'After putting to one side the regular advertisements of pills, soap,
and what not, here is the only one common to all the newspapers,
morning and evening alike. The advertisements are not identical, sir,
but they have two points of similarity, or perhaps I should say three.
They all profess to furnish a cure for absent-mindedness; they all ask
that the applicant's chief hobby shall be stated, and they all bear
the same address: Dr. Willoughby, in Tottenham Court Road.'
'Thank you,' said I, as he placed the scissored advertisements before
me.
I read several of the announcements. They were all small, and perhaps
that is why I had never noticed one of them in the newspapers, for
certainly they were odd enough. Some asked for lists of absent-minded
men, with the hobbies of each, and for these lists, prizes of from one
shilling to six were offered. In other clippings Dr. Willoughby
professed to be able to cure absent-mindedness. There were no fees, and
no treatment, but a pamphlet would be sent, which, if it did not benefit
the receiver, could do no harm. The doctor was unable to meet patients
personally, nor could he enter into correspondence with them. The
address was the same as that of the old curiosity shop in Tottenham
Court Road. At this juncture I pulled the pamphlet from my pocket, and
saw it was entitled _Christian Science and Absent-Mindedness_, by Dr.
Stamford Willoughby, and at the end of the article was the statement
contained in the advertisements, that Dr Willoughby would neither see
patients nor hold any correspondence with them.
I drew a sheet of paper towards me, wrote to Dr. Willoughby alleging
that I was a very absent-minded man, and would be glad of his
pamphlet, adding that my special hobby was the collecting of first
editions. I then signed myself, 'Alport Webster, Imperial Flats,
London, W.'
I may here explain that it is often necessary for me to see people
under some other name than the well-known appellation of Eugène
Valmont. There are two doors to my flat, and on one of these is
painted, 'Eugène Valmont'; on the other there is a receptacle, into
which can be slipped a sliding panel bearing any _nom de guerre_ I
choose. The same device is arranged on the ground floor, where the
names of all the occupants of the building appear on the right-hand
wall.
I sealed, addressed, and stamped my letter, then told my man to put
out the name of Alport Webster, and if I did not happen to be in when
anyone called upon that mythical person, he was to make an appointment
for me.
It was nearly six o'clock next afternoon when the card of Angus
Macpherson was brought in to Mr. Alport Webster. I recognised the young
man at once as the second who had entered the little shop carrying his
tribute to Mr. Simpson the day before. He held three volumes under his
arm, and spoke in such a pleasant, insinuating sort of way, that I
knew at once he was an adept in his profession of canvasser.
'Will you be seated, Mr. Macpherson? In what can I serve you?'
He placed the three volumes, backs upward, on my table.
'Are you interested at all in first editions, Mr. Webster?'
'It is the one thing I am interested in,' I replied; 'but
unfortunately they often run into a lot of money.'
'That is true,' said Macpherson sympathetically, 'and I have here
three books, one of which is an exemplification of what you say. This
one costs a hundred pounds. The last copy that was sold by auction in
London brought a hundred and twenty-three pounds. This next one is
forty pounds, and the third ten pounds. At these prices I am certain
you could not duplicate three such treasures in any book shop in
Britain.'
I examined them critically, and saw at once that what he said was
true. He was still standing on the opposite side of the table.
'Please take a chair, Mr. Macpherson. Do you mean to say you go round
London with a hundred and fifty pounds worth of goods under your arm
in this careless way?'
The young man laughed.
'I run very little risk, Mr. Webster. I don't suppose anyone I meet
imagines for a moment there is more under my arm than perhaps a trio
of volumes I have picked up in the fourpenny box to take home with
me.'
I lingered over the volume for which he asked a hundred pounds, then
said, looking across at him:--
'How came you to be possessed of this book, for instance?'
He turned upon me a fine, open countenance, and answered without
hesitation in the frankest possible manner,--
'I am not in actual possession of it, Mr. Webster. I am by way of being
a connoisseur in rare and valuable books myself, although, of course,
I have little money with which to indulge in the collection of them. I
am acquainted, however, with the lovers of desirable books in
different quarters of London. These three volumes, for instance, are
from the library of a private gentleman in the West End. I have sold
many books to him, and he knows I am trustworthy. He wishes to dispose
of them at something under their real value, and has kindly allowed me
to conduct the negotiation. I make it my business to find out those
who are interested in rare books, and by such trading I add
considerably to my income.'
'How, for instance, did you learn that I was a bibliophile?'
Mr. Macpherson laughed genially.
'Well, Mr. Webster, I must confess that I chanced it. I do that very
often. I take a flat like this, and send in my card to the name on the
door. If I am invited in, I ask the occupant the question I asked you
just now: "Are you interested in rare editions?" If he says no, I
simply beg pardon and retire. If he says yes, then I show my wares.'
'I see,' said I, nodding. What a glib young liar he was, with that
innocent face of his, and yet my next question brought forth the
truth.
'As this is the first time you have called upon me, Mr. Macpherson,
you have no objection to my making some further inquiry, I suppose.
Would you mind telling me the name of the owner of these books in the
West End?'
'His name is Mr. Ralph Summertrees, of Park Lane.'
