CONCLUSION
GIVEN the key of the identity of the murderer, it was not long before
Inspector French had unearthed all the details of the murder of Charles
Gething and the theft of the diamonds, and had arranged them with a due
regard to their proper bearing and sequence. And he found, as he had so
often found before, that what had seemed a complicated and insoluble
mystery was really a very simple happening after all. Briefly the facts
which came out, partly as the result of a renewed investigation, and
partly from Mr. Duke’s confession, were as follows:
Reginald Ainsley Duke had lived a happy and contented life until a
terrible calamity befell him—his wife’s brain gave way, and with
splendid physical health she had to be removed to an asylum, a dangerous
and incurable lunatic. Though he had never been passionately in love
with her, they had been sincerely attached, and for some time he was
crushed beneath the blow. But in his case, as in others, time softened
the sharpness of his grief, and this terrible period of his life
gradually became a hideous though fading nightmare. Then he saw Miss
Cissie Winter act at the Comedy, and feeling attracted to her, he
arranged a meeting. The attraction proved to be mutual, and other
meetings followed, as a result of which he fell violently,
overwhelmingly in love with her. To his unbounded and ecstatic delight,
he found his passion was returned.
Their problem then was a common one. Obviously they could not marry, so
after much thought they did what a good many other people would have
done in their place—set up an unconventional household. Their
difficulty was Duke’s daughter. Had it not been for her, they would have
taken no trouble to hide their predicament. But Duke did not want any
stigma to rest on her, and with Miss Winter’s approval he decided to
live a double life and keep two establishments. A simple disguise being
necessary, he took for his model Vanderkemp, partly because the
traveller was somewhat of his own height and build, and partly in the
hope that were he at any time followed from the office to his second
dwelling, he might be mistaken for Vanderkemp. With the help of the
actress, he evolved a make-up, consisting of a wig, a false moustache
and glasses, and exchanged his own upright carriage for Vanderkemp’s
stoop. As Duke he retained his own personality, as Vane he wore the
makeup. Their plan had met with such success that no suspicions were
aroused. To his daughter he explained his frequent absences by saying he
had to keep in constant touch with the Amsterdam branch, and the
servants at Pennington, the forerunner of Crewe Lodge, were given to
understand he was a traveller for a firm of engineers.
The arrangement worked successfully until the war began to interfere
with the profits of his business, and then the keeping up of his two
homes became a burden greater than he could bear. For a time he
struggled on, but an insidious temptation had begun to haunt him, and
the greater his difficulties grew the stronger it became. Here was he
virtually in control of the business. His partners gave it but little
attention. Peabody was old and doddering, and Sinnamond was well-off and
spent most of his time travelling. A little juggling with figures, a few
slight alterations to the books, and he would have all the money he
wanted. He resisted with all his strength, but even in doing so he saw
fresh ways in which the thing could be carried out—with absolute
safety, as he believed—and eventually he fell. His plans worked as he
had expected, his financial difficulties were met, and he congratulated
himself that all would be well.
But there was one thing on which he had not reckoned. He forgot that a
man cannot start a deceit or a swindle and stop when he likes. He soon
discovered that each falsified entry required some further manipulation
to buttress it up, and in spite of all his efforts he found himself
becoming more and more deeply involved. And then came the inevitable
unforeseen catastrophe. His head clerk, Charles Gething, began to
suspect. He made an investigation, confirmed his suspicions, and with
characteristic straightforwardness showed his discoveries to his
employer, declaring that his duty required him to call in the other
partners.
Duke, seeing he was up against it, played for time by stoutly swearing
that Gething had made a mistake and promising him a complete explanation
and proof that all the books were in order, if the clerk would only wait
until he got some balancing figures from the Amsterdam office. He left
that evening for Crewe Lodge, and there he told Miss Winter the whole
story. That astute lady saw that though through the simple expedient of
wearing a wedding ring she had covered up their first departure from
orthodoxy, this was a different matter. Here discovery would mean prison
for her lover and destitution for herself. It did not take her long to
make up her mind that there should be no discovery.
Exercising all her arts, she succeeded after a struggle in bringing Duke
round to her way of thinking, and the two set their wits to work to
devise a scheme by which to safeguard themselves. Miss Winter supplied
the main idea of the plan; Duke, who was thorough rather than brilliant,
worked out the details. In short, the scheme was to stage a robbery at
the office, murder Gething, get hold of as many stones as possible, and
then make a leisurely departure for distant and more healthy spheres.
