Bromley Barnes Detective

  Bromley Barnes, Detective: A Collection of Mysteries

  By George Barton

  ignacio hills press

  STORY I: ADVENTURE OF THE THIRTEENTH TREATY

  STORY II: ADVENTURE OF THE BOLTED DOOR

  STORY III: ADVENTURE OF THE SCRAP OF PAPER

  STORY IV: ADVENTURE OF THE STOLEN MESSAGE

  STORY V: ADVENTURE OF THE BURNT MATCH STICK

  STORY VI: ADVENTURE OF THE FRENCH CAPTAIN

  STORY VII: ADVENTURE OF THE OLD CHESS PLAYER

  STORY VIII: ADVENTURE OF THE LEATHER BAG

  STORY IX: ADVENTURE OF THE ANONYMOUS CARDS

  STORY X: ADVENTURE OF THE CLEOPATRA NECKLACE

  STORY XI: ADVENTURE OF THE BARITONE SINGER

  STORY XII: ADVENTURE OF THE AMSTERDAM ANTIQUES

  I

  ADVENTURE OF THE THIRTEENTH TREATY

  Bromley Barnes pushed aside the window curtains of his cozy bachelor apartment in Washington and gazed upon the glistening dome of the Capitol. There was something majestic about the imposing pile of marble and steel. In the moonlight, on that cold frosty night, it seemed to acquire new beauty. It was the embodiment of the honor and the dignity of the nation, and as the veteran investigator looked upon its graceful proportions, surmounted by the goddess of liberty, his heart thrilled with a feeling of renewed pride and patriotic emotion.

  Thirty years in the confidential employment of the United States Government had not dulled the man, or staled his infinite varity. He had left his mark upon the Secret Service, and he also made a great reputation as the Chief of the Special Agents of the Treasury Department. The private missions he performed for the State Department would have won for him medals of honor in any foreign country, but in the land of the free and the home of the brave it was all taken as a matter of course and he was content to go upon the retired list while he was still in the full enjoyment of his mental and physical faculties.

  He was thinking of some of the things he had done for his country as he looked out at the splendid dome sparkling in the moonlight of this crisp January night, and he squared his sturdy shoulders as he reminded himself that he was still fit for service if the emergency should occur. The clattering of a poker caused him to turn and look into the room. But it was only Cornelius Clancy, his faithful assistant, stirring up the wood fire in the open grate. If it be said that Barnes was polished and persistent, it could be asserted with equal truth that Clancy was red-headed and hopeful. The two men complemented each other perfectly, and it was not surprising when Barnes resigned his position in the Secret Service that the loyal Clancy should quit too, in order to become his confidant, factotum and man of all work.

  While the veteran's glance wandered from the dome of the Capitol to the shining asphalted pavements of the city, he was conscious of a sudden awakening of interest. A limousine, plum-colored and nobby in appearance, was swiftly and noiselessly making its way up the avenue leading to the St. Regis apartment house where the old investigator made his home. Bromley Barnes shoved the lace curtains farther to one side and strained his eyes in the effort to get a better view of the approaching vehicle. He looked at his watch. It was nearly midnight, and he gave a whistle of astonishment.

  "Calling me, sir?" asked Clancy, pausing in the act of directing a shower of sparks up the chimney.

  "No,--but I'm seeing things."

  "Seeing things?" echoed Cornelius, with a gesture of respectful curiosity.

  "Yes, Brewster's down there in his plum-colored car, and I think he's coming to see me."

  "What, the Secretary of State?"

  "Certainly," answered the old man, haughtily, dropping the curtain and coming toward the center of the room; "it's not the first time the premier of the administration has visited my quarters, is it?"

  "Oh, no," Clancy hastened to say with an apologetic air, "but the hour seemed to be so unusual."

  Barnes nodded understandingly.

