THE ELLERSDEANE DEPOSIT
Had the three young men waiting in that hall not been so familiar with
him by reason of daily and hourly acquaintance, the least observant
amongst them would surely have paused in whatever task he was busied
with, if Mr. Gabriel Chestermarke had crossed his path for the first
time. The senior partner of Chestermarke's Bank was a noticeable person.
Wallington Neale, who possessed some small gift of imagination, always
felt that his principal suggested something more than was accounted for
by his mere presence. He was a little, broadly built man, somewhat
inclined to stoutness, who carried himself in very upright fashion, and
habitually wore the look of a man engaged in operations of serious and
far-reaching importance, further heightened by an air of reserve and a
trick of sparingness in speech. But more noticeable than anything else
in Mr. Gabriel Chestermarke was his head, a member of his body which was
much out of proportion to the rest of it. It was a very big, well-shaped
head, on which, out of doors, invariably rested the latest-styled and
glossiest of silk hats--no man had ever seen Gabriel Chestermarke in any
other form of head-gear, unless it was in a railway carriage, there he
condescended to assume a checked cap. Underneath the brim of the silk
hat looked out a countenance as remarkable as the head of which it was
a part. A broad, smooth forehead, a pair of large, deep-set eyes, the
pupils of which were black as sloes, a prominent, slightly hooked nose,
a firm, thin-lipped mouth, a square, resolute jaw--these features were
thrown into prominence by the extraordinary pallor of Mr. Chestermarke's
face, and the dark shade of the hair which framed it. That black hair,
those black eyes, burning always with a strange, slumbering fire, the
colourless cheeks, the vigorous set of the lips, these made an effect on
all who came in contact with the banker which was of a not wholly
comfortable nature. It was as if you were talking to a statue rather
than to a fellow-creature.
Mr. Chestermarke stepped quietly from his brougham and walked up the
steps. He was one of those men who are never taken aback and never show
surprise, and as his eyes ran over the three young men, there was no
sign from him that he saw anything out of the common. But he turned to
Neale, as senior clerk, with one word.
"Well?"
Neale glanced uncomfortably at the house door. "Mr. Horbury is not at
home," he answered. "He has the keys."
Mr. Chestermarke made no reply. His hand went to his waistcoat pocket,
his feet moved lower down the hall to a side-door sacred to the
partners. He produced a key, opened the door, and motioned the clerks to
enter. Once within, he turned into the partners' room. Five minutes
passed before his voice was heard.
"Neale!"
Neale hurried in and found the banker standing on the hearth-rug,
beneath the portrait of a former Chestermarke, founder of the bank in a
bygone age. He was suddenly struck by the curious resemblance between
that dead Chestermarke and the living one, and he wondered that he had
never seen it before. But Mr. Chestermarke gave him no time for
speculation.
"Where is Mr. Horbury?" he asked.
Neale told all he knew: the banker listened in his usual fashion,
keeping his eyes steadily fixed on his informant. When Neale had
finished, Mr. Chestermarke shook his head.
"If Horbury had meant to come into town by the 8.30 train and had missed
it," he remarked, "he would have wired or telephoned by this.
Telephoned, of course: there are telephones at every station on that
branch line. Very well, let things go on."
Neale went out and set his fellow-clerks to the usual routine. Patten
went for the letters. Neale carried them into the partners' room. At ten
o'clock the street door was opened. A customer or two began to drop in.
The business of the day had begun. It went on just as it would have gone
on if Mr. Horbury had been away on holiday. And at half-past ten in
walked the junior partner, Mr. Joseph Chestermarke.
