Anybody in this house? Is it at all likely? Of course not. Again, we
are pointed to a stranger. And now remember Pullin’s antecedents. On
his last voyage but one his ship, the _Egret,_ from Valparaiso for
Wellington, New Zealand, was cast away on the Paumotu Islands, far
out of her proper course. There was but a small crew, and, as it
happened, all were lost except Pullin and one Kanaka boy. The _Egret_
was heavily insured, and there were nasty rumours at Lloyd’s that
Captain Pullin had made sure of his whereabouts, taken care of
himself, and destroyed the ship in collusion with the owners, and
that the Kanaka boy had only escaped because he happened to be well
acquainted with the islands. But there was nothing positive in the
way of proof, and the underwriters paid, with no more than covert
grumblings. And, as you remember, Mrs. Heckle told us yesterday
Pullin on his return had no money. Now suppose the story of the
intentional wreck were true, and for some reason Pullin’s payment was
put off till after his next voyage, would the people who sent their
men to death in the Pacific hesitate at a single murder to save
£2,000? I think not.
“After I left you yesterday I made some particular inquiries at
Lloyd’s through a friend of mine, an underwriter himself. I find that
the sole owner of the _Egret_ was one Herbert Roofe, trading as
Herbert Roofe & Co. The firm is a very small one, as shipping
concerns go, and has had the reputation for a long time of being very
‘rocky’ financially; indeed, it was the common talk at Lloyd’s that
nothing but the wreck of the _Egret_ saved Roofe from the bankruptcy
court, and he is supposed now to be ‘hanging on by his eyelashes,’ as
my friend expresses it, with very little margin to keep him going,
and in a continual state of touch-and-go between his debit and credit
sides. As to the rumours of the wilful casting away of the _Egret,_
my friend assured me that the thing was as certain as anything could
be, short of legal proof. There was something tricky about the cargo,
and altogether it was a black sort of business. And to complete
things he told me that the bankers of Herbert Roofe & Co. were the
Eastern Consolidated.”
“Phew! This is getting pretty warm, I must say, Mr. Hewitt.”
“Wait a minute; my friend aided me a little further still. I told
him the whole story--in confidence, of course--and he agreed to help.
At my suggestion he went to the manager of the Eastern Consolidated
Bank, whom he knew personally, and represented that among a heap of
cheques one had got torn, and the missing piece destroyed. This was
true entirely, except in regard to the heap--a little fiction which I
trust my friend may be forgiven. The cheque, he said, was on the
Eastern Consolidated, and its number was B/K63777. Would the manager
mind telling him which of his customers had the cheque book from
which that had been taken? Trace of where the cheque had come from
had been quite lost, and it would save a lot of trouble if the Bank
could let him know. ‘Certainly,’ said the manager; ‘I’ll inquire.’ He
did, and presently a clerk entered the room with the information that
cheque No. B/K63777 was from a book in the possession of Messrs.
Herbert Roofe & Co.”
The inspector rose excitedly from his chair. “Come,” he said, “this
must be followed up. We mustn’t waste time; there’s no knowing where
Roofe may have got to by this.”
“Just a little more patience,” Hewitt said. “I don’t think there
will be much difficulty in finding him. He believes himself safe. As
soon as my friend told me what the Bank manager had said, I went
round to Roofe’s office to ascertain his whereabouts, prepared with
an excuse for the interview in case I should find him in. It was a
small office rather, over a shop in Leadenhall Street. When I asked
for Mr. Roofe, the clerk informed me that he was at home confined to
his room by a bad cold, and had not been at the office since
Tuesday--the next day but one before the body was discovered. I
appeared to be disappointed, and asked if I could send him a message.
Yes, I could, the clerk told me. All letters were being sent to him,
and he was sending business instructions daily to the office from
Chadwell Heath. I saw that the address had slipped inadvertently from
the clerk’s mouth, for it is a general rule, I know, in city offices
to keep the principals’ addresses from casual callers. So I said no
more, but contented myself with the information I had got. I took the
first opportunity of looking at a suburban directory, and then I
found the name of Mr. Roofe’s house at Chadwell Heath. It is Scarby
Lodge.”
“I must be off, then, at once,” Truscott said, “and make careful
inquiries as to his movements. And those cinders--bless my soul,
they’re as precious as diamonds now! How shall we keep them from
damage?”
