ANTHONY TRENT, MASTER CRIMINAL
ANTHONY TRENT,
MASTER CRIMINAL
BY
WYNDHAM MARTYN
NEW YORK
MOFFAT, YARD & COMPANY
1918
COPYRIGHT, 1918, BY
MOFFAT YARD & COMPANY
TO
THOSE OLD AND TRIED FRIENDS OF MINE
LILY AND ERNEST CARR
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I THE FIRST STEP 1
II ANTHONY TRENT TALKS ON CRIME 14
III THE DAY OF TEMPTATION 24
IV BEGINNING THE GAME 36
V ANTHONY PULLS UP STAKES 45
VI FOOLING SHYLOCK DRUMMOND 55
VII THE DANGER OF SENTIMENT 68
VIII WHEN A WOMAN SMILED 82
IX “THE COUNTESS” 94
X ANTHONY TRENT SAVES A PIANO 100
XI ESPIONAGE AT CLOSE RANGE 116
XII THE SINN FEIN PLOT 126
XIII ANTHONY TRENT INTERESTS
HIMSELF IN POLICE GOSSIP 135
XIV AMBULANCES AND DIAMONDS 144
XV THE BARON LENDS A HAND 156
XVI THE MOUNT AUBYN RUBY 162
XVII TRENT TAKES A HOLIDAY 172
XVIII THE GREAT BLACK BIRD 180
XIX TRENT ACQUIRES A HOME 192
XX “WANTED--AN EMERALD” 196
XXI THE MURDER OF ANDREW APTHORPE 208
XXII A THIEF TO CATCH A THIEF 219
XXIII THE SECRET OF THE BLACK BAG 227
XXIV DEVLIN’S PROMISE 232
XXV ON THE TRAIL OF “THE COUNTESS” 236
XXVI ANTHONY TRENT--“PAYING GUEST” 251
XXVII MRS. KINNEY MAKES A CONFESSION 267
XXVIII THE GERMAN SPY MERCHANT 284
XXIX MRS. KINNEY INTERVENES 297
XXX “PRIVATE TRENT” 301
XXXI DEVLIN’S REVENGE 309
ANTHONY TRENT
CHAPTER I
THE FIRST STEP
AUSTIN the butler gave his evidence in a straightforward fashion. He was
a man slightly below middle height, inclined to portliness, but bore
himself with the dignity of one who had been likened to an archbishop.
Although he had been examined by a number of minor officials, hectored
by them, threatened or cajoled as they interpreted their duty, his
testimony remained the same. And when he hoped this tedious business was
all over, he was brought before Inspector McWalsh and compelled to begin
all over again. It was McWalsh’s theory that a man may be startled into
telling the truth that will convict him. He had a habit of leaning
forward, chin thrust out, great fists clenched, and hurling accusations
at suspects.
He disliked Austin at sight. The feeling was not wholly of national
origin. McWalsh liked witnesses, no less than criminals, to exhibit some
indications of the terrors his name had inspired to the guilty. Austin
gazed about him as though the surroundings were not to his taste. His
attitude was one of deferential boredom. He recognized the inspector as
one representing justly constituted authority to be accepted with
respect in everything but a social sense.
Inspector McWalsh permitted himself to make jocose remarks as to
Austin’s personal appearance. McWalsh passed for a wit among his
inferiors.
“At half past twelve on Tuesday I came into the library,” the butler
repeated patiently, “and asked Mr. Warren if he wanted anything before I
went to bed.”
“What did he say?” demanded the inspector.
“That he did not want anything and that I could go to bed.”
“And you did?”
“Naturally,” the butler returned.
“What duties have you the last thing before retiring?”
“I see that the doors and windows are fastened.”
The inspector sneered. The small black eyes set in his heavy red face
regarded the smaller man malevolently.
“And you did it so damn well that within an hour or so, ten thousand
dollars’ worth of valuables was walked off with by a crook! How do you
account for that?”
“I don’t try to,” the butler answered suavely, “that’s for you gentlemen
of the police. I have my duties and I attend to them as my testimonials
show. I don’t presume to give you advice but I should say it was because
the crook was cleverer than your men.”
“Don’t get funny,” snapped McWalsh. He had on the table before him
Austin’s modest life history which consisted mainly in terms of service
to wealthy families in England and the United States. These proved him
to be efficient and trustworthy. “I want answers to my questions and not
comments from you.”
Austin’s manner nettled him. It was that slightly superior air, the
servants’ mark of contempt. And never before had the inspector been
referred to as “a gentleman of the police;” he suspected a slight.
