XI.-American Horses
The thing began in the colony room of the Empire Club in London. Thecolony room is on the second floor and looks out over Piccadilly Circus.It was at an hour when nobody is in an English club. There was a driftof dirty fog outside. Such nights come along in October.
Douglas Hargrave did not see the Baronet until he closed the door behindhim. Sir Henry was seated at a table, leaning over, his face between hishand, and his elbows resting on the polished mahogany board. There wasa sheet of paper on the table between the Baronet's elbows. There were afew lines written on the paper and the man's faculties were concentratedon them. He did not see the jewel dealer until that person was halfacross the room, then he called to him.
"Hello, Hargrave," he said. "Do you know anything about ciphers?"
"Only the trade one that our firm uses," replied the jewel dealer. "Andthat's a modification of the A B C code."
"Well," he said, "take a look at this."
The jewel dealer sat down at the other side of the table and the Baronethanded him the sheet of paper. The man expected to see a lot of queersigns and figures; but instead he found a simple trade's message, as itseemed to him.
P.L.A. shipped nine hundred horses on freight steamer Don Carlow from N.Y.
Have the bill of lading handed over to our agent to check up.
"Well," said the jewel dealer, "somebody's going to ship nine hundredhorses. Where's the mystery?"
The Baronet shrugged his big shoulders.
"The mystery," he said, "is everywhere. It's before and after and in thebody of this message. There's hardly anything to it but mystery."
"Who sent it?" said Hargrave.
"That's one of the mysteries," replied the Baronet.
"Ah!" said the jewel dealer. "Who received it?"
"That's another," he answered.
"At any rate," continued Hargrave, "you know where you got it."
"Right," replied the Baronet. "I know where I got it." He took threenewspapers out of the pocket of his big tweed coat. "There it is," hesaid, "in the personal column of three newspapers--today's Times printedin London; the Matin printed in Paris; and a Dutch daily printed inAmsterdam."
And there was the message set up in English, in two sentences preciselyword for word, in three newspapers printed on the same day in London,Paris and Amsterdam.
"It seems to be a message all right," said Hargrave: "But why do youimagine it's a cipher?"
The Baronet looked closely at the American jewel dealer for a moment.
"Why should it be printed in English in these foreign papers," he said,"if it were not a cipher?"
"Perhaps," said Hargrave, "the person for whom it's intended does notknow any other language."
The Baronet shrugged his shoulders.
"The persons for whom this message is intended," he said, "do notconfine themselves to a single language. It's a pretty well-organizedinternational concern."
"Well," said Hargrave, "it doesn't look like a mystery that oughtto puzzle the ingenuity of the Chief of the Criminal InvestigationDepartment of the metropolitan police." He nodded to Sir Henry. "Youhave only to look out for the arrival of nine hundred horses and whenthey get in to see who takes them off the boat. The thing looks easy."
"It's not so easy as it looks," replied the Baronet. "Evidently thesehorses might go to France, Holland or England. That's the secret in thismessage. That's where the cipher comes in. The name of the port is inthat cipher somewhere."
"But you can, watch the steamer," said Hargrave, "the Don Carlos."
The Baronet laughed.
"There's no such steamer!" He got up and began to walk round the table."Nine hundred horses," he said. "This thing has got to stop. They're onthe sea now, on the way over from America: We have got to find out wherethey will go ashore."
He stopped, stooped over and studied the message which he had writtenout and which also lay before him in the three newspapers.
"It's there," he said, "the name of the port of arrival, somewhere inthose two sentences. But I can't get at it. It's no cipher that I haveever heard of. It's no one of the hundred figure or number ciphers thatthe experts in the department know anything about. If we knew the portof arrival we could pick up the clever gentleman who comes to take awaythe horses. But what's the port--English, French or Dutch? There are ascore of ports." He struck the paper with his hand. "It's there, my wordfor it, if we could only decode the thing."
Then he stood up, his face lifted, his fingers linked behind hisback. He crossed the room and stood looking out at the thin yellow fogdrifting over Piccadilly Circus. Finally he came back, gathered up hispapers and put them in the pocket of his big tweed coat.