“Oh, the glass shade will do, I fancy. But wait a moment; let us
review things thoroughly. I will run rapidly over what I suggest has
happened between Roofe and Pullin, and you shall stop me if you see
any flaw in the argument. It’s best to make our impressions clear and
definite. Now we will suppose that the _Egret_ has been lost, and
Pullin has come home to claim the reward of his infamy. We will
suppose it is £2,000. He goes to Roofe and demands it. Roofe says he
can’t possibly pay just then; he is very hard up, and the insurance
money of the _Egret_ has only just saved him from bankruptcy. Pullin
insists on having his money. But, says Roofe, that is impossible,
because he hasn’t got it. A cheque for the amount would be
dishonoured. The plunder of the underwriters has all been used to
keep things going. Roofe says plainly that Pullin must wait for the
money. Pullin can’t reveal the conspiracy without implicating
himself, and Roofe knows it. He promises to pay in a certain time,
and gives Pullin an acknowledgment of the debt, an I O U, perhaps, or
something of that kind, and with that Pullin has to be contented,
and, having no money, he has to go away on another voyage, this time
in a ship belonging to somebody else, because it would look worse
than ever if Roofe gave him another berth at once. He makes his
voyage and he returns, and asks for his money again. But Roofe is as
hard up as ever. He cannot pay, and he cannot refuse to pay. It is
ruin either way. He knows that Pullin will stand no more delay, and
may do something desperate, so Roofe does something desperate
himself. He tells Pullin that he must not call at his office, nor
must anybody see them together anywhere for fear of suspicion. He
suggests that he, Roofe, should call at Pullin’s lodgings late one
night, and bring the money. Pullin is to let him in himself, so that
nobody may see him. Pullin consents, and thus assists in the
concealment of his own murder. He stands at the front door smoking
his pipe (you remember that Mrs. Beckle told me so), waiting for
Roofe. When Roofe comes, Pullin takes him very quietly up to his room
without attracting attention. Roofe, on his part, has prepared things
by feigning a bad cold and going to bed early, going out--perhaps
through the window--when all his household is quiet. There are plenty
of late trains from Chadwell Heath that would bring him to Stratford.
“Well, when they are safely in Pullin’s room, Roofe hears the front
door shut and bolted, with all its squeaks and thumps, and decides
that it won’t be safe to go out that way after he has committed his
crime. The men sit and talk, and Pullin drinks. Roofe doesn’t. You
will remember the bottle on the table, with only one glass. Roofe
produces and writes a cheque for the £2,000, and Pullin hands back
the I O U, which Roofe burns. _That_ would be the lower of the two
charred pieces of paper, which we have there with the other, but
can’t read.
“Then the crime takes place. Perhaps Pullin drinks a little too
much, perhaps he dozes--we shall never know, unless Roofe confesses
circumstantially. At any rate, Roofe gets behind him, uses the sharp
seaman’s knife he has brought for the purpose, and straightway the
skipper is dead at his feet. Then Roofe gets back the cheque and
burns _that._ After that he ransacks the whole room. He fears there
may be some documentary evidence, unguarded letters or something of
the sort, which, being examined, may throw some light on the _Egret_
affair. There are none. Then he sets about his escape. He has the
whole night before him, and to make the thing look like a murder for
ordinary plunder, and at the same time account for the upset room, he
takes away all the dead man’s valuables, tied in that shawl. He sees
the hook--just the thing he wants--and of course the sheets are an
obvious substitute for a rope. He takes away the door-key, to make it
seem likely that somebody inside the house had been the criminal, and
then he simply goes away through the window, as I have already
explained. At 5.45 there would be a train to Chadwell Heath, and that
would land him home early enough to enable him to regain his bedroom
unobserved. After that he wisely maintains the pretence of illness
for a day or two.
