5. _The Absent-Minded Coterie_
Some years ago I enjoyed the unique experience of pursuing a man forone crime, and getting evidence against him of another. He wasinnocent of the misdemeanour, the proof of which I sought, but wasguilty of another most serious offence, yet he and his confederatesescaped scot-free in circumstances which I now purpose to relate.
You may remember that in Rudyard Kipling's story, _BedaliaHerodsfoot_, the unfortunate woman's husband ran the risk of beingarrested as a simple drunkard, at a moment when the blood of murderwas upon his boots. The case of Ralph Summertrees was rather thereverse of this. The English authorities were trying to fasten uponhim a crime almost as important as murder, while I was collectingevidence which proved him guilty of an action much more momentous thanthat of drunkenness.
The English authorities have always been good enough, when theyrecognise my existence at all, to look down upon me with amusedcondescension. If today you ask Spenser Hale, of Scotland Yard, whathe thinks of Eugene Valmont, that complacent man will put on thesuperior smile which so well becomes him, and if you are a veryintimate friend of his, he may draw down the lid of his right eye, ashe replies,--
'Oh, yes, a very decent fellow, Valmont, but he's a Frenchman,' as if,that said, there was no need of further inquiry.
Myself, I like the English detective very much, and if I were to be ina _melee_ tomorrow, there is no man I would rather find beside me thanSpenser Hale. In any situation where a fist that can fell an ox isdesirable, my friend Hale is a useful companion, but forintellectuality, mental acumen, finesse--ah, well! I am the mostmodest of men, and will say nothing.
It would amuse you to see this giant come into my room during anevening, on the bluff pretence that he wishes to smoke a pipe with me.There is the same difference between this good-natured giant andmyself as exists between that strong black pipe of his and my delicatecigarette, which I smoke feverishly when he is present, to protectmyself from the fumes of his terrible tobacco. I look with delightupon the huge man, who, with an air of the utmost good humour, and atwinkle in his eye as he thinks he is twisting me about his finger,vainly endeavours to obtain a hint regarding whatever case isperplexing him at that moment. I baffle him with the ease that anactive greyhound eludes the pursuit of a heavy mastiff, then at last Isay to him with a laugh,--
'Come _mon ami_ Hale, tell me all about it, and I will help you if Ican.'
Once or twice at the beginning he shook his massive head, and repliedthe secret was not his. The last time he did this I assured him thatwhat he said was quite correct, and then I related full particulars ofthe situation in which he found himself, excepting the names, forthese he had not mentioned. I had pieced together his perplexity fromscraps of conversation in his half-hour's fishing for my advice,which, of course, he could have had for the plain asking. Since thattime he has not come to me except with cases he feels at liberty toreveal, and one or two complications I have happily been enabled tounravel for him.
But, staunch as Spenser Hale holds the belief that no detectiveservice on earth can excel that centring in Scotland Yard, there isone department of activity in which even he confesses that Frenchmenare his masters, although he somewhat grudgingly qualifies hisadmission by adding that we in France are constantly allowed to dowhat is prohibited in England. I refer to the minute search of a houseduring the owner's absence. If you read that excellent story, entitled_The Purloined Letter_, by Edgar Allan Poe, you will find a record ofthe kind of thing I mean, which is better than any description I, whohave so often taken part in such a search, can set down.
Now, these people among whom I live are proud of their phrase, 'TheEnglishman's house is his castle,' and into that castle even apoliceman cannot penetrate without a legal warrant. This may be allvery well in theory, but if you are compelled to march up to a man'shouse, blowing a trumpet, and rattling a snare drum, you need not bedisappointed if you fail to find what you are in search of when allthe legal restrictions are complied with. Of course, the English are avery excellent people, a fact to which I am always proud to beartestimony, but it must be admitted that for cold common sense theFrench are very much their superiors. In Paris, if I wish to obtain anincriminating document, I do not send the possessor a _carte postale_to inform him of my desire, and in this procedure the French peoplesanely acquiesce. I have known men who, when they go out to spend anevening on the boulevards, toss their bunch of keys to the concierge,saying,--
'If you hear the police rummaging about while I'm away, pray assistthem, with an expression of my distinguished consideration.'
I remember while I was chief detective in the service of the FrenchGovernment being requested to call at a certain hour at the privatehotel of the Minister for Foreign Affairs. It was during the time thatBismarck meditated a second attack upon my country, and I am happy tosay that I was then instrumental in supplying the Secret Bureau withdocuments which mollified that iron man's purpose, a fact which Ithink entitled me to my country's gratitude, not that I ever evenhinted such a claim when a succeeding ministry forgot my services. Thememory of a republic, as has been said by a greater man than I, isshort. However, all that has nothing to do with the incident I amabout to relate. I merely mention the crisis to excuse a momentaryforgetfulness on my part which in any other country might have beenfollowed by serious results to myself. But in France--ah, weunderstand those things, and nothing happened.
I am the last person in the world to give myself away, as they say inthe great West. I am usually the calm, collected Eugene Valmont whomnothing can perturb, but this was a time of great tension, and I hadbecome absorbed. I was alone with the minister in his private house,and one of the papers he desired was in his bureau at the Ministry forForeign Affairs; at least, he thought so, and said,--
'Ah, it is in my desk at the bureau. How annoying! I must send forit!'
'No, Excellency,' I cried, springing up in a self-oblivion the mostcomplete, 'it is here.' Touching the spring of a secret drawer, Iopened it, and taking out the document he wished, handed it to him.
It was not until I met his searching look, and saw the faint smile onhis lips that I realised what I had done.
'Valmont,' he said quietly, 'on whose behalf did you search my house?'
'Excellency,' I replied in tones no less agreeable than his own,'tonight at your orders I pay a domiciliary visit to the mansion ofBaron Dumoulaine, who stands high in the estimation of the Presidentof the French Republic. If either of those distinguished gentlemenshould learn of my informal call and should ask me in whose interestsI made the domiciliary visit, what is it you wish that I shouldreply?'
'You should reply, Valmont, that you did it in the interests of theSecret Service.'
'I shall not fail to do so, Excellency, and in answer to your questionjust now, I had the honour of searching this mansion in the interestsof the Secret Service of France.'
The Minister for Foreign Affairs laughed; a hearty laugh thatexpressed no resentment.
'I merely wished to compliment you, Valmont, on the efficiency of yoursearch, and the excellence of your memory. This is indeed the documentwhich I thought was left in my office.'
I wonder what Lord Lansdowne would say if Spenser Hale showed an equalfamiliarity with his private papers! But now that we have returned toour good friend Hale, we must not keep him waiting any longer.
* * * * *
I well remember the November day when I first heard of the Summertreescase, because there hung over London a fog so thick that two or threetimes I lost my way, and no cab was to be had at any price. The fewcabmen then in the streets were leading their animals slowly along,making for their stables. It was one of those depressing London dayswhich filled me with ennui and a yearning for my own clear city ofParis, where, if we are ever visited by a slight mist, it is at leastclean, white vapour, and not this horrible London mixture saturatedwith suffocating carbon. The fog was too thick for any passer to readthe contents bills of the newspapers pla
stered on the pavement, and asthere were probably no races that day the newsboys were shouting whatthey considered the next most important event--the election of anAmerican President. I bought a paper and thrust it into my pocket. Itwas late when I reached my flat, and, after dining there, which was anunusual thing for me to do, I put on my slippers, took an easy-chairbefore the fire, and began to read my evening journal. I wasdistressed to learn that the eloquent Mr. Bryan had been defeated. Iknew little about the silver question, but the man's oratorical powershad appealed to me, and my sympathy was aroused because he owned manysilver mines, and yet the price of the metal was so low thatapparently he could not make a living through the operation of them.But, of course, the cry that he was a plutocrat, and a reputedmillionaire over and over again, was bound to defeat him in ademocracy where the average voter is exceedingly poor and notcomfortably well-to-do as is the case with our peasants in France. Ialways took great interest in the affairs of the huge republic to thewest, having been at some pains to inform myself accurately regardingits politics, and although, as my readers know, I seldom quoteanything complimentary that is said of me, nevertheless, an Americanclient of mine once admitted that he never knew the true inwardness--Ithink that was the phrase he used--of American politics until he heardme discourse upon them. But then, he added, he had been a very busyman all his life.
