CHAPTER XX. JETTISON TAKES A HAND
By breakfast time next morning the man from New Scotland Yard hadaccomplished a series of meditations on the confidences made to him andMitchington the night before and had determined on at least one courseof action. But before entering upon it he had one or two importantletters to write, the composition of which required much thought andtrouble, and by the time he had finished them, and deposited them by hisown hand in the General Post Office, it was drawing near to noon--thegreat bell of the Cathedral, indeed, was proclaiming noontide toWrychester as Jettison turned into the police-station and soughtMitchington in his office.
"I was just coming round to see if you'd overslept yourself," saidMitchington good-humouredly. "We were up pretty late last night, or,rather, this morning."
"I've had letters to write," said Jettison. He sat down and picked up anewspaper and cast a casual glance over it. "Got anything fresh?"
"Well, this much," answered Mitchington. "The two gentlemen who toldus so much last night are both out of town. I made an excuse to call onthem both early this morning--just on nine o'clock. Dr. Ransford went upto London by the eight-fifteen.
"Dr. Bryce, says his landlady, went out on his bicycle at half-pasteight--where, she didn't know, but, she fancied, into the country.However, I ascertained that Ransford is expected back this evening, andBryce gave orders for his usual dinner to be ready at seven o'clock, andso--"
Jettison flung away the newspaper and pulled out his pipe.
"Oh, I don't think they'll run away--either of 'em," he remarkedindifferently. "They're both too cock-sure of their own ways of lookingat things."
"You looked at 'em any more?" asked Mitchington.
"Done a bit of reflecting--yes," replied the detective. "Complicatedaffair, my lad! More in it than one would think at first sight. I'mcertain of this quite apart from whatever mystery there is about theBraden affair and the Collishaw murder, there's a lot of scheming andcontriving been going on--and is going on!--somewhere, by somebody.Underhand work, you understand? However, my particular job is theCollishaw business--and there's a bit of information I'd like to gethold of at once. Where's the office of that Friendly Society we heardabout last night?"
"That'll be the Wrychester Second Friendly," answered Mitchington."There are two such societies in the town--the first's patronized bysmall tradesmen and the like; the second by workingmen. The second doestake deposits from its members. The office is in Fladgate--secretary'sname outside--Mr. Stebbing. What are you after?"
"Tell you later," said Jettison. "Just an idea."
He went leisurely out and across the market square and into the narrow,old-world street called Fladgate, along which he strolled as if doing nomore than looking about him until he came to an ancient shop which hadbeen converted into an office, and had a wire blind over the lowerhalf of its front window, wherein was woven in conspicuous gilt lettersWrychester Second Friendly Society--George Stebbing, Secretary. Nothingbetokened romance or mystery in that essentially humble place, but itwas in Jettison's mind that when he crossed its threshold he was on hisway to discovering something that would possibly clear up the problem onwhich he was engaged.
The staff of the Second Friendly was inconsiderable in numbers--anouter office harboured a small boy and a tall young man; an inner oneaccommodated Mr. Stebbing, also a young man, sandy-haired and freckled,who, having inspected Detective-Sergeant Jettison's professional card,gave him the best chair in the room and stared at him with a mingling ofawe and curiosity which plainly showed that he had never entertaineda detective before. And as if to show his visitor that he realized theseriousness of the occasion, he nodded meaningly at his door.
"All safe, here, sir!" he whispered. "Well fitting doors in these oldhouses--knew how to make 'em in those days. No chance of being overheardhere--what can I do for you, sir?"
"Thank you--much obliged to you," said Jettison. "No objection to mypipe, I suppose? Just so. Ah!--well, between you and me, Mr. Stebbing,I'm down here in connection with that Collishaw case--you know."
"I know, sir--poor fellow!" said the secretary. "Cruel thing, sir, ifthe man was put an end to. One of our members, was Collishaw, sir."
"So I understand," remarked Jettison. "That's what I've come about. Bitof information, on the quiet, eh? Strictly between our two selves--forthe present."
Stebbing nodded and winked, as if he had been doing business withdetectives all his life. "To be sure, sir, to be sure!" he respondedwith alacrity. "Just between you and me and the door post!--all right.Anything I can do, Mr. Jettison, shall be done. But it's more in the wayof what I can tell, I suppose?"
"Something of that sort," replied Jettison in his slow, easy-goingfashion. "I want to know a thing or two. Yours is a working-man'ssociety, I think? Aye--and I understand you've a system whereby such aman can put his bits of savings by in your hands?"
"A capital system, too!" answered the secretary, seizing on a pamphletand pushing it into his visitor's hand. "I don't believe there's betterin England! If you read that--"
"I'll take a look at it some time," said Jettison, putting the pamphletin his pocket. "Well, now, I also understand that Collishaw was in thehabit of bringing you a bit of saved money now and then a sort of savingfellow, wasn't he?" Stebbing nodded assent and reached for a ledgerwhich lay on the farther side of his desk.
