The Satchel's Secret

TOPPING at the curb before the entrance of the office building, Staler glanced inside, as though waiting for a friend. There was a vacant look in his face. His expression was that of a bored man. He yawned. He extracted a cigarette case from his pocket and took from it a cigarette. Returning the case, he took out a match, lighted the cigarette, and puffed lazily.

To an observer it would have appeared that Staler was killing time and was half asleep. In reality, he was alert. Through his half-closed eyes he saw the messenger come along the walk carrying the leather satchel. Staler knew all about that satchel. He had made it his business to know.

Every Saturday morning at a quarter after eleven o'clock, a messenger from the Great Stores Company entered the First National Bank on the next corner. He carried an empty leather satchel that was supplied with the very latest in locks.

Half an hour later, at a quarter of twelve precisely, the same messenger emerged from the bank and hurried down the street toward the Great Stores. Now the satchel was filled with bundles of currency and packages of coin. It was heavy, and the messenger carried it carefully. Staler knew that a fine chain connected the satchel with the messenger's wrist.

It was not always the same messenger. The Great Stores Company had two, and on some Saturdays a certain one made the trip, and on other Saturdays the other. But there was small difference in the messengers. Neither was much physically, when compared to Staler.

The heavy satchel, of course, contained the pay roll of the Great Stores which amounted to about twenty thousand dollars. It was made up by the bank from a working sheet prepared by the Great Stores' head bookkeeper. The messenger merely took the satchel to the bank, saw it filled and locked, and returned with it to the store. There the head bookkeeper unlocked it and prepared the money for distribution.

The messenger passed, and Staler glanced at him dreamily, yawned again, and drifted down the street in the same direction. For twelve Saturdays he had done this. Staler wanted to make certain that the messengers were creatures of habit. What he saw to-day convinced him.

The man with the satchel always left the bank at the same time and went to the Great Stores by the same route. He was methodical in all his movements. It always was the same satchel, and both messengers carried it in their left hands. Each messenger also carried an automatic pistol. Staler had ascertained that, also.

He remained some distance behind his man, but followed him until he turned into the Great Stores. Then Staler cut through a cross street and hurried to the little restaurant, and went to a table in the rear of the room, where another man was waiting. He sat down, greeted the other man, gave his order and got his food, then spoke.

“Well, Melk?” he asked.

“Everything as usual, Staler.”

“No use in comparing notes, then. As far as I could see, there wasn't a thing changed.”

“Not a thing. I timed the fellow. He passed that doorway exactly at five minutes of twelve.”

“Anybody around?”

“Not half a dozen persons. There never is at that hour. Ten minutes later a crowd pours out of the loft building.”

“Good enough!” Staler said. “Now you listen to me, Melk. We pull the thing next Saturday.”

“It's about time,” Melk declared. “We've wasted three months nosing around.”

“And we've made it safe. We can't lose now, unless old Mrs. Fate steps in and asks to be dealt cards in the game. Next Saturday it is! And somewhere in the neighborhood of ten thousand dollars for each of us after it is over. Some haul!”

“Any change in the plans, Staler

“Not a change, Melk. Everything is perfect. We'll separate now, and you be on hand next Saturday. We don't want to be seen together again.”

“I getcha!” Melk whispered. “If there is any change, you know how to get me by telephone.”

“There won't be any change, Melk. The plan is perfect. Even old Mrs. Fate would have a hard time wrecking it. She'll play no joke on us this time, Melk. That's all. You'd better go out of here first.”

Staler was up at an early hour the following Saturday morning. He took a cold plunge, dressed carefully in inconspicuous clothing, ate breakfast at a little restaurant where he was not known, and then went to a cigar store and entered a sound-proof telephone booth. He called Melk.

A few words over the telephone wire assured Staler that Melk was feeling quite well and was ready to do the part assigned him. Staler returned to his room in the quiet little hotel in a side street. He removed his coat, sat down before a window, and began thinking.

Staler was a good general in a way. Though all his plans were complete, and perfect, he thought, yet he wished to review them before the campaign started. He concentrated his mind on the affair, thought of every detail, and finally smiled and arose, to stretch his arms above his head and then expel his breath in a single great gasp. Staler was ready!

