TRAGEDY
SOME days later Inspector French was once again sent for by his chief.
The great man seemed in an irritable frame of mind, and he began to
speak before the other had well entered the room.
“See here, French,” he greeted him; “here’s a fresh development in that
confounded Gething case. Read that.”
French stepped up to the desk and took the postal telegraph sheets his
superior held out. They bore a message from the Chief of Police at the
Hook, which had been sent out at 8.27 that morning.
“Captain of the S. S. _Parkeston_ reports that tall,
cleanshaven, white-haired man, apparently named Duke, committed
suicide during passage from Harwich last night. Overcoat and
suitcase found in cabin with letter addressed Miss Duke, The
Cedars, Hampstead. Am sending letter with detailed statement.”
French was considerably surprised by the news. Though he had never felt
actually cordial towards the old gentleman, he had respected him for his
kindly conduct towards his subordinates and for the sportsmanlike way in
which he had taken his loss. But it was evident the man had been hit
harder than he had shown. French recalled the details of their last
interview, the merchant’s drawn, anxious face, his weary air, his almost
despairing words, “I’m getting to the end of my tether. I see ruin
staring me in the face.” At the time, French had not taken the complaint
as seriously as it had now proved to warrant. Mr. Duke was evidently in
difficulties which nothing less than the return of the stolen diamonds
would solve, and French did not see how he could have done more to
achieve that end than he already had.
“Unexpected, that, isn’t it?” the chief remarked, “though I don’t
suppose it will really affect the case.”
“No, sir, I don’t think it will,” French returned, answering the last
part of the sentence first. “But I don’t know that it’s so unexpected
after all. Leastwise it is and it isn’t. I mean, I’m surprised that a
man of Mr. Duke’s character should take that way of escaping from his
difficulties, but I knew he was in difficulties.”
The chief raised his eyebrows.
“You didn’t tell me that.”
“The truth is, sir, that I didn’t take what the old gentleman said
seriously enough. I met him last week in Piccadilly, and he appeared
anxious to hear my news and asked me to have a cup of coffee with him.
He was pretty down in the mouth then, saying he was getting short of
cash, and near the end of his tether, and so on. He was looking pretty
old, too, old and worn.”
The chief grunted.
“As I say, I don’t suppose it will make any difference,” he declared.
“But there’s that girl to consider. I think you’d better go along and
see her. After all, she should have some warning before she sees it in
the paper.”
“That’s so, sir. Then I shall go now.”
It was a job he hated, but there was no help for it, and having ’phoned
to Miss Duke that he was going out on urgent business, he set off.
That his message had alarmed her was obvious. She met him with pale
cheeks and anxious eyes, and once again the thought occurred to him that
she knew something that she was holding back, and had feared her secret
was the subject of his call.
But his news, when haltingly and with some awkwardness he had succeeded
in conveying it, took her utterly by surprise. It was evidently quite
different to what she had expected to hear, and the poor girl was
terribly overcome. She gave a low cry, and sat gazing at him with eyes
dilated with horror. The shock seemed utterly to have benumbed her, and
yet French could not help thinking that her emotion contained also an
element of relief. He was profoundly sorry for her, but his suspicion
remained.
Presently she began to speak. Her voice was dull and toneless as she
explained that she had known her father was lately terribly worried and
unhappy, and that though he had made light of it, he had told her enough
to show that financial trouble was at the root of his distress. He had
said to her on one occasion that if only the insurance people would pay,
things would be easier, but he had spoken cheerily, and she had had no
idea things were so serious.
“When shall we get details?” she asked presently. “Should I go over to
the Hook?”
“I fear there would be little use in that,” French answered, “and it
would certainly be painful for you. Of course, I don’t wish to dissuade
you; if you think it would be an ease to your mind you should go. But in
any case would it not be better to wait until you read your letter?
Besides, the report from the Dutch police may show that a visit is
unnecessary.”
She thought for some seconds, then agreed. French explained that the
documents might be expected by the first post on the following morning,
and promised to take them out to Hampstead immediately.
“In the meantime, Miss Duke,” he went on, with real kindness in his
tone, “it’s not my business, of course, but would you not be better to
have some one in the house with you—some lady friend, an aunt, a
cousin? Or Mr. Harrington? I mean, is there anything that I can do to
take a message or send a wire?”
Her eyes filled with tears as she thanked him and asked him to telephone
to the office for Harrington. It appeared that she had no near
relations. She was an only child, and her father was now dead, and
French knew that for many years her poor mother had been worse than
dead, dragging out a colourless existence in a mental hospital at
Otterham.
When he had put through his call, French took his leave. There was
nothing more to be done until the details of the tragedy were received.
As he sat in the tube on his way back to the Yard, he was conscious of
some misgivings as to the way in which he had handled the interview. He
had done his best to make it easy for Miss Duke. This was, of course,
the natural and the kindly thing to do, but was it his duty? Should he
not rather have used the news as a lever to startle some admission out
of the girl which would have given him the information which he
suspected she possessed. If he had allowed a promising clue to slip he
had neglected his duty and injured himself. And his chief was no fool.
