The more Inspector French pondered over the problems which his
discoveries had raised, the more difficult these problems seemed to
grow. There was so desperately little to go on. It was a common enough
trouble in detective work certainly, but this business was worse than
the average. He could not recall a case which offered fewer clues or
“leads.”
As he turned over in his mind all that he had learned it seemed to him
indeed that there was but one channel to be explored, and that a
channel which offered a very poor chance of success—the £20 bank note.
If he were unable to trace the £20 bank note, and the odds were
enormously against his doing so, he did not see what other line of
inquiry he could follow up.
Of course, there was the usual police question: Who was seen in the
vicinity of the crime at the time of its commission? But he had
already put this inquiry to Kent and the answer had been: “No one.”
If, as seemed likely, Tarkington’s theory were true and this crime had
been committed by the burglars who had already brought off so many
_coups_ in the district, French was up against a very able gang. For
over six months the police had been searching for these men and they
seemed no nearer finding them now than in the beginning.
The bank note, then, appeared to be the only chance, and French
decided that he would begin operations by trying to trace the passer,
trusting that if this line failed, some other would by that time have
opened out.
The night was still young, and desiring to lose no time, French left
his comfortable corner in the bar and went out to call on Mr.
Tarkington.
The bank manager was greatly interested when French revealed his
calling and mission. He willingly repeated all he knew about old Simon
Averill and his finances and explained his theories at length.
“The only other thing I wish to ask you,” French remarked when the
other showed signs of coming to an end, “is about previous sums sent
out to Starvel. Your clerk kept a record of the numbers of all the
twenty-pound notes sent in the last consignment, but have you a
similar record of former consignments?”
Mr. Tarkington nodded.
“I early appreciated that point and made inquiries,” he replied in his
precise, measured tones. “By my own instructions it has been the
practice to keep such records of all notes over ten pounds in value,
and this was done in the case of those sent to Starvel. The records,
however, are not retained very long, and I did not hope to be able to
lay my hands on those of earlier consignments. But by a piece of pure
chance my clerk, Bloxham, found some earlier records in an old
notebook, and I am able to give you the numbers of the notes of
eleven; not consecutive consignments, but stretching at intervals over
nearly five years. They cover £3860, all of which was sent to Starvel
in twenties; that is 193 twenties. I have their numbers here.”
“That’s a piece of luck for me,” French commented, as he pocketed the
list which the other passed him. “Curious that Mr. Averill collected
twenty-pound notes. Why not fifties or hundreds or tens?”
Mr. Tarkington shook his head.
“Like most of us,” he said, a hint of human kindness showing beneath
his rather dry manner, “the poor old fellow had his weakness. Why he
should prefer twenties to notes of other denominations I don’t know. I
can only record the fact that he did.”
The next morning French occupied in making the acquaintance of the
obvious _dramatis personæ_ in the case. He paid a long visit to Ruth
Averill, hearing her story at first hand and questioning her on
various details which occurred to him. Oxley he saw at his office and
the lugubrious Abel Hesketh, the town officer, he found at the toll
room in the markets. He was waiting for Dr. Emerson as the latter
concluded his morning round, and he went to the trouble of an
excursion over the moor to interview the red-haired farmer, George
Mellowes, who had driven Roper home on the fatal night. Dr. Philpot he
also called on, to obtain his impressions of the Starvel household.
Lastly, he saw the bank clerk, Bloxham, who struck him at once as a
man of character. Though seemingly not more than thirty, he had a
strangely old face, sardonic and determined looking, almost sinister.
He gave his testimony with a refreshing restraint of words, and seemed
to have observed carefully and to know just what he had seen. He said
that on three occasions when he was at Starvel Mr. Averill had opened
his safe and he had had a glimpse of its contents. From the size of
the stacks of notes he would estimate that these contained possibly
1500 separate notes. If these were twenties that would mean £30,000.
There was also a cardboard box of sovereigns. If he had not heard the
number he would have estimated that it contained about two thousand.
To all of these people, except Oxley, who already knew the truth,
French accounted for himself by the story of the detective employed to
ascertain the cause of an unexplained fire. All seemed anxious to help
him, but unfortunately none could tell him anything more than he
already knew.
Having thus completed the obvious local inquiries, he felt free to
follow up the matter of the £20 note. He therefore left Thirsby by the
afternoon train and late that night reached St. Pancras. Next morning
saw him at the headquarters of the Northern Shires Bank in Throgmorton
Avenue. In five minutes he was closeted with the manager, who shook
his head when he heard what was required of him.
