Inspector French’s satisfaction in this new development was but
slightly marred by his knowledge that a certain amount of the credit
for it must be allotted to his Chief. Mr. Mitchell had certainly
spotted the true significance of the discarding of the wedding rings,
but French now saw that this was a comparatively unimportant
achievement. In the first place it was not due to superior ability,
but to the lucky accident that the rings had fallen on the lighter
instead of going overboard. In the second—and this French thought
fundamental—the episode at the best had only hastened matters. If he
had been left alone he would certainly have traced one of the notes.
Perhaps indeed this would have proved quicker in the end.
But what, French asked himself, had led to the whole dénouement? Was
it not his, French’s, foresight and ingenuity at the inquest? He had
devised and skilfully baited a trap for his victim, and lo! the victim
had walked into it with the most commendable promptness. He had fallen
for the dope, as French’s former acquaintance, Mrs. Chauncey S. Root
of Pittsburgh, would have put it. And now a little energetic action
and the man would pay the price of his folly.
For some time after reaching his room French busied himself in putting
in motion against the ingenious purchaser of rings the great machine
of which he was a part. A telephone warning was sent to all stations
that the man whose description had already been circulated in
connection with the Starvel murders had disguised himself with a
moustache and tinted glasses and had recently been in London occupied
in certain business involving taxis and wedding rings. A number of men
were put on to trace the taxi or taxis employed, others to try to
obtain further information at the jewellers’, while still others were
sent round the hotels in the hope of picking up a scent. It was not
indeed until the late afternoon that French had time to settle down
really to consider where he now stood.
In the first place it was clear not only that Roper had remained in
the country, but that he had kept himself in touch with events in
Thirsby. Of course this latter did not mean much, for the
circumstances of the Starvel case had created widespread interest and
the details which came out at the inquest were fully reported in the
papers. But Roper had evidently been uncertain as to how much the
police knew, and French’s evidence had had the desired reassuring
effect.
It might, of course, have happened that Roper’s hand had been forced.
He might have run out of cash to live on or he might have required a
lump sum, say, to leave the country. But whatever the reason, he had
determined on a coup. And very cleverly he had arranged it. He must
have made over £18 a purchase, and if he bought forty rings in a day
his profits would amount to over £700. £700 a day was not bad.
The following day was Sunday, but by Monday evening reports had begun
to come in from French’s little army of workers. Sixteen more shops
had been found at which Roper had bought rings and changed £20 notes,
and one of these notes bore a Starvel number. Moreover it had been
established that his activities had extended over at least three days.
Inquiries at the fashionable restaurants had revealed the fact that on
the Tuesday a man answering Roper’s description had paid for his lunch
at the Carlton with a similar note. French received these items
thankfully, and having made a skeleton time-table of the three days in
question, fitted each item into its appropriate place.
But none of those who had come in contact with Roper had been able to
add to his knowledge of the man or to give a clue to his present
whereabouts. It was not indeed until the middle of the following
forenoon that information came in which promised more satisfactory
results.
Within ten minutes of each other two telephone messages were received
stating that taximen who drove Roper had been found. These men on
discovery had been ordered to report themselves at the Yard, and they
arrived almost simultaneously. French had them up to his room in turn.
The first driver said he had been hailed by a man of the description
in question about 10.0 a.m. on Tuesday of last week. The fare had
explained that he wished to engage his vehicle up till one o’clock. He
was a traveller in precious stones and he wished to be taken to
certain jewellers of which he had a list. The taximan had done as he
was asked. Starting near the Marble Arch, he had visited one jeweller
after another during the whole morning. Shortly after one the fare had
instructed him to drive to Marylebone Station, which was then close
by. There the taxi had been paid off, the fare disappearing into the
station.
Asked if he could remember all the shops he called at, the man said he
thought he could, and French at once despatched Sergeant Carter with
him to drive over the same ground and make inquiries _en route_.
The second taximan had a very similar story to tell. About three
o’clock on the Thursday afternoon he was driving slowly down Aldwych,
when he was hailed by a man of the description the sergeant had given
him. The man had engaged him by the hour and had told him of his
business in precious stones and they had driven to a number of
jewellers, ending up about five-thirty at Malseed’s, in the Strand.
There the man had paid him off and he had seen him entering the shop
as he drove away.
This driver also said he could remember the places at which he had
called, and French sent another of his satellites round with him to
amass information.
As far as it went, this was satisfactory enough. If the other taximen
could be found, every minute of Roper’s three days would soon be
accounted for. And it would be a strange thing if amongst all those
with whom he had come in contact, some one person had not learnt or
noticed anything which would help to find him. French could recall
many instances where a chance recollection of some physical
peculiarity, of some word or phrase uttered, of some paper or small
article dropped, had led to the identification of a criminal and he
thought the chances of similar good fortune in the present instance
were not too remote.
All through the afternoon information continued to come in, and when
he had added the items to his skeleton time-table he found that he had
learnt where thirty-one rings had been bought and where Roper had
lunched on each of the three days in question. Of course, this
information did not directly help with his present problem, but there
were two other items of news which seemed more promising.