  "You're right about that. The hour is unusual, and the business must be unusual. Brewster's not the man to go about paying social calls at midnight. He's been under a terrific strain lately, and if he had any spare time, he'd be resting. We're living in history-making times, my son, and I'll wager that that plum-colored limousine is telling a story as it comes up that hill. I wonder what it means?"

  He did not have to wait long for an answer. In a few moments there was a tap at the door and two men entered. The first, tall, distinguished, fur-coated, and with a neatly trimmed Van Dyke beard, put out his hands and greeted the detective warmly but with a somber manner. He inclined his head in the direction of his companion.

  "You know Senator Hance, Bromley?"

  "I have that honor, Mr. Secretary," said Bromley, bowing.

  He might have added that the Chairman of the Foreign Relations Committee loomed so large in the public eye at the time that none could very well help knowing him. The Senator was thin and hatchet-faced, wore the conventional string tie of the Southern statesman, and seemed much more at his ease than the distinguished member of the cabinet. While he and Barnes were passing conversational small change the Secretary of State was removing his fur coat with the air of one who is very much at home. The detective turned from the Senator and addressed Brewster:

  "Mr. Secretary," he said, with his characteristic frankness, "you don't need to tell me that something of great importance has brought you here at this hour of the night."

  Secretary Brewster gave Bromley Barnes a look of gratitude. It was the thanks of a busy man to one who understood him.

  "You're right," he replied, with equal conciseness; "something has happened to-night which may affect the honor and dignity of the United States if it does not plunge the world into a war quite as horrible as the one which has devastated Europe."

  Barnes gasped. He had not expected anything so sensational as this solemn statement from the head of the State Department.

  "You say," he began hesitatingly, "that it may affect the United States and the world. Might I--"

  "May is the word," was the deliberate interruption. "It is not too late to avert this calamity, and you are the one man in Washington with the wit and the courage to do it."

  Barnes flushed to the roots of the iron-gray hair which formed a circle about his bald head. He was too old, and had too much experience with the world, to be carried away by mere idle flattery. He knew Secretary Brewster too well to feel that he would indulge in vain words at such a time. His emotions came from the sense of responsibility which the statement carried with it. He was the one man in Washington that could avert a world calamity. It was a fearful task to place on the shoulders of any human being. Would he be equal to it? The Secretary must have read his thoughts in his face.

  "I know you've retired from the Government service, but will you undertake this business?"

  It was more than a question. It was more than a plea. It was a challenge. It did not take the old man two seconds to decide. He said simply:

  "I will!"

  Secretary Brewster impulsively grasped him by one hand, and placing the other on his shoulder, and holding him off at arm's length, said admiringly: "I knew you'd do it. I told Hance that before we reached here."

  The two men made a memorable picture. Both had achieved prominence in their respective callings and each had rendered notable service. Secretary Brewster looked--well, he looked precisely as a Secretary of State would be expected to look. Bromley Barnes, on the other hand, looked like anything except a detective. His smooth-shaven face and his rosy cheeks belied his years, and his clear gray eyes seemed to sweep away evasion and subterfuge as if by magic. His dress was fastidious. From the opal in the red tie down to the carefully creased trousers everything betokened precision a
nd attention to details.

  Senator Hance, who had been watching the meeting between the diplomat and the detective as an observer might watch the actors at a play, now permitted his glance to roam about the room. He noted with an appraising eye the paintings, the works of art, and the bookcases filled with literary treasures, especially the rare first editions of "Robinson Crusoe "and the early American humorists. Presently he remarked, cynically:

  "After you two gentlemen have finished admiring each other, you might get down to business."

  The reminder brought an eager, if care-worn look into the tired eyes of the Secretary. He dropped into the nearest chair and began to address Barnes:

  "The thing seems almost unbelievable, but I--"

  He stopped short and looked at the stooping form of Cornelius Clancy, who was again stirring the blazing logs in the fireplace and sending showers of sparks up the chimney. Barnes caught the unspoken query.

