The Traitor's Gate by Edgar Wallace — Read

GRAHAM HALLOWELL had many unpleasant moments; moments of doubt, anxiety and sheer fretfulness. His loneliness gave him far too much time to think. Once he called up Diana and urged her to come down to him. But she had an important engagement of some kind. He thought she was lying, but for once did her an injustice. Mawsey, the gardener, had gone, and another and younger man had taken his place, and carried out his duties with the same punctilious care as his predecessor. By this time Graham knew the plan by heart; and the better acquainted he was with it and the simpler it seemed, the more uneasy he became; for this narrative of Trayne's was confident to a point of madness. It said nothing as to how the jewels were to be taken. Graham's part was simple enough. But he knew more than a little of the Tower routine and the extraordinary safeguards which surrounded the regalia. As his uneasiness increased, he resolved to see at first hand just what difficulties there were to be overcome. He chose a Saturday, which was a public half-holiday, when he knew that the Tower would be crowded with visitors, and, joining the queue at the ticket office, he gained the little green pasteboard that admitted him to the jewel House and followed the holiday-makers through the first guarding arch, along the curtain wall, till he came to the Bloody Tower.

A warder would have headed him oft; because visitors are expected to follow a prescribed route, but allowed him to pass when he showed the green ticket. Again he had to wait, all the time in fear lest he should be observed by somebody who knew him. He saw the officer of the guard, a stranger to him, and breathed a sigh of relief Presently he was mounting the steps of the Wakefield Tower, where the jewels are housed. The outer door was of stout oak, backed, he guessed, with steel. It was when he reached the landing where the door admitting to the Jewel House that he had his first shock. The door of the regalia chamber consisted of two steel leaves. They were strong-room doors, four inches thick. In the centre of the room was a steel cage, the sides of which were thick plate glass. Looking down into the interior he saw a small airpressure gauge, which told its own story. The emergency shutters he could detect. At the first hint of danger, a warder told off specially for the duty, would touch the secret lever and the shutters would fall with a crash. By night either they or another set would slowly descend and lock automatically.