'Of Park Lane? Ah, indeed.'
'I shall be glad to leave the books with you, Mr. Webster, and if you
care to make an appointment with Mr. Summertrees, I am sure he will not
object to say a word in my favour.'
'Oh, I do not in the least doubt it, and should not think of troubling
the gentleman.'
'I was going to tell you,' went on the young man, 'that I have a
friend, a capitalist, who, in a way, is my supporter; for, as I said,
I have little money of my own. I find it is often inconvenient for
people to pay down any considerable sum. When, however, I strike a
bargain, my capitalist buys the book, and I make an arrangement with
my customer to pay a certain amount each week, and so even a large
purchase is not felt, as I make the instalments small enough to suit
my client.'
'You are employed during the day, I take it?'
'Yes, I am a clerk in the City.'
Again we were in the blissful realms of fiction!
'Suppose I take this book at ten pounds, what instalment should I have
to pay each week?'
'Oh, what you like, sir. Would five shillings be too much?'
'I think not.'
'Very well, sir, if you pay me five shillings now, I will leave the
book with you, and shall have pleasure in calling this day week for
the next instalment.'
I put my hand into my pocket, and drew out two half-crowns, which I
passed over to him.
'Do I need to sign any form or undertaking to pay the rest?'
The young man laughed cordially.
'Oh, no, sir, there is no formality necessary. You see, sir, this is
largely a labour of love with me, although I don't deny I have my eye
on the future. I am getting together what I hope will be a very
valuable connection with gentlemen like yourself who are fond of
books, and I trust some day that I may be able to resign my place with
the insurance company and set up a choice little business of my own,
where my knowledge of values in literature will prove useful.'
And then, after making a note in a little book he took from his
pocket, he bade me a most graceful good-bye and departed, leaving me
cogitating over what it all meant.
Next morning two articles were handed to me. The first came by post
and was a pamphlet on _Christian Science and Absent-Mindedness_,
exactly similar to the one I had taken away from the old curiosity
shop; the second was a small key made from my wax impression that
would fit the front door of the same shop--a key fashioned by an
excellent anarchist friend of mine in an obscure street near Holborn.
That night at ten o'clock I was inside the old curiosity shop, with a
small storage battery in my pocket, and a little electric glow-lamp at
my buttonhole, a most useful instrument for either burglar or
detective.
I had expected to find the books of the establishment in a safe,
which, if it was similar to the one in Park Lane, I was prepared to
open with the false keys in my possession or to take an impression of
the keyhole and trust to my anarchist friend for the rest. But to my
amazement I discovered all the papers pertaining to the concern in a
desk which was not even locked. The books, three in number, were the
ordinary day book, journal, and ledger referring to the shop;
book-keeping of the older fashion; but in a portfolio lay half a dozen
foolscap sheets, headed 'Mr. Rogers's List', 'Mr. Macpherson's', 'Mr
Tyrrel's', the names I had already learned, and three others. These
lists contained in the first column, names; in the second column,
addresses; in the third, sums of money; and then in the small, square
places following were amounts ranging from two-and-sixpence to a
pound. At the bottom of Mr. Macpherson's list was the name Alport
Webster, Imperial Flats, £10; then in the small, square place, five
shillings. These six sheets, each headed by a canvasser's name, were
evidently the record of current collections, and the innocence of the
whole thing was so apparent that if it were not for my fixed rule
never to believe that I am at the bottom of any case until I have come
on something suspicious, I would have gone out empty-handed as I came
in.
The six sheets were loose in a thin portfolio, but standing on a shelf
above the desk were a number of fat volumes, one of which I took down,
and saw that it contained similar lists running back several years. I
noticed on Mr. Macpherson's current list the name of Lord Semptam, an
eccentric old nobleman whom I knew slightly. Then turning to the list
immediately before the current one the name was still there; I traced
it back through list after list until I found the first entry, which
was no less than three years previous, and there Lord Semptam was down
for a piece of furniture costing fifty pounds, and on that account he
had paid a pound a week for more than three years, totalling a hundred
and seventy pounds at the least, and instantly the glorious simplicity
of the scheme dawned upon me, and I became so interested in the
swindle that I lit the gas, fearing my little lamp would be exhausted
before my investigation ended, for it promised to be a long one.
In several instances the intended victim proved shrewder than old
Simpson had counted upon, and the word 'Settled' had been written on
the line carrying the name when the exact number of instalments was
paid. But as these shrewd persons dropped out, others took their
places, and Simpson's dependence on their absent-mindedness seemed to
be justified in nine cases out of ten. His collectors were collecting
long after the debt had been paid. In Lord Semptam's case, the payment
had evidently become chronic, and the old man was giving away his
pound a week to the suave Macpherson two years after his debt had been
liquidated.
From the big volume I detached the loose leaf, dated 1893, which
recorded Lord Semptam's purchase of a carved table for fifty pounds,
and on which he had been paying a pound a week from that time to the
date of which I am writing, which was November, 1896. This single
document taken from the file of three years previous, was not likely
to be missed, as would have been the case if I had selected a current
sheet. I nevertheless made a copy of the names and addresses of
Macpherson's present clients; then, carefully placing everything
exactly as I had found it, I extinguished the gas, and went out of the
shop, locking the door behind me. With the 1893 sheet in my pocket I
resolved to prepare a pleasant little surprise for my suave friend
Macpherson when he called to get his next instalment of five
shillings.