  "That's Clancy. You probably remember that he's my right bower; my other self. I'd be helpless without him. You can talk as freely and as safely before him as you might to the priest in the confessional. He's never betrayed a trust, or run from an enemy. Go ahead with your story, Mr. Secretary."

  Clancy's face was as red as his hair at this tribute, but it might have been the reflection of the blazing logs. While he was still bending over the fire, Secretary Brewster resumed:

  "I'm going to let you into a big State secret, Barnes, and without any preliminary talk. We are just on the eve of completing a treaty for the purchase of the Pauline Islands. One copy of the treaty--the thirteenth copy of the treaty--has been lost, stolen or mislaid, and unless it is recovered at once the whole business will crumble into nothingness, and the United States will lose the greatest opportunity in its history."

  "Lost--stolen!" murmured the investigator.

  "Precisely," replied the Secretary. "You know these matters have to be negotiated in absolute secrecy. Otherwise, they would be impossible. I do not need to tell you that we have passed the period of isolation in this country. We even have colonial possessions, distasteful as that term may sound to many of us. We have been gradually acquiring one group of islands after another, until only one set of islands of any importance remained between this nation and the old world. I refer to the Pauline Islands. Their strategic importance cannot be overestimated. You know that the most important nations of Europe have combined under the designation of the European Alliance. They are very powerful, and they say that as long as this Alliance lasts there can never be another war in the Old World.

  "Now," continued the Secretary, impressively, "the statesmen representing this new combination look with jealous eyes only upon the United States of America. If we get the Pauline Islands it will make us invincible. We can defy the world, but, as we have committed ourselves to a policy of peace, it means that the signing of this treaty and the unfurling of the Stars and Stripes over those islands means peace for the world, indefinitely."

  "By George," ejaculated the detective, "but that's a big thing!"

  "The biggest thing for humanity in the history of the world," asserted Brewster, "and for that reason we have been straining every nerve to bring it about. Sweden owns the islands. Sweden, in view of the enormous interests involved, is willing to sell us the islands. I prepared the treaty in collaboration with the Swedish minister. It has been approved by the king of that country, and the only thing that remains is to have it ratified by the Senate."

  "Well, why don't you do it?"

  "I'm coming to that," said Brewster, with a faint trace of irritation in his voice. "In order to get the thing in shape for action, thirteen copies of the treaty were typewritten by my confidential clerk. The President, the Swedish Minister, ten members of the Committee on Foreign Relations, and myself each had a copy."

  "A pretty wide distribution," said Barnes, with a grim smile.

  "Yes, but, under our form of government, it was necessary. However, I'm satisfied that each holder of the treaty regarded it as sacredly confidential. But, unfortunately, one copy of the treaty has been lost."

  "Whose copy?"

  "Mine!" confessed the Secretary, in a low voice.

  Barnes stiffened up at this announcement. His eyes were dancing with interest.

  "Where did you lose it?"

  "I haven't the faintest idea."

  "When?"

  "Within the last two hours."

  The old man reached for a holder containing a supply of his inevitable supply of Pittsburgh stogies and passed them to his visitors. It was only after he had lit his own that he turned to Brewster and said:

  "Mr. Secretary, it is necessary for you to tell me in detail just what has happened during the last two hours."

  "Well," began the official, "I left the State Department a little before ten o'clock for the Capitol where I had arranged to meet the members of the Foreign Relations Committee. I made some minor changes in the verbiage of the treaty, and before leaving the office put the paper inside the black portfolio I use for carrying official papers. I went to the Capitol in the limousine you see outside, went into executive session with the members of the Senate Committee, and after securing their entire approval of the transaction placed the treaty in my portfolio again, got in the car and went home, but when I opened the portfolio to get the treaty it was gone!"

  "Gone?"

  "Yes, sir, gone as completely as if it had evaporated in the short ride from the Capitol to my home."

  "Are you sure you put it in the portfolio?"