"There's one man in Europe," he said, "who can read this thing. That'sthe Swiss expert criminologist, old Arnold, of Zurich. He's lecturing atthe Sorbonne in Paris. I'm going to see him."
Then he went out.
Now that, as has been said, is how the thing began. It was the firstepisode in the series of events that began to go forward on thisextraordinary night. One will say that the purchasing agent for a greatNew York jewel house ought to be accustomed to adventures. The writersof romance have stimulated that fancy. But the fact is that such personsare practical people. They never do any of the things that the storywriters tell us. They never carry jewels about with them. Of course theyknow the police departments of foreign cities. All jewel dealers make apoint of that. Hargrave's father was an old friend of Sir Henry Marquis,chief of the C. I. D., and the young man always went to see him when hehappened in London. That explains the freedom of his talk to Hargrave onthis night in the Empire Club in Piccadilly.
The young man went over and sat down by the fire. The big room wasempty. The sounds outside seemed muffled and distant. The incident thathad just passed impressed him. He wondered why people should imaginethat a purchasing agent of a jewel house must be a sort of expert in thedevices of mystery. As has been said, the thing's a notion. Everythingis shipped through reliable transportation companies and insured. Therewas much more mystery in a shipload of horses--the nine hundred horsesthat were galloping through the head of Sir Henry Marquis--than in allthe five prosaic years during which young Hargrave had succeeded hisfather as a jewel buyer. The American was impressed by this mystery ofthe nine hundred horses. Sir Henry had said it was a mystery in everydirection.
Now, as he sat alone before the fire in the colony room of the EmpireClub and thought about it, the thing did seem inexplicable. Why shouldthe metropolitan police care who imported horses, or in what port ashipload of them was landed? The war was over. Nobody was concernedabout the importation of horses. Why should Sir Henry be so disturbedabout it? But he was disturbed; and he had rushed off to Paris to see anexpert on ciphers. That seemed a tremendous lot of trouble to take. TheBaronet knew the horses were on the sea coming from America, he said. Ifhe knew that much, how could he fail to discover the boat on whichthey were carried and the port at which they would arrive? Nobody couldconceal nine hundred horses!
Hargrave was thinking about that, idly, before the glow of the coalfire, when the second episode in this extraordinary affair arrived.
A steward entered.
"Visitor, please," he said, "to see Mr. Hargrave."
Then he presented his tray with a card. The jewel dealer took the cardwith some surprise. Everybody knew that he was at the Empire Club. It isa colony thing with chambers for foreign guests. A list of arrivals isalways printed. He saw at a glance that it was not a man's card; thesize was too large. Then he turned it over before the light of the fire.The name was engraved in script, an American fashion at this time.
The woman's card had surprised him; but the name on it brought him upin his chair--"Mrs. A. B. Farmingham." It was not a name that he knewprecisely; but he knew its genera, the family or group to which itbelonged. Mr. Jefferson removed titles of nobility in the Americanrepublic, but his efforts did not eliminate caste zones. It only madethe lines of cleavage more pronounced. O
ne knew these zones by the nameformation. Everybody knew "Alfa Baba" Farmingham, as the Sunday Presswas accustomed to translate his enigmatical initials. Some wonderfulWestern bonanza was behind the man. Mrs. "Alfa Baba" Farmingham wouldbe, then, one of the persons that Hargrave's house was concerned toreach. He looked again at the card. In the corner the engraved address,"Point View, Newport," was marked out with a pencil and "The Ritz"written over it.
He got his coat and hat and followed the steward out of the club. Therewas a carriage at the curb. A footman was holding the door open, and awoman, leaning over in the seat, was looking out. She was precisely whatHargrave expected to see, one of those dominant, impatient, aggressivewomen who force their way to the head of social affairs in America. Sheshot a volley of questions at him the moment he was before the door.
"Are you Douglas Hargrave, the purchasing agent for Bartholdi & Banks?"
The man said that he was, and at her service, and so forth. But she didnot stop to listen to any reply.
"You look mighty young, but perhaps you know your business. At any rate,it's the best I can do. Get in."
Hargrave got in, the footman closed the door, and the carriage turnedinto Piccadilly Circus. The woman did not pay very much attention tohim. She made a laconic explanation, the sort of explanation one wouldmake to a shopkeeper.