“I guessed that the things carried off would be in that ditch, for
very simple reasons. I looked about the house, and the ditch seemed
the only available hiding-place near. More, it was on the way to the
station, the direction Roofe would naturally take. He would seize the
very first opportunity of getting rid of his burden, for every
possible reason. It was a nuisance to carry; he could not account for
it if he were asked; and the further he carried it before getting rid
of it, the more distinct the clue to the direction he had taken,
supposing it ever were found. As I quite expected, my guess was
right. The behaviour of some of the people in the house might have
been suspicious, if I hadn’t had so strong a clue in my hand, leading
in another direction. Foster, poor fellow, has probably pawned all
his clothes, one after another, and put those bricks in his boxes to
conceal the fact, so that Mrs. Beckle might not turn him away. He
owed her so much that at last he hadn’t the face to go and eat her
breakfast when he had no money to pay for it. He went out early, met
friends, got ‘stood’ drinks and came back drunk. The girl Taffs very
naturally ran from the horrible sight in this room, and probably
Foster had been kind to her at some time or another, so that when she
found he was suspected she refused to give any information.”
“Yes,” the inspector said, “it certainly seems to fit together to
the smallest bit as you put it. There’s a future before you, Mr.
Hewitt. You ought to be in the force. But now I must go to Chadwell
Heath. Are you coming?”
III
At Chadwell Heath it was found that a first-class return ticket to
Stratford had been taken just before the 10.54 train left on the last
night Abel Pullin was seen alive, and that the return half had been
given up by a passenger who arrived by the first train soon after six
in the morning The porter who took the ticket remembered the
circumstance, because first-class tickets were rare at that time in
the morning, but he did not recognise the passenger, who was muffled
up.
“But I think there’s enough for an arrest without a warrant, at any
rate,” Truscott said. “We shall be able to walk round and pick up a
little more evidence after that. I am off to Scarby Lodge. Can’t
afford to waste any more time. He was foolish to take a first-class
ticket, any way. That singles a man out, and he might easily have
been recognised. He was smart enough not to use his season ticket,
though. That would have done him clean.”
Scarby Lodge was a rather pretentious house, standing in about three
acres of ground. The path to the front door was well shaded, and it
was arranged that Truscott should wait aside till Hewitt had sent in
a message asking to see Mr. Roofe on a matter of urgent business, and
that then both should follow the servant to his room. This was done,
and as the parlourmaid was knocking at the bedroom door she was
astonished to find Hewitt and the police inspector behind her.
Truscott at once pushed open the door, and the two walked in.
It was a large, well-lighted room, and at the far end a man sat in
his dressing-gown near a table, on which stood several medicine
bottles. He was a man apparently of about thirty-eight, well built,
and with sharp features. He frowned as Truscott and Hewitt entered,
but betrayed no sign of emotion, carelessly taking one of the small
bottles from the table at his side. “What do you want here?” he said.
“Sorry to be so unceremonious, Mr. Roofe,” Truscott said, advancing
up the long room, “but I am a police officer, and it is my duty to
arrest you on a serious charge--a charge of murder on the person
of---- Stop, sir! Let me see that!”
[Illustration: “‘STOP, SIR! LET ME SEE THAT!’”]
But it was too late. Before Truscott could reach him, Roofe had
swallowed the contents of the small bottle, and, swaying once,
dropped to the floor as though shot. A faint smell as of bruised
almonds rose in the air.
Hewitt stooped over the man. “Dead,” he said; “dead as Abel Pullin.
It is prussic acid. He had arranged for instant action if by any
chance the game went against him.”
But Inspector Truscott was troubled. “This is a nice thing,” he
said, “to have a prisoner commit suicide in front of my eyes. It’ll
be an unpleasant job for me, I’m afraid. But you can testify that I
hadn’t time to get near him, can’t you? Indeed he _wasn’t_ a prisoner
at the time, for I hadn’t arrested him, in fact.”
THE CASE OF MR. GELDARD’S ELOPEMENT
I
Many people have been surprised at the information that, in all
Martin Hewitt’s wide and busy practice, the matrimonial cases whereon
he has been engaged have been comparatively few. That he has had many
important cases of the sort is true, but among the innumerable cases
of different descriptions they make a small percentage. The reason is
that so many of the persons wishing to consult him on such concerns
were actuated by mere unreasoning or fanciful jealousy that Hewitt
would do no more in their cases than urge reconciliation and mutual
trust. The common “private inquiry” offices chiefly flourish on this
class of case, and their proprietors present no particular reluctance
to taking it up. In any event it means fees for consultation and
“watching”; and recent newspaper reports have made it plain that
among some of the less scrupulous agents a case may be manufactured
from beginning to end according to order. Again, Hewitt had a
distaste for the sort of work commonly involved in matrimonial
troubles; and with the immense amount of business brought to him,
rendering necessary his rejection of so many commissions, it was easy
for him to avoid what went against his inclinations. Still, as I have
said, matrimonial cases there were, and often of an interesting
nature, taking rise in no fanciful nor unreasoning jealousy.
