“Yes, sir. I was just giving you the picture, sir. You see, Wolganheimer was driving the car. He ran out for a visit with Io Wahine. He left her apartment about five minutes to nine. He was to pick Bonneguard up at the lawyer’s at nine. He was there on the dot. He picked Bonneguard up, and the two of them went to the home of Emil Bradercrust, a mutual friend. They were talking over matters of business when the phone rang. It was Hanz Bettler on the phone. He happened to know that Bonneguard was going to spend the evening with Bradercrust. Bettler said that he thought something was wrong, said he was feeling so sleepy he couldn’t hold his head up, that he thought perhaps he’d been drugged, although he had been there alone all evening. He could hardly talk, he was so stupefied with the drug. Bonneguard said they’d come right over and to try and keep awake until they arrived.
“He, Wolganheimer, and Bradercrust climbed in the car and started at once for the Wilmeier Avenue headquarters. When they arrived, they found Hanz Bettler fighting off sleep. He stayed awake long enough to let them in, then dropped to the floor and was asleep before they could even ask him any questions. So Bradercrust volunteered to stand guard while Wolganheimer and Bonneguard took Bettler home.
“Naturally they didn’t want to have any notoriety or do anything which would attract the newspaper reporters. So they drove Bettler out to the house of a friend, an outlying house some distance out in the country. And when they got there, there was a telephone from Bradercrust telling them to come at once. His voice sounded very thick and dopey. They left Bettler to sleep it off and started at once to the Wilmeier Avenue headquarters. But they were delayed nearly half an hour in getting there. When they did, Bradercrust was lying on the floor sound asleep. Near him, in a drugged stupor, was one of the police dogs. But apparently the door to the inner office hadn’t so much as been touched.
“While Bonneguard was trying to arouse Bradercrust, Wolganheimer unlocked the door, and then discovered that the safe had been entered, probably within the last twenty minutes. The combination knob had been wrenched off and the spindle driven back. The inner door of the safe had been forced open and the contents were missing.”
“And did they find out how the drug was administered, Scuttle?” Lester Leith asked, his voice showing his interest.
“No, sir. That’s the mysterious part of it. They didn’t. When Bettler regained consciousness, he swore that he hadn’t talked with a single person, and Bradercrust had the same story.”
Leith said thoughtfully: “Well, let’s consider that the thief had some ingenious method of administering the drug, Scuttle. It’s quite apparent that he hadn’t had an opportunity to complete the job of safe cracking when Bettler took the drug. Therefore, it became necessary for him to drug Bradercrust, and in doing that, he drugged the police dog. Now tell me, Scuttle; was that the only police dog or were there more?”
“No, sir. There were half a dozen of them prowling around the grounds.”
“Then why did the criminal consider it necessary to drug one of these dogs and not the others?”
“I’m sure I couldn’t say, sir.”
“Give me the clippings,” Leith said. “This is, indeed, interesting.”
The spy, striving to hide the triumphant expression on his face, passed over the newspaper clippings. Leith read them thoughtfully, studied the illustrations.
“This photograph of Bettler shows him as a very thin individual, Scuttle. One would hardly associate him with being a guard.”
The spy laughed. “He may be small, but he’s dynamite,” he said. “And if you think he’s small, take a look at that picture of Job Wolganheimer, and then contrast it with the picture of Bonneguard.”
Leith regarded the two photographs and burst into laughter.
“What the devil, Scuttle!” he exclaimed. “This is like a Hollywood comedy; Karl Bonneguard, broad-shouldered, husky, well nourished, Hanz Bettler so slender you’d think he was a professional dancer, and then Job Wolganheimer so thin he looks like a lead pencil dressed up in a double-breasted suit. Dammit, Scuttle, perhaps the man gets thin carrying that long-winded name around with him.”
“Yes, sir,” the spy said with a broad smile.
“You said they were delayed a half hour in getting there when Bradercrust called.”
“Yes, sir. That’s right. It seems that there was a slow leak in one of Wolganheimer’s tires, and when he went to change the tire, he found that the nut which holds the spare tire in place had been put on against the threads and was screwed on so tight they simply couldn’t loosen it. So Wolganheimer had to repair the flat by taking off the casing, pulling out the tube, patching, and then inflating the tire by hand.”
“Couldn’t they have done something better than that?” Leith asked. “Surely they could have got a taxi, or one of them could have stopped a passing motorist and ridden in. If I had a hundred thousand dollars in a safe and the guard was drugged, I’d get there.”
“Yes, sir, but you forgot they took Bettler to a very lonely isolated spot in order to keep the newspapers from finding out what had happened. Coming back, they were on a road where there was no traffic.”
“I see,” Leith said moodily. “Look here, Scuttle. In this photograph it shows a water cooler standing there in the corridor. As I remember it, it was very warm three nights ago. Isn’t it possible that both Bettler and Bradercrust drank water from the cooler; also the dog—”
“You’ll pardon me, sir,” the spy interrupted diffidently, “but that’s already been gone over.”
“What has?”
“The water cooler.”
“What about it?”
“Bonneguard thought, of course, that was how the drug had been administered, because Bradercrust remembered taking a drink of water from the cooler. But Bonneguard turned the cooler over to the police who made a detailed examination and found not the slightest trace of any drug whatever in the water.”
“Was there anything different about that one police dog which was drugged?” Leith asked. “Was his history exactly the same as the others?”
“Yes, sir, absolutely the same. The dogs were all purchased from an agency which makes it its business to supply watchdogs. They are trained to recognize only certain people, and as watchdogs, they’re very superior.”
“And those dogs were all furnished at the same time?”
“Yes, sir.”
Lester Leith frowned at the tips of his bedroom slippers. “Let me take a look at that picture of the Wilmeier Avenue house, Scuttle.”
The spy silently passed over the clippings. Leith studied them for several minutes; then, whistling a little tune, placed his thumbnail over one of the barred windows, completely blotting it from sight.
“Pardon me, sir. May I ask what you’re doing?” the valet asked.
“Yes, Scuttle,” he said, still absent-mindedly. “I was wondering when the house was remodeled as a fortress, those bars and so forth. Was that part of the house changed after Bonneguard purchased it?”
“Yes, sir. When Bonneguard purchased the house, he fixed it up the way he wanted it. The steel doors and iron bars were installed by Wolganheimer and Bonneguard. They’re both carpenters and contractors and did the work themselves.”
“Had these bars been tampered with, Scuttle?”
“No, sir, the bars were firmly in place, and the windows were closed and locked on the inside. Wolganheimer had locked them the last thing before he and Bonneguard had left, and they both inspected them again as soon as they realized the money had been taken from the safe.”
“And Wolganheimer’s young lady friend is the hula dancer, Scuttle?”