GATHERING THE THREADS
THE fact that he had been out all the previous night was not, in
Inspector French’s eyes, any reason why he should be late at his work
next day. At his usual time, therefore, he reached New Scotland Yard,
and promptly engaged himself in the compilation of a preliminary report
on the Hatton Garden crime. This completed, he resumed direct work on
the case.
There were still several obvious inquiries to be made, inquiries which
might almost be called routine, in that they followed necessarily from
the nature of the crime. The first of these was an interview with the
other members of the Duke & Peabody staff.
An Oxford Street bus brought him to the end of Hatton Garden, and soon
he was once more mounting the staircase to the scene of his last night’s
investigation. He found Mr. Duke standing in the outer office with
Orchard and the typist and office boy.
“I was just telling these young people they might go home,” the
principal explained. “I am closing the office until after the funeral.”
“That will be appreciated by poor Mr. Gething’s family, sir. I think it
is very kind of you and very proper too. But before this young lady and
gentleman go I should like to ask them a question or two.”
“Of course. Will you take them into my office? Go in, Miss Prescott, and
tell Inspector French anything he wants to know.”
“I’m afraid you won’t be able to do quite so much as that, Miss
Prescott,” French smiled, continuing to chat pleasantly in the hope of
allaying the nervousness the girl evidently felt.
But he learned nothing from her except that Mr. Duke was a very nice
gentleman of whom she was somewhat in awe, and that Mr. Gething had
always been very kind to her and could be depended on to let her do
whatever she wanted. Neither about the clerk, Orchard, nor the pupil,
Harrington, was she communicative, and the office boy, Billy Newton, she
dismissed as one might a noxious insect, a negligible, if necessary,
evil. Mr. Gething had been, as far as she could form a conclusion, in
his usual health and spirits on the previous day, but she thought he had
seemed worried and anxious for the past two or three weeks. As to
herself, she liked the office, and got on well with her work, and was
very sorry about poor Mr. Gething. On the previous day she had gone
straight from the office, and had remained at home with her mother
during the entire evening. French, satisfied she had told him all that
she knew, took her finger prints and let her go.
From Billy Newton, the precocious office boy, he learned but one new
fact. Newton, it seemed, had been the last to leave the office on the
previous evening, and before Mr. Gething had gone he had instructed him
to make up the fire in the chief’s office, as he, Gething, was coming
back later to do some special work. The boy had built up a good fire and
had then left.
When French returned to the outer office, he found a new arrival. A
tall, good-looking young man was talking to Mr. Duke, and the latter
introduced him as Mr. Stanley Harrington, the clerk-pupil who was
qualifying for a partnership. Harrington was apologising for being late,
saying that on his way to the office he had met an old schoolfellow of
whom he had completely lost sight, and who had asked him to accompany
him to King’s Cross, whence he was taking the 9.50 a.m. train for the
north. The young man seemed somewhat ill at ease, and as French brought
him into the inner office and began to talk to him, his nervousness
became unmistakable. French was intrigued by it. From his appearance, he
imagined the man would have, under ordinary circumstances, a frank, open
face and a pleasant, outspoken manner. But now his look was strained and
his bearing furtive. French, with his vast experience of statement
makers, could not but suspect something more than the perturbation
natural under the circumstances, and as his examination progressed he
began to believe he was dealing with a normally straightforward man who
was now attempting to evade the truth. But none of his suspicions showed
in his manner, and he was courtesy itself as he asked his questions.
It seemed that Harrington was the nephew of that Mr. Vanderkemp who
acted as traveller for the firm. Miss Vanderkemp, the Dutchman’s sister,
had married Stewart Harrington, a prosperous Yorkshire stock-broker.
Stanley had been well educated, and had been a year at college when a
terrible blow fell on him. His father and mother, travelling on the
Continent, had both been killed in a railway accident near Milan. It was
then found that his father, though making plenty of money, had been
living up to his income, and had made no provision for those who were to
come after him. Debts absorbed nearly all the available money, and
Stanley was left practically penniless. It was then that his uncle, Jan
Vanderkemp, proved his affection. Out of his none too large means he
paid for the boy’s remaining years at Cambridge, then using his
influence with Mr. Duke to give him a start in the office.
