PROUT GETS A CLUE.
Sergeant Paul Prout was beginning to come to the conclusion that the
Corner House mystery would have to be relegated to the long list of
crimes concerning which Scotland-Yard is fain to be silent. At any
rate, the matter was utterly beyond him. Given a clue to work on, no
man in the force could display more tenacity and skill. But there was
nothing to go upon, and Prout was utterly devoid of imagination.
Of course, there was always the chance of coming on the track
obliquely. None knew better than Prout how frequently one crime
interlocked with another, and how often in looking for one particular
criminal another had been arrested.
He came into the inspector's office in answer to a summons. Inspector
Manton passed over some papers to his subordinate.
"I want you to read them and act upon them," he said. "You'll have to
put that Corner House business out of your head for a day or two at
any rate. It appears that a gang of cosmopolitan swindlers have
established their headquarters somewhere in Soho, and by means of
using several addresses they are getting a tremendous quantity of
goods which they proceed to turn into money. Here is one of their
advertisements cut from the _Standard_. You had better answer it, and
get in touch with the fellows that way. But nobody can manage that
sort of thing better than you."
Prout felt himself quite capable to account for this matter. He
proceeded to lay the whole particulars before a friend in the
wholesale silver-plate line--just the kind of article the gang of
thieves affected--and so procured the genuine address of a genuine
trader for the purposes of the capture.
"I expect you'll get orders from five or six addresses," said Prout.
"If so, send the stuff on, not too much at a time, and ask for
references. You'll get the reference, of course; in other words, Jones
and Company, of Gray's Inn, will recommend Smith and Company, of
Market Street. When you get all the references in let me know, because
by that means I shall be in possession of every address used by these
fellows."
To keep the big swindle going on and to avoid awkward mistakes it was
necessary for the confederates to meet at intervals. By small
purchases at one address or another Prout had pretty well got to know
all the gang by sight, and by following one or another he discovered
at last where the rendezvous was--a public-house of not too good
repute in White Lane, leading off Oxford Street.
Next day a sallow, seedy, broken-down shop assistant sought and
obtained a bedroom at the _Orange Tree_ public-house. He seemed to
have money, and therefore he was welcome. He hinted that he was "in
trouble" over some stolen goods from his late employer's shop, and the
_Orange Tree_ received him with open arms.
It was weary work sitting there and pretending to drink, but patience
has its reward at last. Gradually the shy swindlers became accustomed
to the seedy shop assistant, who even went out of his way to give them
hints as to credulous firms. It seemed to Prout that he knew all the
gang at last save one.
And this one he particularly wanted to see, because the name was
unknown to him. In all the swindlers in London it was the first time
Prout had heard of one called "Frenchy." And the particular member of
the gang--absent from London on business--seemed to be the leader of
them all. Once Frenchy showed himself, Prout would give the sign, and
within an hour the gang would be laid by the heels.
He came at length, a little dapper man, with a slight hump between the
shoulders, a nose slightly crooked on one side. He appeared to take
his warm welcome quite as a matter of course, he discarded a pair of
grey suède gloves, and called for a bottle of champagne.
Behind his paper Prout gave a start. Here was a case where the pursuit
of one crime led to another. The leader of the gang of thieves had
large orange coloured freckles on his hand the same as Prout had seen
on the hands of the victim of the Corner House tragedy.
Prout was calm again in an instant. In a dejected way he was looking
admiringly at the newcomer. The little man's English was quite good,
but all the same he spoke with an accent that had a strange French
flavour about it.
Just on closing time Prout lounged out in his most dejected style, and
bought a late paper.
"Now, look here," he said to the man with the papers. "Those men are
to be arrested, but so far away from here as not to give any suspicion
of the house being watched. The little dandy chap who just came in is
to be left to me. That's all."
Apparently it was quite sufficient. As the gang separated one by one,
each was picked up by an officer in plain clothes. The little man in
the suede gloves went cautiously on till he came to a working-man's
flat off Gray's Inn Road, and here for the first time he became
conscious that he was being followed.
"And what do you want with me?" he asked. "So, you are the young man
who got into trouble over a mistake as to your employer's goods."
"I want to speak to you for a moment," said Prout.
The little man pointed gaily up the stairs. Prout followed him into a
room and shut the door. The next instant the small Frenchman was on
his back and the handcuffs encircled his wrists.
"No use making a noise here," said Prout coolly. "It was a good idea
of yours to hide yourself amongst respectable working men."
The little man struggled silently, furiously.
"Now, what's the good of that?" said Prout in his most soothing voice.
"With these bracelets on you can't possibly get at the revolver in
your hip pocket. I am a police officer, and by this time the whole of
your lot are in custody. I've got the key of the door in my pocket,
and I'm going to search the room."
The little man's language burst out furiously. Nothing less than war
between France and England should wipe out this insult to the
tricolour. Prout had burst open a desk and was examining the papers
there as tranquilly as if he were stone deaf. He came across something
presently that caused his eyes to gleam and his heart to beat with a
feeling of triumph.
"Now you can come along with me," he said. "If you like to walk you
can, and if you like to pay for a cab I am agreeable. What do you
say?"
The little man elected to have a cab. When Bow Street was reached
Prout had the satisfaction of finding that all his birds had been
netted. He received the warm congratulations of his inspector
modestly.
"Got your case complete?" asked the latter.
"I've done more than that, sir," said Prout. "I've stumbled on
something important relating to that Corner House business. And if you
don't want me any more, I'd like to go and see Mr. Gilbert Lawrence."
There was nothing more to be done for the present. Ten minutes later
Prout was knocking at the door of Lawrence's chambers.