“I naturally imagined some such question might arise,” the manager
said, “and I questioned the clerk who had received the note. At first
he was unable to give me even the slightest hint, but on thinking over
the matter he said the balance of probability was in favour of its
having been paid in by the messenger from Cook’s office in Regent
Street. He explained that in Cook’s deposit, which was an unusually
heavy one, there were no less than seventeen notes for twenty pounds,
and he remarked to the messenger: ‘You’re strong in twenties to-day.’
It was shortly afterwards that the clerk discovered he held one of the
numbers sent in by Mr. Tarkington. He had twenty-two twenties in hand
when he made his discovery and he believed he had not parted with any
since the Cook lodgment, therefore, the chances that the note came
from Cook’s are as seventeen to five.”
“There is no certainty about that,” said French.
“No certainty, but a good sporting chance,” the manager returned with
a smile as he bade his visitor good day.
The next step was obviously Cook’s office. Here again French asked for
the manager, and here again that gentleman shook his head when French
stated his business.
“I should be only too glad to help you, Mr. French,” he declared, “but
I fear it is quite impossible. In the first place we don’t know the
numbers of any of the notes which passed through our hands, and we
don’t, therefore, know if we had the one in which you are interested.
Apparently you don’t even know it yourself. But even if we did know,
we couldn’t possibly tell you who paid it in. So much money comes in
over the counter that individual notes could not be traced. And then
we have no idea of the date upon which we received this one, if we did
receive it. You think we lodged it yesterday week. We might have done
so and yet have received it weeks before. You see, we keep a fairly
large sum in our safe in connection with our foreign exchange
department.”
“Do you give receipts for all monies received?”
“For most transactions. But not all. If a man came in for a ticket to
Harrogate, for example, we should hand him the ticket, and the ticket
would be his receipt. Again, no note other than that of the actual
sums passing is taken in our exchange department.”
French smiled ruefully.
“It doesn’t seem to get any more hopeful as it goes on, does it?” he
remarked, continuing after a moment’s silence. “You see what I’m
trying to get at, don’t you? If I could look over your receipts for
some time prior to yesterday week I might find a name and address
which would suggest a line of inquiry.”
“I follow you,” the manager returned. “It is just possible that you
might get something that way, though I must warn you it’s most
unlikely. You see, the balance of the payments in notes would not, in
the nature of things, require receipts, and conversely most of the
accounts requiring receipts are paid by cheque. However, if you wish
to make a search, I am prepared to help you. How far back do you want
to go?”
“The note in question was known to be in the possession of the dead
man on Friday, 10th September. It was discovered in the bank here on
Monday, October 18th. That is,” he took out his engagement book and
rapidly counted, “thirty-three working days: a little over five
weeks.” He looked deprecatingly at the other, then added: “Rather a
job to go through all that, I’m afraid.”
“It’ll take time,” the manager admitted. “But that’s your funeral. If
you wish to see our books, I shall be pleased to facilitate you in
every way I can.”
French thanked him and a few minutes later was hard at work under the
guidance of a clerk going through interminable lists of names and
addresses. For two hours he kept on steadily, then suddenly surprised
his companion by giving a muttered curse. He had come on a name which
dashed all his hopes and showed him that his one clue was a wash out.
The item read:—
“Oct. 6th. Pierce Whymper, Oaklands, Bolton Road, Leeds,—£16 8s. 4d.”
“Curse it!” French thought. “There goes all my work! There’s where the
twenty-pound note came from all right. That young man has been out at
Starvel before the fire and Averill has given him the note for some
purpose of his own.”
French was disgusted. Though he had known his clue was weak, he had,
nevertheless, subconsciously been building on it, and now that it was
gone he felt correspondingly at a loss. However, thoroughness before
all things! He continued his study of the books, working through the
period until he reached the end, but nowhere else did he get any hint
of a possible connection with the tragedy.
But the same habit of thoroughness prevented his dropping the matter
until he had explored its every possibility. He asked the clerk to
take him once again to the manager.
“Your kind help, sir, and this young gentleman’s, have not been
wasted,” he began. “I’ve almost certainly got the man who gave you the
note. Unfortunately, however, he turns out to be some one who could
have obtained it from its owner in a perfectly legitimate way. So I
fear its usefulness as a clue is nil. At the same time I should like
to follow up the transaction and make quite sure it is all right. It
is this one that I have marked—name of Whymper.”