But shortly after he had entered on his new duties an unexpected
complication, at least for Mr. Duke, had arisen. The principal’s
daughter, Sylvia, visiting her father in the office, had made the
acquaintance of the well-mannered youth, and before Mr. Duke realised
what was happening the two young people had fallen violently in love,
with the result that Miss Duke presently announced to her horrified
father that they were engaged. In vain the poor man protested. Miss Duke
was a young lady who usually had her own way, and at last her father was
compelled to make a virtue of necessity. He met the situation by giving
the affair his blessing, and promising to take Harrington into
partnership if and when he proved himself competent. In this Harrington
had succeeded, and the wedding was fixed for the following month, the
partnership commencing on the same date.
French questioned the young fellow as to his movements on the previous
evening. It appeared that shortly after reaching his rooms on the
conclusion of his day’s work in the office, he had received a telephone
message from Miss Duke saying that her father had just called up to say
he was detained in town for dinner, and, being alone, she wished he
would go out to Hampstead and dine with her. Such an invitation from
such a source was in the nature of a command to be ecstatically obeyed,
and he had reached the Dukes’ house before seven o’clock. But he had
been somewhat disappointed as to his evening. Miss Duke was going out
after dinner; she intended visiting a girls’ club in Whitechapel, run by
a friend of hers, a Miss Amy Lestrange. Harrington had accompanied her
to the East End, but she would not allow him to go in with her to the
club. He had, however, returned later and taken her home, after which he
had gone straight to his rooms.
Skilful interrogation by French had obtained the above information, and
now he sat turning it over in his mind. The story hung together, and, if
true, there could be no doubt of Harrington’s innocence. But French was
puzzled by the young man’s manner. He could have sworn that there was
_something_. Either the tale was not true, or it was not all true, or
there was more which had not been told. He determined that unless he got
a strong lead elsewhere, Mr. Harrington’s movements on the previous
night must be looked into and his statements put to the test.
But there was no need to let the man know he was suspected, and
dismissing him with a few pleasant words, French joined Mr. Duke in the
outer office.
“Now, sir, if you are ready we shall go round to your bank about the
key.”
They soon obtained the required information. The manager, who had read
of the robbery in his morning paper, was interested in the matter, and
went into it personally. Not only was the key there in its accustomed
place, but it had never been touched since Mr. Duke left it in.
“A thousand pounds in notes was also stolen,” French went on. “Is there
any chance that you have the numbers?”
“Your teller might remember the transaction,” Mr. Duke broke in eagerly.
“I personally cashed a cheque for £1000 on the Tuesday, the day before
the murder. I got sixteen fifties and the balance in tens. I was hoping
to carry off a little deal in diamonds with a Portuguese merchant whom I
expected to call on me. I put the money in my safe as I received it from
you, and the merchant not turning up, I did not look at it again.”
“We can but inquire,” the manager said doubtfully. “It is probable we
have a note of the fifties, but unlikely in the case of the tens.”
But it chanced that the teller had taken the precaution to record the
numbers of all the notes. These were given to French, who asked the
manager to advise the Yard if any were discovered.
“That’s satisfactory about the notes,” French commented when Mr. Duke
and he had reached the street. “But you see what the key being there
means? It means that the copy was made from the key which you carry.
Some one must therefore have had it in his possession long enough to
take a mould of it in wax. This, of course, is a very rapid operation; a
couple of seconds would do the whole thing. A skilful man would hold the
wax in the palm of his hand, ‘palmed’ as the conjurers call it, and the
key could be pressed into it in so natural a way that no unsuspecting
person would be any the wiser. Now I want you to think again very
carefully. If no one but Mr. Gething handled the key, he _must_ have
taken the impression. There is no other way out. I would like you, then,
to be sure that no one else ever did get his hands upon it, even for a
moment. You see my point?”
“Of course I see it,” Mr. Duke returned a trifle testily, “but,
unanswerable as it seems, I don’t believe Gething ever did anything of
the kind. It would seem the likely thing to you, Inspector, because you
didn’t know the man. But I’ve known him too long to doubt him. Some one
else must have got hold of the key, but I confess I can’t imagine who.”
“Some one at night, while you were asleep?”