I had allowed my paper to slip to the floor, for in very truth the fogwas penetrating even into my flat, and it was becoming difficult toread, notwithstanding the electric light. My man came in, andannounced that Mr. Spenser Hale wished to see me, and, indeed, anynight, but especially when there is rain or fog outside, I am morepleased to talk with a friend than to read a newspaper.
'_Mon Dieu_, my dear Monsieur Hale, it is a brave man you are toventure out in such a fog as is abroad tonight.'
'Ah, Monsieur Valmont,' said Hale with pride, 'you cannot raise a foglike this in Paris!'
'No. There you are supreme,' I admitted, rising and saluting myvisitor, then offering him a chair.
'I see you are reading the latest news,' he said, indicating mynewspaper, 'I am very glad that man Bryan is defeated. Now we shallhave better times.'
I waved my hand as I took my chair again. I will discuss many thingswith Spenser Hale, but not American politics; he does not understandthem. It is a common defect of the English to suffer completeignorance regarding the internal affairs of other countries.
'It is surely an important thing that brought you out on such a nightas this. The fog must be very thick in Scotland Yard.'
This delicate shaft of fancy completely missed him, and he answeredstolidly,--
'It's thick all over London, and, indeed, throughout most of England.'
'Yes, it is,' I agreed, but he did not see that either.
Still a moment later he made a remark which, if it had come from somepeople I know, might have indicated a glimmer of comprehension.
'You are a very, very clever man, Monsieur Valmont, so all I need sayis that the question which brought me here is the same as that onwhich the American election was fought. Now, to a countryman, I shouldbe compelled to give further explanation, but to you, monsieur, thatwill not be necessary.'
There are times when I dislike the crafty smile and partial closing ofthe eyes which always distinguishes Spenser Hale when he places on thetable a problem which he expects will baffle me. If I said he neverdid baffle me, I would be wrong, of course, for sometimes the uttersimplicity of the puzzles which trouble him leads me into an intricateinvolution entirely unnecessary in the circumstances.
I pressed my fingertips together, and gazed for a few moments at theceiling. Hale had lit his black pipe, and my silent servant placed athis elbow the whisky and soda, then tiptoed out of the room. As thedoor closed my eyes came from the ceiling to the level of Hale'sexpansive countenance.
'Have they eluded you?' I asked quietly.
'Who?'
'The coiners.'
Hale's pipe dropped from his jaw, but he managed to catch it before itreached the floor. Then he took a gulp from the tumbler.
'That was just a lucky shot,' he said.
'_Parfaitement_,' I replied carelessly.
'Now, own up, Valmont, wasn't it?'
I shrugged my shoulders. A man cannot contradict a guest in his ownhouse.
'Oh, stow that!' cried Hale impolitely. He is a trifle prone to strongand even slangy expressions when puzzled. 'Tell me how you guessedit.'
'It is very simple, _mon ami_. The question on which the Americanelection was fought is the price of silver, which is so low that ithas ruined Mr. Bryan, and threatens to ruin all the farmers of the westwho possess silver mines on their farms. Silver troubled America, ergosilver troubles Scotland Yard.
'Very well, the natural inference is that someone has stolen bars ofsilver. But such a theft happened three months ago, when the metalwas being unloaded from a German steamer at Southampton, and my dearfriend Spenser Hale ran down the thieves very cleverly as they weretrying to dissolve the marks off the bars with acid. Now crimes do notrun in series, like the numbers in roulette at Monte Carlo. Thethieves are men of brains. They say to themselves, "What chance isthere successfully to steal bars of silver while Mr. Hale is atScotland Yard?" Eh, my good friend?'
'Really, Valmont,' said Hale, taking another sip, 'sometimes youalmost persuade me that you have reasoning powers.'
'Thanks, comrade. Then it is not a _theft_ of silver we have now todeal with. But the American election was fought on the _price_ ofsilver. If silver had been high in cost, there would have been nosilver question. So the crime that is bothering you arises through thelow price of silver, and this suggests that it must be a case ofillicit coinage, for there the low price of the metal comes in. Youhave, perhaps, found a more subtle illegitimate act going forward thanheretofore. Someone is making your shillings and your half-crowns fromreal silver, instead of from baser metal, and yet there is a largeprofit which has not hitherto been possible through the high price ofsilver. With the old conditions you were familiar, but this newelement sets at nought all your previous formulae. That is how Ireasoned the matter out.'
'Well, Valmont, you have hit it. I'll say that for you; you have hitit. There is a gang of expert coiners who are putting out real silvermoney, and making a clear shilling on the half-crown. We can find notrace of the coiners, but we know the man who is shoving the stuff.'
'That ought to be sufficient,' I suggested.
'Yes, it should, but it hasn't proved so up to date. Now I cametonight to see if you would do one of your French tricks for us, righton the quiet.'
'What French trick, Monsieur Spenser Hale?' I inquired with someasperity, forgetting for the moment that the man invariably becameimpolite when he grew excited.
'No offence intended,' said this blundering officer, who really is agood-natured fellow, but always puts his foot in it, and thenapologises. 'I want someone to go through a man's house without asearch warrant, spot the evidence, let me know, and then we'll rushthe place before he has time to hide his tracks.'
'Who is this man, and where does he live?'
'His name is Ralph Summertrees, and he lives in a very natty littlebijou residence, as the advertisements call it, situated in no less afashionable street than Park Lane.'
'I see. What has aroused your suspicions against him?'
'Well, you know, that's an expensive district to live in; it takes abit of money to do the trick. This Summertrees has no ostensiblebusiness, yet every Friday he goes to the United Capital Bank inPiccadilly, and deposits a bag of swag, usually all silver coin.'
'Yes, and this money?'
'This money, so far as we can learn, contains a good many of these newpieces which never saw the British Mint.'
'It's not all the new coinage, then?'
'Oh, no, he's a bit too artful for that. You see, a man can go roundLondon, his pockets filled with new coinage five-shilling pieces, buythis, that, and the other, and come home with his change in legitimateco
ins of the realm--half-crowns, florins, shillings, sixpences, andall that.'
'I see. Then why don't you nab him one day when his pockets arestuffed with illegitimate five-shilling pieces?'
'That could be done, of course, and I've thought of it, but you see,we want to land the whole gang. Once we arrested him, without knowingwhere the money came from, the real coiners would take flight.'
'How do you know he is not the real coiner himself?'
Now poor Hale is as easy to read as a book. He hesitated beforeanswering this question, and looked confused as a culprit caught insome dishonest act.
'You need not be afraid to tell me,' I said soothingly after a pause.'You have had one of your men in Mr. Summertrees' house, and so learnedthat he is not the coiner. But your man has not succeeded in gettingyou evidence to incriminate other people.'
'You've about hit it again, Monsieur Valmont. One of my men has beenSummertrees' butler for two weeks, but, as you say, he has found noevidence.'
'Is he still butler?'
'Yes.'
'Now tell me how far you have got. You know that Summertrees depositsa bag of coin every Friday in the Piccadilly bank, and I suppose thebank has allowed you to examine one or two of the bags.'
'Yes, sir, they have, but, you see, banks are very difficult to treatwith. They don't like detectives bothering round, and whilst they donot stand out against the law, still they never answer any morequestions than they're asked, and Mr. Summertrees has been a goodcustomer at the United Capital for many years.'
'Haven't you found out where the money comes from?'
'Yes, we have; it is brought there night after night by a man wholooks like a respectable city clerk, and he puts it into a large safe,of which he holds the key, this safe being on the ground floor, in thedining-room.'
'Haven't you followed the clerk?'
'Yes. He sleeps in the Park Lane house every night, and goes up in themorning to an old curiosity shop in Tottenham Court Road, where hestays all day, returning with his bag of money in the evening.'
'Why don't you arrest and question him?'
'Well, Monsieur Valmont, there is just the same objection to hisarrest as to that of Summertrees himself. We could easily arrest both,but we have not the slightest evidence against either of them, andthen, although we put the go-betweens in clink, the worst criminals ofthe lot would escape.'
'Nothing suspicious about the old curiosity shop?'
'No. It appears to be perfectly regular.'
'This game has been going on under your noses for how long?'
'For about six weeks.'
'Is Summertrees a married man?'
'No.'
'Are there any women servants in the house?'
'No, except that three charwomen come in every morning to do up therooms.'
'Of what is his household comprised?'
'There is the butler, then the valet, and last, the French cook.'
