THE FIRM OF DUKE AND PEABODY
WHEN Inspector French ushered the clerk, Orchard, into the inner office,
they found Mr. Duke pacing the floor with an expression of utter
mystification imprinted on his features.
“I say, Inspector, here’s a puzzle,” he cried. “I happened to look
behind the safe door, and I find it has been opened with a key. I
thought at first it had been broken or forced or the lock somehow
picked. But I see it is unlocked.”
“Yes, I noticed that, sir,” French answered. “But I don’t follow you.
What is the mystery about that?”
“Why, the key, of course. To my certain knowledge there were only two
keys in existence. One I keep on my ring, which is chained to my belt
and never leaves me day nor night. There it is. The other is lodged with
my bankers, where no one could possibly get at it. Now, where did the
thief get the key that is now in the lock?”
“That is one of the things we have to find out,” French replied. “You
may perhaps think it strange, but a point of that kind, which at first
seems to deepen the mystery, often proves a blessing in disguise. It
provides another point of attack, you understand, and frequently it
narrows down the area of inquiry. You haven’t touched the key, I hope?”
“No. I remembered what you said about finger prints.”
“Good. Now, gentlemen, if you will please sit down, I want to ask you a
few questions. I’ll take you first, Mr. Orchard. I have your name, and
your address is Bloomsbury Square. Now tell me, is that your home?”
The young fellow answered the questions without hesitation, and French
noted approvingly his direct glance and the evident candour with which
he spoke. The Bloomsbury Square address, it appeared, was that of a
boarding house, the clerk’s home being in Somerset. He had left the
office at about half-past five that afternoon, Mr. Gething being then
almost ready to follow. Mr. Gething was usually the last out of the
office. Orchard had noticed nothing unusual in his manner that day,
though for the last two or three weeks he had seemed somewhat moody and
depressed. Orchard had gone from the office to Liverpool Street, where
he had caught the 5.52 to Ilford. There he had had supper with a friend,
a man called Forrest, a clerk in a shipping office in Fenchurch Street.
He had left about 9.30, getting back to town a little before 10.00. The
rain had stopped, and as he did not get as much exercise as he could
have wished, he resolved to walk home from the station. Hatton Garden
was but little out of his way, and as he approached it he remembered
that he had left in his desk a book he had changed at the library at
lunch time. He had decided to call in and get it, so as to read for a
while before going to sleep. He had done so, and had found Mr. Gething’s
body, as he had already explained. The outer street door had been
closed, and he had opened it with his latch key. Both the office doors
were open, that between the landing and the outer office and that of Mr.
Duke’s room. The lights were on everywhere, except that in the outer
office only the single central bulb was burning, the desk lamps being
off. He had seen no one about the offices.
French, having complimented the young fellow on his clear statement,
bade him good-night and sent him home. But as he passed out of the room
he whispered to one of his men, who promptly nodded and also
disappeared. French turned to Mr. Duke.
“That seems a straightforward young fellow,” he observed. “What is your
opinion of him?”
“Absolutely straightforward.” The acting partner spoke with decision.
“He has been with me for over four years, and I have always found him
most conscientious and satisfactory. Indeed. I have been very fortunate
in my whole staff. I think I could say the same of them all.”
“I congratulate you, Mr. Duke. Perhaps now you would tell me something
about your firm and your various employees.”
Mr. Duke, though still extremely agitated, was controlling his emotion
and answered in calm tones.
“The business is not a large one, and at the present time is virtually
controlled by myself. Peabody, though not so old as I am, has been
troubled by bad health and has more or less gone to pieces. He seldom
comes to the office, and never undertakes any work. The junior partner,
Sinnamond, is travelling in the East, and has been for some months. We
carry on the usual trade of diamond merchants, and have a small branch
establishment in Amsterdam. Indeed, I divide my own time almost equally
between London and Amsterdam. We occupy only these two rooms which you
have seen. Our staff in the outer office consists, or rather consisted,
of five, a chief and confidential clerk, the poor man who has just been
killed, a young man called Harrington, who is qualifying for a
partnership, Orchard, a girl typist, and an office boy. Besides them, we
employ an outside man, a traveller, a Dutchman named Vanderkemp. He
attends sales and so on, and when not on the road works in the Amsterdam
branch.”
