Final Solution of the Problem
It was an extraordinary story that Ezra Grice had to tell. Briefly,
the first part of it amounted to this. Twenty years ago he had been
clerk in Francis Norwood’s office. Norwood, at that time, had a
partner, a young married man named Forbes. Forbes was tried on a
charge of embezzlement, and Grice was a witness for the prosecution.
But Grice was deeply involved himself. Addicted to betting, he had
helped himself to the firm’s money—falsifying accounts.
Just before the trial commenced he made a discovery—a discovery that
would have proved Forbes an innocent man. And the discovery he made
was that Norwood himself, who had been speculating heavily, had
embezzled the money from two clients—and not Forbes at all. Knowing
this, he went into Norwood’s private office and accused him of the
crime.
But Norwood turned the tables on him. To Grice’s horror, he calmly
produced proofs of the clerk’s defalcations, and threatened to give
him in charge instantly.
“And who is going to believe you _then_?” he asked calmly. “Do you
think they’ll take the word of a thief against mine?”
Grice, who had no proofs in his possession at the time, but had only
arrived at his conclusions by a study of accounts and documents
passing through his hands, was staggered. He felt he had matched
himself unwisely against the astute lawyer—who was quick to see this.
“Very well,” Norwood had said, “you can take your choice. Either I
send for a policeman at once, or you withdraw what you say, and give
your evidence to-morrow. Which is it to be? I give you five minutes to
decide.”
Ezra Grice decided before the five minutes were up. He caved in,
abjectly. As soon as the trial was over, and Forbes was sentenced,
Norwood coolly told him that unless he left Frattenbury at once and
never returned, he would prosecute him for theft.
“And if I say what I know?” asked Grice.
“They won’t believe you if you do; and if they do believe you, then
you’ll be prosecuted for perjury as well.”
Again the wretched clerk gave in. But before he left the office that
very day he made a fresh discovery—a paper which Norwood had left out
of his safe that absolutely incriminated him. He was half inclined to
make use of this paper and have his revenge on the wily lawyer, but
fear got the better of him. However, when he left Frattenbury the next
day he took this paper with him and kept it carefully.
He went out to South Africa and led a roving life for years keeping
honest all the time. He had had one great fright, and that was enough
for him. He always kept the incriminating paper; he was in dread that
perhaps one day his crime might follow him, and he looked upon it as a
weapon of defence in case he ever met Norwood again. Finally, as Sir
James Perrivale had said, he joined Reginald Templeton in an
exploration in the interior.
“It was a long time,” he went on to the Canon, “before I told Mr.
Templeton my story—and he was the only man to whom I ever told it
before the police took it down here. I happened to mention Frattenbury
one day, and he questioned me, but I didn’t let him know anything
then. However, I saw he knew something about the Forbes case and was
interested in it.
“Then he saved my life. I got to like him. He was a queer man, but
very kind to me always. I shall never forget how he stood by me on
that awful journey before we struck Sir James Perrivale’s camp. My arm
was broken and I was down with fever. He’d help to carry the stretcher
himself—miles at a time.
“I asked him point-blank one day if he was interested in Forbes. He
only answered ‘Yes.’ Then I said, ‘Would it be any use to you to know
he was innocent of that charge?’ I shan’t forget what he said. He
questioned me eagerly and I told him all about it. Then he said,
‘Thank God for this, Grice. Forbes died long ago; but he’s left a
daughter—and, by God, that scoundrel Norwood shall make it up to her!’
“He made me promise I’d go back to England with him—if we ever came
through—and help him expose Norwood—or, rather, he said he was not
going to expose him—he’d got a better card to play than that. But it
seemed that I wasn’t going to get back to England. They all thought me
dying when we got to the camp. Mr. Templeton had to go on, but before
he left he wrote down my statement which I signed before witnesses,
and asked me to give him that paper I had on me. Of course I did, and
then he told me what he was going to do. I can hear him saying it now.
“‘You’ll have your revenge on Norwood,’ he said. ‘And it’s a revenge
that will touch him to the quick on his sorest point. Forbes is dead,
and we can’t help him. And his wife is dead. But there’s her daughter.
If I were to give Norwood into the hands of the law there’d be no
recompense for _her_. But, by God, there _shall_ be! As soon as I get
back to the old country I shall write to Norwood, tell him what I
know, and offer him choice between exposure and ten thousand pounds.’”
“That is where the blackmail comes in, sir,” interposed Colson
quietly. “And I don’t know that I wouldn’t justify it—but the law
wouldn’t.”
“Go on, please,” said the Canon to Grice.
“Well, sir, he went on to say that if he got this sum out of Norwood
he should settle it on Forbes’s daughter—not telling her where it came
from, and not letting her know about her father. He said she was only
a child at the time—well, I knew that; I’ve often seen her here—and
that she had been brought up in ignorance of her father’s crime.”