“Let’s get this thing straight,” he went on. “You went to bed when your
services were no longer required. Your employer said to you, ‘You can go
to bed, Austin, I don’t want anything,’ so you locked up and retired.
You didn’t know anything about the burglary until half past six o’clock
on Wednesday morning--this morning---- You aroused your employer who
sent for the police. That’s correct?”
“Absolutely,” Austin returned. He was, plainly, not much interested.
“And you still stick to it that Mr. Warren made that remark?”
Austin looked at the inspector quickly. His bored manner was gone.
“Yes,” he said deliberately. “To the best of my knowledge those were his
words. I may have made a mistake in the phrasing but that is what he
meant.”
“What’s the good of your coming here and lying to me?” The inspector
spoke in an aggrieved tone.
“I was brought here against my will,” Austin reminded him, “and I have
not lied, although your manner has been most offensive. You see, sir,
I’m accustomed to gentlefolk.”
McWalsh motioned him to be silent.
“That’ll do,” he commanded, “I’m not interested in what you think. Now
answer this carefully. What clothes was Mr. Warren wearing?”
“Evening dress,” said the butler, “but a claret-colored velvet smoking
jacket instead of a black coat.”
“How was he looking?”
“Do you mean in what direction?”
“You know I don’t. I mean was he looking as usual? Was there anything
unusual in his look?”
“Nothing that I noticed,” Austin told him, “but then his back was to me
so I am not competent to judge.”
“When you speak to any one don’t you go up and look ’em in the face like
a man same as I’m talking and looking at you?”
Austin permitted himself to smile.
“Do you suggest I should look at Mr. Warren as you are looking at me?
Pardon me, sir, but I should lose my place if I did.”
McWalsh flushed a darker red.
“Why didn’t you look at him in your own way then?”
“It’s very clear,” Austin answered with dignity, “that you know very
little of the ways of an establishment like ours. I stood at the door as
I usually do, asked a question I have done hundreds of times and
received the same answer I do as a rule. If I’d known I was to have to
answer all these questions I might have recollected more about it.”
“What was Mr. Warren doing?”
“Reading a paper and smoking.”
“He was alone?”
“Yes.”
“And all the other servants had gone to bed?”
“Yes.”
“You heard no unusual sounds that night?”
“If I had I should have investigated them.”
“No doubt,” sneered the other, “you look like a man who would enjoy
running into a crook with a gun.”
“I should not enjoy it,” Austin returned seriously.
Inspector McWalsh beckoned to one of his inferiors.
“Keep this man outside till I send for him and see he don’t speak to his
boss who’s waiting. Send Mr. Warren right in.”
Conington Warren, one of the most popular men in society, member of the
desirable clubs, millionaire owner of thoroughbreds, came briskly in. He
was now about fifty, handsome still, but his florid face was marked by
the convivial years. Inspector McWalsh had long followed the Warren
colors famous on the big race courses. His manner showed his respect for
the owner of his favorite stable.
“I asked you to come here,” he began, “because you told my secretary
over the phone that you had some new light on this burglary. So far it
seems just an ordinary case without any unusual angles.”
“It’s not as ordinary as you think,” said Conington Warren. He offered
McWalsh one of his famous cigars. “Incidentally it does not show me up
very favorably as I’m bound to admit.”
McWalsh regarded his cigar reverently. Warren smoked nothing but these
superb things. What a man! What a man!
“I can’t believe that, Mr. Warren,” he returned.
“Are you interested in the thoroughbreds, McWalsh?”
“Am I?” cried the other enthusiastically. “Why when I couldn’t spend a
few hours at old Sheepshead Bay I nearly resigned. Why, Mr. Warren, I
made enough on Conington when he won the Brooklyn Handicap to pay the
mortgage off on my home!”
“Then you’ll understand,” the sportsman said graciously. “It’s like
this. Last year I bought a number of yearlings at the Newmarket sales in
England. There’s one of them--a chestnut colt named Saint Beau--who did
a most remarkable trial a day or two since. In confidence, inspector, it
was better than Conington’s best. Make a note of that but keep it under
your hat.”
“I surely will, sir,” cried the ecstatic McWalsh.
“When I heard the time of the trial I gave a little dinner to a number
of good pals at Voisin’s.”
The names he mentioned were all of them prominently known in the
fashionable world of sport.
“We had more champagne than was good for us and when the dinner was over
we all went to Reggie Camplyn’s rooms where he invented the Saint Beau
cocktail. I give you my word, inspector, the thing has a thoro’bred kick
to it. It’s one of those damned insidious cocktails wrapped up in cream
to make you think it’s innocent. After I’d had a few I said to Camplyn,
‘You’ve made me what I am to-night; I insist on sleeping here.”
