MRS. ROOT OF PITTSBURG
ONE morning about six weeks after the murder in Hatton Garden, Inspector
French was summoned to the presence of his chief.
“Look here, French,” he was greeted, “you’ve been at that Gething case
long enough. I can’t have any more time wasted on it. What are you doing
now?”
French, his usual cheery confidence sadly deflated, hesitatingly
admitted that at the moment he was not doing very much, embellishing
this in the course of a somewhat painful conversation with the further
information that he was doing nothing whatever, and that he was
severally up against it and down and out.
“I thought so,” the chief declared. “In that case you’ll have time to go
and see Williams & Davies, of Cockspur Street, the money-lenders. I have
just had a ’phone from them, and they say that some diamonds recently
came into their possession which they are told resemble those stolen
from Duke & Peabody. You might look into the matter.”
It was a rejuvenated French that fifteen minutes later ascended the
stairs of Straker House, Cockspur Street, to the office of Messrs.
Williams & Davies. Gone was the lassitude and the dejection and the
weary brooding look, and instead there was once again the old cheery
optimism, the smiling self-confidence, the springy step. He pushed open
a swing door, and with an air of fatherly benevolence demanded of a
diminutive office boy if Mr. Williams was in.
The senior partner was disengaged, and two minutes later French was
ushered into a small, rather dark office, in which sat a tall,
well-groomed man with graying hair, and a precise, somewhat pedantic
manner.
“They ’phoned me from the Yard that you were coming across, Inspector,”
he announced, when French had introduced himself. “I can only say I hope
I have not brought you on a wild goose chase. But the affair should
certainly be looked into.”
“I have not heard the circumstances yet, sir,” French reminded him. “I
shall naturally be glad if you can give me some helpful information.”
“I did not care to give details over the ’phone,” Mr. Williams
explained. “You can never tell who overhears you. I once heard a girl
declining what was evidently a proposal of marriage. The circumstances
in this case are very simple. About six weeks ago a lady, giving her
name as Mrs. Chauncey S. Root, and evidently an American, called and
asked if she could see one of the principals of my firm. She was shown
in to me, and she explained that she was the wife of a Mr. Chauncey S.
Root, a rich steel manufacturer of Pittsburg. She had just crossed by
the _Olympic_ for a holiday in Europe, reaching London on the previous
evening. She said a series of misfortunes had brought her into a
somewhat awkward predicament, and she wondered if I could do anything to
assist her. In the first place she had been foolish enough to get into a
gambling set on the way over, and had lost, as she expressed it, ‘the
hell of a lot of money.’ She spoke in a very racy and American way, but
she gave me the impression of being thoroughly competent and efficient.
Her losses ran into several hundred pounds—she did not tell me the
exact amount—but all her ready money was gone and in addition she had
given several I.O.U.’s. This, however, she would not have thought twice
about, as she had letters of credit for many times the amount, had it
not been that a further calamity befell her in Southampton. There, in
the crush on the quays, the small despatch case in which she kept her
ready money and papers had been snatched from her, and she was left
practically penniless, as well as without her letters of credit and her
passport or other means of identification. She had, of course, reported
the matter to the police authorities, but they had rather shaken their
heads over it, though promising to do everything possible. She had had,
indeed, to borrow a twenty-pound note from one of her travelling
acquaintances to get her to London, and now she was practically without
money at all. She wished, therefore, to borrow £3000, which would enable
her to pay her gambling debts and to carry on in London until fresh
letters of credit could be sent. Fortunately, she had with her a
collection of unmounted diamonds, which she intended to have set by
London jewellers, of whose skill she had heard great accounts. These
diamonds she proposed to deposit as security, and she would agree to pay
whatever rate of interest was customary. She asked me if my firm would
be prepared to lend the money on these terms.”
“Why did she not cable to her husband?”
“I asked her that, and she explained that she did not wish to tell Mr.
Root, as he had an inveterate dislike to gambling, and they had had
several disagreements about her betting proclivities. In fact, relations
had been seriously strained until she had promised amendment, and a
confession might easily lead to a serious breach. She could not, either,
attribute the loss to the theft, as it ran to so great a figure that she
could not possibly be carrying the amount in her despatch case. She said
she would prefer to borrow the money until she could write to her man of
business to realise some of her own stocks.