“Fortunately,” the manager answered, “that is an easier proposition
than the last.” He directed the clerk to conduct French to a Mr.
Bankes. “Mr. Bankes will give you details about that case,” he went
on, “and if there is anything further you require, just come back to
me.”
Mr. Bankes proved most willing to assist, and in a few moments the
whole of the transactions between Mr. Pierce Whymper of the one part
and Messrs. Thos. Cook & Son of the other part, stood revealed. They
were as follows:—
On Saturday, 18th September, the day of the inquest at Thirsby,
Whymper had written to ask the cost of a second class return ticket
from London to Talloires, near Annecy, Savoy, and to know if a
passport would be necessary for the journey, and if so, where such was
to be obtained. This letter was received at Cook’s on Monday evening
and replied to on Tuesday 21st. Two days later Whymper wrote asking
Messrs. Cook to provide the tickets as well as various coupons for
meals, etc., en route, which, he said, he would call for on the
afternoon of Wednesday, October 6th. He evidently had done so, as on
that date a receipt had been made out to him for the £16 8s. 4d.
“What was the route covered?” French inquired.
“Dover-Calais, Paris Nord, Paris P.L.M., Bourg, Amberieu, Culoz, and
Aix-les-bains. Return the same way. Meals on the outward journey were
included as well as three days’ pension at the Hotel Splendide,
Annecy.”
“I don’t know Annecy at all. What kind of place is it?”
“Delightful little town on the lake of the same name. A tourist place,
becoming better known in recent years. I could recommend it for any
one who liked a fairly quiet change.”
“But surely October is too late for it?”
“Well, yes, it’s rather late. Still, I have no doubt it would be
pleasant enough even then.”
Next day French travelled back to Thirsby. He was in a very despondent
frame of mind, for he did not see a single clue or line of inquiry
which might lead to the solution of his case. He would, of course,
interview Whymper and follow up the affair of the bank note, but he
felt certain that the young man had obtained it in a legitimate way,
and that his inquiries would lead nowhere.
From the talkative Miss Judith Carr, the barmaid at the Thirsby Arms,
French learned that Whymper had lodgings on the outskirts of the town,
at 12 Stanhope Terrace, and when dusk had fallen he went out to make
the young man’s acquaintance.
Whymper was at work on some plans when French was shown into his
sitting-room. He was a typical, healthy-looking Englishman of the
upper middle class. French observed him with some favour, as not at
all the type to be mixed up in criminal enterprises. He rose on
French’s entry, and with a slight look of surprise, indicated an
arm-chair at the fire.
“Mr. Pierce Whymper?” French began with his pleasant smile. “My name
is French, and I called to see you on a small matter in which I am
going to ask your kind help.”
Whymper murmured encouragingly.
“I must explain in the very strictest confidence,” French went on,
glancing searchingly at the other, “that I am an inspector in the
Criminal Investigation Department of New Scotland Yard, and it is in
connection with an investigation I am making that I want your
assistance.”
As he spoke French had been watching his companion, not with inimical
intent, but as a matter of mere habit. He was surprised and interested
to notice a look of apprehension amounting almost to fear in the young
man’s eyes, while his face paled perceptibly, and he moved uneasily in
his seat. French decided at once to be more careful in his examination
than he had intended.
“I have been,” he resumed, “working at Messrs. Cook’s office in Regent
Street. I need not go into details, but there has been a robbery, and
they have been handling some of the stolen money. Your name appeared
among others who had been dealing with them during the period in
question, and I am trying to find out if you or these others could
unwittingly have passed in the money.”
That Whymper was experiencing considerable relief French was sure. He
did not reply, but nodded expectantly.
“I can ask everything I want in a single question.” French’s voice was
friendly and matter of fact, though he watched the other intently.
“Where did you get the twenty-pound note with which you paid for your
trip to Annecy?”
Whymper started and the signs of uneasiness showed tenfold more
strongly.
“Where did I get it?” he stammered, while French noted the admission
his bluff had drawn. “Why, I couldn’t tell you. I had it for a
considerable time. It probably came in my pay.”
“You get your pay in notes?” French’s voice was stern.
“Well, sometimes—that is, I may have got the note from my father. He
makes me an allowance.” The young man twisted nervously in his chair
and gave every sign of embarrassment. French, whose experience of
statement makers was profound, said to himself: “The man’s lying.”