"I want your opinion on some jewels," she said. "I have a lot to do--notime to fool away. When I found that I could see the jewels to-night Iconcluded to pick you up on my way down. I didn't find out about it intime to let you know."
Hargrave told her that he would be very glad to give her the benefit ofhis experience.
"Glad, nonsense!" she said. "I'll pay your fee. Do you know a jewel whenyou see it?"
"I think I do, madam," he replied.
She moved with energy.
"It won't do to think," she said. "I have got to know. I don't buyjunk."
He tried to carry himself up to her level with a laugh.
"I assure you, madam," he said, "our house is not accustomed to buyjunk. It's a perfectly simple matter to tell a spurious jewel."
And he began to explain the simple, decisive tests. But she did notlisten to him.
"I don't care how a vet knows that a hunter's sound. All that I want tobe certain about is that he does know it. I don't want to buy hunters onmy own hook. Neither do I want to buy jewels on what I know aboutthem. If you know, that's all I care about it. And you must know or oldBartholdi wouldn't trust you. That's what I'm going on."
She was a big aggressive woman, full of energy. Hargrave could not seeher very well, but that much was abundantly clear. The carriage turnedout of Piccadilly Circus, crossed Trafalgar Square and stopped beforeBlackwell's Hotel. Blackwell's has had a distinct clientele sincethe war; a sort of headquarters for Southeastern European visitors toLondon.
When the carriage stopped Mrs. Farmingham opened the door herself,before the footman could get down, and got out. It was the restlessAmerican impatience always cropping out in this woman.
"Come along, young man," she said, "and tell me whether this stuff is O.K. or junk."
They got in a lift and went up to the top floor of the hotel. Mrs.Farmingham got out and Hargrave followed her along the hall to a doorat the end of a corridor. He could see her now clearly in the light. Shehad gray eyes, a big determined mouth, and a mass of hair dyed as only aParisian expert, in the Rue de la Paix, can do it. She went directly toa door at the end of the corridor, rapped on it with her gloved hand,and turned the latch before anybody could possibly have responded.
Hargrave followed her into the room. It was a tiny sitting room, oneof the inexpensive rooms in the hotel. There was a bit of fire inthe grate, and standing by the mantelpiece was, a big old man withclose-cropped hair and a pale, unhealthy face. It was the type of facethat one associates with tribal races in Southeastern Europe. He wasdressed in a uniform that fitted closely to his figure. It was a uniformof some elevated rank, from the apparent richness of it. There were oneor two decorations on the coat, a star and a heavy bronze medal. Theman looked to be of some importance; but this importance did not impressMrs. Farmingham.
"Major," she said in her direct fashion, "I have brought an expert tolook at the jewels."
She indicated Hargrave, and the foreign officer bowed courteously. Thenhe took two candles from the mantelpiece and placed them on a littletable that stood in the center of the room.
He put three chairs round this table, sat down in one of them,unbuttoned the bosom of his coat and took out a big oblong jewel case.The case was in an Oriental design and of great age. The embroideredsilk cover was falling apart. He opened the case carefully, delicately,like one handling fragile treasure. Inside, lying each in a littlepocket that exactly fitted the outlines of the stone, were three rows ofsapphires. He emptied the jewels out on the table.
"Sir," he said, speaking with a queer, hesitating accent, "it saddensone unspeakably to part with the ancient treasure of one's family."
Mrs. Farmingham said nothing whatever. Hargrave stooped over thejewels and spread them out on top of, the table. There were twenty-ninesapphires of the very finest quality. He had never seen better sapphiresanywhere. He remembered seeing stones that were matched up better; buthe had never seen individual stones that were any finer in anybody'scollection. The foreigner was composed and silent while the Americanexamined the jewels. But Mrs. Farmingham moved restlessly in her chair.
"Well," she said, "are they O. K.?"
"Yes, madam," said Hargrave; "they are first-class stones."
"Sure?" she asked.
"Quite sure, madam," replied the American. "There can be no questionabout it."
"Are they worth eighteen thousand dollars?"
She put the question in such a way that Hargrave understood herperfectly.
"Well," he said, "that depends upon a good many conditions. But I'mwilling to say, quite frankly, that if you don't want the jewels I'mready to take them for our house at eighteen thousand dollars."