Mr. Duke shrugged his shoulders.
“I can only say, it is unlikely.”
“Well, consider the possibilities at all events. I must go back to
headquarters.”
“And I to the Gethings,” Mr. Duke returned. “I hear the wife is very
ill. The shock has completely broken her down. You’ll let me know how
things go on?”
“Certainly, sir. Immediately I have anything to report, you shall hear
it.”
The police station was not far away, and soon French was bending over
all that was mortal of Charles Gething. He was not concerned with the
actual remains, except to take prints from the dead fingers, to compare
with those found in the office. But he went through the contents of the
pockets, among which he had hoped to gain some clue as to the nature of
the business which had brought the dead man to the office. Unfortunately
there was nothing to give the slightest indication.
The inquest had been fixed for five o’clock that evening, and French
spent some time with the Superintendent going over the evidence which
was to be put forward by the police. Of the verdict, there could, of
course, be no doubt.
Believing that by this time Mr. Duke would have left the Gethings,
French thought that he might himself call there. The more he could learn
about the old man the better.
He hailed a taxi, and some fifteen minutes later reached Monkton Street,
a narrow and rather depressing side street off the Fulham Road. The door
of No. 37 was opened by a brown-haired woman of some five-and-thirty,
with a pleasant and kindly, though somewhat worn expression. French took
off his hat.
“Miss Gething?” he inquired.
“No, I am Mrs. Gamage. But my sister is in, if you wish to see her.” She
spoke with a sort of plaintive softness which French found rather
attractive.
“I’m afraid I must trouble you both,” he answered with his kindly smile,
as he introduced himself and stated his business.
Mrs. Gamage stepped back into the narrow passage.
“Come in,” she invited. “We are naturally anxious to help you. Besides,
the police have been very kind. Nothing could have been kinder than that
constable who came round last night with the news. Indeed every one has
been more than good. Mr. Duke has just been round himself to inquire. A
time like this shows what people are.”
“I was sorry to hear that Mrs. Gething is so unwell,” French observed,
and he followed his guide into the tiny front parlour. He was surprised
to find the house far from comfortably furnished. Everything, indeed,
bore the stamp of an almost desperate attempt to preserve decency and
self-respect in the face of a grinding poverty. The threadbare carpet
was worn into holes and had been neatly darned, and so had the
upholstery of the two rather upright easy chairs. The leg of the third
chair was broken and had been mended with nails and wire. Everything was
shabby, though spotlessly clean and evidently looked after with the
utmost care. Though the day was bitter, no spark of fire burned in the
grate. Here, the Inspector thought, was certainly a matter to be
inquired into. If Gething was really as poor a man as this furniture
seemed to indicate, it undoubtedly would have a bearing on the problem.
“My mother has been an invalid for many years,” Mrs. Gamage answered,
unconsciously supplying the explanation French wanted. “She suffers from
a diseased hip bone and will never be well. My poor father spent a small
fortune on doctors and treatment for her, but I don’t think any of them
did her much good. Now this news has broken her down altogether. She is
practically unconscious, and we fear the end at any time.”
“Allow me to express my sympathy,” French murmured, and his voice seemed
to convey quite genuine sorrow. “What you tell me makes me doubly regret
having to force my unpleasant business on your notice. But I cannot help
myself.”
“Of course I understand.” Mrs. Gamage smiled gently. “Ask what you want
and I shall try to answer, and when you have finished with me I’ll
relieve Esther with mother and send her down.”
But there was not a great deal that Mrs. Gamage could tell. Since her
marriage some four years previously she had seen comparatively little of
her father. That she idolised him was obvious, but the cares of her own
establishment prevented her paying more than an occasional visit to her
old home. French therefore soon thanked her for her help, and asked her
to send her sister down to him.
Esther Gething was evidently the younger of the two. She was like Mrs.
Gamage, but better looking. Indeed, she was pretty in a mild,
unobtrusive way. She had the same brown eyes, but so steadfast and
truthful that even French felt satisfied that she was one to be trusted.
Her expression was equally kindly, but she gave the impression of
greater competence than her sister. He could imagine how her parents
leaned on her. A good woman, he thought, using an adjective he did not
often apply to the sex, and the phrase, in its fullest significance,
seemed only just adequate.