"Collishaw," he answered, "had been a member of our societyever since it started--fourteen years ago. And he'd been putting insavings for some eight or nine years. Not much, you'll understand. Say,as an average, two to three pounds every half-year--never more. But,just before his death, or murder, or whatever you like to call it, hecame in here one day with fifty pounds! Fairly astounded me, sir! Fiftypounds--all in a lump!"
"It's about that fifty pounds I want to know something," said Jettison."He didn't tell you how he'd come by it? Wasn't a legacy, for instance?"
"He didn't say anything but that he'd had a bit of luck," answeredStebbing. "I asked no questions. Legacy, now?--no, he didn't mentionthat. Here it is," he continued, turning over the pages of the ledger."There! 50 pounds. You see the date--that 'ud be two days before hisdeath."
Jettison glanced at the ledger and resumed his seat.
"Now, then, Mr. Stebbing, I want you to tell me something verydefinite," he said. "It's not so long since this happened, so you'll nothave to tag your memory to any great extent. In what form did Collishawpay that fifty pounds to you?"
"That's easy answered, sir," said the secretary. "It was in gold. Fiftysovereigns--he had 'em in a bit of a bag." Jettison reflected on thisinformation for a moment or two. Then he rose.
"Much obliged to you, Mr. Stebbing," he said. "That's something worthknowing. Now there's something else you can tell me as long as I'mhere--though, to be sure, I could save you the trouble by using my owneyes. How many banks are there in this little city of yours?"
"Three," answered Stebbing promptly. "Old Bank, in Monday Market; Popham& Hargreaves, in the Square; Wrychester Bank, in Spurriergate. That'sthe lot."
"Much obliged," said Jettison. "And--for the present--not a word of whatwe've talked about. You'll be hearing more--later."
He went away, memorizing the names of the three bankingestablishments--ten minutes later he was in the private parlour of thefirst, in serious conversation with its manager. Here it was necessaryto be more secret, and to insist on more secrecy than with the secretaryof the Second Friendly, and to produce all his credentials and give allhis reasons. But Jettison drew that covert blank, and the next, too, andit was not until he had been closeted for some time with the authoritiesof the third bank that he got the information he wanted. And when hehad got it, he impressed secrecy and silence on his informants in afashion which showed them that however easy-going his manner might be,he knew his business as thoroughly as they knew theirs.
It was by that time past one o'clock, and Jettison turned into the smallhotel at which he had lodged himself. He thought much and gravelywhile he ate h
is dinner; he thought still more while he smoked hisafter-dinner pipe. And his face was still heavy with thought when,at three o'clock, he walked into Mitchington's office and finding theinspector alone shut the door and drew a chair to Mitchington's desk.
"Now then," he said. "I've had a rare morning's work, and made adiscovery, and you and me, my lad, have got to have about as serious abit of talk as we've had since I came here."
Mitchington pushed his papers aside and showed his keen attention.
"You remember what that young fellow told us last night about that manCollishaw paying in fifty pounds to the Second Friendly two days beforehis death," said Jettison. "Well, I thought over that business a lot,early this morning, and I fancied I saw how I could find somethingout about it. So I have--on the strict quiet. That's why I went to theFriendly Society. The fact was--I wanted to know in what form Collishawhanded in that fifty pounds. I got to know. Gold!"
Mitchington, whose work hitherto had not led him into the mysteries ofdetective enterprise, nodded delightedly.
"Good!" he said. "Rare idea! I should never have thought of it!And--what do you make out of that, now?"
"Nothing," replied Jettison. "But--a good deal out of what I've learnedsince that bit of a discovery. Now, put it to yourself--whoever it wasthat paid Collishaw that fifty pounds in gold did it with a motive. Morethan one motive, to be exact--but we'll stick to one, to begin with. Themotive for paying in gold was--avoidance of discovery. A cheque canbe readily traced. So can banknotes. But gold is not easily traced.Therefore the man who paid Collishaw fifty pounds took care to providehimself with gold. Now then--how many men are there in a small placelike this who are likely to carry fifty pounds in gold in their pockets,or to have it at hand?"
"Not many," agreed Mitchington.
"Just so--and therefore I've been doing a bit of secret inquiry amongstthe bankers, as to who supplied himself with gold about that date,"continued Jettison. "I'd to convince 'em of the absolute necessityof information, too, before I got any! But I got some--at the thirdattempt. On the day previous to that on which Collishaw handed thatfifty pounds to Stebbing, a certain Wrychester man drew fifty pounds ingold at his bank. Who do you think he was?"
"Who--who?" demanded Mitchington.
Jettison leaned half-across the desk.
"Bryce!" he said in a whisper. "Bryce!"
Mitchington sat up in his chair and opened his mouth in sheerastonishment.
