THE BANK-NOTES.
It was arranged, to my infinite joy, before retiring to rest that night,
that I was to make one of the Bank party. Marmaduke insisted on
accompanying us, being above measure curious about the matter, and eager
to know the worst (or the best) regarding it. Mr. Long had to return to
Fairburn for his Sunday's duty, and Mr. Clint could not spare the time
from his parchments; so Mr. Harvey Gerard and we two young men went
forth upon the trail together. As the paper-chase is the most glorious
pursuit undertaken by boys, as fox-hunting is the sport of sports for
men, so man-hunting is the avocation fitted for heroes. I know nothing
like it for interest and excitement--nothing. If I could only imbue my
readers with one-tenth of the absorbing concern with which we, the
subordinate actors in this drama of mystery, now began to be devoured,
they would be sorry indeed when this narrative comes to a conclusion. We
three were at the appointed spot some minutes before the hour which had
been agreed upon for meeting the Bow Street runner; but before the
chimes of the Old Exchange clock had ceased their "_Life let us
cherish_"--the tune which they always played on Fridays--the Bow Street
runner appeared.
Passing through a great room within the Bank, in which, to my
unaccustomed eye, were displayed the riches of Croesus, and where the
golden showers seemed unceasingly to rain, we were conducted into a
private apartment, where sat some grey-headed official, uncommunicative,
calm, like one who has had his glut even of wealth, and to whom money,
whether in bullion or paper, was no longer any object.
"Well, Mr. Townshend, what can I do for you?" inquired he, sedately. "I
trust you are not come about any fresh wrongs against the Old Lady of
Threadneedle Street. I never see your face but I think of an imitation
bank-note, and diminution of the stock in our cellar."
"Thank you, sir," responded the runner, cheerfully; "I am afraid that I
shall have to see you in a day or two respecting a matter of that very
kind, but to-day I am come on a different business. A gentleman of high
rank has been missing for three weeks, or more; and his absence has
given the greatest anxiety to these, his friends. He was known to have
in his possession certain one-pound Bank of England notes, twenty in
all, of which the numbers are known. We wish to know whether they have
been paid in hither in the meantime, and if so, by whom."
"Have you any order from the deputy-governor?"
"Why, no, sir," responded the runner, insinuatingly. "I thought that
would not be necessary between you and me."
"Well, well, I suppose you must have your own way, Townshend. You're a
dangerous man to cross." And the old gentleman wagged his head in a
blandly humorous manner, and made a little golden music with his bunch
of seals. "The numbers of the notes are here, are they? From 82961 to
80. Very good." Here he rang a silver bell, which presently produced an
official personage, something between a gentleman-usher and a
pew-opener. "You may show this party over the cancelled department,
James; and let Mr. Townshend investigate anything he pleases."
With a not over-courteous nod, the old gentleman resumed his study of a
certain enormous volume, that looked, said Marmaduke, like the quarto
edition of Chaucer, but which, it is reasonable to conclude, was
something else. We were straightway conducted through several vast and
echoing chambers, into a spacious fire-proof vault, where the notes that
had been paid into the Bank awaited the periodical cremation.
"A week later, and we might not have been in time," remarked the Bow
Street runner, "since every bank-note is burned within a month of its
having found its way home again. If Sir Massingberd has come to a
violent end, and been robbed of his money, we shall probably find it all
here, as those who despoiled him would be anxious to get the notes
changed at once." Our guide led the way to a certain department of the
chamber, with the same accuracy which a student would evince with
respect to a shelf in his own library, and took up in his hand a bundle
of one-pound notes; they were for the most part very dirty and greasy,
but he separated one from the other with a surprising ease and celerity,
reading out the numbers as he did so. "82900, 1, 2, 3--now we are
getting near it," observed the official. "Let us see, 951, is it not?"
"82961," gasped I, "and the next nineteen." I could scarcely frame the
words, so great was my excitement. Marmaduke's eyes gleamed with anxiety
and impatience; and even Mr. Gerard held his breath, while the clerk
continued, in a dry, mechanical tone:
"51, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6 wanting--7, 8, 9 all wanting. 82960---here you have
it; 61 wanting; 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9. There are none of them here.
Stop a bit. 82977--that's one, isn't it?"
"Yes," cried I, "that's one. Pray, let me look at it."
"Certainly not, sir," responded the official, severely. "With regard to
Mr. Townshend, I have my orders, but as respects him only."
"Perfectly right," remarked the Bow Street runner, approvingly. "Then
please to give it to me, my man. Are there any more?"
"Yes, there are--78, 79, 80."
"Good. That is four in all, then." The detective took them up, and
showed them to me: of course, I could not identify them; but still I
felt some awe to think what hands--hands imbued with blood,
perchance--those notes might have passed through since I had seen Sir
Massingberd thrust them into his pocket.
"I cannot carry these away with me, my good friend, I suppose?" inquired
Mr. Townshend, persuasively.
