YOB.--H.R. Shop roast. You 1st. Then to-night. 02. 2nd top
3rd L. No. 197 red bl. straight mon. One at a time.
"What's this," I asked, "a cryptogram?"
"I'll see," Hewitt answered. "But I won't tell you anything about it
till afterwards, so you get your lunch. Kerrett, bring the directory."
This was all I actually saw of this case myself, and I have written the
rest in its proper order from Hewitt's information, as I have written
some other cases entirely.
To resume at the point where, for the time I lost sight of the matter.
Hewitt left by the back way and stopped an empty cab as it passed.
"Abney Park Cemetery" was his direction to the driver. In little more
than twenty minutes the cab was branching off down the Essex Road on its
way to Stoke Newington, and in twenty minutes more Hewitt stopped it in
Church Street, Stoke Newington. He walked through a street or two, and
then down another, the houses of which he scanned carefully as he
passed. Opposite one which stood by itself he stopped, and, making a
pretence of consulting and arranging his large pocket-book, he took a
good look at the house. It was rather larger, neater, and more
pretentious than the others in the street, and it had a natty little
coach-house just visible up the side entrance. There were red blinds
hung with heavy lace in the front windows, and behind one of these
blinds Hewitt was able to catch the glint of a heavy gas chandelier.
He stepped briskly up the front steps and knocked sharply at the door.
"Mr. Merston?" he asked, pocket-book in hand, when a neat parlour-maid
opened the door.
"Yes."
"Ah!" Hewitt stepped into the hall and pulled off his hat; "it's only
the meter. There's been a deal of gas running away somewhere here, and
I'm just looking to see if the meters are right. Where is it?"
The girl hesitated. "I'll--I'll ask master," she said.
"Very well. I don't want to take it away, you know--only to give it a
tap or two, and so on."
The girl retired to the back of the hall, and without taking her eyes
off Martin Hewitt, gave his message to some invisible person in a back
room, whence came a growling reply of "All right."
Hewitt followed the girl to the basement, apparently looking straight
before him, but in reality taking in every detail of the place. The gas
meter was in a very large lumber cupboard under the kitchen stairs. The
girl opened the door and lit a candle. The meter stood on the floor,
which was littered with hampers and boxes and odd sheets of brown paper.
But a thing that at once arrested Hewitt's attention was a garment of
some sort of bright blue cloth, with large brass buttons, which was
lying in a tumbled heap in a corner, and appeared to be the only thing
in the place that was not covered with dust. Nevertheless, Hewitt took
no apparent notice of it, but stooped down and solemnly tapped the meter
three times with his pencil, and listened with great gravity, placing
his ear to the top. Then he shook his head and tapped again. At length
he said:--
"It's a bit doubtful. I'll just get you to light the gas in the kitchen
a moment. Keep your hand to the burner, and when I call out shut it off
_at once_; see?"
The girl turned and entered the kitchen, and Hewitt immediately seized
the blue coat--for a coat it was. It had a dull red piping in the seams,
and was of the swallow-tail pattern--a livery coat, in fact. He held it
for a moment before him, examining its pattern and colour, and then
rolled it up and flung it again into the corner.
"Right!" he called to the servant. "Shut off!"
The girl emerged from the kitchen as he left the cupboard.
"Well," she asked, "are you satisfied now?"
"Quite satisfied, thank you," Hewitt replied.
"Is it all right?" she continued, jerking her hand toward the cupboard.
"Well, no, it isn't; there's something wrong there, and I'm glad I came.
You can tell Mr. Merston, if you like, that I expect his gas bill will
be a good deal less next quarter." And there was a suspicion of a
chuckle in Hewitt's voice as he crossed the hall to leave. For a gas
inspector is pleased when he finds at length what he has been searching
for.
Things had fallen out better than Hewitt had dared to expect. He saw the
key of the whole mystery in that blue coat; for it was the uniform coat
of the hall porters at one of the banks that he had visited in the
morning, though which one he could not for the moment remember. He
entered the nearest post-office and despatched a telegram to Plummer,
giving certain directions and asking the inspector to meet him; then he
hailed the first available cab and hurried toward the City.
At Lombard Street he alighted, and looked in at the door of each bank
till he came to Buller, Clayton, Ladds & Co.'s. This was the bank he
wanted. In the other banks the hall porters wore mulberry coats,
brick-dust coats, brown coats, and what not, but here, behind the
ladders and scaffold poles which obscured the entrance, he could see a
man in a blue coat, with dull red piping and brass buttons. He sprang up
the steps, pushed open the inner swing door, and finally satisfied
himself by a closer view of the coat, to the wearer's astonishment. Then
he regained the pavement and walked the whole length of the bank
premises in front, afterwards turning up the paved passage at the side,
deep in thought. The bank had no windows or doors on the side next the
court, and the two adjoining houses were old and supported in places by
wooden shores. Both were empty, and a great board announced that tenders
would be received in a month's time for the purchase of the old
materials of which they were constructed; also that some part of the
site would be let on a long building lease.