'Ah,' cried I, 'the French cook! This case interests me. SoSummertrees has succeeded in completely disconcerting your man? Has heprevented him going from top to bottom of the house?'
'Oh no, he has rather assisted him than otherwise. On one occasion hewent to the safe, took out the money, had Podgers--that's my chap'sname--help him to count it, and then actually sent Podgers to the bankwith the bag of coin.'
'And Podgers has been all over the place?'
'Yes.'
'Saw no signs of a coining establishment?'
'No. It is absolutely impossible that any coining can be done there.Besides, as I tell you, that respectable clerk brings him the money.'
'I suppose you want me to take Podgers' position?'
'Well, Monsieur Valmont, to tell you the truth, I would rather youdidn't. Podgers has done everything a man can do, but I thought if yougot into the house, Podgers assisting, you might go through it nightafter night at your leisure.'
'I see. That's just a little dangerous in England. I think I shouldprefer to assure myself the legitimate standing of being the amiablePodgers' successor. You say that Summertrees has no business?'
'Well, sir, not what you might call a business. He is by the way ofbeing an author, but I don't count that any business.'
'Oh, an author, is he? When does he do his writing?'
'He locks himself up most of the day in his study.'
'Does he come out for lunch?'
'No; he lights a little spirit lamp inside, Podgers tells me, andmakes himself a cup of coffee, which he takes with a sandwich or two.'
'That's rather frugal fare for Park Lane.'
'Yes, Monsieur Valmont, it is, but he makes it up in the evening, whenhe has a long dinner with all them foreign kickshaws you people like,done by his French cook.'
'Sensible man! Well, Hale, I see I shall look forward with pleasure tomaking the acquaintance of Mr. Summertrees. Is there any restriction onthe going and coming of your man Podgers?'
'None in the least. He can get away either night or day.'
'Very good, friend Hale, bring him here tomorrow, as soon as ourauthor locks himself up in his study, or rather, I should say, as soonas the respectable clerk leaves for Tottenham Court Road, which Ishould guess, as you put it, is about half an hour after his masterturns the key of the room in which he writes.'
'You are quite right in that guess, Valmont. How did you hit it?'
'Merely a surmise, Hale. There is a good deal of oddity about thatPark Lane house, so it doesn't surprise me in the least that themaster gets to work earlier in the morning than the man. I have alsoa suspicion that Ralph Summertrees knows perfectly well what theestimable Podgers is there for.'
'What makes you think that?'
'I can give no reason except that my opinion of the acuteness ofSummertrees has been gradually rising all the while you were speaking,and at the same time my estimate of Podgers' craft has been assteadily declining. However, bring the man here tomorrow, that I mayask him a few questions.'
* * * * *
Next day, about eleven o'clock, the ponderous Podgers, hat in hand,followed his chief into my room. His broad, impassive, immobile smoothface gave him rather more the air of a genuine butler than I hadexpected, and this appearance, of course, was enhanced by his livery.His replies to my questions were those of a well-trained servant whowill not say too much unless it is made worth his while. All in all,Podgers exceeded my expectations, and really my friend Hale had somejustification for regarding him, as he evidently did, a triumph in hisline.
'Sit down, Mr. Hale, and you, Podgers.'
The man disregarded my invitation, standing like a statue until hischief made a motion; then he dropped into a chair. The English aregreat on discipline.
'Now, Mr. Hale, I must first congratulate you on the make-up ofPodgers. It is excellent. You depend less on artificial assistancethan we do in France, and in that I think you are right.'
'Oh, we know a bit over here, Monsieur Valmont,' said Hale, withpardonable pride.
'Now then, Podgers, I want to ask you about this clerk. What time doeshe arrive in the evening?'
'At prompt six, sir.'
'Does he ring, or let himself in with a latchkey?'
'With a latchkey, sir.'
'How does he carry the money?'
'In a little locked leather satchel, sir, flung over his shoulder.'
'Does he go direct to the dining-room?'
'Yes, sir.'
'Have you seen him unlock the safe and put in the money?'
'Yes, sir.'
'Does the safe unlock with a word or a key?'
'With a key, sir. It's one of the old-fashioned kind.'
'Then the clerk unlocks his leather money bag?'
'Yes, sir.'
'That's three keys used within as many minutes. Are they separate orin a bunch?'
'In a bunch, sir.'
'Did you ever see your master with this bunch of keys?'
'No, sir.'
'You saw him open the safe once,
I am told?'
'Yes, sir.'
'Did he use a separate key, or one of a bunch?'
Podgers slowly scratched his head, then said,--
'I don't just remember, sir.'
'Ah, Podgers, you are neglecting the big things in that house. Sureyou can't remember?'
'No, sir.'
'Once the money is in and the safe locked up, what does the clerk do?'
'Goes to his room, sir.'
'Where is this room?'
'On the third floor, sir.'
'Where do you sleep?'
'On the fourth floor with the rest of the servants, sir.'
'Where does the master sleep?'
'On the second floor, adjoining his study.'
'The house consists of four stories and a basement, does it?'
'Yes, sir.'
'I have somehow arrived at the suspicion that it is a very narrowhouse. Is that true?'
'Yes, sir.'
'Does the clerk ever dine with your master?'
'No, sir. The clerk don't eat in the house at all, sir.'
'Does he go away before breakfast?'
'No, sir.'
'No one takes breakfast to his room?'
'No, sir.'
'What time does he leave the house?'
'At ten o'clock, sir.'
'When is breakfast served?'
'At nine o'clock, sir.'
'At what hour does your master retire to his study?'
'At half-past nine, sir.'
'Locks the door on the inside?'
'Yes, sir.'
'Never rings for anything during the day?'
'Not that I know of, sir.'
'What sort of a man is he?'
Here Podgers was on familiar ground, and he rattled off a descriptionminute in every particular.
'What I meant was, Podgers, is he silent, or talkative, or does he getangry? Does he seem furtive, suspicious, anxious, terrorised, calm,excitable, or what?'
'Well, sir, he is by way of being very quiet, never has much to sayfor himself; never saw him angry, or excited.'
'Now, Podgers, you've been at Park Lane for a fortnight or more. Youare a sharp, alert, observant man. What happens there that strikes youas unusual?'
'Well, I can't exactly say, sir,' replied Podgers, looking ratherhelplessly from his chief to myself, and back again.
'Your professional duties have often compelled you to enact the partof butler before, otherwise you wouldn't do it so well. Isn't that thecase.'
Podgers did not reply, but glanced at his chief. This was evidently aquestion pertaining to the service, which a subordinate was notallowed to answer. However, Hale said at once,--
'Certainly. Podgers has been in dozens of places.'
'Well, Podgers, just call to mind some of the other households whereyou have been employed, and tell me any particulars in which MrSummertrees' establishment differs from them.'
Podgers pondered a long time.
'Well, sir, he do stick to writing pretty close.'
'Ah, that's his profession, you see, Podgers. Hard at it fromhalf-past nine till towards seven, I imagine?'
'Yes, sir.'
'Anything else, Podgers? No matter how trivial.'
'Well, sir, he's fond of reading too; leastways, he's fond ofnewspapers.'
'When does he read?'
'I've never seen him read 'em, sir; indeed, so far as I can tell, Inever knew the papers to be opened, but he takes them all in, sir.'
'What, all the morning papers?'
'Yes, sir, and all the evening papers too.'
'Where are the morning papers placed?'
'On the table in his study, sir.'
'And the evening papers?'
'Well, sir, when the evening papers come, the study is locked. Theyare put on a side table in the dining-room, and he takes them upstairswith him to his study.'
'This has happened every day since you've been there?'
'Yes, sir.'
'You reported that very striking fact to your chief, of course?'
'No, sir, I don't think I did,' said Podgers, confused.
'You should have done so. Mr. Hale would have known how to make themost of a point so vital.'
'Oh, come now, Valmont,' interrupted Hale, 'you're chaffing us. Plentyof people take in all the papers!'
'I think not. Even clubs and hotels subscribe to the leading journalsonly. You said _all_, I think, Podgers?'
'Well, _nearly_ all, sir.'
'But which is it? There's a vast difference.'
'He takes a good many, sir.'
'How many?'
'I don't just know, sir.'
'That's easily found out, Valmont,' cried Hale, with some impatience,'if you think it really important.'
'I think it so important that I'm going back with Podgers myself. Youcan take me into the house, I suppose, when you return?'
'Oh, yes, sir.'