Miss Winter had a complete and first-hand knowledge both of Brazil and
the United States. Her father was English, but having as a young man
been sent to Rio as representative of his firm, he had settled down
there, married a Portuguese wife, and made his home in the Brazilian
capital. His daughter had a genius for acting, and on her parents’ death
while she was yet in her teens, she succeeded in getting a start on the
Rio stage. After five years, she accepted an engagement with an
enterprising New York manager who had seen her act during a visit to
Brazil. Two years later she came to London, and had there met Mr. Duke
as already stated.
This knowledge of Brazil and America supplied the foundation of her
scheme. Brazil represented an ideal country to which to retire after the
crime, and their first care was to arrange a line of retreat thereto.
They were well known in the neighbourhood as Mr. and Mrs. Vane and had
no difficulty in getting the certificates and letters of recommendation
necessary to obtain their Brazilian passports. Having received the
passports, Duke forged similar certificates and letters in the names of
da Silva, and having with the aid of Miss Winter’s theatrical knowledge
made themselves up in character, they applied at the same office a
second time, obtaining two more passports in the assumed names. Thus
they had two sets of Brazilian passports in the names of Vane and da
Silva respectively.
The next point was to procure some ready money immediately after the
crime, to enable the fugitives to purchase the necessary tickets to
Brazil, and for the host of other expenses which were certain to arise.
With this object, the visit of Mrs. Vane to New York was arranged. She
was to travel there by one line and immediately return by another.
During the voyage home she was carefully to observe the passengers, and
select the most suitable person she could find to impersonate. She was
to make friends with this woman, find out all she could about her, and
observe her carefully so as to obtain as much data as possible to help
on the fraud. On arrival at Southampton she was to see her prototype off
at the station, ascertaining her destination, then going to some hotel,
she was to make the necessary changes in her appearance, proceed to
London in her new character, and put up where she was unlikely to meet
the other. On the next day she was to interview Williams, and if all had
gone well up to this point she was to telephone to Duke from a public
call office, so that he could proceed with his part of the affair.
Finally she was to meet him at 9.45 on the next evening on the emergency
staircase of the Holborn Tube station to obtain from him the portion of
the spoils destined for Williams.
In the meantime, Duke was to pacify Gething by promising him a full
explanation of the apparent discrepancies, together with a sight of the
actual cash needed to put matters right, on the receipt of certain
letters from America. He was also to get together as large a collection
of stones as he possibly could. He was then to ask Gething to meet him
at the office on the evening in question—the evening of the day of Miss
Winter’s first interview with Williams—to go into the whole matter and
see the proofs that all was right. Having thus got Gething into his
power, he was to murder him, take out the diamonds and some money that
was also in the safe, and having handed over to Miss Winter the few
stones for Williams, go home as quickly as possible with the remainder.
Though this scheme seemed to them good, the conspirators were not
satisfied with it, and they added on three additional features to
safeguard themselves still further in the event of suspicion being
aroused.
The first of these was an alibi for Mr. Duke. He arranged that he would
dine and spend the evening at his club with his solicitor, leaving at a
certain definite prearranged hour. By suitable remarks to the solicitor
and the club porters, he would fix this hour, and by similar remarks to
his servants he would establish the time at which he reached his house.
The interval between would be sufficient to enable him to walk home, and
he would take care to inform the police that he had so occupied it. But
in reality he would taxi from near the club to near the office, commit
the murder, and return to Hampstead by tube.
The second safeguard took the form of an attempt to throw suspicion on
to Vanderkemp. In carrying this out, Duke himself typed the secret
instructions which brought the traveller to London, and he gave Gething
orders to see Vanderkemp on his arrival, send him on his wild goose
chase to the Continent, and hand him some of the notes of which he had
reason to believe the bank had the numbers, and which he afterwards
swore were stolen from the safe.
Events after the crime moved so well from the conspirators’ point of
view that they did not at first put their third safeguard into action.
Indeed they began to think that even retirement to Brazil would be
unnecessary, and that they could continue their life in London as
formerly. But the chance remark of Inspector French to Duke that he had
discovered that the elusive Mrs. X was Miss Cissie Winter showed that
their house of cards was falling to the ground, and immediate flight
became imperative. Duke, afraid to visit Crewe Lodge, wrote the warning
in a cipher on which they had previously agreed. But by one of those
strange chances which interfere to upset the lives and plans of mortals,
just after he had posted it the guilty pair met in a tube train.
Loitering in a passage till they were alone, Duke gave his news by word
of mouth. Then Miss Winter made the slip which compassed their
downfall—she forgot about the cipher letter which Duke had said he had
sent, and fled, leaving the letter to fall into the hands of the police.