“I think I know who she was,” murmured the Canon. “That accounts for
those strange impressions of having been here before—and recognising
Norwood. Yes?”
Ezra Grice finished the story, and the detective took up the threads.
“Now do you see, sir?” he asked. “Mr. Templeton evidently carried out
his threat and wrote to Norwood on his return. Then he made an
appointment with him. He wrote saying he was prepared to hand over
Grice’s confession and proofs in exchange for the money. Norwood must
have been in a terrible dilemma. He must get those proofs in any case;
it would mean utter ruin to him if he was once exposed. But he hadn’t
the money to buy them. Whether or not he meant to bluff your cousin
remains to be seen. Anyhow, he made the appointment, and sent his
domestics to the performance at the Town Hall that night—I’ve found
out that—in order to be alone when Templeton called.”
“But why go back to Marsh Quay with him?” asked the Canon.
“Don’t you see, sir? I think we can guess. Templeton hadn’t got the
confession and proofs on him. He made a mistake by being too careful.
You told us he said he was very likely going to spend a few nights
here. Very well. That particular night he wasn’t prepared to hand them
over. The coroner had probably not committed himself, even by a
typewritten, unsigned letter. And he knew he hadn’t the money.”
“What _did_ he do, then?” asked the Canon.
“Probably pretended that he _had_ got it, and induced Templeton to
give him the proofs that night. By this time he had made up his mind
that he _must_ have them—in any case. And I think he took that dagger,
or whatever it was, with him—ready to take the biggest risk of all.
Which we know he did!”
Canon Fittleworth sat for a few minutes in silence. Then he said:
“Thank you, Sergeant Colson, and thank you also, Mr. Grice. The whole
affair has been terrible—very terrible. I want time to think it over.
I must say, however, Colson, that you are a very clever man to have
found out all this.”
“Thank you, sir. I did my best. And someone helped me very much. Good
night, sir. I’m very sorry all this has happened.”
Colson and Ezra Grice went out, leaving the Canon seated in his chair
gazing at the fire, his mind greatly agitated.
At the police station that night Norwood asked to be provided with
writing materials. They did so.
He smiled sardonically while they searched him and took away a
penknife and a pair of pocket nail-scissors.
But in the morning they found him hanging to the bar of the
window—they have out-of-date cells in Frattenbury—his braces
substituted for the rope that he would have eventually earned. And on
the table was a characteristic document:
I am anxious to assist my successor, though I fancy he will have no
trouble in persuading the jury as to the verdict. I am a ruined man,
with no more use for the world. Sergeant Colson’s “imagination” is
fairly correct. I will only add that I persuaded Templeton I had the
money. He had demanded cash. I showed him what appeared to be a roll
of notes—tissue-paper with some genuine ones at the top. I also told
him that unless he gave me what Ezra Grice has probably described
that night, I should abscond—with the ten thousand pounds on me. He
made a mistake in not bringing what he had for sale—he was too
cautious. It was the dagger hanging in my hall when I put my coat on
that suggested I might have to take a desperate step. I took it with
me. Templeton produced what I wanted from the locker. Then he was
fool enough to examine the roll of notes I had laid on the table.
That was the end of it. I took the contents of his pockets to make
sure in case he had anything with my name on it. I desire to say
that I regret what I did, but I was desperate that night. That is
all.
“Mr. Crosby,” said the Canon the following day—the lawyer had come
down to Frattenbury on receipt of a wire from the police—“I want to
ask you something.”
“What is it?”
“This girl, Winifred Cotterill—or Forbes, as we must call her now. If
there had been a trial, I suppose everything would have come out?”
“About her father? Certainly. Ezra Grice would have given evidence,
and the girl must have guessed.”
“I thought so. As it is, however, she has never heard about her
father’s sufferings. Poor fellow, what he must have gone through! The
matter, you tell me, rests in your hands. What are you going to do
about it? Shall you tell her the whole story?”
The lawyer thought for a minute or two, and replied shortly:
“I don’t know, Canon Fittleworth. That is a question I shall have to
consider. I haven’t made up my mind yet.”
The End
TRANSCRIBER’S NOTE
This transcription follows the text of the 1924 edition published by
Edward J. Clode, Inc., with the exception of the following changes,
made to correct what are believed to be unambiguous errors.
* “mighn’t” has been changed to “mightn’t” (Chapter IV).
* “inquistive” has been changed to “inquisitive” (Chapter VI).
* “adusted” has been changed to “adjusted” (Chapter VIII).
* “unkown” has been changed to “unknown” (Chapter IX).
* “musn’t” has been changed to “mustn’t” (Chapter IX).
* “Colonel Fittleworth” has been changed to “Canon Fittleworth”
(Chapter XI).
* “maner” has been changed to “manner” (Chapter XI).
* “respecable” has been changed to “respectable” (Chapter XI).
* “Birchnal” has been changed to “Birchnall” (Chapter XII).
* Six occurrences of mismatched quotation marks have been repaired.