The first was that seven of the thirty-one shop assistants who had
been interviewed had noticed a fresh cut on Roper’s thumb, small, but
peculiarly shaped. This was an additional identification which might
be useful in dealing with waiters, dining-car attendants, hotel
porters and others who would be likely to observe a customer’s hand.
The second item French received with deep satisfaction. Roper had
spent the Tuesday night at the Strand Palace Hotel. This seemed to
negative the suggestion that the man was living in London, and French
therefore became much more hopeful of the prospects of finding his
whereabouts on the Thursday night, the point at which he must start if
he was to succeed in tracing him.
But it was not until the next afternoon that his hopes were fulfilled.
When he reached the Yard after lunch he found that a telephone message
had just been received from Sergeant Elliott, who was working the
hotels in the Bloomsbury area. Roper, the man reported, had spent the
Thursday night at the Peveril Hotel in Russell Square.
Within twenty minutes French had reached the building. Sergeant
Elliott was waiting for him in the lounge.
“How did you get on to him?” French asked, after they had greeted each
other heartily and withdrawn into a quiet corner.
“Just pegging away, sir; no special clue. This is the sixteenth hotel
I’ve been to. But I think there’s no doubt it’s him. He turned up here
about 7.15 on Thursday evening and asked for a room. On the plea of
having a chill he had a fire in his room and dined there. Next morning
he paid his bill to the waiter and left about 9.45.”
“Did he take a taxi?”
“Not from the hotel, sir. He just walked out, carrying a small
suitcase in his hand.”
“Wasn’t taking any risks. Confound him for giving us all this trouble.
See Elliott, you look round and get hold of the men who were on point
duty hereabouts on Friday morning. Some of them may have noticed him.
Then go round to the nearby Tube Stations. I’ll go back to the Yard
and get the taxis and the terminal stations worked. You follow me?”
“Right, sir. I’ll go now.”
French turned to the manager’s office to check his subordinate’s
information. There his inquiries speedily convinced him that Roper had
indeed stayed in the hotel. It was true that he had registered under
the name “Jas. Fulton, Manchester,” but the handwriting set the matter
at rest. That it was Roper’s, French had no doubt whatever.
Except that one of the waiters had noticed the cut on the man’s right
thumb, this unfortunately was the only result of his inquiries. Though
he was as thorough and painstaking as ever, he could find no clue to
the man’s present whereabouts.
Returning to the Yard, he recalled the men who were engaged on the
hotels and jewellers’ shops and set them new tasks. Some of them were
to look for a taximan who had taken up a fare of the suspect’s
description in the neighbourhood of Russell Square about 9.45 on the
morning of the previous Friday, the remainder were to visit the great
stations in the hope of learning that the same man had left by train.
French was accustomed to prompt and efficient service, but when within
an hour the wanted taximan had been found, he could not but admit
pleasurable surprise. He therefore paid a somewhat unusual compliment
to his subordinate on his prowess, and told him to fetch the man
along.
The driver proved to be a big brawny Irishman. He stated he had picked
up a fare like the man described at the Russell Square end of
Southampton Row about the hour named. The man had carried a small
suitcase and had been walking away from the Square. The driver had not
seen his face clearly, as he had his collar turned up and his hat
pulled low, but when French heard that he spoke with a Scotch accent,
he felt that things were going as they should. It was therefore with
keen interest that he waited for a reply to the question, where had he
driven him?
“To Gracechurch Street, sorr,” the man answered, “to a block o’
buildings half-way down the street on the left-hand side.”
“Could you find it again?”
“I could, sorr, surely.”
“Then drive there.”
An inspection of the plates at each side of the entrance door showed
that the “block o’ buildings” contained eleven suites of offices.
French stood contemplating the names and wondering in which of the
firms Roper had been interested.
None of them seemed very promising at first sight. There were two coal
merchants, a chemical analyst, a stockbroker, an engineer and
architect, three shipping firms and three commission agents. Of these
the shipping firms seemed the most hopeful and French decided to start
with them.
Obtaining no information at the shipping offices, he went on to the
remaining firms, and at the seventh he struck oil. The office boy at
Messrs. Dashwood and Munce’s stockbrokers, remembered such a man
calling at the hour in question. He had, he believed, seen Mr.
Dashwood, and it was not long before French was seated in the senior
partner’s room.
Mr. Dashwood, a tall, thin man with a shrewd expression and keen eyes,
listened attentively while French stated his business.
“I admit,” he said, “that the description you give resembles that of
our client. But you must be aware, Inspector, that a client’s dealings
are confidential, and unless you can prove to me that this is really
the man you want and that it is my duty to discuss his business I do
not think I feel called on to say any more.”
“I thoroughly appreciate your position,” French returned suavely, “and
under ordinary circumstances agree that you would be absolutely right.
But these circumstances are not ordinary. Firstly, here are my
credentials, so that you will see that I really am an officer of
Scotland Yard. Secondly, I must take you into my confidence to the
extent of telling you that the man is wanted for a very serious crime
indeed—a triple murder, in fact. You will see, therefore, that you
cannot keep back any information about him which you may possess.”