The big, dominant, aggressive woman made the gesture of one who cracks adog whip.
"That's all right," she said. Then she turned to the foreigner. "Now,major, when do you want this money?"
The big old officer shrugged his shoulders and put out his hands.
"To-morrow, madam; to-morrow as I have said to you; before midday I mustreturn. I can by no means remain an hour longer; my leave of absenceexpires. I must be in Bucharest at sunrise on the morning of the twelfthof October. I can possibly arrive if I leave London to-morrow at midday,but not later."
Mrs. Farmingham began to wag her head in a determined fashion.
"Nonsense," she said, "I can't get the money by noon. I have telegraphedto the Credit Lyonnais in Paris. I can get it by the day afterto-morrow, or perhaps to-morrow evening."
The foreigner looked down on the floor.
"It is impossible," he said.
The woman interrupted him.
"Now, major, that's all nonsense! A day longer can't make anydifference."
He drew himself up and looked calmly at her.
"Madam," he said, "it would make all the difference in the world. If Ishould remain one day over my time I might just as well remain all theother days that are to follow it."
There was finality and conviction in the man's voice. Mrs. Farminghamgot up and began to walk about the room. She seemed to speak toHargrave, although he imagined that she was speaking to herself.
"Now this is a pretty how-de-do," she said "Lady Holbert told me aboutthis find to-night at dinner. She said Major Mikos wanted the money atonce; but I didn't suppose he wanted it cash on the hour like that. Shebrought me right away after dinner to see him. And then I went for you."She stopped, and again made the gesture as of one who, cracks a dogwhip. "Now what shall I do?" she said.
The last remark was evidently not addressed to Hargrave. It was notaddressed to anybody. It was merely the reflection of a dominant naturetaking counsel with itself. She took another turn abou
t the room. Thenshe pulled up short.
"See here," she said, "suppose you take these jewels and give the majorhis money in the morning. Then I'll buy them of you."
"Very well, madam," said Hargrave; "but in that event we shall chargeyou a ten per cent commission."
She stormed at that.
"Eighteen hundred dollars?" she said. "That's absurd, ridiculous! I'mwilling to pay you five hundred dollars."
The American did not undertake to argue the matter with her.
"We don't handle any sale for a less commission," he said.
Then he explained that he could not act as any sort of agent in thematter; that the only thing he could do would be to buy the jewelsoutright and resell them to her. His house would not make any sale fora less profit than ten per cent. Hargrave did not propose to be involvedin any but a straight-out transaction. He was quite willing to buythe sapphires for eighteen thousand dollars. There was five thousanddollars' profit in them on any market. He was perfectly safe either wayabout. If Mrs. Farmingham made the repurchase there was a profit of tenper cent. If not, there was five thousand dollars' profit in the bargainunder any conditions.
They were Siamese stones, and the cutting was of an old design. Theywere not from any stock in Europe. Hargrave knew what Europe held ofsapphires. These were from some Oriental stock. And everybody bought anOriental stone wherever he could get it. How the seller got it did notmatter. Nobody undertook to verify the title of a Siamese trader or aBurma agent.
Mrs. Farmingham walked about for several minutes, saying over to herselfas she had said before:
"Now what shall I do?"
Then like the big, dominant, decisive nature that she was she came to aconclusion.
"All right," she said, "bring in the money in the morning and get thesapphires. I'll take them up in a day or two. Good-by, major; comealong, Mr. Hargrave." And she went out of the room.
The American stopped at the door to bow to the old Rumanian officer whowas standing up beside the table before the heap of sapphires. They gotinto the carriage at the curb before Blackwell's Hotel. Mrs. Farminghamput Hargrave down at the Empire Club, and the carriage passed on, acrossPiccadilly Circus toward the Ritz.
The following morning Hargrave got the sapphires from Major Mikos, andpaid him eighteen thousand dollars in English sovereigns for them. Hewanted gold to carry back with him for the jewels that he had broughtout of the kingdom of Rumania. He seemed a simple, anxious person. Hewished to carry his treasures with him like a peasant. The sapphireslooked better in the daylight. There ought to have been seven thousanddollars' profit in them, perhaps more; seven thousand dollars, at anyrate, that very day in the London market. Hargrave took them to theEmpire Club and put them in a sealed envelope in the steward's safe.