'Coming back to these newspapers for a moment, Podgers. What is donewith them?'
'They are sold to the ragman, sir, once a week.'
'Who takes them from the study?'
'I do, sir.'
'Do they appear to have been read very carefully?'
'Well, no, sir; leastways, some of them seem never to have beenopened, or else folded up very carefully again.'
'Did you notice that extracts have been clipped from any of them?'
'No, sir.'
'Does Mr. Summertrees keep a scrapbook?'
'Not that I know of, sir.'
'Oh, the case is perfectly plain,' said I, leaning back in my chair,and regarding the puzzled Hale with that cherubic expression ofself-satisfaction which I know is so annoying to him.
'_What's_ perfectly plain?' he demanded, more gruffly perhaps thanetiquette would have sanctioned.
'Summertrees is no coiner, nor is he linked with any band of coiners.'
'What is he, then?'
'Ah, that opens another avenue of enquiry. For all I know to thecontrary, he may be the most honest of men. On the surface it wouldappear that he is a reasonably industrious tradesman in TottenhamCourt Road, who is anxious that there should be no visible connectionbetween a plebian employment and so aristocratic a residence as thatin Park Lane.'
At this point Spenser Hale gave expression to one of those rareflashes of reason which are always an astonishment to his friends.
'That is nonsense, Monsieur Valmont,' he said, 'the man who is ashamedof the connection between his business and his house is one who istrying to get into Society, or else the women of his family are tryingit, as is usually the case. Now Summertrees has no family. He himselfgoes nowhere, gives no entertainments, and accepts no invitations. Hebelongs to no club, therefore to say that he is ashamed of hisconnection with the Tottenham Court Road shop is absurd. He isconcealing the connection for some other reason that will bear lookinginto.'
'My dear Hale, the goddess of Wisdom herself could not have made amore sensible series of remarks. Now, _mon ami_, do you want myassistance, or have you enough to go on with?'
'Enough to go on with? We have nothing more than we had when I calledon you last night.'
'Last night, my dear Hale, you supposed this man was in league withcoiners. Today you know he is not.'
'I know you _say_ he is not.'
I shrugged my shoulders, and raised my eyebrows, smiling at him.
'It is the same thing, Monsieur Hale.'
'Well, of all the conceited--' and the good Hale could get no further.
'If you wish my assistance, it is yours.'
'Very good. Not to put too fine a point upon it, I do.'
'In that case, my dear Podgers, you will return to the residence ofour friend Summertrees, and get together for me in a bundle all ofyesterday's morning and evening papers, that were delivered to thehouse. Can you do that, or are they mixed up in a heap in the coalcellar?'
'I can do it, sir. I have instructions to place each day's papers in apile by itself in case they should be w
anted again. There is alwaysone week's supply in the cellar, and we sell the papers of the weekbefore to the rag men.'
'Excellent. Well, take the risk of abstracting one day's journals, andhave them ready for me. I will call upon you at half-past threeo'clock exactly, and then I want you to take me upstairs to theclerk's bedroom in the third story, which I suppose is not lockedduring the daytime?'
'No, sir, it is not.'
With this the patient Podgers took his departure. Spenser Hale rosewhen his assistant left.
'Anything further I can do?' he asked.
'Yes; give me the address of the shop in Tottenham Court Road. Do youhappen to have about you one of those new five-shilling pieces whichyou believe to be illegally coined?'
He opened his pocket-book, took out the bit of white metal, and handedit to me.
'I'm going to pass this off before evening,' I said, putting it in mypocket, 'and I hope none of your men will arrest me.'
'That's all right,' laughed Hale as he took his leave.
At half-past three Podgers was waiting for me, and opened the frontdoor as I came up the steps, thus saving me the necessity of ringing.The house seemed strangely quiet. The French cook was evidently downin the basement, and we had probably all the upper part to ourselves,unless Summertrees was in his study, which I doubted. Podgers led medirectly upstairs to the clerk's room on the third floor, walking ontiptoe, with an elephantine air of silence and secrecy combined, whichstruck me as unnecessary.
'I will make an examination of this room,' I said. 'Kindly wait for medown by the door of the study.'
The bedroom proved to be of respectable size when one considers thesmallness of the house. The bed was all nicely made up, and there weretwo chairs in the room, but the usual washstand and swing-mirror werenot visible. However, seeing a curtain at the farther end of the room,I drew it aside, and found, as I expected, a fixed lavatory in analcove of perhaps four feet deep by five in width. As the room wasabout fifteen feet wide, this left two-thirds of the space unaccountedfor. A moment later, I opened a door which exhibited a closet filledwith clothes hanging on hooks. This left a space of five feet betweenthe clothes closet and the lavatory. I thought at first that theentrance to the secret stairway must have issued from the lavatory,but examining the boards closely, although they sounded hollow to theknuckles, they were quite evidently plain matchboarding, and not aconcealed door. The entrance to the stairway, therefore, must issuefrom the clothes closet. The right hand wall proved similar to thematchboarding of the lavatory as far as the casual eye or touch wasconcerned, but I saw at once it was a door. The latch turned out to besomewhat ingeniously operated by one of the hooks which held a pair ofold trousers. I found that the hook, if pressed upward, allowed thedoor to swing outward, over the stairhead. Descending to the secondfloor, a similar latch let me in to a similar clothes closet in theroom beneath. The two rooms were identical in size, one directly abovethe other, the only difference being that the lower room door gaveinto the study, instead of into the hall, as was the case with theupper chamber.
The study was extremely neat, either not much used, or the abode of avery methodical man. There was nothing on the table except a pile ofthat morning's papers. I walked to the farther end, turned the key inthe lock, and came out upon the astonished Podgers.
'Well, I'm blowed!' exclaimed he.
'Quite so,' I rejoined, 'you've been tiptoeing past an empty room forthe last two weeks. Now, if you'll come with me, Podgers, I'll showyou how the trick is done.'
When he entered the study, I locked the door once more, and led theassumed butler, still tiptoeing through force of habit, up the stairinto the top bedroom, and so out again, leaving everything exactly aswe found it. We went down the main stair to the front hall, and therePodgers had my parcel of papers all neatly wrapped up. This bundle Icarried to my flat, gave one of my assistants some instructions, andleft him at work on the papers.
* * * * *
I took a cab to the foot of Tottenham Court Road, and walked up thatstreet till I came to J. Simpson's old curiosity shop. After gazing atthe well-filled windows for some time, I stepped aside, havingselected a little iron crucifix displayed behind the pane; the work ofsome ancient craftsman.
I knew at once from Podgers's description that I was waited upon bythe veritable respectable clerk who brought the bag of money eachnight to Park Lane, and who I was certain was no other than RalphSummertrees himself.
There was nothing in his manner differing from that of any other quietsalesman. The price of the crucifix proved to be seven-and-six, and Ithrew down a sovereign to pay for it.
'Do you mind the change being all in silver, sir?' he asked, and Ianswered without any eagerness, although the question aroused asuspicion that had begun to be allayed,--
'Not in the least.'
He gave me half-a-crown, three two-shilling pieces, and four separateshillings, all the coins being well-worn silver of the realm, theundoubted inartistic product of the reputable British Mint. Thisseemed to dispose of the theory that he was palming off illegitimatemoney. He asked me if I were interested in any particular branch ofantiquity, and I replied that my curiosity was merely general, andexceedingly amateurish, whereupon he invited me to look around. This Iproceeded to do, while he resumed the addressing and stamping of somewrapped-up pamphlets which I surmised to be copies of his catalogue.
He made no attempt either to watch me or to press his wares upon me. Iselected at random a little ink-stand, and asked its price. It was twoshillings, he said, whereupon I produced my fraudulent five-shillingpiece. He took it, gave me the change without comment, and the lastdoubt about his connection with coiners flickered from my mind.
At this moment a young man came in, who, I saw at once, was not acustomer. He walked briskly to the farther end of the shop, anddisappeared behind a partition which had one pane of glass in it thatgave an outlook towards the front door.
'Excuse me a moment,' said the shopkeeper, and he followed the youngman into the private office.
As I examined the curious heterogeneous collection of things for sale,I heard the clink of coins being poured out on the lid of a desk or anuncovered table, and the murmur of voices floated out to me. I was nownear the entrance of the shop, and by a sleight-of-hand trick, keepingthe corner of my eye on the glass pane of the private office, Iremoved the key of the front door without a sound, and took animpression of it in wax, returning the key to its place unobserved. Atthis moment another young man came in, and walked straight past meinto the private office. I heard him say,--
'Oh, I beg pardon, Mr. Simpson. How are you, Rogers?'