When, on its change of proprietorship, I accepted my appointment on
the paper that now claims me, I had a week or two’s holiday pending
the final turning over of the property. I could not leave town, for I
might have been wanted at any moment, but I made an absorbing and
instructive use of my leisure as an amateur assistant to Hewitt. I
sat in his office much of the time, and saw more of the daily routine
of his work than I had ever done before; and I was present at one or
two interviews that initiated cases that afterwards developed
striking features. One of these--which indeed I saw entirely through
before I resumed my more legitimate work--was the case of Mr. and
Mrs. Geldard.
Hewitt had stepped out for a few minutes, and I was sitting alone in
his private room, when I became conscious of some disturbance in the
outer office. An excited female voice was audible making impatient
inquiries. Presently Kerrett, Hewitt’s clerk, came in with the
message that a lady--Mrs. Geldard was the name on the visitor’s slip
that she had filled up--was anxious to see Mr. Hewitt, at once, and
failing himself, had decided to see me, whom Kerrett had calmly taken
it upon himself to describe as Hewitt’s confidential assistant. He
apologised for this, and explained that he thought, as the lady
seemed excited, it would be as well to let her see me to begin with,
if there was no objection, and perhaps she would begin to be coherent
and intelligible by Hewitt’s arrival, which might occur at any
moment. So the lady was shown in. She was tall, bony, and severe of
face, and she began as soon as she saw me: “I’ve come to get you to
get a watch set on my husband. I’ve endured this sort of thing in
silence long enough. I won’t have it. I’ll see if there’s no
protection to be had for a woman treated as I am--with his goings out
all day ‘on business’ when his office is shut up tight all the time.
I wanted to see Mr. Hewitt himself, but I suppose you’ll do, for the
present at any rate though I’ll have it sifted to the bottom and get
the best advice to be had, no matter what it costs though I _am_ only
a woman with nobody to confide in or to speak a word for me and I’m
not going to be crushed like a fly as I’ll soon let him know.”
Here I seized a short opportunity to offer Mrs. Geldard a chair, and
to say that I expected Mr. Hewitt in a few minutes.
“Very well, I’ll wait and see him. But you have to do with the
watching business, no doubt, and you’ll understand what it is I want
done; and I’m sure I’m justified, and mean to sift it to the bottom,
whatever happens. Am I to be kept in total ignorance of what my
husband does all day when he is supposed to be at business? Is it
likely I should submit to that?”
I said I didn’t think it likely at all, which was a fact. Mrs.
Geldard appeared to be about the least submissive woman I ever saw.
“No, and I won’t, that’s more. Nice goings on somewhere, no doubt,
with his office shut up all day and the business going to ruin. I
want you to watch him. I want you to follow him to-morrow morning and
find out all he does and let me know. I’ve followed him myself this
morning and yesterday morning, but he gets away somehow from the back
of his office, and I can’t watch on two staircases at once, so I want
you to come and do it, and I’ll--”
Here fortunately Hewitt’s arrival checked Mrs. Geldard’s flow of
speech, and I rose and introduced him. I told him shortly that the
lady desired a watch to be set on her husband at his office, and a
report to be given her of his daily proceedings. Hewitt did not
appear to accept the commission with any particular delight, but he
sat down to hear his visitor’s story. “Stay here, Brett,” he said, as
he saw my hands stretched towards the door. “We’ve an engagement
presently, you know.”
The engagement, I remembered, was merely to lunch, and Hewitt kept
me with some notion of restricting the time which this alarming woman
might be disposed to occupy. She repeated to Hewitt, in the same
manner, what she had already said to me, and then Hewitt, seizing his
first opportunity, said, “Will you please tell me, Mrs. Geldard,
definitely and concisely, what evidence, or even indication, you have
of unbecoming conduct on your husband’s part, and substantially what
case you wish me to take up?”