“I said that her proposition, as such, was acceptable, as we frequently
took stones and jewellery as security for loans, but that as she was a
stranger to us, before we could do business we should obviously require
some evidence of her _bona fides_. She replied that that was all right,
that she quite recognised that owing to the loss of her papers and
particularly of her passport something of the kind would be necessary.
She said we could make what inquiries we liked, provided only we were
quick about them, for she wanted the money as soon as possible. She
asked how long we should take, and when I said twenty-four hours, she
admitted that was reasonable. She suggested that if we did business we
should take the stones to be valued to one of the best-known London
jewellers. I agreed to this, and rang up Mr. Stronge, of Hurst &
Stronge, of Bond Street, to ask him if he would undertake the valuation.
He is, as you probably know, one of the most famous experts in the
world. He consented, and I settled with him the amount of his fee.
Finally it was arranged that, provided our inquiries were satisfactory,
I should meet Mrs. Root at Hurst & Stronge’s at half-past ten on the
following morning, she with the stones and I with my cheque book. I was
to pay her five-sixths of the value of the diamonds. She said she
expected to pay back the loan in about four weeks, and suitable terms of
interest were arranged.”
Mr. Williams paused and glanced at his companion, as though to assure
himself that his story was receiving the attention he evidently felt it
deserved. But French’s air of thrilled interest left him no room for
doubt, and he continued:
“I made my inquiries, and all appeared satisfactory. I called up Mrs.
Root at the Savoy, told her I was prepared to deal, and at the hour
named met her at Hurst & Stronge’s. Mr. Stronge took us to his private
room, and there Mrs. Root produced a bag of stones, mostly diamonds,
though there were a few emeralds and a large ruby, all unmounted. There
were sixteen stones ranging in value from £40 to £400, but averaging
about £200 or £220. Mr. Stronge valued them very carefully, and after a
long wait we got his opinion. The whole were worth about £3300, and in
accordance with our bargain I proposed to hand Mrs. Root a cheque for
£2750. She admitted the correctness of this, but said she wanted the
£3000, and after some conversation I agreed to meet her wishes and
filled the cheque for the latter sum. She then objected that no bank
would pay her without inquiring as to her identity, which would mean
another delay, and asked me if I would go with her to the bank to
certify that she was the person for whom I intended the money. I agreed
to this, and we went to the Piccadilly branch of the London and Counties
Bank. There we saw the manager, and there I left her. I returned here
and lodged the stones in my safe.”
“The manager took your identification, I suppose?”
“Oh, yes. I know him personally and there was no difficulty. That ended
the matter as far as I was concerned, and for four weeks I thought no
more of it. But as the fifth and sixth week passed and the lady made no
sign, I began to wonder. I telephoned to the Savoy, but it appeared she
had left on the day of our deal. I assumed, however, that she was on the
Continent, and no suspicion that all was not right occurred to me.”
“Then what roused your suspicion?”
“I am coming to that,” Mr. Williams answered in a slightly frigid tone.
“This morning I happened to show the stones—without saying how they
came into my possession, of course—to a personal friend of my own, a
diamond merchant named Sproule, who had called with me on other
business. When he saw them he grew very much excited, and asked me where
I had got them from. I pressed him for an explanation, and he said they
fitted the description circulated of those stolen from Messrs. Duke &
Peabody. He was emphatic that I should inform the firm, but I thought it
better to ring you up instead.”
“Very wise, sir,” French approved. “That was certainly your proper
course. Now, I take it the first thing we have to do is to see if your
friend, Mr. Sproule, is correct in his supposition. I have a list of the
missing stones in my pocket, but I don’t know that I’m expert enough to
identify them. I think we’ll have Mr. Duke over. May I use your ’phone?”
Mr. Duke was naturally eager to learn details of the new development,
and in less than half an hour he joined the others in Mr. Williams’s
office. French explained the situation, ending up, “Now we want you, Mr.
Duke, to tell us if these were among the stones you lost.”
The diamond merchant, obviously much excited, began at once to make his
examination. He inspected the stones minutely through a lens, weighed
them on a delicate balance he had brought, and put them to other tests
which greatly interested his companions. As he put each down he gave his
judgment. One after another were identified. All were among those stolen
from him. They were the sixteen smallest and least valuable stones of
the collection.