'Hallo, Macpherson,' saluted Rogers, who then came out, biddinggood-night to Mr. Simpson, and departed whistling down the street, butnot before he had repeated his phrase to another young man entering,to whom he gave the name of Tyrrel.
I noted these three names in my mind. Two others came in together, butI was compelled to content myself with memorising their features, forI did not learn their names. These men were evidently collectors, forI heard the rattle of money in every case; yet here was a small shop,doing apparently very little business, for I had been within it formore than half an hour, and yet remained the only customer. If creditwere given, one collector would certainly have been sufficient, yetfive had come in, and had poured their contributions into the pileSummertrees was to take home with him that night.
I determined to secure one of the pamphlets which the man had beenaddressing. They were piled on a shelf behind the counter, but I hadno difficulty in reaching across and taking the one on top, which Islipped into my pocket. When the fifth young man went down the streetSummertrees himself emerged, and this time he carried in his hand thewell-filled locked leather satchel, with the straps dangling. It wasnow approaching half-past five, and I saw he was eager to close up andget away.
'Anything else you fancy, sir?' he asked me.
'No, or rather yes and no. You have a very interesting coll
ectionhere, but it's getting so dark I can hardly see.'
'I close at half-past five, sir.'
'Ah, in that case,' I said, consulting my watch, 'I shall be pleasedto call some other time.'
'Thank you, sir,' replied Summertrees quietly, and with that I took myleave.
From the corner of an alley on the other side of the street I saw himput up the shutters with his own hands, then he emerged with overcoaton, and the money satchel slung across his shoulder. He locked thedoor, tested it with his knuckles, and walked down the street,carrying under one arm the pamphlets he had been addressing. Ifollowed him some distance, saw him drop the pamphlets into the box atthe first post office he passed, and walk rapidly towards his house inPark Lane.
When I returned to my flat and called in my assistant, he said,--
'After putting to one side the regular advertisements of pills, soap,and what not, here is the only one common to all the newspapers,morning and evening alike. The advertisements are not identical, sir,but they have two points of similarity, or perhaps I should say three.They all profess to furnish a cure for absent-mindedness; they all askthat the applicant's chief hobby shall be stated, and they all bearthe same address: Dr. Willoughby, in Tottenham Court Road.'
'Thank you,' said I, as he placed the scissored advertisements beforeme.
I read several of the announcements. They were all small, and perhapsthat is why I had never noticed one of them in the newspapers, forcertainly they were odd enough. Some asked for lists of absent-mindedmen, with the hobbies of each, and for these lists, prizes of from oneshilling to six were offered. In other clippings Dr. Willoughbyprofessed to be able to cure absent-mindedness. There were no fees, andno treatment, but a pamphlet would be sent, which, if it did not benefitthe receiver, could do no harm. The doctor was unable to meet patientspersonally, nor could he enter into correspondence with them. Theaddress was the same as that of the old curiosity shop in TottenhamCourt Road. At this juncture I pulled the pamphlet from my pocket, andsaw it was entitled _Christian Science and Absent-Mindedness_, by Dr.Stamford Willoughby, and at the end of the article was the statementcontained in the advertisements, that Dr Willoughby would neither seepatients nor hold any correspondence with them.
I drew a sheet of paper towards me, wrote to Dr. Willoughby allegingthat I was a very absent-minded man, and would be glad of hispamphlet, adding that my special hobby was the collecting of firsteditions. I then signed myself, 'Alport Webster, Imperial Flats,London, W.'
I may here explain that it is often necessary for me to see peopleunder some other name than the well-known appellation of EugeneValmont. There are two doors to my flat, and on one of these ispainted, 'Eugene Valmont'; on the other there is a receptacle, intowhich can be slipped a sliding panel bearing any _nom de guerre_ Ichoose. The same device is arranged on the ground floor, where thenames of all the occupants of the building appear on the right-handwall.
I sealed, addressed, and stamped my letter, then told my man to putout the name of Alport Webster, and if I did not happen to be in whenanyone called upon that mythical person, he was to make an appointmentfor me.
It was nearly six o'clock next afternoon when the card of AngusMacpherson was brought in to Mr. Alport Webster. I recognised the youngman at once as the second who had entered the little shop carrying histribute to Mr. Simpson the day before. He held three volumes under hisarm, and spoke in such a pleasant, insinuating sort of way, that Iknew at once he was an adept in his profession of canvasser.
'Will you be seated, Mr. Macpherson? In what can I serve you?'
He placed the three volumes, backs upward, on my table.
'Are you interested at all in first editions, Mr. Webster?'
'It is the one thing I am interested in,' I replied; 'butunfortunately they often run into a lot of money.'
'That is true,' said Macpherson sympathetically, 'and I have herethree books, one of which is an exemplification of what you say. Thisone costs a hundred pounds. The last copy that was sold by auction inLondon brought a hundred and twenty-three pounds. This next one isforty pounds, and the third ten pounds. At these prices I am certainyou could not duplicate three such treasures in any book shop inBritain.'
I examined them critically, and saw at once that what he said wastrue. He was still standing on the opposite side of the table.
'Please take a chair, Mr. Macpherson. Do you mean to say you go roundLondon with a hundred and fifty pounds worth of goods under your armin this careless way?'
The young man laughed.
'I run very little risk, Mr. Webster. I don't suppose anyone I meetimagines for a moment there is more under my arm than perhaps a trioof volumes I have picked up in the fourpenny box to take home withme.'
I lingered over the volume for which he asked a hundred pounds, thensaid, looking across at him:--
'How came you to be possessed of this book, for instance?'
He turned upon me a fine, open countenance, and answered withouthesitation in the frankest possible manner,--
'I am not in actual possession of it, Mr. Webster. I am by way of beinga connoisseur in rare and valuable books myself, although, of course,I have little money with which to indulge in the collection of them. Iam acquainted, however, with the lovers of desirable books indifferent quarters of London. These three volumes, for instance, arefrom the library of a private gentleman in the West End. I have soldmany books to him, and he knows I am trustworthy. He wishes to disposeof them at something under their real value, and has kindly allowed meto conduct the negotiation. I make it my business to find out thosewho are interested in rare books, and by such trading I addconsiderably to my income.'
'How, for instance, did you learn that I was a bibliophile?'
Mr. Macpherson laughed genially.
'Well, Mr. Webster, I must confess that I chanced it. I do that veryoften. I take a flat like this, and send in my card to the name on thedoor. If I am invited in, I ask the occupant the question I asked youjust now: "Are you interested in rare editions?" If he says no, Isimply beg pardon and retire. If he says yes, then I show my wares.'
'I see,' said I, nodding. What a glib young liar he was, with thatinnocent face of his, and yet my next question brought forth thetruth.
'As this is the first time you have called upon me, Mr. Macpherson,you have no objection to my making some further inquiry, I suppose.Would you mind telling me the name of the owner of these books in theWest End?'
'His name is Mr. Ralph Summertrees, of Park Lane.'
'Of Park Lane? Ah, indeed.'
'I shall be glad to leave the books with you, Mr. Webster, and if youcare to make an appointment with Mr. Summertrees, I am sure he will notobject to say a word in my favour.'
'Oh, I do not in the least doubt it, and should not think of troublingthe gentleman.'
'I was going to tell you,' went on the young man, 'that I have afriend, a capitalist, who, in a way, is my supporter; for, as I said,I have little money of my own. I find it is often inconvenient forpeople to pay down any considerable sum. When, however, I strike abargain, my capitalist buys the book, and I make an arrangement withmy customer to pay a certain amount each week, and so even a largepurchase is not felt, as I make the instalments small enough to suitmy client.'
'You are employed during the day, I take it?'
'Yes, I am a clerk in the City.'
Again we were in the blissful realms of fiction!
'Suppose I take this book at ten pounds, what instalment should I haveto pay each week?'
'Oh, what you like, sir. Would five shillings be too much?'
'I think not.'
'Very well, sir, if you pay me five shillings now, I will leave thebook with you, and shall have pleasure in calling this day week forthe next instalment.'
I put my hand into my pocket, and drew out two half-crowns, which Ipassed over to him.
'Do I need to sign any form or undertaking to pay the rest?'