Inspector French noted all the information Mr. Duke could give about
each of the persons mentioned.
“Now this Mr. Gething,” he resumed. “You say he has been with you for
over twenty years, and that you had full confidence in him, but I must
ask the question, Are you sure that your confidence was not misplaced?
In other words, are you satisfied that he was not himself after your
diamonds?”
Mr. Duke shook his head decisively.
“I am positive he was not,” he declared warmly and with something of
indignation showing in his manner. “I should as soon accuse my own son,
if I had one. No, I’d stake my life on it, Gething was no thief.”
“I’m glad to hear you say that, Mr. Duke,” the other returned smoothly.
“Now, then, your office staff eliminated, tell me is there any one that
you suspect?”
“Not a creature!” Mr. Duke was equally emphatic. “Not a single creature!
I can’t imagine any one who would have done such a thing. I wish I
could.”
The Inspector hesitated.
“Of course, sir, you understand that if you were to mention a name it
would not in any way bias me against that person. It would only mean
that I should make inquiries. Don’t think you would be getting any one
into trouble.”
Mr. Duke smiled grimly.
“You needn’t be afraid. If I had any suspicion I should be only too glad
to tell you, but I have none.”
“When, sir, did you last see your late clerk?”
“About half-past four this evening. I left the office at that time,
about an hour earlier than usual, because I had a business appointment
for a quarter to five with Mr. Peters, of Lincoln’s Inn, my solicitor.”
“And you did not return to the office?”
“No. I sat with Mr. Peters for about half an hour, then as my business
was not finished and he wanted to square up for the night, we decided to
dine together at my club in Gower Street. It was not worth while going
back to my own office, so I went straight from Peters’ to the club.”
“And you did not notice anything peculiar about Mr. Gething?”
“Not specially on that night. He seemed absolutely as usual.”
“How do you mean, not specially on that night?”
“He had been, I thought, a little depressed for two or three weeks
previously, as if he had some trouble on his mind. I asked when first I
noticed it if there was anything wrong, but he murmured something about
home troubles, about his wife not being so well—she is a chronic
invalid. He was not communicative, and I did not press the matter. But
he was no worse this afternoon than during the last fortnight.”
“I see. Now, what brought him back to the office to-night?”
Mr. Duke made a gesture of bewilderment.
“I have no idea,” he declared. “There was nothing! Nothing, at least,
that I know of or can imagine. We were not specially busy, and as far as
I can think, he was well up to date with his work.”
“Is there a postal delivery between half-past four and the time your
office closes?”
“There is, and of course there might have been a telegram or a caller or
a note delivered by hand. But suppose there had been something important
enough to require immediate attention, Gething would never have taken
action without consulting me. He had only to ring me up.”
“He knew where you were, then?”
“No, but he could have rung up my home. They knew there where I was, as
when I had decided to dine at the club, I ’phoned home to say so.”
“But were you in your club all the evening? Excuse my pressing the
matter, but I think it’s important to make sure the man did not try to
communicate with you.”
“I see your point. Yes, I stayed chatting with Mr. Peters until almost
9.30. Then, feeling tired from a long day’s thought about business, I
decided a little exercise would be pleasant, and I walked home. I
reached my house a minute or two after ten.”
“That seems conclusive. All the same, sir, I think you should make sure
when you reach home that no call was made.”
“I shall do so certainly, but my parlourmaid is very reliable in such
matters, and I am certain she would have told me of any.”
Inspector French sat for a few seconds lost in thought, and then began
on another point.
