The Washington times., 1923-06-09
"A Thrilling Story of the Running Down
of a Band of Master COunterfeiters
By the Secre: Service

; ftre-prOofed chamber, as bald as
a tomb and quite as dark. lie
could even touch the metal roof.
and set in it's center found one
electric light bulb. But this he
could not use, much as he
wanted to. For the emptiness of
that little iron-clad room was a
puzzle to him. Then he realized
that it must have been equipped
as a strong box, a treasure vault
for holding valuables In transit.
But he had little time to give
it thought. His task was still to
reach the telephone. He remem.
.bered that he had lost time. when
time might be precious. He stood
studying the matter out. Then
he concluded the pier office must
be somewhere close beside this
treasure room. So he emerged
again into the more open space
listening and staring through
the blackness to make sure
Of the high-arched pier shed.
the light was not coming to put an
end to all his plan.
But the velvety blackness was
still unbrol1en, and again he had to
exercise the greatest care as he
CROPPED on along the wall, feeling
and padding about for the office
door.
He came to that door at last and
let finger light as thistledown
caress and explore the knob. Then
he permitted his entire hand slow
ly to encompass it, slowly to turn
it, and with steady but guarded
pressure determine whether or not
it was locked.
To his joy he found it was not.
He swung the door inward. inch
by inch. He was breathing only
with the upper area of his lungs as
he waited. to make sure there
would be no squeak or whine of
rusty hinges. It was with equal
precaution and slowness that he
closed the door again. Then he felt
his way inward circling about I'm
til he came to the edge of the desk,
and exploring it with questioning
fingers.
He found the scloth-covered tele-
phone wires and traced them up to
the transmitter stand. With the
most scrupulous care he took up
that transmitter and lifted it to the
floor. Then he silenced the call
bell with his pocket handkerchief,
tying it about the clapper to make
all sound impossible. Then he
stood in thought, for a moment or
two, before groping his way back
to the office wall. There his busy
fingers again took up their explo-
ration work, as he circled the room
and stopped meditatively when he
came to an overcoat hanging on a
hook beside paper-litteredc cabinet
top. 1t was heavy overcoat, APP
parently of pilot cloth, and it was
lined with rabbit skin sadly worn
at the edges and rent in the seams.
Kestner possessed himself of
that overcoat. Then he lowered
himself to the floor, sinking first
on one knee and then on the other,
slowly, so there should be no
shadow Of a conclusion sound or
ward, with his finger tips on the
floor boards, letting his body de-
scend inch by inch until his face
was close to the wharf planks and
his outstretched hands were within
touch Of the transmitter stand
He first lifted this stand until it
was directly in front of him, close
to his face. Then he slowly drew
the heavy pilot cloth coat up over
his body until it Covered both the
transmitter and his head. He
draped it cautiously about him, as
a camera man covers his instru~
ment, making sure no vent was
left. Then he slowly lifted the re-
ceiver from its hook, placed it to
his ear, and with his lips almost
touching the diaphragm of the
transmitter, whispered his number
to central. From that little tented
corner of Iblackness he was able to
call for Wilsnatch and help. For
central had heard and given him
his connection.
"Wilsnach" he whispered into
the tiny cave of metal against his
lip.
There came a faltering and some
what puzzled "Hello?" in response
to his whisper.
"Wilsnach, do you hear me?"
Hello" repeated the answering
voice.
Don't you hear me?"
mo! Speak up!''
'This is Kestner," continued
the whisper from under the
muffling pilot-cloth coat. At last
the man at the far end Of the
line appeared to comprehend
the aifi1afiO