“But you didn’t!” cried McWalsh.
“Until four in the morning. The Saint Beau cocktail made me so ill at
four that I got up and walked down to my house.”
“What time did you get there?”
“Exactly at five. I felt the need of the cool air, so I took a long walk
first.”
“Then at half past twelve you were at----”
“Voisin’s as a score of people can prove. I had a table in the balcony
and saw all the people I ever knew it seemed to me.”
“But this morning you told the officers who made an investigation of
the robbery a totally different story. You corroborated your butler’s
evidence that you were at home at half past twelve and told him to go to
bed because you didn’t want anything else. How do you account for that?”
The inspector was troubled. His only consolation was that he would have
another session soon with the supercilious Austin. He licked his lips at
the thought. But he did not wish to involve the horseman in any
difficulties if he could avoid it.
Conington Warren laughed easily.
“You know how it is, inspector. You can understand that sometimes a man
suddenly waked out of heavy sleep can forget what happened the night
before for the time being. That’s what happened with me. I clean forgot
the dinner, Camplyn’s Saint Beau cocktail, everything. I only knew I had
the devil of a head. I always rely on Austin.”
“When did you remember?” McWalsh demanded.
“When Camplyn came in to see me and ask for the ingredients of the
cocktail which he claims I invented. Then I recollected everything and
telephoned to you.”
“I knew that damned fellow was lying,” McWalsh cried. “He thought he was
clever. He’ll find out just how smart he is! Tell me, Mr. Warren, what
did he want to put up that fiction for?”
Warren put a hot hand to a head which still ached.
“I can’t imagine,” he answered. “I’ve never found him out in a lie yet.
He’s too damn conceited to descend to one. I don’t think you should
suspect Austin.”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Warren, but I’ve got to. He lied to you and he lied to
me and--ten thousand dollars’ worth of stuff was stolen. He’s in the
outer room now. I’ll have him brought in.”
Austin entered with his precise and measured tread and bowed with
respectful affection to his employer. He liked Conington Warren better
than any American with whom he had taken service. The hearty,
horse-loving type was one which appealed to Austin. He had several times
been obliged to throw up lucrative jobs because employers persisted in
treating him as an equal.
“This is a bad mix-up,” his master began. “The inspector seems to think
you have been deceiving him.”
“He has and he knows it,” cried McWalsh.
“He’s inclined to be hasty, sir,” said Austin tolerantly.
“See here,” snapped the inspector, “you say you found Mr. Warren in his
library at half past twelve. Did you hear him enter the house?”
“No,” the butler returned, “he has his key.”
“The thing we want to clear up,” interrupted Mr. Warren in a kindly
tone, “is simply this. What did I say to you when you spoke to me?”
Austin looked uncomfortable.
“It was a gesture, sir, rather than a word. You waved your arm and I
knew what you meant.”
“You are one prize liar!” roared the inspector. “You said something
quite different when I asked you.”
“I don’t see that it matters much,” Austin returned acidly. “On Monday
night Mr. Warren may have said for me to go to bed. On Tuesday he may
have waved his hand impatient like. On Wednesday he may have asked for
cigars or the evening papers. I remember only that on this occasion I
was not asked for anything.” He turned to his employer, “I should like
to remind you, sir, that we are giving a dinner party to-night and I
ought to be seeing after it now. Can I go, sir?”
“You cannot,” cried Inspector McWalsh, “you’re under arrest!”
“I told you he was hasty, sir,” said Austin without emotion. “What for
may I ask?”
“Let me answer him please, inspector,” begged Conington Warren. “You
told the police that you saw me sitting in my library. Are you prepared
to swear to that, Austin?”
“Certainly, sir,” said the man. “You were in the big turkish rocker,
smoking one of the cigars you are smoking now and reading the Sporting
Times.”
“I’d give a thousand dollars to know who that was!” Warren commented.
“It wasn’t I at all. I was dining at Voisin’s at that hour.”
For the first time Austin was acutely disturbed.
“I don’t understand,” he stammered. “It looked like you, sir, it did
indeed.”
“And if you’d only gone up like a man and looked in his face you’d have
seen the burglar,” McWalsh said scowling.
Austin looked at the speaker coldly.
“It is not my business to suspect my employer of being a crook. If it’s
crime to be deceived then I’m guilty. I admit I didn’t look very
closely. I was sleepy and wanting to get to bed, but I did notice that
whoever it was wore a claret colored velvet smoking jacket.”