The young man laughed cordially.
'Oh
, no, sir, there is no formality necessary. You see, sir, this islargely a labour of love with me, although I don't deny I have my eyeon the future. I am getting together what I hope will be a veryvaluable connection with gentlemen like yourself who are fond ofbooks, and I trust some day that I may be able to resign my place withthe insurance company and set up a choice little business of my own,where my knowledge of values in literature will prove useful.'
And then, after making a note in a little book he took from hispocket, he bade me a most graceful good-bye and departed, leaving mecogitating over what it all meant.
Next morning two articles were handed to me. The first came by postand was a pamphlet on _Christian Science and Absent-Mindedness_,exactly similar to the one I had taken away from the old curiosityshop; the second was a small key made from my wax impression thatwould fit the front door of the same shop--a key fashioned by anexcellent anarchist friend of mine in an obscure street near Holborn.
That night at ten o'clock I was inside the old curiosity shop, with asmall storage battery in my pocket, and a little electric glow-lamp atmy buttonhole, a most useful instrument for either burglar ordetective.
I had expected to find the books of the establishment in a safe,which, if it was similar to the one in Park Lane, I was prepared toopen with the false keys in my possession or to take an impression ofthe keyhole and trust to my anarchist friend for the rest. But to myamazement I discovered all the papers pertaining to the concern in adesk which was not even locked. The books, three in number, were theordinary day book, journal, and ledger referring to the shop;book-keeping of the older fashion; but in a portfolio lay half a dozenfoolscap sheets, headed 'Mr. Rogers's List', 'Mr. Macpherson's', 'MrTyrrel's', the names I had already learned, and three others. Theselists contained in the first column, names; in the second column,addresses; in the third, sums of money; and then in the small, squareplaces following were amounts ranging from two-and-sixpence to apound. At the bottom of Mr. Macpherson's list was the name AlportWebster, Imperial Flats, L10; then in the small, square place, fiveshillings. These six sheets, each headed by a canvasser's name, wereevidently the record of current collections, and the innocence of thewhole thing was so apparent that if it were not for my fixed rulenever to believe that I am at the bottom of any case until I have comeon something suspicious, I would have gone out empty-handed as I camein.
The six sheets were loose in a thin portfolio, but standing on a shelfabove the desk were a number of fat volumes, one of which I took down,and saw that it contained similar lists running back several years. Inoticed on Mr. Macpherson's current list the name of Lord Semptam, aneccentric old nobleman whom I knew slightly. Then turning to the listimmediately before the current one the name was still there; I tracedit back through list after list until I found the first entry, whichwas no less than three years previous, and there Lord Semptam was downfor a piece of furniture costing fifty pounds, and on that account hehad paid a pound a week for more than three years, totalling a hundredand seventy pounds at the least, and instantly the glorious simplicityof the scheme dawned upon me, and I became so interested in theswindle that I lit the gas, fearing my little lamp would be exhaustedbefore my investigation ended, for it promised to be a long one.
In several instances the intended victim proved shrewder than oldSimpson had counted upon, and the word 'Settled' had been written onthe line carrying the name when the exact number of instalments waspaid. But as these shrewd persons dropped out, others took theirplaces, and Simpson's dependence on their absent-mindedness seemed tobe justified in nine cases out of ten. His collectors were collectinglong after the debt had been paid. In Lord Semptam's case, the paymenthad evidently become chronic, and the old man was giving away hispound a week to the suave Macpherson two years after his debt had beenliquidated.
From the big volume I detached the loose leaf, dated 1893, whichrecorded Lord Semptam's purchase of a carved table for fifty pounds,and on which he had been paying a pound a week from that time to thedate of which I am writing, which was November, 1896. This singledocument taken from the file of three years previous, was not likelyto be missed, as would have been the case if I had selected a currentsheet. I nevertheless made a copy of the names and addresses ofMacpherson's present clients; then, carefully placing everythingexactly as I had found it, I extinguished the gas, and went out of theshop, locking the door behind me. With the 1893 sheet in my pocket Iresolved to prepare a pleasant little surprise for my suave friendMacpherson when he called to get his next instalment of fiveshillings.
Late as was the hour when I reached Trafalgar Square, I could notdeprive myself of the felicity of calling on Mr. Spenser Hale, who Iknew was then on duty. He never appeared at his best during officehours, because officialism stiffened his stalwart frame. Mentally hewas impressed with the importance of his position, and added to thishe was not then allowed to smoke his big, black pipe and terribletobacco. He received me with the curtness I had been taught to expectwhen I inflicted myself upon him at his office. He greeted me abruptlywith,--
'I say, Valmont, how long do you expect to be on this job?'
'What job?' I asked mildly.
'Oh, you know what I mean: the Summertrees affair.'
'Oh, _that_!' I exclaimed, with surprise. 'The Summertrees case isalready completed, of course. If I had known you were in a hurry, Ishould have finished up everything yesterday, but as you and Podgers,and I don't know how many more, have been at it sixteen or seventeendays, if not longer, I thought I might venture to take as many hours,as I am working entirely alone. You said nothing about haste, youknow.'
'Oh, come now, Valmont, that's a bit thick. Do you mean to say youhave already got evidence against the man?'
'Evidence absolute and complete.'
'Then who are the coiners?'
'My most estimable friend, how often have I told you not to jump atconclusions? I informed you when you first spoke to me about thematter that Summertrees was neither a coiner nor a confederate ofcoiners. I secured evidence sufficient to convict him of quite anotheroffence, which is probably unique in the annals of crime. I havepenetrated the mystery of the shop, and discovered the reason for allthose suspicious actions which quite properly set you on his trail.Now I wish you to come to my flat next Wednesday night at a quarter tosix, prepared to make an arrest.'
'I must know who I am to arrest, and on what counts.'
'Quite so, _mon ami_ Hale; I did not say you were to make an arrest,but merely warned you to be prepared. If you have time now to listento the disclosures, I am quite at your service. I promise you thereare some original features in the case. If, however, the presentmoment is inopportune, drop in on me at your convenience, previouslytelephoning so that you may know whether I am there or not, and thusyour valuable time will not be expended purposelessly.'
With this I presented to him my most courteous bow, and although hismystified expression hinted a suspicion that he thought I was chaffinghim, as he would call it, official dignity dissolved somewhat, and heintimated his desire to hear all about it then and there. I hadsucceeded in arousing my friend Hale's curiosity. He listened to theevidence with perplexed brow, and at last ejaculated he would beblessed.
'This young man,' I said, in conclusion, 'will call upon me at six onWednesday afternoon, to receive his second five shillings. I proposethat you, in your uniform, shall be seated there with me to receivehim, and I am anxious to study Mr. Macpherson's countenance when herealises he has walked in to confront a policeman. If you will thenallow me to cross-examine him for a few moments, not after the mannerof Scotland Yard, with a warning lest he incriminate himself, but inthe free and easy fashion we adopt in Paris, I shall afterwards turnthe case over to you to be dealt with at your discretion.'
'You have a wonderful flow of language, Monsieur Valmont,' was theofficer's tribute to me. 'I shall be on hand at a quarter to six onWednesday.'
'Meanwhile,' said I, 'kindly say nothing of this to anyone. We mustarrange a complete surprise for Macpherso
n. That is essential. Pleasemake no move in the matter at all until Wednesday night.'
Spenser Hale, much impressed, nodded acquiescence, and I took a politeleave of him.
* * * * *
The question of lighting is an important one in a room such as mine,and electricity offers a good deal of scope to the ingenious. Of thisfact I have taken full advantage. I can manipulate the lighting of myroom so that any particular spot is bathed in brilliancy, while therest of the space remains in comparative gloom, and I arranged thelamps so that the full force of their rays impinged against the doorthat Wednesday evening, while I sat on one side of the table insemi-darkness and Hale sat on the other, with a light beating down onhim from above which gave him the odd, sculptured look of a livingstatue of Justice, stern and triumphant. Anyone entering the roomwould first be dazzled by the light, and next would see the giganticform of Hale in the full uniform of his order.
When Angus Macpherson was shown into this room he was quite visiblytaken aback, and paused abruptly on the threshold, his gaze riveted onthe huge policeman. I think his first purpose was to turn and run, butthe door closed behind him, and he doubtless heard, as we all did,the sound of the bolt being thrust in its place, thus locking him in.
'I--I beg your pardon,' he stammered, 'I expected to meet Mr. Webster.'