“You tell me that you had £33,000 worth of diamonds in the safe. Is not
that an unusually large amount to keep in an office?”
“You are quite right; it is too large. I consider myself very much to
blame, both for that and in the matter of the insurance. But I had not
meant to keep the stones there long. Indeed, negotiations for the sale
of the larger portion were actually in progress. On the other hand, it
is due to myself to point out that the safe is of a very efficient
modern pattern.”
“That is so, sir. Now can you tell me who, besides yourself, knew of the
existence of those stones?”
“I’m afraid,” Mr. Duke admitted despondently, “there was no secret about
it. Gething knew, of course. He was entirely in my confidence about such
matters. Vanderkemp, my outdoor man, knew that I had made some heavy
purchases recently, as he not only conducted the negotiations, but
personally brought the stones to the office. Besides, there were letters
about them, accessible to all the staff. I am afraid you may take it
that every one in the office knew there was a lot of stuff there, though
probably not the exact amount.”
“And the staff may have talked to outsiders. Young people will brag,
especially if they are ‘keeping company,’ as the Irish say.”
“I fear that is so,” Mr. Duke agreed, as if deprecating the singular
habits of the young.
The Inspector changed his position uneasily, and his hand stole to his
pipe. But he checked himself and resumed his questioning. He obtained
from Mr. Duke a detailed list of the missing stones, then turned to a
new point.
“About that thousand pounds in notes. I suppose you haven’t got the
numbers?”
“No, unfortunately. But the bank might know them.”
“We shall inquire. Now, Mr. Duke, about the key. That is another
singular thing.”
“It is an amazing thing. I absolutely cannot understand where it came
from. As I said, this one never leaves, nor has left, my personal
possession, and the other, the _only_ other one, is equally inaccessible
in my bank.”
“You always personally opened or closed the safe?”
“Always, or at least it was done by my instructions and in my presence.”
“Oh, well, that is not quite the same thing, you know. Who has ever
opened or closed it for you?”
“Gething; and not once or twice, but scores, I suppose I might say
hundreds of times. But always in my presence.”
“I understand that, sir. Any one else besides Mr. Gething?”
Mr. Duke hesitated.
“No,” he said slowly, “no one else. He was the only one I trusted to
that extent. And I had reason to trust him,” he added, with a touch of
defiance.
“Of course, sir. I recognise that,” French answered smoothly. “I am only
trying to get the facts clear in my mind. I take it, then, that the
deceased gentleman was the only person, other than yourself, who ever
handled your key? It was not within reach of any one in your house; your
servants, for example?”
“No, I never let it lie about. Even at night I kept it attached to me.”
The Inspector rose from his chair.
“Well, sir,” he said politely, “I’m sorry to have kept you so long. Just
let me take your finger prints to compare with those in the safe, and I
have done. Shall I ring up for a taxi for you?”
Mr. Duke looked at his watch.
“Why, it is nearly one,” he exclaimed. “Yes, a taxi by all means,
please.”
Though Inspector French had said that everything possible had been done
that night, he did not follow Mr. Duke from the building. Instead, he
returned to the inner office and set himself unhurriedly to make a
further and more thorough examination of its contents.
He began with the key of the safe. Removing it by the shank with a pair
of special pincers, he tested the handle for finger prints, but without
success. Looking then at the other end, a slight roughness on one of the
wards attracted his attention, and on scrutinising it with his lens, a
series of fine parallel scratches was revealed on all the surfaces. “So
that’s it, is it?” he said to himself complacently. “Manufacturers don’t
leave keys of valuable safes half finished. This one has been cut with a
file, and probably,”—he again scrutinised the workmanship—“by an
amateur at that. And according to this man Duke, old Gething was the
only one that had the handling of the key—that could have taken a wax
impression. Well, well; we shall see.”
He locked the safe, dropped the key into his pocket, and turned to the
fireplace, soliloquising the while.
