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The baggage man attempted to bluster. "No heroics now, my friend," I smiled. "I know enough about you and your little ingenious piece of graft to tell a pretty story at the North German Lloyd offices in New York. Now do I get a look at Herr Schmidt's kiste?"
And lo, a synful woman that was in the cytee, as sche knewe that Jhesus sat at the mete in the hous of the Farisee, she broughte an alabastre box of oynement, and sche stood bihynde bisidis hise feet, and bigan to moiste hise feet with teeris, and wypide with the heeris of hir heed, and kiste hise feet, and anoyntide with oynement.
The lotion paper used by the German Secret Service has been perfected to such an extent that when taking the print it does not leave any signs on the original. Accordingly, there would likely not have been a clew only on close scrutiny would it be seen that the seal had been tampered with even had Schmidt examined his kiste again before landing.
It was just what I wanted. When the ship was a day from New York, I said to the rascal: "My friend, I want to look at the luggage of Carl Schmidt for ten minutes. It is check number 31694 and is a kiste." The baggage man was very sorry but that could not be done. If it were found out he would lose his position. "Either I get at that kiste," I said, "or up you go."
Quite unconcernedly in view of the other passengers who were still standing waiting their turn, acting entirely as if it were my own, I opened the unlocked kiste and rummaging among its contents soon brought to light a plain, large envelope sealed with wax.
Under my arm was a popular novel and between the pages of this lay a sheet of special lotion paper, chemically treated in a way known only to the German Secret Service and capable of taking a quick clean print of anything written in pencil or ink. As I lifted the dossier from the kiste I noticed that it was embossed on a greenish white paper, not unlike a bank of England note in color.
This done, Schmidt was guilty of an unwarrantable piece of carelessness. He tipped the baggage master and left him to lock up the kiste while he went up on the promenade deck to enjoy the view. This did not surprise me, for I had been expecting some such blunder to make my way easier.
A most interesting sight the skyline, something to engross your attention. I was interested in something else. I was interested in the luggage that was being prepared for the customs officers. On a lower deck the kiste of Carl Schmidt had been conveniently set apart from the other trunks and boxes and the German agent himself was waiting for the customs man to pass upon it.
I then replaced the document in the dispatch envelope and being sure to leave everything appearing as it was, even to fixing the broken seal as best I could, lest by chance Herr Schmidt should return and glance at his kiste.
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