"Good heavens!" he muttered after a moment's silence. "You don't meanit?"
"Fact!" answered Jettison. "Plain, incontestable fact, my lad. Dr. Brycekeeps an account at the Wrychester bank. On the day I'm speaking of hecashed a cheque to self for fifty pounds and took it all in gold."
The two men looked at each other as if each were asking his companion aquestion.
"Well?" said Mitchington at last. "You're a cut above me, Jettison. Whatdo you make of it?"
"I said last night that the young man was playing a deep game,"replied Jettison. "But--what game? What's he building up? For mark you,Mitchington, if--I say if, mind!--if that fifty pounds which he drew ingold is the identical fifty paid to Collishaw, Bryce didn't pay it ashush-money!"
"Think not?" said Mitchington, evidently surprised. "Now, that was myfirst impression. If it wasn't hush-money--"
"It wasn't hush-money, for this reason," interrupted Jettison. "We knowthat whatever else he knew, Bryce didn't know of the accident to Bradenuntil Varner fetched him to Braden. That's established--on what you'veput before me. Therefore, whatever Collishaw saw, before or at thetime that accident happened, it wasn't Bryce who was mixed up in it.Therefore, why should Bryce pay Collishaw hush-money?"
Mitchington, who had evidently been thinking, suddenly pulled out adrawer in his desk and took some papers from it which he began to turnover.
"Wait a minute," he said. "I've an abstract here--of what the foreman atthe Cathedral mason's yard told me of what he knew as to where Collishawwas working that morning when the accident happened--I made a note of itwhen I questioned him after Collishaw's death. Here you are:
'Foreman says that on morning of Braden's accident, Collishaw was at work in the north gallery of the clerestory, clearing away some timber which the carpenters had left there. Collishaw was certainly thus engaged from nine o'clock until past eleven that morning. Mem. Have investigated this myself. From the exact spot where C. was clearing the timber, there is an uninterrupted view of the gallery on the south side of the nave, and of the arched doorway at the head of St. Wrytha's Stair.'"
"'Well," observed Jettison, "that proves what I'm saying. It wasn'thush-money. For whoever it was that Collishaw saw lay hands on Braden,it wasn't Bryce--Bryce, we know, was at that time coming across theClose or crossing that path through the part you call Paradise:Varner's evidence proves that. So--if the fifty pounds wasn't paid forhush-money, what was it paid for?"
"Do you suggest anything?" asked Mitchington.
"I've thought of two or three things," answered the detective. "One'sthis--was the fifty pounds paid for information? If so, and Bryce hasthat information, why doesn't he show his hand more plainly? If hebribed Collishaw with fifty pounds: to tell him who Braden's assailantwas, he now knows!--so why doesn't he let it out, and have done withit?"
"Part of his game--if that theory's right," murmured Mitchington.
"It mayn't be right," said Jettison. "But it's one. And there'sanother--supposing he paid Collishaw that money on behalf of somebodyelse? I've thought this business out right and left, top-side andbottom-side, and hang me if I don't feel certain there is somebody else!What did Ransford tell us about Bryce and this old Harker--thinkof that! And yet, according to Bryce, Harker is one of our old Yardmen!--and therefore ought to be above suspicion."
Mitchington suddenly started as if an idea had occurred to him.
"I say, you know!" he exclaimed. "We've only Bryce's word for it thatHarker is an ex-detective. I never heard that he was--if he is, he'skept it strangely quiet. You'd have thought that he'd have let us know,here, of his previous calling--I never heard of a policeman of anyrank who didn't like to have a bit of talk with his own sort aboutprofessional matters."
"Nor me," assented Jettison. "And as you say, we've only Bryce'sword. And, the more I think of it, the more I'm convinced there'ssomebody--some man of whom you don't seem to have the least idea--who'sin this. And it may be that Bryce is in with him. However--here's onething I'm going to do at once. Bryce gave us that information about thefifty pounds. Now I'm going to tell Bryce straight out that I've goneinto that matter in my own fashion--a fashion he evidently never thoughtof--and ask him to explain why he drew a similar amount in gold. Come onround to his rooms."
But Bryce was not to be found at his rooms--had not been back to hisrooms, said his landlady, since he had ridden away early in the morning:all she knew was that he had ordered his dinner to be ready at his usualtime that evening. With that the two men had to be content, and theywent back to the police-station still discussing the situation. And theywere still discussing it an hour later when a telegram was handed toMitchington, who tore it open, glanced over its contents and passed itto his companion who read it aloud.
"Meet me with Jettison Wrychester Station on arrival of five-twentyexpress from London mystery cleared up guilty men known--Ransford."
Jettison handed the telegram back.
"A man of his word!" he said. "He mentioned two days--he's done it inone! And now, my lad--do you notice?--he says men, not man! It's as Isaid--there's been more than one of 'em in this affair. Now then--whoare they?"