Mr. Dashwood shrugged.
“What you say alters the matter. Tell me what you wish to know.”
“First, your client’s name and address.”
Mr. Dashwood consulted a small ledger.
“Mr. Arthur Lisle Whitman, c/o Mr. Andrew Macdonald, 18 Moray Street,
Pentland Avenue, Edinburgh.”
“Was he an old client?”
“No, I had never seen him before.”
“And what was his business?”
“He wished us to purchase some stock for him.”
“Oh,” said French. “Did he pay for it?”
“Yes, he paid in advance.”
“In notes of £10 and less in value, I suppose?”
Mr. Dashwood shot a keen glance at the other.
“That’s right,” he admitted. “It seemed a peculiar way of doing
things, but he explained that he was a bookmaker and had been doing
some big business lately.”
“What was the amount?”
“Roughly two thousand pounds.”
“No twenty-pound notes, I suppose?”
“None. He counted it out here, and ten was the highest value.”
French was delighted. There was no doubt he was on the right track.
Further, three days at £700 just made the required sum.
“In what stock were you to invest?”
“Brazilian. A thousand in Government five per cents, and the rest in
rails.”
This was satisfactory too. French remembered Roper’s Brazilian
passport. At the same time he was slightly puzzled. Surely the man was
not mad enough to imagine he could get out of the country? Still, if
he thought he was not suspected he might try to do so.
“Where was the interest to be paid? Did he say he was going out?”
“Yes. He said he was sailing in a few weeks and that he already had an
account in the Beira Bank at Rio, to which the dividends were to be
paid.”
French laid his photograph and description on the other’s desk.
“That the man?”
Mr. Dashwood examined the photograph and slowly read and re-read the
description.
“I don’t know,” he said at last. “At first glance I should say not,
but on consideration I’m not so sure. If it was he, he was disguised.”
“I have reason to believe he was disguised.”
“Then probably it was he. The features which he couldn’t alter, such
as his height and build, correspond all right.”
“Have you got a specimen of his handwriting?”
Yes, Mr. Dashwood had his signature to certain forms. French gazed at
the four specimens of “Arthur Lisle Whitman” which were produced. And
then he felt himself up against the same difficulty which had
confronted Mr. Dashwood. At first sight the signatures were not so
obviously Roper’s as those in the Peveril register, but as French
examined them he felt more and more satisfied that the man had indeed
written them, though he had obviously made some attempt at disguise.
French was more than pleased with his interview when, after warning
Mr. Dashwood to keep the affair secret, he took his departure. In the
first place the whole of Roper’s scheme of escape was at last
revealed. The man had evidently set himself two problems, first, to
change his possibly incriminating twenty-pound notes in such a way
that any which might afterwards be identified should not be traceable
to him, and secondly, to get this money into Brazilian securities,
payable in Brazil, with a similar immunity from risk. And very
cleverly he had solved both these problems.
But he had made an error, and French smiled grimly as he thought of
it. He had given an address to Dashwood and Munce. A bad, a fatal
error! A trip to Edinburgh for French, and Master John Roper’s career
would meet with a sudden check. And with that the Starvel Hollow crime
would be avenged and French—he hoped against hope—would come in for
his reward.
Could he not, French wondered, find out something about that address
without leaving London? He turned into a telegraph office and sent a
wire to the Edinburgh police. Early next morning there was a reply.
It seemed that Mr. Andrews Macdonald of 18 Moray Street, Pentland
Avenue, through whom “Mr. Arthur Lisle Whitman” was to be approached,
was a small tobacconist with a rather shady reputation. It was evident
therefore that Roper had adopted a time-honoured expedient to obtain
his correspondence secretly. Letters could be addressed to Macdonald
and for a consideration they would either be re-addressed to Roper or
be kept till called for. In either case Macdonald would not know who
his client really was or where he was to be found, in the event of
questions from inquisitive seekers.
French saw that Macdonald, at least if he was a man of strong
character, could give a lot of trouble. He would admit that he kept
letters for Whitman, but would state that Whitman always called for
these and that he did not know where his client was to be found. And
the closest watch kept by the police might be quite unavailing. French
remembered a case in point in the East End. Here a small newsagent had
been chosen as the intermediary, and though the place was kept under
observation for several weeks, the criminal was never seen. It was
only when he was captured through an entirely different line of
research that the reason came out. The newsagent had guessed his
establishment was being shadowed and he had exhibited a prearranged
sign. He had placed a certain article in a certain place in his
window. The criminal, riding past in a bus, had seen the danger signal
and had kept away.
In the present instance French wished if possible to avoid the chance
of a similar expensive and irritating delay. If he could devise some
other method of attack, this clue of the tobacconist could be kept as
a last resource.
He took his problem home with him that night, and after he had dined
he drew an arm-chair up to the fire and settled down comfortably with
his pipe to think the thing out. For a considerable time he pondered,
then at last he thought he saw his way. He worked at the details of
his plan until he was satisfied with them, then with a smile of
triumph on his lips and deep satisfaction in his heart he knocked the
ashes out of his pipe, switched off the lights and went up to bed.