Duke then proceeded to carry out his third safeguard—to fake a suicide
in order to account for his disappearance. This he did by means of a
trick which they had carefully worked out beforehand, and which they
also intended to employ on the Booth liner to put the detectives off in
case suspicion should be aroused. In his personality of Duke, he bought
at Cook’s office a return ticket from London to Amsterdam via Harwich,
engaging his berth for that night and impressing his identity on the
clerk. He then went on to Liverpool Street and in his personality of
Vane he took a return ticket from London to Brussels by the same route.
As Duke he had the passport he used on his occasional visits to
Amsterdam. As Vane he had obtained a passport for Holland and Belgium
some eighteen months earlier, when he and Miss Winter had gone there for
a short holiday.
As Duke he travelled down on the boat train to Harwich, choosing his
carriage so that he would be among the first on board. He gave up his
ticket at the office, received his landing ticket, and was shown to his
cabin. There he arranged his things and left the note for his daughter.
Then he put on his Vane make-up, slipped out of the cabin unobserved,
and joining the last stragglers from the train, presented his second
ticket and was shown to the cabin he had reserved as Vane. As Vane next
day he went ashore, leaving behind him incontrovertible evidence of the
death of Duke.
At Rotterdam he took tickets for return via Hull, and travelling to
Leeds, put up at the Victory Hotel until the date of the sailing of the
_Enoch_. He and Miss Winter joined forces in the train between Leeds and
Liverpool, and on going on board the liner they attempted to throw any
pursuing detective off the scent by carrying out the same ruse by which
Duke had faked his suicide. They had taken two sets of tickets—one set
at Cook’s to Manáos in the name of Vane, and the other at the Booth Line
offices to Para in the name of da Silva, and had engaged staterooms and
tried to impress their personalities on the clerks on each occasion.
They had further provided themselves with sets of large and small
suitcases. The small ones, in which they packed their clothes and the
diamonds, they labelled “da Silva,” the large ones they labelled “Vane.”
They then put the “da Silva” suitcases inside the “Vane,” went on board
as Vane, and were shown to their cabin. As Vane, they went back to
purser and said they were going ashore. They went out on deck in the
direction of the gangway, but instead of crossing it they regained their
cabin, made up as the da Silvas, took out their small da Silva
suitcases, and slipping unseen from the cabin, returned to the Purser as
having just come on board.
The scheme as a whole worked out according to plan—save for Miss
Winter’s lapse in omitting to wait for and destroy the cipher
letter—but though the principals did not know it, a coincidence took
place which came within an ace of wrecking it. When Sylvia and
Harrington were driving home from the East End on the night of the crime
they saw Mr. Duke turn out of Hatton Garden into Holborn. He was
hurrying anxiously along the pavement with very different mien to his
usual upright, leisurely bearing. There was something furtive about his
appearance, and his face, revealed by a bright shaft of light streaming
from a confectioner’s shop, was drawn and haggard. Fearing some ill
news, Sylvia had stopped the taxi and hurried after him, but before she
had reached the pavement he had disappeared. She did not, however, take
the matter seriously until at breakfast the next morning he told her of
the crime. Even then it never occurred to her to suspect him; in fact,
she had forgotten the incident, but when he went on to state, as it were
casually, that he had been at his club all evening and had walked
directly home from there, she remembered. She realised that he was
lying, and suspicion was inevitable. In desperation lest Harrington
should unwittingly give away information which might put the police on
her father’s track, she rang him up and arranged an immediate meeting at
which she warned him of the possibilities. That afternoon Harrington
called to tell her how things had gone at the office, and then she had
overwhelmed him by insisting on the postponement of the wedding until
the affair should be cleared up. When, however, she learned that French
suspected Harrington and herself of knowing the criminal, she thought
the postponed marriage might give direction to his investigations, and
to avoid this she gave out that the ceremony had once again been
arranged. The poor girl’s mind was nearly unhinged thinking of what she
should do in the event of the police making an arrest, but fortunately
for her she was not called upon to make the decision.
It remains merely to say that some weeks later Reginald Ainsley Duke
paid the supreme penalty for his crimes, and his daughter, hating London
and England for the terrible memories they held, allowed herself to be
persuaded for the third time to fix the date of the wedding with Charles
Harrington, and to seek happiness with him on his brother’s ranch in
Southern California. The firm of Duke & Peabody weathered the storm, and
the surviving partners did not forget the Gething sisters when balancing
their accounts.
TRANSCRIBER NOTES
Misspelled words and printer errors have been corrected. Where multiple
spellings occur, majority use has been employed.
Punctuation has been maintained except where obvious printer errors
occur.