“I’ve a list here,” said McWalsh, “given my men by the footman of the
people who called at Mr. Warren’s house yesterday. Look it over and see
if you can supplement it.”
“There was one other visitor,” Austin said slowly, “an intimate friend
of Mr. Warren’s, but I don’t know his name. I didn’t admit him.”
“That’s curious,” said his employer. “I thought you knew every one who
was intimate enough to come to my home. What was he like?”
“I didn’t see him full face,” the other admitted, “but he was tall,
about your height, but dark in coloring with a rather large nose. It
struck me he was a trifle in liquor if I may say so.”
“I don’t remember any one like that,” Warren asserted.
“The gentleman,” said Austin anxious to establish his point, “who bet
you ten thousand dollars that his filly could beat your Saint Beau at
five furlongs.”
“This is all damned nonsense,” returned Conington Warren a little
crossly, “I’m in possession of my full senses now at all events. I made
no such wager.”
“I told you he was a crook, Mr. Warren,” cried McWalsh gleefully. “See
what he’s trying to put over on you now!”
“Surely, sir,” said the butler anxiously, “you remember asking a
gentleman to come into your dressing room?”
“You’re crazy,” his master declared, “I asked nobody. Why should I?”
“He was standing just inside the room as I passed by. He was very merry.
He was calling you ‘Connie’ like only your very intimate friends do.”
“And what was I saying?” Warren returned, impressed with the earnestness
of one in whom he believed.
“I didn’t listen, sir,” the butler answered. “I was just passing along
the hall.”
“Did you hear Mr. Warren’s voice?” McWalsh demanded suddenly.
Austin reflected.
“I wouldn’t swear to it,” he decided.
“What time was it?” Warren asked.
“A little after ten,” said Austin.
“I left the house at eight, so you are not likely to have heard me. I
was at Voisin’s from half past eight until nearly one. When did you
first see this supposed friend?”
“I was going up the main stairway as he was about to come down toward
me. Almost directly I saw him--and I didn’t at the time think he saw
me--he turned back as if you had called him from your room. He said,
‘What is it, Connie?’ then he walked down the corridor and stood half
way in your room talking to you as I supposed. He looked like a
gentleman who might belong to your clubs, sir, and spoke like one. What
was I to think?”
“I’m not blaming you,” said Conington Warren. “I’m as puzzled as you
are. Didn’t Yogotama see him when he went to my room to get my smoking
jacket which you say he wore? What was Yogotama doing to allow that sort
of thing?”
“You forget, sir,” explained Austin, “that Yogotama wasn’t there.”
“Why wasn’t he?”
“Directly he got your note he went off to the camp.”
“This gets worse and worse,” Warren asserted. “I sent him no note.”
“He got one in your writing apparently written on the stationery of the
Knickerbocker Club. I saw it. You told him to go instantly to your camp
and prepare it for immediate occupancy. He was to take Evans and one of
the touring cars. He got the note about half past eight.”
“Just after you’d left the house,” McWalsh commented.
“It didn’t take Yogotama a half hour to prepare,” added Austin.
“What do you make of it, inspector?” Warren demanded.
“A clever crook, that’s all,” said the other, “but he can’t pull
anything like that in this town and get away with it.”
Austin made a polite gesture implying doubt. It incensed the official.
“You don’t think so, eh?”
“Not from what I’ve seen of your methods. I’ve no doubt you can deal
with the common ruck of criminals, but this man is different. It may be
easy enough for a man to deceive you people by pretending to be a
gentleman but we can see through them. Frankly,” said Austin growing
bolder, “I don’t think you gentlemen of the police have the native wit
for the higher kind of work.”
Warren looked from one to the other of them. This was a new and
rebellious Austin, a man chafing under a personal grievance, a
belligerent butler.
“You mustn’t speak like that to Inspector McWalsh,” he commanded. “He is
doing his duty.”
“That may be sir,” Austin remarked, “but how would you like to be called
‘Little Lancelot from Lunnon’?”
“You look it,” McWalsh said roughly. “Anyway I’ve no time to argue with
house servants. What you’ve got to do is to look through our collection
of pictures and see if you can identify any of ’em with the man you say
you saw.”
Austin surveyed the faces with open aversion.
“He’s not here,” said Austin decisively. “He was not this criminal type
at all. I tell you I mistook him for a member of Mr. Warren’s clubs, the
kind of gentleman who dines at the house. These,” and he pointed
derisively to the pillories of crime. “You wouldn’t be likely to see any
of these at our house. They are just common.”
McWalsh sneered.
“I see. Look more like policemen I suppose?”
Austin smiled blandly.
“The very thing that was in my mind.”