The fact was learned by the three men with very different emotions. Mr.
Duke’s gain was Mr. Williams’s loss, and resulting satisfaction and
consternation showed on their respective faces, while French’s
countenance wore an expression of the liveliest delight, not unmixed
with mystification.
“Good heavens!” Mr. Williams cried, his voice trembling with agitation
and excitement. “Then I’ve been swindled! Swindled out of three thousand
pounds!” He glared at the Inspector as if he were at fault. “I suppose,”
he continued, “that if this gentleman establishes his claim, the loss
will fall on me? God knows, I can ill afford it.”
“We shall hope not, sir,” French said sympathetically. “We shall hope
that with luck you’ll recover your money. But we must not waste any more
time. I shall start by going to the bank to see if all the money has
been withdrawn. I’d be obliged, Mr. Williams, if you would come also.
I’ll keep you advised, Mr. Duke, how things go on, and of course you’ll
get back your stones after the usual formalities have been carried out.”
Mr. Williams had recovered his composure, and, the gems having been
locked in his safe, the three men left the office and descended to the
street. There French said good-day to Mr. Duke, who somewhat reluctantly
took his leave, the other two continuing to the bank. After a few
moments’ wait they were shown into the manager’s room.
“I am afraid, Mr. Scarlett, I have had a serious misfortune,” Mr.
Williams began, almost before they were seated. “I have just learned
that I have been swindled out of £3000. This is Inspector French of
Scotland Yard, and we both want your help in the matter.”
Mr. Scarlett, a well-groomed, middle-aged gentleman of fashionable
appearance and suave manners, looked suitably concerned. He shook hands
with French, and expressed his commiseration with his client’s loss in a
few easy words, declaring also his desire to be of service.
“Do you remember,” Mr. Williams went on eagerly, “my coming to see you
one morning about six weeks ago with a lady whom I introduced as Mrs.
Root, of Pittsburg, U. S. A.? She held my cheque for £3000, and I came
to introduce her to you.”
The manager recalled the incident.
“That money was a loan, for which she deposited with me a number of
diamonds. The diamonds were valued by Mr. Stronge of Hurst & Stronge’s,
and I gave her less than their value. I thought I had taken all
reasonable precautions, but now,” Mr. Williams made a faint gesture of
despair, “now it seems that they were stolen.”
“Stolen?” Mr. Scarlett repeated in a shocked voice. “My dear sir! Allow
me to say how extremely sorry I am to have to tell you that I fear your
discovery has come too late. Your cheque had been paid practically in
full.”
Mr. Williams gave a little groan, though he had evidently been expecting
the bad news. He would have spoken, but French broke in with, “Is that
so, sir? That is really what we came to ask. Now I want you please to
give me as detailed an account of the whole business as you can.”
“I will do so, of course,” Mr. Scarlett returned, “but I fear my story
will not help you much.” He raised his desk telephone. “Ask Mr.
Plenteous to come here,” he directed, and when a young, fair-haired man
had entered he resumed, “This is Mr. Plenteous who carried out the
details of the transaction. As Mr. Williams has said, he and the lady
called on me,” he turned over the leaves of a diary, “about midday on
Thursday, 26th November. He introduced the lady as a Mrs. Chauncey S.
Root, of Pittsburg, and stated he had called to certify that she was the
person referred to in a cheque he had made out. She produced a cheque
for £3000, and Mr. Williams identified it as his. She thanked him and he
withdrew. She then said that she wished to open a temporary account, and
that she would like cash for £1500, and to lodge the remainder. I sent
for Mr. Plenteous, and asked him to arrange the matter, and he showed
the lady out to his counter. Next day the balance was withdrawn except
for a few shillings, which I believe we still hold. Is not that correct,
Plenteous?”
“Yes, sir,” the fair-haired young man answered, “quite correct. I can
turn you up the exact balance in a moment.”
“Presently, thank you, Mr. Plenteous,” French interposed. “In the
meantime perhaps you would tell us what took place between you and the
lady after you left this office.”