Late as was the hour when I reached Trafalgar Square, I could not
deprive myself of the felicity of calling on Mr. Spenser Hale, who I
knew was then on duty. He never appeared at his best during office
hours, because officialism stiffened his stalwart frame. Mentally he
was impressed with the importance of his position, and added to this
he was not then allowed to smoke his big, black pipe and terrible
tobacco. He received me with the curtness I had been taught to expect
when I inflicted myself upon him at his office. He greeted me abruptly
with,--
'I say, Valmont, how long do you expect to be on this job?'
'What job?' I asked mildly.
'Oh, you know what I mean: the Summertrees affair.'
'Oh, _that_!' I exclaimed, with surprise. 'The Summertrees case is
already completed, of course. If I had known you were in a hurry, I
should have finished up everything yesterday, but as you and Podgers,
and I don't know how many more, have been at it sixteen or seventeen
days, if not longer, I thought I might venture to take as many hours,
as I am working entirely alone. You said nothing about haste, you
know.'
'Oh, come now, Valmont, that's a bit thick. Do you mean to say you
have already got evidence against the man?'
'Evidence absolute and complete.'
'Then who are the coiners?'
'My most estimable friend, how often have I told you not to jump at
conclusions? I informed you when you first spoke to me about the
matter that Summertrees was neither a coiner nor a confederate of
coiners. I secured evidence sufficient to convict him of quite another
offence, which is probably unique in the annals of crime. I have
penetrated the mystery of the shop, and discovered the reason for all
those suspicious actions which quite properly set you on his trail.
Now I wish you to come to my flat next Wednesday night at a quarter to
six, prepared to make an arrest.'
'I must know who I am to arrest, and on what counts.'
'Quite so, _mon ami_ Hale; I did not say you were to make an arrest,
but merely warned you to be prepared. If you have time now to listen
to the disclosures, I am quite at your service. I promise you there
are some original features in the case. If, however, the present
moment is inopportune, drop in on me at your convenience, previously
telephoning so that you may know whether I am there or not, and thus
your valuable time will not be expended purposelessly.'
With this I presented to him my most courteous bow, and although his
mystified expression hinted a suspicion that he thought I was chaffing
him, as he would call it, official dignity dissolved somewhat, and he
intimated his desire to hear all about it then and there. I had
succeeded in arousing my friend Hale's curiosity. He listened to the
evidence with perplexed brow, and at last ejaculated he would be
blessed.
'This young man,' I said, in conclusion, 'will call upon me at six on
Wednesday afternoon, to receive his second five shillings. I propose
that you, in your uniform, shall be seated there with me to receive
him, and I am anxious to study Mr. Macpherson's countenance when he
realises he has walked in to confront a policeman. If you will then
allow me to cross-examine him for a few moments, not after the manner
of Scotland Yard, with a warning lest he incriminate himself, but in
the free and easy fashion we adopt in Paris, I shall afterwards turn
the case over to you to be dealt with at your discretion.'
'You have a wonderful flow of language, Monsieur Valmont,' was the
officer's tribute to me. 'I shall be on hand at a quarter to six on
Wednesday.'
'Meanwhile,' said I, 'kindly say nothing of this to anyone. We must
arrange a complete surprise for Macpherson. That is essential. Please
make no move in the matter at all until Wednesday night.'
Spenser Hale, much impressed, nodded acquiescence, and I took a polite
leave of him.
* * * * *
The question of lighting is an important one in a room such as mine,
and electricity offers a good deal of scope to the ingenious. Of this
fact I have taken full advantage. I can manipulate the lighting of my
room so that any particular spot is bathed in brilliancy, while the
rest of the space remains in comparative gloom, and I arranged the
lamps so that the full force of their rays impinged against the door
that Wednesday evening, while I sat on one side of the table in
semi-darkness and Hale sat on the other, with a light beating down on
him from above which gave him the odd, sculptured look of a living
statue of Justice, stern and triumphant. Anyone entering the room
would first be dazzled by the light, and next would see the gigantic
form of Hale in the full uniform of his order.
When Angus Macpherson was shown into this room he was quite visibly
taken aback, and paused abruptly on the threshold, his gaze riveted on
the huge policeman. I think his first purpose was to turn and run, but
the door closed behind him, and he doubtless heard, as we all did,
the sound of the bolt being thrust in its place, thus locking him in.
'I--I beg your pardon,' he stammered, 'I expected to meet Mr. Webster.'
As he said this, I pressed the button under my table, and was
instantly enshrouded with light. A sickly smile overspread the
countenance of Macpherson as he caught sight of me, and he made a very
creditable attempt to carry off the situation with nonchalance.
'Oh, there you are, Mr. Webster; I did not notice you at first.'
It was a tense moment. I spoke slowly and impressively.
'Sir, perhaps you are not unacquainted with the name of Eugène
Valmont.'