As he said this, I pressed the button under my table, and wasinstantly enshrouded with light. A sickly smile overspread thecountenance of Macpherson as he caught sight of me, and he made a verycreditable attempt to carry off the situation with nonchalance.
'Oh, there you are, Mr. Webster; I did not notice you at first.'
It was a tense moment. I spoke slowly and impressively.
'Sir, perhaps you are not unacquainted with the name of EugeneValmont.'
He replied brazenly,--
'I am sorry to say, sir, I never heard of the gentleman before.'
At this came a most inopportune 'Haw-haw' from that blockhead SpenserHale, completely spoiling the dramatic situation I had elaborated withsuch thought and care. It is little wonder the English possess nodrama, for they show scant appreciation of the sensational moments inlife.
'Haw-haw,' brayed Spenser Hale, and at once reduced the emotionalatmosphere to a fog of commonplace. However, what is a man to do? Hemust handle the tools with which it pleases Providence to provide him.I ignored Hale's untimely laughter.
'Sit down, sir,' I said to Macpherson, and he obeyed.
'You have called on Lord Semptam this week,' I continued sternly.
'Yes, sir.'
'And collected a pound from him?'
'Yes, sir.'
'In October, 1893, you sold Lord Semptam a carved antique table forfifty pounds?'
'Quite right, sir.'
'When you were here last week you gave me Ralph Summertrees as thename of a gentleman living in Park Lane. You knew at the time thatthis man was your employer?'
Macpherson was now looking fixedly at me, and on this occasion made noreply. I went on calmly:--
'You also knew that Summertrees, of Park Lane, was identical withSimpson, of Tottenham Court Road?'
'Well, sir,' said Macpherson, 'I don't exactly see what you'redriving at, but it's quite usual for a man to carry on a businessunder an assumed name. There is nothing illegal about that.'
'We will come to the illegality in a moment, Mr. Macpherson. You, andRogers, and Tyrrel, and three others, are confederates of this manSimpson.'
'We are in his employ; yes, sir, but no more confederates than clerksusually are.'
'I think, Mr. Macpherson, I have said enough to show you that the gameis, what you call, up. You are now in the presence of Mr. Spenser Hale,from Scotland Yard, who is waiting to hear your confession.'
Here the stupid Hale broke in with his--
'And remember, sir, that anything you say will be--'
'Excuse me, Mr. Hale,' I interrupted hastily, 'I shall turn over thecase to you in a very few moments, but I ask you to remember ourcompact, and to leave it for the present entirely in my hands. Now, MrMacpherson, I want your confession, and I want it at once.'
'Confession? Confederates?' protested Macpherson with admirablysimulated surprise. 'I must say you use extraordinary terms,Mr--Mr--What did you say the name was?'
'Haw-haw,' roared Hale. 'His name is Monsieur Valmont.'
'I implore you, Mr. Hale, to leave this man to me for a very fewmoments. Now, Macpherson, what have you to say in your defence?'
'Where nothing criminal has been alleged, Monsieur Valmont, I see nonecessity for defence. If you wish me to admit that somehow you haveacquired a number of details regarding our business, I am perfectlywilling to do so, and to subscribe to their accuracy. If you will begood enough to let me know of what you complain, I shall endeavour tomake the point clear to you if I can. There has evidently been somemisapprehension, but for the life of me, without further explanation,I am as much in a fog as I was on my way coming here, for it isgetting a little thick outside.'
Macpherson certainly was conducting himself with great discretion, andpresented, quite unconsciously, a much more diplomatic figure than myfriend, Spenser Hale, sitting stiffly opposite me. His tone was one ofmild expostulation, mitigated by the intimation that allmisunderstanding speedily would be cleared away. To outward view heoffered a perfect picture of innocence, neither protesting too muchnor too little. I had, however, another surprise in store for him, atrump card, as it were, and I played it down on the table.
'There!' I cried with vim, 'have you ever seen that sheet before?'
He glanced at it without offering to take it in his hand.
'Oh, yes,' he said, 'that has been abstracted from our file. It iswhat I call my visiting list.'
'Come, come, sir,' I cried sternly, 'you refuse to confess, but I warnyou we know all about it. You never heard of Dr. Willoughby, Isuppose?'
'Yes, he is the author of the silly pamphlet on Christian Science.'
'You are in the right, Mr. Macpherson; on Christian Science andAbsent-Mindedness.'
'Possibly. I haven't read it for a long while.'
'Have you ever met this learned doctor, Mr. Macpherson?'
'Oh, yes. Dr. Willoughby is the pen-name of Mr. Summertrees. He believesin Christian Science and that sort of thing, and writes about it.'
'Ah, really. We are getting your confession bit by bit, Mr. Macpherson.I think it would be better to be quite frank with us.'
'I was just going to make the same suggestion to you, MonsieurValmont. If you will tell me in a few words exactly what is yourcharge against either Mr. Summertrees or myself, I will know then whatto say.'
'We charge you, sir, with obtaining money under false pretences, whichis a crime that has landed more than one distinguished financier inprison.'
Spenser Hale shook his fat forefinger at me, and said,--
'Tut, tut, Valmont; we mustn't threaten, we mustn't threaten, youknow;' but I went on without heeding him.
'Take for instance, Lord Semptam. You sold him a table for fiftypounds, on the instalment plan. He was to pay a pound a week, and inless than a year the debt was liquidated. But he is an absent-mindedman, as all your clients are. That is why you came to me. I hadanswered the bogus Willoughby's advertisement. And so you kept oncollecting and collecting for something more than three years. Now doyou understand the charge?'
Mr. Macpherson's head during this accusation was held slightly inclinedto one side. At first his face was clouded by the most cleverimitation of anxious concentration of mind I had ever seen, and thiswas gradually cleared away by the dawn of awakening perception. When Ihad finished, an ingratiating smile hovered about his lips.
'Really, you know,' he said, 'that is rather a capital scheme. Theabsent-minded league, as one might call them. Most ingenious.Summertrees, if he had any sense of humour, which he hasn't, would berather taken by the idea that his innocent fad for Christian Sciencehad led him to be suspected of obtaining money under false pretences
.But, really, there are no pretensions about the matter at all. As Iunderstand it, I simply call and receive the money through theforgetfulness of the persons on my list, but where I think you wouldhave both Summertrees and myself, if there was anything in youraudacious theory, would be an indictment for conspiracy. Still, Iquite see how the mistake arises. You have jumped to the conclusionthat we sold nothing to Lord Semptam except that carved table threeyears ago. I have pleasure in pointing out to you that his lordship isa frequent customer of ours, and has had many things from us at onetime or another. Sometimes he is in our debt; sometimes we are in his.We keep a sort of running contract with him by which he pays us apound a week. He and several other customers deal on the same plan,and in return for an income that we can count upon, they get the firstoffer of anything in which they are supposed to be interested. As Ihave told you, we call these sheets in the office our visiting lists,but to make the visiting lists complete you need what we term ourencyclopaedia. We call it that because it is in so many volumes; avolume for each year, running back I don't know how long. You willnotice little figures here from time to time above the amount statedon this visiting list. These figures refer to the page of theencyclopaedia for the current year, and on that page is noted the newsale, and the amount of it, as it might be set down, say, in aledger.'
'That is a very entertaining explanation, Mr. Macpherson. I supposethis encyclopaedia, as you call it, is in the shop at Tottenham CourtRoad?'
'Oh, no, sir. Each volume of the encyclopaedia is self-locking. Thesebooks contain the real secret of our business, and they are kept inthe safe at Mr. Summertrees' house in Park Lane. Take Lord Semptam'saccount, for instance. You will find in faint figures under a certaindate, 102. If you turn to page 102 of the encyclopaedia for that year,you will then see a list of what Lord Semptam has bought, and theprices he was charged for them. It is really a very simple matter. Ifyou will allow me to use your telephone for a moment, I will ask MrSummertrees, who has not yet begun dinner, to bring with him here thevolume for 1893, and, within a quarter of an hour, you will beperfectly satisfied that everything is quite legitimate.'
I confess that the young man's naturalness and confidence staggeredme, the more so as I saw by the sarcastic smile on Hale's lips that hedid not believe a single word spoken. A portable telephone stood onthe table, and as Macpherson finished his explanation, he reached overand drew it towards him. Then Spenser Hale interfered.