Under the Inspector’s skilful lead she described the somewhat humdrum
existence which she and her parents had led for some years past. Her
mother’s illness seemed to have been the ruling factor in their lives,
everything being subordinated to the sufferer’s welfare, and the
expenses in connection with it forming a heavy drain on the family
exchequer. From Mr. Duke’s records, French had learned that the dead
man’s salary had been about £400 per annum, though quite recently it had
been increased to £450, following a visit the merchant had paid to the
house during a short illness of his head clerk. Mr. Duke, Miss Gething
said, had always acted as a considerate employer.
Asked if her father had continued in his usual health and spirits up to
the end, she said no, that for some three weeks past he had seemed
depressed and worried. On different occasions she had tried to find out
the cause, but he had not enlightened her except to say that he had been
having some trouble at the office. Once, however, he dropped a phrase
which set her thinking, though she was unable to discover his meaning,
and he had refused to explain. He had asked her did she believe that a
man could ever be right in doing evil that good might come, and when she
had answered that she could not tell, he had sighed and said, “Pray God
you may never be called on to decide.”
On the evening of his death it had been arranged that he would sit with
Mrs. Gething, in order to allow his daughter to attend a social
connected with the choir of the church to which she belonged. But that
evening he came home more worried and upset than she had ever seen him,
and he had told her with many expressions of regret that some unexpected
work which had just come in would require his presence that evening in
the office, and that unless she was able to get some one else to look
after her mother, she would have to give up her social. He had been too
nervous and ill at ease to make a good meal, and had gone off about
eight o’clock, saying he did not know at what hour he would be back.
That was the last time she had seen him alive, and she had heard nothing
of him until the policeman had come with his terrible news about
half-past eleven.
Miss Gething was clearly at one with her sister in her admiration and
affection for her father, and French recognised that she was as
mystified as to his death as he was himself. Seeing that he could learn
no more, he presently took his leave, with renewed expressions of
sympathy for her trouble.
When he reached the Yard he found that enlarged photographs of the
various finger prints he had discovered were ready, and he sat down with
some eagerness to compare the impressions with those on his cards. He
spent some time counting and measuring lines and whorls, and at last
reached the following conclusions. All the finger marks on the safe,
both inside and out, belonged either to Mr. Duke or to Mr. Gething, the
majority being the latter’s; the mark on the handle of the coal shovel
was Mr. Gething’s, and the remaining prints were those of various
members of the office staff. His hopes of help from this source were
therefore dashed.
With a sigh he looked at his watch. There would be time before the
inquest to make some inquiries as to the truth of Orchard’s statement of
his movements on the previous evening. Half an hour later he had found
the man with whom the clerk had dined in Ilford, and he fully
substantiated the other’s story. Orchard was therefore definitely
eliminated from the inquiry.
The proceedings before the Coroner were practically formal. Orchard, Mr.
Duke, and Constable Alcorn told their stories, and with very little
further examination were dismissed. French and the local superintendent
watched the case on behalf of the police, but did not interfere, and the
next of kin of the deceased were not legally represented. After half an
hour, the Coroner summed up, and the jury without retiring brought in
the obvious verdict of wilful murder against some person or persons
unknown.
That evening, when French had dined and had settled himself before the
fire in his sitting-room with a pipe between his lips and his notebook
on the table at his elbow, he set himself to take mental stock of his
position and get a clear grasp of his new problem.
In the first place, it was obvious that this Charles Gething had been
murdered for the sake of the diamonds in Mr. Duke’s safe. It was certain
from the position of the wound that it could not have been accidental,
nor could it by any chance have been self-inflicted. Moreover, a planned
robbery was indicated by the cutting of the duplicate key. But the
stones were not on old Gething’s body. It therefore followed that some
one else had taken them, though whether Gething had abstracted them from
the safe in the first instance was not clear.
So far French had no trouble in marshalling his facts, but when he
attempted to go further he found himself in difficulties.
There was first of all Gething’s poverty. Though his salary was not
unreasonable for his position, the drain of his wife’s illness had kept
him continually struggling to make ends meet. French let his imagination
dwell on the wearing nature of such a struggle. To obtain relief a man
would risk a good deal. Then there was his knowledge of the wealth which
lay within his reach, provided only that he made a spirited effort to
obtain it. Had the man fallen before the temptation?