It did not occur to him that this thoroughly normal looking youth
could be guilty of the Starvel Hollow crime, but it suddenly seemed
possible that he might know something about it.
“I should like you to think carefully, Mr. Whymper. The matter is more
serious than perhaps you realise. You handed Messrs. Cook a stolen
twenty-pound note. I am not suggesting that you stole it or that you
are in any way to blame for passing it. But you must tell me where you
got it. You cannot expect me to believe that you don’t know.
Twenty-pound notes are too uncommon for that.”
Rather to French’s surprise the young man began once more to show
relief.
“But that’s what I must tell you, Inspector,” he declared, but he did
not meet French’s eye, and again the other felt he was lying. “I have
had that note for a long time and I don’t really remember how it came
into my possession.”
“Now, Mr. Whymper, as a friend I should urge you to think again. I am
not making any threats, but it may become very awkward for you if you
persist in that statement. Think it over. I assure you it will be
worth your while.”
French spoke coaxingly and the other promised he would try to
remember. He seemed to French like a man who felt he had been exposed
to a danger which was now happily past. But if he thought he had got
rid of his visitor he was mistaken.
“When were you last at Starvel, Mr. Whymper?”
At this question Whymper seemed to crumple up. He stared at his
questioner with an expression of something very like horror. When he
answered it was almost in a whisper.
“The day after the fire. I have not been there since.”
“I don’t mean that. I mean, when were you last there before the fire?”
Whymper’s composure was coming back. He seemed to be nerving himself
for a struggle. He spoke more normally.
“Really, I couldn’t tell you, Inspector. It was a long time ago. I was
only there half a dozen times in my life. Once it was by Miss
Averill’s invitation, the other times on the chance of seeing her.”
“Were you there within a week of the fire?”
“Oh no. The last time was long before that.”
“Had you any communication with Mr. Averill—I mean within a week of
the fire?”
“No. I never had any communication with Mr. Averill. I have never seen
him.”
“Or with any one in the household; either by letter, telegram,
telephone, personal interview or in any other way whatever?”
“Yes. I met Miss Averill accidentally on the day before the fire. Mrs.
Oxley, the wife of a solicitor here, came round to the church where I
am working to see about some stones she was buying, and Miss Averill
was with her. Miss Averill was on her way to stay with some friends
and I saw her to the station.”
“Did she give you the twenty-pound note?”
“She did nothing of the kind,” Whymper returned with some heat.
“Was Miss Averill the only member of the Starvel household with whom
you communicated during the week before the fire?”
Whymper hesitated and appeared to be thinking.
“Well, Mr. Whymper?”
“I met Roper, Mr. Averill’s valet and general man, for a moment on the
evening of the fire. We met by chance and merely wished each other
good-evening.”
“Where did you meet him?”
“On the street just outside the church gate. I was leaving work for
the night.”
“At what hour was that?”
“About half-past five.”
“And do you assure me that you had no other communication with any
member of the Starvel household during the period in question?”
“None.”
“Nor received any message through any third party?”
“No.”
“Well, Mr. Whymper, it is only fair to tell you that the note in
question was in Mr. Averill’s safe five days before the fire. You will
have to explain how it came into your possession, if not to me, then
later on in court. Now think,” French’s voice was suave and coaxing,
“would you not rather tell me here in private than have it dragged out
of you in the witness box?”
“I would tell you at once, Mr. French, if I had anything to tell, but
I’ve nothing. There must be some mistake about the note. The one I
gave to Messrs. Cook couldn’t possibly have been in Mr. Averill’s safe
at any time.”
The words sounded reasonable, but Whymper’s manner discounted them.
More than ever was French convinced that the man was lying. He pressed
him as hard as he could, but Whymper stuck to his story and nothing
that French could say shook him. French, of course, could only bluff.
He was quite unable to prove that Whymper had really passed the stolen
note, and though he believed he had done so, he fully realised that he
might be mistaken.
Recognising he had failed for the moment, French set himself to calm
the other’s anxieties before taking his leave. He pretended to accept
the young man’s statement, saying he was afraid his journey had proved
a wild-goose chase, and that he would now have to interview the other
persons whose names he had obtained from Cook’s. Whether his efforts
were successful he wasn’t sure, but the look of relief on Whymper’s
face made him think so. Outwardly at all events both men seemed to
consider the incident closed when, after French had again warned the
other as to secrecy, they bade each other good-night.