He was satisfied that he had overlooked nothing. Every minor detail had received his careful consideration, The pay roll of the Great Stores Company was as good as in his hands, and without fear that he would be apprehended afterward.

Glancing at his watch he saw that it was ten o'clock. He looked around the room. He had packed all his things in a suit case and bag. It was time to start.

Staler descended to the office and paid his bill. He engaged a taxicab and journeyed to the nearest railway station, and checked bag and suit case at the parcel stand. There they would remain, to be sold later for charges, for Staler did not intend to reclaim them. And he flattered himself that there was nothing in them that would give a clew to his identity.

Leaving the station he walked slowly through the busy streets until he came to the corner where the bank was located. He had timed himself well, and so he did not have to loiter around and run the risk of being observed. As he reached the corner he saw the messenger of the Great Stores Company entering the bank with the empty leather satchel.

Staler hurried on down the street, taking the route the messenger would take later. He glanced at his watch again, for he had everything timed, and he did not care to make a mistake. Being late, or being ahead of time, would be a grave mistake.

In a cross street he came to the loft building. There were two entrances side by side. One led to a series of busy lofts that would disgorge a throng of employees at the noon hour. The other led to a vacant loft.

Staler darted into the latter and went noiselessly up the stairs. He took a key from his pocket, unlocked the door of the loft, and entered. A glance sufficed to tell him that the loft was empty, as he had expected.

On the other side of the big room was another door, and Staler unlocked that also and glanced into a tiny, half-dark hallway. He closed the door, recrossed the room, went into the front hall, closed that door, and walked down the stairs. Another glance at his watch showed him that it was ten minutes of noon.

Staler's observations had proved to him that the messenger generally passed that door at five minutes of twelve. So he had but five minutes to wait. Outwardly he was calm; inwardly his nerves were on edge.

He looked across the street. He saw Melk, on time to the second, walking along slowly. Melk stopped directly across from the door, stepped to the curb and lighted a cigar, glancing over his cupped hands to make sure that Staler was at his post.

“Everything lovely!” Staler told himself. “Couldn't be better! A quick haul and an easy one! Even old Mrs. Fate can't stop us now. It's as good as done!”

Staler looked down the street, and for an instant his heart almost ceased beating. For here came the messenger, a slave of habit, on time to the second also. He carried the leather satchel that meant so much to Staler and Melk. Staler's right hand slipped into his coat pocket and grasped a peculiar tool. The handle was of metal, heavy, and well-balanced. The other end was a pair of nippers that would cut strong metal swiftly and neatly.

He made sure that he could get this affair out of his pocket instantly, without having it catch on the side or the flap. Staler thought of everything! He glanced across the street at Melk again, and knew that Melk had seen the messenger. Melk stepped from the curb and started slowly across the thoroughfare as though to enter the loft building.

Staler almost grinned. This went to show what a man of brains could do if he was methodical and took time to gather information and plan correctly. Here would be a great haul and a swift and sure get-away. The police would be some puzzled and undoubtedly make many arrests and hold many persons for investigation. And while that was going on, Staler and Melk would be far away and still traveling, enjoying the proceeds of the daylight robbery.

Carelessly Staler stepped back a couple of feet or so. The messenger, looking straight ahead and walking swiftly along the face of the building, came toward the doorway. He came opposite it and started to pass.

Swiftly and silently Staler sprang forward. His arm flashed up and the heavy handle of the tool he had taken from his pocket crashed against the messenger's head in a tender spot behind the left ear. The messenger groaned once and toppled forward.

Staler whirled the tool in his hand, and with the other hand he grasped the leather satchel. The chain was there, as he had supposed it would be, connecting the satchel with the messenger's wrist. Staler snipped twice with the tool and the chain parted.

Melk got in his work now. He shrieked and ran forward. Men and women turned at the sound of his voice. They saw the body of the messenger stretched out on the walk. They saw a man disappearing into one of the doors. They saw Melk rushing forward to lift the victim.

Instantly a crowd had formed. A policeman thrust his way through it, and found Melk lifting the head of the stricken messenger.

“I saw it, officer!” Melk volunteered. “I was just coming across the street. This man was hurrying along, carrying a satchel. Another man darted from the doorway, seized the satchel, and smashed this man on the head. Robbery, I guess.”

“A Great Stores' messenger!” the policeman gasped. “Pay-roll robbery, I suppose.”