'Excuse _me_,' he said, 'I'll do the telephoning. What is the callnumber of Mr. Summertrees?'
'140 Hyde Park.'
Hale at once called up Central, and presently was answered from ParkLane. We heard him say,--
'Is this the residence of Mr. Summertrees? Oh, is that you, Podgers? IsMr. Summertrees in? Very well. This is Hale. I am in Valmont'sflat--Imperial Flats--you know. Yes, where you went with me the otherday. Very well, go to Mr. Summertrees, and say to him that MrMacpherson wants the encyclopaedia for 1893. Do you get that? Yes,encyclopaedia. Oh, he'll understand what it is. Mr. Macpherson. No,don't mention my name at all. Just say Mr. Macpherson wants theencyclopaedia for the year 1893, and that you are to bring it. Yes,you may tell him that Mr. Macpherson is at Imperial Flats, but don'tmention my name at all. Exactly. As soon as he gives you the book, getinto a cab, and come here as quickly as possible with it. IfSummertrees doesn't want to let the book go, then tell him to comewith you. If he won't do that, place him under arrest, and bring bothhim and the book here. All right. Be as quick as you can; we'rewaiting.'
Macpherson made no protest against Hale's use of the telephone; hemerely sat back in his chair with a resigned expression on his facewhich, if painted on canvas, might have been entitled 'The FalselyAccused.' When Hale rang off, Macpherson said,--
'Of course you know your own business best, but if your man arrestsSummertrees, he will make you the laughing-stock of London. There issuch a thing as unjustifiable arrest, as well as getting money underfalse pretences, and Mr. Summertrees is not the man to forgive aninsult. And then, if you will allow me to say so, the more I thinkover your absent-minded theory, the more absolutely grotesque itseems, and if the case ever gets into the newspapers, I am sure, MrHale, you'll experience an uncomfortable half-hour with your chiefs atScotland Yard.'
'I'll take the risk of that, thank you,' said Hale stubbornly.
'Am I to consider myself under arrest?' inquired the young man.
'No, sir.'
'Then, if you will pardon me, I shall withdraw. Mr. Summertrees willshow you everything you wish to see in his books, and can explain hisbusiness much more capably than I, because he knows more about it;therefore, gentlemen, I bid you good-night.'
'No you don't. Not just yet awhile,' exclaimed Hale, rising to hisfeet simultaneously with the young man.
'Then I _am_ under arrest,' protested Macpherson.
'You're not going to leave this room until Podgers brings that book.'
'Oh, very well,' and he sat down again.
And now, as talking is dry work, I set out something to drink, a boxof cigars, and a box of cigarettes. Hale mixed his favourite brew, butMacpherson, shunning the wine of his country, contented himself with aglass of plain mineral water, and lit a cigarette. Then he awoke myhigh regard by saying pleasantly as if nothing had happened,--
'While we are waiting, Monsieur Valmont, may I remind you that you oweme five shillings?'
I laughed, took the coin from my pocket, and paid him, whereupon hethanked me.
'Are you connected with Scotland Yard, Monsieur Valmont?' askedMacpherson, with the air of a man trying to make conversation tobridge over a tedious interval; but before I could reply, Hale blurtedout,--
'Not likely!'
'You have no official standing as a detective, then, MonsieurValmont?'
'None whatever,' I replied quickly, thus getting in my oar ahead ofHale.
'This is a loss to our country,' pursued this admirable young man,with evident sincerity.
I began to see I could make a good deal of so clever a fellow if hecame under my tuition.
'The blunders of our police', he went on, 'are something deplorable.If they would but take lessons in strategy, say, from France, theirunpleasant duties would be so much more acceptably performed, withmuch less discomfort to their victims.'
'France,' snorted Hale in derision, 'why, they call a man guilty thereuntil he's proven innocent.'
'Yes, Mr. Hale, and the same seems to be the case in Imperial Flats.You have quite made up your mind that Mr. Summertrees is guilty, andwill not be content until he proves his innocence. I venture topredict that you will hear from him before long in a manner that mayastonish you.'
Hale grunted and looked at his watch. The minutes passed very slowlyas we sat there smoking, and at last even I began to get uneasy.Macpherson, seeing our anxiety, said that when he came in the fog wasalmost as thick as it had been the week before, and that there mightbe some difficulty in getting a cab. Just as he was speaking the doorwas unlocked from the outside, and Podgers entered, bearing a thickvolume in his hand. This he gave to his superior, who turned over itspages in amazement, and then looked at the back, crying,--
'_Encyclopaedia of Sport_, 1893! What sort of a joke is this,Mr. Macpherson?'
There was a pained look on Mr. Macpherson's face as he reached forwardand took the book. He said with a sigh,--
'If you had allowed me to telephone, Mr. Hale, I should have made itperfectly plain to Summertrees what was wanted. I might have knownthis mistake was liable to occur. There is an increasing demand forout-of-date books of sport, and no doubt Mr. Summertrees thought thiswas what I meant. There is nothing for it but to send your man back toPark Lane and tell Mr. Summertrees that what we want is the lockedvolume of accounts for 1893, which we call the encyclopaedia. Allow meto write an order that will bring it. Oh, I'll show you what I havewritten before your man takes it,' he said, as Hale stood ready tolook over his shoulder.
On my notepaper he dashed off a request such as he had outlined
, andhanded it to Hale, who read it and gave it to Podgers.
'Take that to Summertrees, and get back as quickly as possible. Haveyou a cab at the door?'
'Yes, sir.'
'Is it foggy outside?'
'Not so much, sir, as it was an hour ago. No difficulty about thetraffic now, sir.'
'Very well, get back as soon as you can.'
Podgers saluted, and left with the book under his arm. Again the doorwas locked, and again we sat smoking in silence until the stillnesswas broken by the tinkle of the telephone. Hale put the receiver tohis ear.
'Yes, this is the Imperial Flats. Yes. Valmont. Oh, yes; Macpherson ishere. What? Out of what? Can't hear you. Out of print. What, theencyclopaedia's out of print? Who is that speaking? Dr. Willoughby;thanks.'
Macpherson rose as if he would go to the telephone, but instead (andhe acted so quietly that I did not notice what he was doing until thething was done), he picked up the sheet which he called his visitinglist, and walking quite without haste, held it in the glowing coals ofthe fireplace until it disappeared in a flash of flame up the chimney.I sprang to my feet indignant, but too late to make even a motionoutwards saving the sheet. Macpherson regarded us both with thatself-deprecatory smile which had several times lighted up his face.
'How dared you burn that sheet?' I demanded.
'Because, Monsieur Valmont, it did not belong to you; because you donot belong to Scotland Yard; because you stole it; because you had noright to it; and because you have no official standing in thiscountry. If it had been in Mr. Hale's possession I should not havedared, as you put it, to destroy the sheet, but as this sheet wasabstracted from my master's premises by you, an entirely unauthorisedperson, whom he would have been justified in shooting dead if he hadfound you housebreaking and you had resisted him on his discovery, Itook the liberty of destroying the document. I have always held thatthese sheets should not have been kept, for, as has been the case, ifthey fell under the scrutiny of so intelligent a person as EugeneValmont, improper inferences might have been drawn. Mr. Summertrees,however, persisted in keeping them, but made this concession, that ifI ever telegraphed him or telephoned him the word "Encyclopaedia", hewould at once burn these records, and he, on his part, was totelegraph or telephone to me "The _Encyclopaedia_ is out of print,"whereupon I would know that he had succeeded.
'Now, gentlemen, open this door, which will save me the trouble offorcing it. Either put me formally under arrest, or cease to restrictmy liberty. I am very much obliged to Mr. Hale for telephoning, and Ihave made no protest to so gallant a host as Monsieur Valmont is,because of the locked door. However, the farce is now terminated. Theproceedings I have sat through were entirely illegal, and if you willpardon me, Mr. Hale, they have been a little too French to go down herein old England, or to make a report in the newspapers that would bequite satisfactory to your chiefs. I demand either my formal arrest,or the unlocking of that door.'
In silence I pressed a button, and my man threw open the door.Macpherson walked to the threshold, paused, and looked back at SpenserHale, who sat there silent as a sphinx.
'Good-evening, Mr. Hale.'
There being no reply, he turned to me with the same ingratiatingsmile,--
'Good-evening, Monsieur Eugene Valmont,' he said, 'I shall give myselfthe pleasure of calling next Wednesday at six for my five shillings.'