He would unfailingly see the possibility and ask what use had been made
of it.
But though French felt thus a trifle uneasy, he could not bring himself
to regret his course of action. He was not only a man of natural
kindliness of heart, but he had the gift of imagination. He saw himself
in the girl’s place, and was glad he had not added to her trouble.
Next morning the report came from Holland, together with Miss Duke’s
letter. The former was a long document giving very complete details of
the tragedy. The essential portions of it read:
“4th January.
“At 7.21 to-day a telephone message was received from the
Harwich boat wharf office at the Hook that a passenger had
disappeared during the crossing under circumstances which
pointed to suicide. Inspector Van Bien was sent down to make
inquiries, and he obtained the following information:
“Some little time before the boat berthed, the stewards,
according to custom, went round the staterooms to arouse the
passengers. There was no reply from stateroom N, a single-berth
cabin on the port side, and when John Wilson, the steward in
question, had knocked a second time, he looked in. The cabin was
empty, but bore evidence of having been occupied. The bed had
been lain on, though not slept in, a large suitcase was on the
floor, and various articles of a man’s toilet were scattered
about. The steward, thinking the traveller, whom he remembered
to be a white-haired old man, was perhaps on deck, passed on.
About half an hour later he looked in again, to find things in
the same condition. He was engaged until after the boat berthed,
but when the passengers were going ashore he went back to the
stateroom, and again found everything as before. Becoming
anxious, he reported the matter to the chief steward. The latter
accompanied Wilson to cabin N, and they made a search. They
found a half-sheet of paper and an envelope propped behind the
tumbler in the little wooden shelf above the washstand basin.
The former bore the words:
“‘Financial embarrassments having made my life
impossible, I am going to make an end of it to-night. I
shall simply drop off the ship, and my death will be
quick and easy. Please oblige by posting my letter.
“‘R. A. DUKE.’
“The letter was addressed to ‘Miss Duke, The Cedars, Hampstead,
London.’ Both note and letter are enclosed herewith.
“The tickets on this route are dealt with as follows: There is
no check on passengers leaving the wharf, as this would entail
too long a delay at the gangway. On coming on board, passengers
apply at the chief steward’s office, have their tickets either
collected or punched, and get their berth numbers and a landing
ticket. The landing tickets are collected as the travellers go
ashore, and this constitutes the check that all have paid for
their passage. On the occasion in question, 187 landing tickets
were given out, and only 186 were collected, showing that one of
the passengers who came aboard at Harwich did not go ashore at
the Hook.
“A search of the ship revealed no trace of the missing man, nor
had any one seen him passing through the corridors or on the
deck during the night. The chief steward recalled his
application for his berth, which had been reserved in advance,
and remembered having noticed that the old man was
absent-minded, and seemed to be suffering from acute repressed
excitement.
“The suitcase was found to contain articles of toilet and
clothing suitable for an absence of three or four days, but
nothing to throw any further light on the tragedy. We are
sending it to you for transmission to Miss Duke, to whom
presumably it belongs.”
When Inspector French had read the report he turned his attention to the
letter. The envelope was square and of good quality paper, and the
address was in Mr. Duke’s handwriting. French sat turning it over. He
wondered. . . . He would rather not, but on second thoughts he believed
he ought. . . . There might be something that would give him a
hint. . . .
He took a Gillette razor blade from his drawer, and inserting it beneath
the gummed flap, worked it this way and that. In a moment the envelope
was open, and he drew out a letter and cautiously unfolded it. It also
was written by Mr. Duke, and read:
“MY DEAREST SYLVIA,
“When you receive this you will have heard what I am about to
do. My dear, I will not try to justify myself; I suppose I
should be brave and fight to the end. But I just couldn’t bear
the ruin and disgrace which face me. Even before the robbery
things were not going too well. As you know, the war hit
businesses like mine worse than most. Now, even if the insurance
company paid, I shouldn’t get clear; I should still be many
thousands in debt. Sylvia, don’t think too hardly of me, but I
couldn’t face it. Loss of position, friends, home,
everything—and at my time of life. I just couldn’t.
“But chiefly I couldn’t bear dragging you down with me. You will
be free from that now. Your mother’s jointure cannot be touched;
it is hers—and yours. You will see that all expenses for her
are paid, and the remainder will be yours. Of course the house
must go, but you will have enough to live on. You will marry; I
trust soon. Remember that it is my last wish and my last charge
to you that you marry the man of your choice as soon as may be
convenient. Though we have not always seen eye to eye, you have
been a good daughter to me.
“Dear Sylvia, try not to take this too much to heart. I face the
future, if there is one, without misgivings. Though the way I
take may be the coward’s way, it is the easiest and the best way
for us all.
“Good-bye, my dearest girl, and if there be a God, may He bless
you.
“Your devoted father,
“R. A. DUKE.”
Inspector French had a slight feeling of shame as he refolded this
unhappy epistle and, working deftly and mechanically, regummed the flap
of the envelope and stuck it down. He was disappointed to find that the
letter contained no helpful information, and with a sigh he set out to
bear his news to Hampstead.