Mr. Joseph was the exact opposite of his uncle. He was so much his
opposite that it was difficult to believe, seeing them together, that
they were related to each other. Mr. Joseph Chestermarke, a man of
apparently thirty years of age, was tall and loose of figure, easy of
demeanour, and a little untidy in his dress. He wore a not over
well-fitting tweed suit, a slouch hat, a flannel shirt. His brown beard
usually needed trimming; he affected loose, flowing neckties, more
suited to an artist than to a banker. His face was amiable in
expression, a little weak, a little speculative. All these
characteristics came out most strongly when he and his uncle were seen
in company: nothing could be more in contrast to the precise severity of
Gabriel than the somewhat slovenly carelessness of Joseph. Joseph,
indeed, was the last man in the world that any one would ever have
expected to see in charge and direction of a bank, and there were people
in Scarnham who said that he was no more than a lay-figure, and that
Gabriel Chestermarke did all the business.
The junior partner passed through the outer room, nodding affably to the
clerks and went into the private parlour. Several minutes elapsed: then
a bell rang. Neale answered it, and Shirley and Patten glanced at each
other and shook their heads: already they scented an odour of suspicion
and uncertainty.
"What's up?" whispered Patten, leaning forward over his desk to Shirley,
who stood between it and the counter. "Something wrong?"
"Something that Gabriel doesn't like, anyhow," muttered Shirley. "Did
you see his eyes when Neale said that Horbury wasn't here? If Horbury
doesn't turn up by this next train--ah!"
"Think he's sloped?" asked Patten, already seething with boyish desire
of excitement. "Done a bunk with the money?"
But Shirley shook his head at the closed door through which Neale had
vanished.
"They're carpeting Neale about it, anyhow," he answered. "Gabriel'll
want to know the whys and wherefores, you bet. But Neale won't tell us
anything--he's too thick with Horbury."
Neale, entering the partners' room, found them in characteristic
attitudes. The senior partner sat at his desk, stern, upright, his eyes
burning a little more fiercely than usual: the junior, his slouch hat
still on his head, his hands thrust in his pockets, lounged against the
mantelpiece, staring at his uncle.
"Now, Neale," said Gabriel Chestermarke. "What do you know about this?
Have you any idea where Mr. Horbury is?"
"None," replied Neale. "None whatever!"
"When did you see him last?" demanded Gabriel. "You often see him out of
bank hours, I know."
"I last saw him here at two o'clock on Saturday," replied Neale. "I have
not seen him since."
"And you never heard him mention that he was thinking of going away for
the week-end?" asked Gabriel.
"No!" replied Neale.
He made his answer tersely and definitely, having an idea that the
senior partner looked at him as if he thought that something was being
kept back. And Gabriel, after a moment's pause, shifted some of the
papers on his desk, with an impatient movement.
"Ask Mr. Horbury's housekeeper to step in here for a few minutes," he
said.
Neale went out by the private door, and presently returned with Mrs.
Carswell.
By that time Joseph had lounged over to his own desk and seated himself,
and when the housekeeper came in he tilted his chair back and sat idly
swaying in it while he watched her and his uncle. But Gabriel, waving
Mrs. Carswell to a seat, remained upright as ever, and as he turned to
the housekeeper, he motioned Neale to stay in the room.
"Just tell us all you know about Mr. Horbury's movements on Saturday
afternoon and evening, Mrs. Carswell," he said. "This is a most
extraordinary business altogether, and I want to account for it. You say
he went out just about dusk."
Mrs. Carswell repeated the story which she had told to Neale. The two
partners listened; Gabriel keenly attentive; Joseph as if he were no
more than mildly interested.
"Odd!" remarked Gabriel, when the story had come to an end. "Most
strange! Very well--thank you, Mrs. Carswell. Neale," he added, when the
housekeeper had gone away, "Mr. Horbury always carried the more
important keys on him, didn't he?"
"Always," responded Neale.
"Very good! Let things go on," said Gabriel. "But don't come bothering
me or Mr. Joseph Chestermarke unless you're obliged to. Of course, Mr.
Horbury may come in by the next train. That'll do, Neale."
Neale went back to the outer room. Things went on, but the missing
manager did not come in by the 10.45, and nothing had been heard or seen
of him at noon, when Patten went to get his dinner. Nor had anything
been seen or heard at one o'clock, when Patten came back, and it became
Shirley and Neale's turn to go out. And thereupon arose a difficulty. In
the ordinary course the two elder clerks would have left for an hour and
the manager would have been on duty until they returned. But now the
manager was not there.