“Case? Why, I’ve been telling you.” And again Mrs. Geldard repeated
her vague catalogue of sufferings, assuring Hewitt that she was
determined to have the best advice and assistance, and that therefore
she had come to him. In the end Hewitt answered: “Put concisely, Mrs.
Geldard, I take it that your case is simply this. Mr. Geldard is in
business as, I think you told me, a general agent and broker, and
keeps an office in the city. You have had various disagreements with
him--not an uncommon thing, unfortunately, between married
people--and you have entertained certain indefinite suspicions of his
behaviour. Yesterday you went so far as to go to his office soon
after he should have been there, and found him absent and the office
shut up. You waited some time, and called again, but the door was
still locked, and the caretaker of the building assured you that Mr.
Geldard usually kept his office thus shut. You knocked repeatedly,
and called through the keyhole, but got no answer. This morning you
even followed your husband and saw him enter his office; but when, a
little later, you yourself attempted to enter it, you once more found
it locked and apparently tenantless. From this you conclude that he
must have left his rooms by some back way, and you say you are
determined to find out where he goes and what he does during the day.
For this purpose you, I gather, wish me to watch him and report his
whole day’s proceedings to you?”
“Yes, of course; as I said.”
“I’m afraid the state of my other engagements just at present will
scarcely admit of that. Indeed, to speak quite frankly, this mere
watching, especially of husband or wife, is not a sort of business
that I care to undertake, except as a necessary part of some
definite, tangible case. But apart from that, will you allow me to
advise you? Not professionally, I mean, but merely as a man of the
world. Why come to third parties with these vague suspicions? Family
divisions of this sort, with all sorts of covert mistrust and
suspicion, are bad things at best, and once carried as far as you
talk of carrying this, go beyond peaceable remedy. Why not deal
frankly and openly with your husband? Why not ask him plainly what he
has been doing during the days you were unable to get into his
office? You will probably find it all capable of a very simple and
innocent explanation.”
“Am I to understand, then,” Mrs. Geldard said, bridling, “that you
refuse to help me?”
“I have not refused to help you,” Hewitt replied. “On the contrary,
I am trying to help you now. Did your husband ever follow any other
profession than the one he is now engaged in?”
“Once he was a mechanical engineer, but he got very few clients, and
it didn’t pay.”
“There, now, is a suggestion. Would it be very unlikely that your
husband, trained mechanician as he is, may have reverted so far to
his old profession as to be conceiving some new invention? And in
that case, what more probable than that he would lock himself
securely in his office to work out his idea, and take no notice of
visitors knocking, in order to admit nobody who might learn something
of what he was doing? Does he keep a clerk or office boy?”
“No, he never has since he left the mechanical engineering.”
“Well, Mrs. Geldard, I’m sorry I have no more time now, but I must
earnestly repeat my advice. Come to an understanding with your
husband in a straightforward way as soon as you possibly can. There
are plenty of private inquiry offices about where they will watch
anybody, and do almost anything, without any inquiry into their
clients’ motives, and with a single eye to fees. I charge you no fee,
and advise you to treat your husband with frankness.”
Mrs. Geldard did not seem particularly satisfied, though Hewitt’s
rejection of a consultation fee somewhat softened her. She left
protesting that Hewitt didn’t know the sort of man she had to deal
with, and that, one way or another, she must have an explanation.
“Come, we’ll get to lunch,” said Hewitt. “I’m afraid my suggestion
as to Mr. Geldard’s probable occupation in his office wasn’t very
brilliant, but it was the pleasantest I could think of for the
moment, and the main thing was to pacify the lady. One does no good
by aggravating a misunderstanding of that sort.”
“Can you make any conjecture,” I said, “at what the trouble really
is?”
Hewitt raised his eyebrows and shook his head. “There’s no telling,”
he said. “An angry, jealous, pragmatical woman, apparently, this Mrs.
Geldard, and it’s impossible to judge at first sight how much she
really knows and how much she imagines. I don’t suppose she’ll take
my advice. She seems to have worked herself into a state of rancour
that must burst out violently somewhere. But lunch is the present
business. Come.”
The next day I spent at a friend’s house a little way out of town,
so that it was not till the following morning, about the same time,
that I learned from Hewitt that Mrs. Geldard had called again.