The thin drift of yellow remained in the city; that sulphurous hazethat the blanket of sea fog, moving over London, presses down into herstreets. It was not heavy yet; it was only a mist of saffron; but itthreatened to gather volume as the day advanced.
At luncheon Hargrave got a note from Mrs. Farmingham, a line scrawledon her card to say that she would call for him at three o'clock.Her carriage was before the door on the stroke of the hour, and sheexplained that the money to redeem the jewels had arrived. The CreditLyonnais had sent it over from Paris. She seemed a bit puzzled about it.She had telegraphed the Credit Lyonnais yesterday to send her eighteenthousand dollars. And she had expected that the French banking housewould have arranged for the payment of the money through its Englishcorrespondent. But its telegram directed her to go to the UnitedAtlantic Express Company and receive the money.
A few minutes cleared the puzzle. The office of the company is on theStrand above the Savoy. Mrs. Farmingham went to the manager and showedhim a lot of papers she had in an official-looking envelope. After agood bit of official pother the porters carried out a big portmanteau, asort of heavy leather traveling case, and put it into the carriage. Mrs.Farmingham came to Hargrave where he stood by the door.
"Now, what do you think!" she said. "Of all the stupid idiots, give mea French idiot to be the stupidest; they have actually sent me eighteenthousand dollars in gold!"
"Well," said Hargrave, "perhaps you asked them to send you eighteenthousand dollars in gold."
She closed her mouth firmly for a moment and looked him vacantly in theface.
"What did I do?" she said, in the old manner of addressing an inquiryto herself. "The major wanted gold and perhaps I said gold. Why, yes, Imust have said I wanted eighteen thousand dollars in gold. Well, at anyrate, here's the money to pay you for the sapphires. I'll telegraphthe Credit Lyonnais to send me your eighteen hundred, and you can comearound to the Ritz for it in the morning."
She wished Hargrave to see that the telegram was properly worded, so thestupid French would not undertake to ship another bag of coin to her.He wrote it out, so there could be no mistake, and sent it from CharingCross on the way back to the club.
Hargrave had to get two porters to carry the leather portmanteau intohis room at the Empire Club. Mrs. Farmingham did not wait to receive thesapphires. She said he could bring them over to the Ritz after he hadcounted the money. She wanted a cup of tea; he could come along in anhour.
It took Hargrave the whole of the hour to verify the money. The case hadbeen shipped, the straps were knotted tight and the lock was sealed. Hehad to get a man from the outside to break the lock open. The man saidit was an American lock and he hadn't any implement to turn it.
There were eighteen thousand dollars in American twenty-dollar goldpieces packed in sawdust in the bag. The Credit Lyonnais had followedMrs. Farmingham's directions to the letter. Such is the custom of thestupid French! She had asked for eighteen thousand dollars in gold, andthey had sent her eighteen thousand dollars in gold. Hargrave put one ofthe pieces into his waistcoat pocket. He wanted to show Mrs. Farminghamhow strangely the stupid French had made the blunder of doing preciselywhat she asked. Then he strapped up the portmanteau, pushed it under thebed, went out and locked the door. He asked the chief steward to put aman in the corridor to see that no one went into his room while he wasout. Then he got the sapphires out of the safe and went over to theRitz.
He met Mrs. Farmingham in the corridor coming out to her carriage.
"Ah, Mr. Hargrave," she said, "here you are. I just told the clerk tocall you up and tell you to bring the sapphires over in the morning whenyou came for the draft. I promised Lady Holbert last night to come outto tea at five. Forgot it until a moment ago."
She took Hargrave along out to the carriage and he gave her theenvelope. She tore off the corner, emptied the sapphires into her hand,glanced at them, and dropped them loose into the pocket of her coat.
"Was the money all right?" she said.
"Precisely all right," replied the American. "The Credit Lyonnais,with amazing stupidity, sent you precisely what you asked for in yourtelegram." And he showed her the twenty-dollar gold piece.
"Well, well, the stupid darlings!" Then she laughed in her big,energetic manner. "I'm not always a fool. Come in the morning at nine.Good-night, Mr. Hargrave."