Miss Duke and Harrington were anxiously awaiting him, and he handed the
former both the report and the letter, saying he would wait if she cared
to read them in another room. She remained calm and collected, but the
pallor of her face and dark rings beneath her eyes indicated the tension
under which she was labouring. She withdrew with a word of apology,
Harrington accompanying her, and French sat thinking, wondering if a
direct question, unexpectedly sprung upon them, might surprise one or
other into some unguarded admission which would give him a hint of the
secret which he believed they held.
But when they returned some half-hour later, Miss Duke momentarily
disarmed him by holding out her letter.
“You had better read that,” she said. “You may want to see it and there
is nothing private in it.”
French was momentarily tempted to confess his action with the safety
razor, but he saw that he must not divulge police methods, and taking
the letter, he reread it and handed it back with a word of thanks.
“Did your father say he was going to Holland?” he inquired.
“Yes, it was one of his usual trips to the Amsterdam office. He expected
to be away for two or three days. But I now think he had made up his
mind—about—this—before he left. He said good-bye——”
She paused, her lip trembling, then suddenly flinging herself down on
the sofa, burst into an uncontrollable flood of tears. “Oh!” she cried
brokenly, “if only it hadn’t taken place at sea! I can’t bear to think
of him—out there——” She sobbed as if her heart would break.
French saw that she had settled the matter of his procedure. In her
present condition he could not probe her with subtle questions. There
was nothing for it but to take his departure, and this he did as
unobtrusively as he could, leaving her in Harrington’s charge.
He wondered who would take Mr. Duke’s place in the firm, with whom he
would have to deal if his efforts to trace the missing diamonds became
successful, and determined to call at the office and make some
inquiries. He therefore took the tube to the City, and some half-hour
later was mounting the steps of the Hatton Garden establishment.
Mr. Schoofs had already taken charge, and saw his visitor in his late
principal’s office. The business, he believed, would belong to Miss
Duke, though he had no actual reason to say so. However, Messrs. Tinsley
& Sharpe of Lincoln’s Inn were the deceased gentleman’s solicitors, and
no doubt fuller information could be obtained from them.
“I came over last night, and am just carrying on in the meantime,” he
explained, “and you can deal either with me or with Mr. Tinsley.”
“Thanks,” French answered. “Then I shall deal with you.”
“We’re really closed for business to-day, you understand,” went on Mr.
Schoofs. “I’m merely taking the opportunity to go through Mr. Duke’s
papers and see how things stand. If only Harrington had had his
partnership, it would be his job, but as it is, everything devolves on
me.”
French, having replied suitably, made a move to go, but he lingered and
went on:
“Unexpected, the old man going off like that, wasn’t it? I shouldn’t
have thought he was that kind at all.”
Mr. Schoofs made a gesture of commiseration.
“Nor was he,” he agreed, “but it’s not so surprising after all. You
possibly didn’t see him during the last week or two, but I can tell you,
he was in a bad way; very depressed, and getting worse every day. I
don’t think he was well—I mean in health, and I think it reacted on his
mind. He was worrying over the loss of his money.”
“Was he really bankrupt?”
Mr. Schoofs had not the figures, but he very gravely feared it. It was a
bad lookout for his daughter. Indeed, it was a bad lookout for them all.
It was hard lines on elderly men when they had to give up their jobs and
start life again. It was that damned war, responsible for this as well
as most of the troubles of the times. It had probably made a difference
to the Inspector also?
“Lost my eldest,” said French gruffly, and turned the conversation back
to the late principal. He was, it seemed, going to Amsterdam on routine
business. He had no stones with him, and there was therefore nothing to
suggest that his disappearance could have been due to other than
suicide.
French had not really doubted the conclusions of the Dutch police, but
the death by violence of a man bearing a packet of great value is always
suspicious, and he was glad to be sure such had not obtained in this
instance.
His next visit was to Messrs. Tinsley & Sharpe, the Lincoln’s Inn
solicitors. Mr. Tinsley was the sole surviving partner, and to him
French was presently admitted.
It appeared that Mr. Duke had left everything to Sylvia, “Though, poor
girl,” Mr. Tinsley added, “by all accounts that won’t be much.” Mr.
Tinsley was executor, therefore any further dealings French might have
about the robbery would be with him. Mr. Duke and he had been old
friends; in fact, he had been Mr. Duke’s best man, he didn’t like to
think how many years previously. He had been shocked by the change in
the old gentleman when three days prior to his death he had called to
see him. He seemed ill and depressed, and had said, “I’m not feeling
well, Tinsley. It’s my heart, I’m afraid, and this confounded worry
about money matters,” and had gone on to obtain the solicitor’s promise
to look after Sylvia “if anything happened.”
“In the light of what has since taken place,” Mr. Tinsley concluded, “I
am afraid he had made up his mind then that suicide was the easiest way
out, though I was terribly surprised and shocked when I heard of it.”
“I am sure of that, sir,” French answered as he rose to go. “Then if any
further developments occur about the robbery, I shall communicate with
you.”
He returned to the Yard, made his report, and when he had attended to a
number of routine matters, found it was time to knock off work for the
day.