"You go," said Neale to Shirley. "I'll wait. Perhaps Mr. Joseph will
come out."
Shirley went--but neither of the partners emerged from the private room.
As a rule they both went across to the Scarnham Arms Hotel at half-past
one for lunch--a private room had been kept for them at that old-world
hostelry from time immemorial--but now they remained within their
parlour, apparently interned from their usual business world. And Neale
had a very good idea of what they were doing. The bank's strong room was
entered from that parlour--Gabriel and Joseph were examining and
checking its contents. The knowledge distressed Neale beyond measure,
and it was only by a resolute effort that he could give his mind to his
duties.
Two o'clock had gone, and Shirley had come back, before the bell rang
again. Neale went into the private room and knew at once that something
had happened. Gabriel stood by his desk, which was loaded with papers
and documents; Joseph leaned against a sideboard, whereon was a decanter
of sherry and a box of biscuits; he had a glass of wine in one hand, and
a half-nibbled biscuit in the other. The smell of the sherry--fine old
brown stuff, which the clerks were permitted to taste now and then, on
such occasions as the partners' birthdays--filled the room.
"Neale," said Gabriel, "have you been out to lunch? No? Take a glass of
wine and eat a biscuit--we shall all have to put off our lunches for an
hour or so."
Neale obeyed--more because he was under order than because he was
hungry. He was too much bothered, too full of vague fears, to think of
his midday dinner. He took the glass which Joseph handed to him, and
picked a couple of biscuits out of the box. And at the first sip Gabriel
spoke again.
"Neale!" he said. "You've been here five years, so one can speak
confidentially. There's something wrong--seriously wrong. Securities are
missing. Securities representing--a lot!"
Neale's face flushed as if he himself had been charged with abstracting
those securities. His hand shook as he set down his glass, and he looked
helplessly from one partner to another. Joseph merely shook his head,
and poured out another glass of sherry for himself: Gabriel shook his
head, too, but with a different expression.
"We don't know exactly how things are," he continued. "But there's the
fact--on a superficial examination. And--Horbury! Of all men in the
world, Horbury!"
"I can't believe it, Mr. Chestermarke!" exclaimed Neale. "Surely, sir,
there's some mistake!"
Joseph brushed crumbs of biscuit off his beard and wagged his head.
"No mistake!" he said softly. "None! The thing is--what's best to do?
Because--he'd have laid his plans. It'll all have been thought
out--carefully."
"I'm afraid so," assented Gabriel. "That's the worst of it. Everything
points to premeditation. And when a man has been so fully trusted----"
A knock at the door prefaced the introduction of Shirley's head. He
glanced into the room with an obvious desire to see what was going on,
but somehow contrived to fix his eyes on the senior partner.
"Lord Ellersdeane, sir," he announced. "Can he see you?"
The two partners looked at each other in evident surprise; then Gabriel
moved to the door and bowed solemnly to some person outside.
"Will your lordship come in?" he said politely.
Lord Ellersdeane, a big, bustling, country-squire type of man, came into
the room, nodding cheerily to its occupants.
"Sorry to disturb you, Mr. Chestermarke," he said. "I understand Horbury
isn't at home, but of course you'll do just as well. The Countess and I
only got back from abroad night before last. She wants her jewels, so
I'll take 'em with me, if you please."
Gabriel Chestermarke, who was drawing forward a chair, took his hand off
it and stared at his visitor.
"The Countess's--jewels!" he said. "Does your lordship mean----"
"Deposited them with Horbury, you know, some weeks ago--when we went
abroad," replied Lord Ellersdeane. "Safe keeping, you know--said he'd
lock 'em up."
Gabriel turned slowly to Joseph. But Joseph shook his head--and Neale,
glancing from one partner to the other, felt himself turning sick with
apprehension.