedstead had been offered for sale.

It was a big four-poster, with canopy top and all; it was a handsome old thing, of the best mahogany—and the ambassador purchased it, suddenly possessed with an idea.

That idea he had carried into execution before the bed was delivered at the embassy; and it consisted in having a hollow receptacle bored into each of the legs of the bedstead.

Now stop a moment and consider just what this meant.

Remember that each of the legs of the bed held a caster; that the caster had to be affixed to a plug which would fit into the bottom of the hole, before it could do its duty. Remember that the foot-end of that bedstead was so heavy that three ordinary men could not have lifted it from the floor after it was in place, to remove the caster, and to get at the receptacles which they concealed.

Well, that was the condition.

The holes were bored into the legs of the bedstead, before the bedstead was delivered; the casters were arranged so they could be removed. After that, the ambassador simply kept an automobile jack in one of the closets of his room—and so you see, he was able to jack up the bed at any time he so desired, remove the caster, and to get at his tin cylinders.

And here the ambassador had been cute again.

Although there was a receptacle in each one of the legs of the bedstead, he made use of only one of them; but that one was bored to twice the length of the tin cylinder, and, instead of hiding the two cylinders he wished to conceal inside two of the hollows, he put them both in the same one; one above the other, affixing the top one in its place by sticking it there with a piece of wax, so that it would cling, but yet could be easily dislodged.

That fact had saved one of the cylinders when the other had been stolen.

Doubtless it had not occurred to the thief that both cylinders were in the same cavity, and probably they had searched all four of them; but it remained that one of them had not been taken.

The problem was, how had any person been able to discover the hiding place?

The ambassador assured Nick Carter that no other person than himself was aware of the hiding place; that he had never taken any person into his confidence, not even his wife or his daughter.

The room was his own room, which he occupied alone; the bed was so huge an affair that it was never moved from its position. How, then, had any person determined where the hiding place had been arranged?

The ambassador asked the detective all these questions; and to them Nick replied:

“It does not interest us to know how the hiding place was discovered, unless that was the quickest way of recovering the lost papers; but it is not. The only thing for us is the fact that they were taken—and it is a clear and logical deduction that whoever took them has passed them on to another person.”

“That is undoubtedly true,” the ambassador replied.

“What excuse have you made for keeping that automobile jack in your room?”

“None at all. I simply kept it there.”

“How often was it your habit to remove those papers from their hiding place?”

“Not once in six months. Only when there was something to be added to them.”

“When was the last time that you had them out, before you discovered the loss?”

“Rather more than a month ago.”

“How did it happen that you discovered the loss?”

“Very simply. I found the jack in the middle of the floor. The sight of it there alarmed me. I closed the door, pulled the curtains, examined the hollow post, and discovered what had happened.”

“Now, just when was that?”

“Exactly one week ago to-night.”

“What time of day or night was it when you made the discovery?”

“It was two o’clock in the morning. The papers were stolen between nine o’clock that night and then. I had been inside of my room at nine o’clock in the evening, and everything was in order then. I passed the evening at a theatre, and accompanied some friends to supper after it. It was two when I entered my room and made the discovery.”

So much for the manner of the loss.

Concerning the papers themselves, Nick had asked the following questions:

“You have referred to the swarm of spies for that other government, who are now in the city, presumably for the sole purpose of watching you. How many of them do you know, or, how many of them have you knowledge about?”

“Just an even dozen.”

“Have you reason to believe that there are more than that number here?”

“There may be another dozen, or a score more of them, for all I know.”

“How could they, or any of them, discover the existence of the papers in the first place?”

“Merely by conjecture; but it was a natural conclusion. They must know that it has been necessary, during all these years since I have been engaged on the matter, to keep very careful data. My memory could not be depended upon in a matter so vital. Hence, it has been a perfectly natural assumption that such papers existed. The thing was, to discover the hiding place—and it was discovered.”

“Have you reason to suppose that any other effort than this one has even been made to steal the papers?”

“Certainly. There have been seven or eight attempts during the ten years, or, rather, during the last seven of them; all but one during the last five.”

“What was done at those attempts?”

“Oh, burglars have entered my house. Thieves of the sneak-thief order have ransacked my rooms at one time and another, notwithstanding my watchfulness. A box at a safe-deposit institution was opened through subterfuge—but nothing was taken from it, and I would not have discovered that strange hands had been inside it, had not the manager mentioned something about the man I had sent there.”

There was one other point concerning which we will repeat some of the conversation between the detective and the ambassador.

“Of the dozen spies whom you know to be in this city, keeping watch on you, and of whom you have given me a list, which are the ones you deem most competent to have carried this theft into effect?”

“Either of the first two on the list. The man, Rafael Delorme, and the woman, Dolores Delorme, his wife. They are unquestionably at the head of the system of spies, which we call Siamese; the others are only their puppets.”

“Do they know that you are aware of their business here?”

“They would be very poor spies indeed if they were not aware of it—and they are the slickest of their kind.”

“There is no other one among the twelve whom you think is clever enough to have done this thing?”

“Any one of them is clever enough, if directed by either of the Delormes; but with the possible exception of Jules Legrande, who is really a Greek, notwithstanding his French name, I don’t think any one of them could have carried it off alone.”

“Now, outside of this dozen on the list, is there any other person in Washington, man or woman, toward whom your suspicions have been directed, believing that he or she might be a spy in the service of Siam?”

“Yes. There is one.”

“Who is that one, prince?”

“She is called Countess Narnine. She acknowledges the given name of Juno. In Paris, St. Petersburg, Vienna, and other cities of Europe, she was long known as ‘The Leopard.’ And I wish to assure you, Mr. Carter, that she is more dangerous than all the others put together—if she is a—er—Siamese spy.”