  "Positive!"

  "I can vouch for that," chimed in Senator Hance, "because I saw Mr. Brewster place it in the holder and then carefully fasten all of the straps."

  "Was any one in the car with you?" asked Barnes of the Secretary.

  "No, I was alone."

  "Did the chauffeur open the door of the vehicle to let you in or out?"

  "No, he never left his seat. Besides, I have perfect confidence in McLain. He has been with me for years."

  "Well," said Barnes, dryly, "I never have confidence in any one--when I'm called on to solve a mystery."

  "But what do you make of this case?" asked Brewster impatiently.

  "Nothing yet. You'll have to give me more details. Tell everything that happened while you were in the Committee room."

  "The meeting was inside closed doors," began the Secretary, with a look of resignation, "and I stood behind a desk while I addressed the members. After it ended, each one of the members carefully put his copy of the treaty away and I did the same with mine--"

  "Placing it in the portfolio," interrupted Barnes.

  "Yes, placing it in the little black portfolio."

  "Then what happened?"

  "Then the doors were opened and the public was admitted--at least, a number of newspaper correspondents came in. There were probably eighteen or twenty persons, each eager to know what had taken place. Of course, we could tell them nothing. One young woman called my attention to the fact that I had dropped my handkerchief, but when I stepped down to pick it up, it wasn't mine at all."

  "Could the treaty have been stolen then?" asked Barnes.

  Secretary Brewster gave him a look of annoyance.

  "My dear Bromley, it was on the desk in front of me, strapped and fastened, and the cleverest magician couldn't have unfastened a single strap in those two seconds."

  "All right, but I'd like to take a look at the portfolio."

  The Secretary had it with him, and Barnes was soon engaged in making a careful examination of the receptacle which had been made to hold State secrets. It was about eight inches by ten, made of black leather, and on the side of it were the initials in ornate silver, J. T. B. A bag of distinction, with an individuality of its own, and yet a serviceable portfolio. Barnes examined each strap and buckle and every square inch of the leather. It seemed as though his scrutiny would never end.

  "How long have you had this?" he finally asked.

  "Oh, for a long while."
r />   "Do you use it much?"

  "Almost constantly. For the last year it has been with me in all of my trips between my office and the White House and the Capitol!"

  Barnes leaned back in his chair and thought and thought, and puffed his stogie until the room was filled with clouds of tobacco smoke. Presently he straightened up with a start, and said suddenly:

  "Whom do you suspect?"

  Secretary Brewster gave a nervous little laugh, and looked at Senator Hance.

  "Surely, Barnes, that's a sweeping question. They say the city is full of spies, but it is not--"

  "Well," interrupted the detective, "we'll put it in another form. Is there any country that would be particularly interested in preventing the consummation of this treaty?"

  "Yes, any one of the countries represented in the new European Alliance."

  The bell in an adjoining steeple was heard tolling the hour of midnight. Senator Hance consulted his watch.

  "Come on, Brewster," he said, "it's Friday morning."

  "When was the treaty to be signed?" asked Barnes of the Secretary.

  "At ten o'clock Saturday morning."

  The detective made a hasty calculation.

  "That's thirty-four hours from now. You may go ahead with the business, and I'll undertake to recover your thirteenth copy of the treaty before that time."

  "And before any outsider has a chance to see it."

  "Well, I'll do the best I can, and meanwhile it's understood that I'm to have the use of any of the Secret Service men I need?"

  "Certainly. You understand why I do not want to use the ordinary facilities of the Government. The President does not know of this yet. I don't want to trouble him if I can help it. He has worries enough."

  Five minutes later the Secretary and the Senator were seated in the plum-colored car, speeding down the asphalted incline, and Barnes and Clancy stood facing one another in the cozy apartment. The whirr of the machine had scarcely died away when Barnes turned to his assistant.

  "Clancy, go to bed and get a good night's sleep. You're going to have a busy day ahead of you."