That he had had something on his mind for two or three weeks before his
death was obvious, and it was equally clear that this was something
secret. When Mr. Duke inquired as to the cause of the trouble, Gething
had mentioned family matters and his wife’s health, but when his
daughter had asked the same question he had said it was due to business
worries. The old man had therefore carried his efforts at concealment to
direct lying to one or other.
It seemed evident also that this worry or trouble had become intensified
on the evening of his death. He had told his daughter that special
business required his presence at the office. But Mr. Duke knew of no
such business, nor was any record of it obtainable.
But all these mysterious contradictions fell into line and became
comprehensible if some two or three weeks back Gething had decided to
rob the safe, and his special agitation on the evening of his death was
accounted for if that were the date he had selected to make the attempt.
On the other hand, several considerations did not support such a view.
The first was the man’s known character. He had worked for the firm for
over twenty years, and after all that experience of him Mr. Duke
absolutely refused to believe in his guilt. His daughters also evidently
had the warmest feelings towards him, and from what French had seen of
the latter he felt that would have been impossible had Gething been a
man of bad or weak character. Such other evidence as French had been
able to obtain tended in the same direction.
Next, there was the open way in which Gething returned to the office.
Had he intended to burgle the safe, would he not have kept the fact of
his visit a secret? Yet he told the office boy he was returning when
instructing him to keep up the fire in the inner office, and he also
mentioned it to his daughter when discussing her proposed choir meeting.
Further, there was this matter of the fire in the private office. If
Gething was going to rob the safe, what was the fire for? It was not
merely that he had instructed the office boy to keep it up. He had
himself afterwards put coal on, as was evidenced by his finger marks on
the handle of the shovel. The robbing of the safe would have been a
matter of minutes only. Did the episode of the fire not look as if
Gething really was employed at some exceptional work, as he had stated
to his daughter?
On the whole, French thought, the evidence for Gething’s guilt was
stronger than that against it, and he began to form a tentative theory
somewhat as follows: That Gething, finding the conditions of his home
life onerous beyond further endurance, and realising the unusually
valuable deposit in the safe, had decided to help himself, probably to a
quite small portion, knowing that the loss would fall, not on Mr. Duke,
but on the insurance company; that he had obtained an impression of the
key from which he had had a duplicate made; that he had invented the
business in the office as a safeguard should he be accidentally found
there during the evening; that he _had_ been found there, probably
accidentally, by some one who, seeing the possibilities opening out in
front of him, had been swept off his feet by the sudden temptation and
had killed the old man and made off with the swag.
This theory seemed to meet at least most of the facts. French was not
pleased with it, but it was the best he could produce, and he decided to
adopt it as a working hypothesis. At the same time he kept an open mind,
recognising that the discovery of some fresh fact might put a different
complexion on the whole affair.
Next morning he put some obvious investigations in train. By astute
indirect inquiries, he satisfied himself that neither Mr. Gething nor
any other worker in the Duke & Peabody office had the technical skill to
have cut the key, and he put a man on to try and trace the professional
who had done it. He issued a description of the stolen diamonds to the
British and Dutch police, as well as to certain dealers from whom he
hoped to obtain information of attempted sales. He saw that a general
advice was sent to the banks as to the missing notes, and he searched,
unsuccessfully, for any person who might have known of the treasure and
who was unable satisfactorily to account for his movements on the night
of the murder.
But as the days slipped by without bringing any news, French grew
seriously uneasy and redoubled his efforts. He suspected every one he
could think of, including the typist, the office boy, and even Mr. Duke
himself, but still without result. The typist proved she was at home all
the evening, Billy Newton was undoubtedly at a Boy Scouts’ Rally, while
guarded inquiries at the principal’s club and home proved that his
statement as to how he had passed his evening was correct in every
particular. Stanley Harrington’s movements he had already investigated,
and though the young man’s alibi could not be absolutely established he
could find nothing to incriminate him.
Baffled in every direction, French began to lose heart, while his
superiors asked more and more insistent and unpleasant questions.