After a glance at his chief, the clerk answered:
“Mrs. Root handed me the cheque for £3000, and said she wished to lodge
half. I filled the customary forms, took her signature, and gave her a
passbook, all in the usual way. Then she told me she would like the
other £1500 cashed in notes of small value. She said she was a stranger
to London, but that already she had discovered the difficulty of
changing Bank of England notes. Being short of ready money, she had
proffered a twenty-pound note in a shop. It was refused, and on asking
for change in a bank which happened to be next door, the cashier
politely informed her he was not permitted to change notes for
strangers. She had, indeed, to go back to her hotel before she could get
it done. She said she therefore wanted nothing larger than ten pounds,
and at her further request I counted her out a hundred tens and a
hundred fives. She stowed them away in a despatch case she was carrying.
I pointed out that that was not a very safe way to carry so large a sum,
but she laughed and said she guessed it was all right, that no one would
know she had money in it. She said good-day and went out, and that was
the last I saw of her.”
“You noticed nothing in any way suspicious about her manner or actions?”
“Nothing whatever.”
“You say the lodgment was subsequently withdrawn? You might tell me
about that.”
“It was withdrawn in the sense that cheques were issued for almost the
whole amount. The lady did not herself call again, nor was the account
closed. There is still a small balance.”
French nodded.
“Yes, I understood you to say so. Could you let me see the ledger, and
also the cheques that were issued?”
In a few seconds the clerk returned with a ponderous tome, which he
opened at the name of Mrs. Helen Sadie Root. The account possessed but
few items. On the debit side there was but the single entry of £1500,
but on the other side there were six entries, varying from £210 10s. to
£295, and totalling £1495 7s. 9d. Six cancelled cheques corresponded
with the entries. As French examined these, he was interested to see
that all were made out on fashionable London jewellers.
“Can you lend me these?” he asked, pointing to the cheques.
The clerk hesitated, but Mr. Scarlett intervened.
“Certainly,” he answered readily, “but you will have to give us a
receipt for our auditors.”
This was soon arranged, and after French had asked a few more questions,
he and Mr. Williams left the bank.
“Now,” he said briskly, before his companion could frame a remark, “I am
going round to these six jewellers, but first I want some further
information from you. Shall we go back to your office?”
Mr. Williams assented eagerly. He had lost his air of detached
precision, and, like a somewhat spoiled child, plied the other with
questions as to his probable chances of success. French answered in his
usual cheery, optimistic way, and it was not until they were once more
seated in Mr. Williams’s sanctum that he dropped his air of fatherly
benevolence and became once more the shrewd and competent officer of
Scotland Yard.
“In the first place,” he began, as he took out his notebook, “I want
_your_ description of the lady. I gather she was a good-looking woman,
attractive both in appearance and manner. Did you find her so?”
Mr. Williams hesitated.
“Well, yes, I did,” he admitted, somewhat apologetically, as French
thought. “She certainly had a way with her—something different from my
usual clients. From her manner I never should have suspected she was
other than all right.”
“Most women crooks are attractive looking,” French declared smoothly.
“It’s part of their stock in trade. Just let me have as detailed a
description of her as you can.”
It seemed she was of middle height, and dark, very dark as to hair and
eyelashes, but less so as to eyes. They were rather a golden shade of
brown. She had a somewhat retroussé nose, and a tiny mouth set in an
oval face, with a complexion of extreme, but healthy, pallor. She wore
her hair low over her ears, and her smile revealed an unexpected dimple.
Mr. Williams had remarked these details so thoroughly that French smiled
inwardly, as he solemnly noted them in his book. The money-lender had
not particularly observed what she was wearing, but this did not matter
as Mr. Scarlett had, and a detailed description of her dress was already
entered up.
“Tell me next, please, Mr. Williams, what identification the lady gave
of herself, and what inquiries you made to test her statement. She had
lost her passport?”
“Yes, I told you how, or rather I told you what she said about it. She
gave me her card, and showed me the envelopes of several letters
addressed to her at Pittsburg. She also showed me some photographs of
groups in which she appeared which had been taken on board the
_Olympic_, as well as a dinner menu dated for the third day out. She
explained that her return ticket had been stolen with the passport, so
that she could not let me see it.”
“Not very conclusive, I’m afraid,” French commented. “All that evidence
might have been faked.”