Melk made himself generally useful. Other policemen came and an ambulance was called. A detective put in his appearance. Melk was questioned again.

“He was a man of ordinary size,” Melk declared. “He had on a brown suit and a hard hat. He ran into that doorway.”

Melk pointed to the opening that led to the busy lofts. And at that moment there came streaming through it the horde of workers, going to take their noon hour. The policemen fought in vain to make a search.

Smiling broadly Melk crept slowly to the edge of the crowd, and then went rapidly down the street. He had done his part. He had directed the police to the wrong door. And, as a matter of fact, Staler was a large man, and wore a dark-gray suit and a soft hat.

Staler, carrying the satchel, took the stairs four at a bound. He threw open the door of the empty loft, closed it behind him and locked it, and darted quickly across the room.

Throwing open the other door, he darted into the little hallway. He ran the length of it noiselessly, alert. At the end was an open window. Six feet below the window was the roof of an adjoining building.

Staler dropped to the roof and ran across it for a distance of twenty feet, where the roof ended against a third building. Here was another open window, and Staler crept through it and lowered it quickly. He was in a room in another quiet hotel, where he had registered the week before, and where he had another suit case.

He did not waste seconds now. Two tugs at his waist, and the dark-gray trousers came from him. He drew off the coat and waistcoat. Beneath the thin gray suit was another suit of black.

Staler rolled the gray clothes into a bundle, hurried into the bathroom, and tossed the clothes down into the air shaft. The soft hat he had been wearing followed the clothes. He picked up a derby and put it on his head, opened the suit case and put the satchel in it beneath a bundle of shirts, and stepped to the hall door.

Locking the door of the room, Staler descended to the office and for the second time that day paid a hotel bill. He asked a boy to call a taxicab for him, tipped the bell hop for his service, and directed the chauffeur to take him to a railway station, but not the one where he had checked the other suit case and grip.

Staler was a bit nervous about it yet, but he did not show it in face, voice, or manner. To an ordinary observer he was a man catching a train and nothing more. When the station was reached, he glanced at the big clock on the wall, and then sat down in a corner of the waiting room and began looking through a newspaper.

Ten minutes later he saw Melk walk through the waiting room and toward the gate. Staler got up and followed. Melk showed his tickets and passed through; he had a lower berth for Chicago. Staler showed his and was passed also, Staler evidently was a man of affairs—he had a compartment all to himself.

Inside the compartment Staler tossed the suit case to a corner, took out a cigar, bit off the end, and began chewing it. The train slipped from the station and reached the open country. Presently the conductor came through. He found Staler going through a bundle of impressive-looking papers, still the picture of a man of large affairs.

The train roared on. Came a tap at the door, and Staler arose and opened it. Melk slipped inside.

“Everything all right?” Melk asked.

Staler grinned. “Everything is lovely, Melk,” he replied. “It goes to show what a man with brains can do. There wasn't a slip anywhere. And you must have done your part well.”

“According to orders,” Melk said.

“And now for the celebration, Melk. Open that window, so we can toss out the satchel after we empty it. I'll have to cut the blame thing open, but I'm prepared for that, too. Got a sharp knife all ready for the job.”

Melk tugged at the window and got it open. Staler locked the door, got the suit case, unlocked it, and took out the satchel.

“There we are, Melk,” he said. “About ten thousand each according to the dope. It pays to go slow and plan things well. Not a slip anywhere.”

Now he began using the knife. He made an incision in the tough leather after a time and cut a long slit.

“Get ready to give your eyes a feast, Melk,” he said. “Here we go to Easy Street for a few months. Brains does it. Even old Mrs. Fate couldn't step in and queer this deal. We had it planned too well. We”

Staler had been dumping the contents of the leather satchel on the floor. Now he cursed, then went down on hands and knees to investigate and to curse again.

“Old Mrs. Fate” he gasped, tugging at his collar with one hand, as though about to strangle.

The satchel contained canceled checks of the Great Stores Company—and nothing more!

Said Melk an hour later: “I thought something was wrong. Right after the messenger you sapped, the other came along with another satchel. I thought that was funny. He had the pay-roll coin, I suppose, and the bird you soaked had been to get these canceled checks.”

“Old Mrs. Fate will have her little joke,” Staler muttered disconsolately.