"By no manner of means, Mr. Runner," replied the guardian of these
unctuous treasures, with dignity. "His Majesty himself would never be so
mad as to ask such a thing. A written order from the governor himself
would not permit you to do it."
"Very good, sir; then we won't trouble the governor to write one,"
returned the detective, dryly. "What I must know, however--permission or
no permission--is this: by whose hand were these sweet-smelling and
precious articles paid into the Bank of England?"
It would have been amusing, under less anxious circumstances, to have
watched the demeanour of these two personages, each jealous of the
dignity of those by whom he was employed, and neither in the least
disposed to surrender one tittle of his delegated authority.
"That information will, no doubt, be supplied to you," replied the
official, stiffly, "if it is thought right--and not otherwise. Follow
me, gentlemen, if you please, and I will direct you to the office where
such an application may be made."
This we did; and I am bound to say, met with very great civility from
the superintendent of the department in question. In spite of the
admirable and systematic manner in which the huge establishment was
carried on, it was not easy, and in many cases would have been
impossible, to discover what individual had paid in any particular
note; but every pains and trouble were taken in our behalf, to effect
this. Out of the four notes, only one, No. 82979, could be identified as
having been received from any particular person--one Mr. Worrall, a
silk-merchant in the City. Having expressed our warmest thanks to the
authorities, we immediately called a coach, and started off to this
gentleman's warehouse. We were so fortunate as to find him in, although
he was just upon the point of setting forth to his private residence.
Upon an examination of his books, we discovered no record of the
bank-note about which we were concerned; still, he frankly owned to us
that such memoranda were not kept with excessive accuracy. "It is
possible yet that the people at the Bank may have been correct,"
observed he. "You had better return there; and since the matter is one
of life and death, I do not mind confiding to you, that if that note
has passed through our hands at all, it will have the letter W, in red,
upon the back of it; it is very small, but still can be deciphered
without a magnifying-glass."
"There was no mark," observed I, "upon any of the notes I saw."
"There _was_ a mark," remarked the Bow Street runner, reflectively; and
I am pretty sure it was upon this very note.--"It is no wonder that you
did not see it, young gentleman, since your livelihood does not depend,
as mine does, upon keeping my eyes about me. The mark in question was
also almost obliterated by the red "Cancelled" which the Bank had placed
upon the note; but as far as I could make it out, it was the letter O."
"That is the private mark of the Metropolitan Oil Company," exclaimed
Mr. Worrall, without hesitation. "Although, indeed, because I have told
my own secrets, I am not sure that I am justified in revealing those of
other people. Their offices are in the very next street to this."
Off we started like hounds, who, after, a check, have once more struck
the scent. Business in the City had by this time greatly diminished, and
many of the shops were closed; but the Oil Company's emporium, as
behoved it, was lighted up from cellar to garret, to give assurance to
the world that what they sold could turn night, and even London fog,
into day. Notwithstanding the extreme luminosity of the premises, we
found the accounts of the establishment, however, rather opaque and
complicated; and although nothing could exceed the pains which the
clerks put themselves to upon our account, it was several hours before
No. 82979 could be identified, both as respected its incoming and
outgoing. Finally, however, we gleaned the certain information that the
note in question had been received only a day or two previously by the
Oil Company from a Mr. Vanderseld, the skipper of a foreign vessel, then
lying in the port of London, but which, he had informed them, was to
sail immediately. He had bought a small quantity of oil for his cabin
lamps, and taken it with him, but had ordered a large supply to be sent
to his address in Hamburg, and with this address we were made
acquainted.
"Well, Mr. Townshend," quoth Mr. Harvey Gerard, as we rolled homewards
in a hackney-coach, after seven hours of this man-hunting, "what think
you that this news portends? Is the game still afoot, or is it only dead
game--quarry?"
"I can speak with no sort of certainty yet," replied the Bow Street
runner; "but next to all the notes having been paid into the Bank on
the 17th or so--which, as I told you, would have almost indicated Sir
Massingberd's murder and robbery, without any doubt--I know of no worse
tidings than this, of their having come from Hamburg. There's a regular
agency abroad, and particularly in that town, for the sale of Bank of
England notes dishonestly come by. If a thief cannot get to the Bank
immediately, to turn his plunder into gold, he sends it across the
water; and then it comes back to us at home, through honest hands
enough. We must communicate, of course, with Vanderseld; but the
probability is that he will be unable to give us any information. These
sea-fellows take account of nothing except what concerns their own
trade. He may remember the quarter that the wind was blowing from upon
the day he had the note, to a nicety; but he won't have a notion, bless
you, as to who paid it him. No--it's the worst sign yet, to my mind,
that that 'ere note has come through foreign hands. But don't you be
down-hearted, my young gentleman," added the Bow Street runner,
addressing himself to Marmaduke, who looked very fagged and anxious;
"I'll find your respected uncle, mind you, let him be where he will; and
if he's dead, why, you shall see his corpse, though I have to dig it up
with my finger-nails." With which comforting statement we had, for that
evening, to be content.