“I quite see that, and saw it at the time,” declared the money-lender.
“But I did not rest there. I applied to Dashford’s, you know, the
private inquiry people. I asked them to cable their agents in Pittsburg
for a description of Mrs. Root, and to know if she had left for England
on the _Olympic_. There is the reply.”
He took a paper from a file and handed it across. It was headed, “J. T.
Dashford & Co., Private Inquiry Agents,” and read:
“DEAR SIR,
“MRS. CHAUNCEY S. ROOT.
“In reply to your inquiry of yesterday, we beg to inform you
that we have cabled our agents in Pittsburg on the matter in
question, and have received the following reply:
“‘Chauncey S. Root, partner local steel firm, wealthy, wife
handsome, height middle, hair dark, complexion pale, face oval,
mouth small, manner bright and attractive. Left for Europe by
_Olympic_. Family O. K.’
“We trust this information will meet your requirements.
“Yours faithfully,
“J. T. DASHFORD & CO.,
“M.S.”
French whistled thoughtfully.
“That seems right enough,” he said slowly. “I know something about
Dashford’s people, and they are reliable enough about a thing like this.
It’s beginning to look like impersonation.”
“Ah,” Mr. Williams ejaculated. “Impersonation! I hadn’t thought of
that.” He paused in his turn, then continued, “But yet I don’t see how
it could be. I didn’t stop with an application to Dashford’s. I rang up
the White Star offices, and they told me there that Mrs. Root had
actually made the journey. I also rang up the Savoy, and they told me
there that she had arrived at the hour she had told me, with trunks
bearing _Olympic_ labels. Finally, to make the matter, as I thought,
sure, I ’phoned the Southampton police and found out from them that the
story of the stolen despatch case was true. It had happened just as Mrs.
Root described. When I got all this information I felt absolutely
satisfied.”
“I’m not surprised at that, sir,” French admitted. “It would have
satisfied most people. You see, it’s quite different with us now,
because our suspicions have been aroused. There was nothing in the
circumstances of this lady’s call to make you doubt her story. I quite
sympathise with you, though I’m afraid that doesn’t help the situation
much. . . . But you see now, of course, that none of the information you
collected is really conclusive. I have no doubt that there is a Mrs.
Chauncey S. Root of Pittsburg who travelled to Europe in the _Olympic_,
and that, generally speaking, she resembles your friend, but I very
gravely doubt that she was the lady who negotiated the loan. You see,
the real identifications, the passport, the return ticket, on which her
name would be inscribed, were missing. Moreover, she refused to allow
Mr. Root to be consulted. No, I think we may take it that the woman who
came here was not Mrs. Root. But, on the other hand, she must either
have been acquainted with Mrs. Root personally or have known a
thundering lot about her. How does that strike you, sir?”
“It sounds right, it certainly sounds right, Inspector. I fear it must
be as you say. But if so, what chance is there of getting back my
money?”
French shook his head.
“I’m afraid the prospects are not very rosy,” he admitted. “But you
never know. We’ll try to get our hands on the woman, of course, and we
may find she has not spent the money. Now, sir, if there is nothing more
than you can tell me, I think I shall get along to the Savoy and to
those shops where she paid the cheques.”
Inspector French walked slowly down Cockspur Street, his brain bemused
by this unexpected development. The impersonation of Mrs. Root was
easy—or, at least, comparatively easy—to understand. He could see that
it would present no serious difficulties to a resourceful woman, though
the application to the Southampton police was certainly staggering. But
what he could not form the slightest idea of was how this woman could
possibly have got hold of Mr. Duke’s diamonds. The impersonation must
have actually been arranged _before_ the robbery took place, and if this
were so, it pointed to a much more far-reaching crime than he had had
any conception of. And there must have been more than one in it,
too—unless this mysterious woman had actually committed the murder,
which he found hard to believe. He smiled with satisfaction as he
thought of the vistas of possible information which were opening out
before him, and by which he might hope to retrieve the loss of prestige
which he had suffered.
Suddenly he thought of Miss Duke. Was there a connection between her and
this mysterious woman? Was Mrs. Root the woman in the waterproof? Was
she Miss Duke herself? Here were far-reaching questions. As he
considered them, he saw that his work for the next few days was cut out
for him.