But to French it was very far indeed from being closed. He saw that
the matter must be probed to the bottom. There was, however, nothing
he could do that night except to take one obvious precaution. Whymper
must be watched, and going to the police station he surprised Sergeant
Kent considerably by asking him to put the young man under careful
surveillance.
This precaution was a bow drawn at a venture, but to French’s surprise
and delight, on the very next day it proved that the arrow had found
its way between the joints of Whymper’s harness. While he was
breakfasting a note was brought to him from Kent. In it the sergeant
said that as a result of the order to put a watch on Whymper,
Constable Sheldrake had made a statement which he, Kent, thought the
inspector should hear. Sheldrake said that on the evening of the fire
he had spent a couple of his free hours in taking a walk in the
direction of Starvel with a friend of his, a young lady. Between
half-past nine and ten the two were approaching the junction where the
Starvel lane diverged from the road which circled round the outside of
the hollow, when they heard steps approaching. Not wishing to be
observed, they had slipped behind some bushes, and they had seen a man
coming from the Starvel lane. He had passed close to them, and by the
light of the moon Constable Sheldrake had not only recognised Whymper,
but had seen that his face bore an expression of horror and distress.
At the time there was no suspicion either of Whymper or of foul play
at Starvel, and the constable, not wishing to be chaffed about the
girl, had not mentioned the matter. But now he believed it to be his
duty to come forward with his report.
Here was food for thought. The Starvel lane after passing through the
Hollow almost petered out. As a rough track it wound on past one or
two isolated cottages, debouching at last into a cross road some four
miles farther on. It was therefore most unlikely that Whymper could
have been coming from anywhere except Starvel. But if he had been
coming from Starvel he had lied, as he had stated that he had not been
there within a week of the fire.
This fact made French’s next step all the more imperative. He went
down to the police station and saw Kent.
“Look here, sergeant,” he explained, “I want to search that young
man’s rooms and I want your help. Will you do two things for me?
First, I want you to find out at what time he goes home in the evening
and let me know, and second to make some pretext to keep him half an
hour later than usual at the church to-night. Can you manage that?”
“Of course, Mr. French. You may count on me.”
Kent was as good as his word. When French returned to the hotel in the
afternoon a note was waiting for him, saying that Whymper always
reached home about six. Accordingly ten minutes before six found
French once more knocking at the door of 12 Stanhope Terrace.
“Has Mr. Whymper come back yet?” he asked the stout, good-humoured
looking landlady.
She recognised her visitor of the night before and smiled.
“Not yet, sir. But he won’t be long. Will you come in and wait?”
This was what French wanted. It was better that she should suggest it
than he. He paused doubtfully.
“Thanks,” he said at last, “perhaps it would be better if you think he
won’t be long.”
“He might be here any time. Will you go up, sir? You know your way.”
French thanked her and slowly mounted the stairs. But once in
Whymper’s sitting-room with the door shut behind him his deliberation
dropped from him like a cloak and he became the personification of
swift efficiency. Noiselessly he turned the key in the lock and then
quickly but silently began a search of the room.
It was furnished rather more comfortably than the average
lodging-house sitting room, though it retained its family resemblance
to the dreary species. In the centre was a table on half of which was
a more or less white cloth and the preparations for a meal. Two
dining-room chairs and two easy chairs, one without arms, represented
the seating accommodations. A sideboard, a corner cabinet laden with
nondescript ornaments, a china dog and a few books, together with a
small modern roll-top desk completed the furniture. On the walls were
pictures, a royal family group of the early eighties and some
imaginative views of sailing ships labouring on stormy seas. A gilt
clock with a bell glass cover stood on the chimney-piece between a
pair of china vases containing paper flowers.
French immediately realised that of all these objects, only the desk
was of interest to him. It was evidently Whymper’s private property,
and in its locked drawers would lie any secret documents the young man
might possess. Silently French got to work with his bunch of skeleton
keys and a little apparatus of steel wire, and in two or three minutes
he was able to push the lid gently up. This released the drawers, and
one by one he drew them out and ran through their contents.
He had examined rather more than half when he pursed his lips together
and gave vent to a soundless whistle. In a small but bulky envelope at
the back of one of the drawers was a roll of banknotes. He drew them
out and counted them. They were all twenties. Twenty-four of
them—£480.
With something approaching excitement French took from his pocket the
list given him by Tarkington of the numbers of twenty-pound notes sent
to Starvel. A few seconds sufficed to compare. Every single one of the
twenty-four was on the list!