And the carriage rolled across Piccadilly into Bond Street in thedirection of Grosvenor Square and Lady Holbert's.
The fog was settling down over London. Moving objects were beginning totake on the loom of gigantic figures. It was getting difficult to see.
It must have taken Hargrave half an hour to reach the club. The firstman he saw when he went in was Sir Henry, his hands in the pockets ofhis tweed coat and his figure blocking the passage.
"Hello, Hargrave!" he cried. "What have you got in your room that oldPonsford won't let me go up?"
"Not nine hundred horses!" replied the American.
The Baronet laughed. Then he spoke in a lower voice:
"It's extraordinary lucky that I ran over to the Sorbonne. Come along upto your room and I'll tell you. This place is filling up with a lot ofthirsty swine. We can't talk in any public room of it."
They went up
the great stairway, lined with paintings of famouscolonials celebrated in the English wars, and into the room. Hargraveturned on the light and poked up the fire. Sir Henry sat down by thetable. He took out his three newspapers and laid them down before him.
"My word, Hargrave," he said, "old Arnold is a clever beggar! He clearedthe thing up clean as rain." The Baronet spread the newspapers outbefore him.
"We knew here at the Criminal Investigation Department that this thingwas a cipher of some sort, because we knew about these horses. We hadcaught up with this business of importing horses. We knew the shipmentwas on the way as I explained to you. But we didn't know the port thatit would come into."
"Well," said the American, "did you find out?"
"My word," he cried, "old Arnold laughed in my face. 'Ach, monsieur,'he cried, mixing up several languages, 'it is Heidel's cipher! It isexplained in the seventeenth Criminal Archive at Gratz. Attend and Iwill explain it, monsieur. It is always written in two paragraphs. Thefirst paragraph contains the secret message, and the second paragraphcontains the key to it. Voila! This message is in two paragraphs:
"'"P.L.A. shipped nine hundred horses on freight steamer Don Carlos fromN. Y.
"'"Have the bill of lading handed over to our agent to check up."
"'The hidden message is made up of certain words and capital letterscontained in the first paragraph, while the presence of the letter t inthe second paragraph indicates the words or capital letters that countin the first. One has only to note the numerical position of the lettert in the second paragraph in order to know what capital letter or wordcounts in the first paragraph.'"
The Baronet took out a pencil and underscored the words in the secondparagraph of the printed cipher: "Have the bill of lading handed over toour agent to check up."
"You will observe that the second, the eighth and the eleventh wordsin this paragraph begin with the letter t. Therefore, the second, theeighth and the eleventh capital letters or words in the first paragraphmake up the hidden message."
And again with his pencil he underscored the letters of the firstparagraph of the cipher: "P.L.A. shipped nine hundred horses on freightsteamer Don Carlos from N. Y."
"So we get L, on, Don."
"London!" cried Hargrave. "The nine-hundred horses are to come intoLondon!"
And in his excitement he took the gold piece out of his pocket andpitched it up. He had been stooping over the table. The fog was creepinginto the room. And in the uncertain light about the ceiling he missedthe gold piece and it fell on the table before Sir Henry. The gold piecedid not ring, it fell dull and heavy, and the big Baronet looked at itopenmouthed as though it had suddenly materialized out of the yellow fogentering the room.
"My word!" he cried. "One of the nine hundred horses!"
Hargrave stopped motionless like a man stricken by some sorcery.
"One of the nine hundred horses!" he echoed.
The Baronet was digging at the gold piece with the blade of his knife.
"Precisely! In the criminal argot a counterfeit American twenty-dollargold piece is called a 'horse.'
"Look," he said, and he dug into the coin with his knife, "it's whiteinside, made of Babbit metal, milled with a file and gold-plated. Wheredid you get it?"
The American stammered.
"Where could I have gotten it?" he murmured.
"Well," the Baronet said, "you might have got it from a big, old,pasty-faced Alsatian; that would be 'Dago' Mulehaus. Or you might havegot it from an energetic, middle-aged, American woman posing as a socialleader in the States; that would be 'Hustling' Anne; both bad crooks, atthe head of an international gang of counterfeiters."