The fire had still been glowing red when the crime was discovered
shortly after ten o’clock. That meant, of course, that it had been
deliberately stoked up, because the fire in the outer office was cold
and dead. Some one, therefore, had intended to spend a considerable time
in the office. Who could it have been?
As far as French could see, no one but Gething. But if Gething were
going to commit the robbery—a matter of perhaps ten minutes at the
outside—he would not have required a fire. No, this looked as if there
really was some business to be done, something that would take time to
carry through. But then, if so, why had Gething not consulted Mr. Duke?
French noted the point, to be considered further in the light of future
discoveries.
But as to the identity of the person who had built up the fire there
should be no doubt. Finger prints again! The coal shovel had a smooth,
varnished wooden handle, admirably suited for records, and a short test
with the white powder revealed thereon an excellent impression of a
right thumb.
The poker next received attention, and here French made his second
discovery. Picking it up with the pincers in the same careful way in
which he had handled the key, he noticed on the handle a dark brown
stain. Beside this stain, and sticking to the metal, was a single white
hair.
That he held in his hand the instrument with which the crime was
committed seemed certain, and he eagerly tested the other end for
prints. But this time he was baffled. Nothing showed at the places where
finger marks might have been expected. It looked as if the murderer had
worn gloves or had rubbed the handle clean, and he noted that either
alternative postulated a cold-blooded criminal and a calculated crime.
He continued his laborious search of the room, but without finding
anything else which interested him. Finally, while his men were
photographing the prints he had discovered, he sat down in the
leather-covered arm-chair and considered what he had learned.
Certainly a good deal of the evidence pointed to Gething. Gething knew
the stones were there. According to Duke, no one else could have got
hold of the key to the safe to make an impression. Moreover, his body
was found before the safe with the latter open. All circumstantial
evidence, of course, though cumulatively strong.
However, whether or not Gething had contemplated robbery, he had not
carried it through. Some one else had the diamonds. And here the obvious
possibility recurred to him which had been in his mind since he had
heard the Superintendent’s first statement. Suppose Orchard was the man.
Suppose Orchard, visiting the office in the evening, arrived to find the
safe open and the old man stooping over it. Instantly he would be
assailed by a terrible temptation. The thing would seem so easy, the way
of escape so obvious, the reward so sure. French, sitting back in the
arm-chair, tried to picture the scene. The old man bending over the
safe, the young one entering, unheard. His halt in surprise; the sudden
overwhelming impulse to possess the gems; his stealthy advance; the
seizing of the poker; the blow, delivered perhaps with the intention of
merely stunning his victim. But he strikes too hard, and, horrified by
what he has done, yet sees that for his own safety he must go through
with the whole business. He recalls the danger of finger prints, and
wipes the handles of the poker and of the drawer in the safe from which
he has abstracted the diamonds. With admirable foresight he waits until
the body grows cold, lest an examination of it by the policeman he
intends to call might disprove his story. Then he rushes out in an
agitated manner and gives the alarm.
Though this theory met a number of the facts, French was not overpleased
with it. It did not explain what Gething was doing at the safe, nor did
it seem to fit in with the personality of Orchard. All the same, though
his instruction to his man to shadow Orchard had been given as an
obvious precaution inevitable in the circumstances, he was glad that he
had not overlooked it.
Another point occurred to him as he sat thinking over the affair in the
leather-lined chair. If Orchard had stolen the stones, he would never
have risked having them on his person when he gave the alarm. He would
certainly have hidden them, and French could not see how he could have
taken them out of the building to do so. A thorough search of the
offices seemed therefore called for.
The Inspector was tired, but, late as it was, he spent three solid hours
conducting a meticulous examination of the whole premises, only ceasing
when he had satisfied himself beyond possibility of doubt that no
diamonds were concealed thereon. Then, believing that he had exhausted
the possibilities of the scene of the crime, he felt himself free to
withdraw. Dawn was appearing in the eastern sky as he drew the door
after him and set off in the direction of his home.