Hewitt looked up at the grimy fronts of the old buildings. The windows
were crusted thick with dirt--all except the bottom window of the house
nearer the bank, which was fairly clean, and seemed to have been quite
lately washed. The door, too, of this house was cleaner than that of the
other, though the paint was worn. Hewitt reached and fingered a hook
driven into the left-hand doorpost about six feet from the ground. It
was new, and not at all rusted; also a tiny splinter had been displaced
when the hook was driven in, and clean wood showed at the spot.
Having observed these things, Hewitt stepped back and read at the bottom
of the big board the name, "Winsor & Weekes, Surveyors and Auctioneers,
Abchurch Lane." Then he stepped into Lombard Street.
Two hansoms pulled up near the post-office, and out of the first stepped
Inspector Plummer and another man. This man and the two who alighted
from the second hansom were unmistakably plain-clothes constables--their
air, gait, and boots proclaimed it.
"What's all this?" demanded Plummer, as Hewitt approached.
"You'll soon see, I think. But, first, have you put the watch on No.
197, Hackworth Road?"
"Yes; nobody will get away from there alone."
"Very good. I am going into Abchurch Lane for a few minutes. Leave your
men out here, but just go round into the court by Buller, Clayton &
Ladds's, and keep your eye on the first door on the left. I think we'll
find something soon. Did you get rid of Miss Shaw?"
"No, she's behind now, and Mrs. Laker's with her. They met in the
Strand, and came after us in another cab. Rare fun, eh! They think we're
pretty green! It's quite handy, too. So long as they keep behind me it
saves all trouble of watching _them_." And Inspector Plummer chuckled
and winked.
"Very good. You don't mind keeping your eye on that door, do you? I'll
be back very soon," and with that Hewitt turned off into Abchurch Lane.
At Winsor & Weekes's information was not difficult to obtain. The houses
were destined to come down very shortly, but a week or so ago an office
and a cellar in one of them was let temporarily to a Mr. Westley. He
brought no references; indeed, as he paid a fortnight's rent in advance,
he was not asked for any, considering the circumstances of the case. He
was opening a London branch for a large firm of cider merchants, he
said, and just wanted a rough office and a cool cellar to store samples
in for a few weeks till the permanent premises were ready. There was
another key, and no doubt the premises might be entered if there were
any special need for such a course. Martin Hewitt gave such excellent
reasons that Winsor & Weekes's managing clerk immediately produced the
key and accompanied Hewitt to the spot.
"I think you'd better have your men handy," Hewitt remarked to Plummer
when they reached the door, and a whistle quickly brought the men over.
The key was inserted in the lock and turned, but the door would not
open; the bolt was fastened at the bottom. Hewitt stooped and looked
under the door.
"It's a drop bolt," he said. "Probably the man who left last let it fall
loose, and then banged the door, so that it fell into its place. I must
try my best with a wire or a piece of string."
A wire was brought, and with some manoeuvring Hewitt contrived to pass
it round the bolt, and lift it little by little, steadying it with the
blade of a pocket-knife. When at length the bolt was raised out of the
hole, the knife-blade was slipped under it, and the door swung open.
They entered. The door of the little office just inside stood open, but
in the office there was nothing, except a board a couple of feet long in
a corner. Hewitt stepped across and lifted this, turning its downward
face toward Plummer. On it, in fresh white paint on a black ground, were
painted the words--
"BULLER, CLAYTON, LADDS & CO.,
TEMPORARY ENTRANCE."
Hewitt turned to Winsor & Weekes's clerk and asked, "The man who took
this room called himself Westley, didn't he?"
"Yes."
"Youngish man, clean-shaven, and well-dressed?"
"Yes, he was."
"I fancy," Hewitt said, turning to Plummer, "I _fancy_ an old friend of
yours is in this--Mr. Sam Gunter."
"What, the 'Hoxton Yob'?"
"I think it's possible he's been Mr. Westley for a bit, and somebody
else for another bit. But let's come to the cellar."
Winsor & Weekes's clerk led the way down a steep flight of steps into a
dark underground corridor, wherein they lighted their way with many
successive matches. Soon the corridor made a turn to the right, and as
the party passed the turn, there came from the end of the passage before
them a fearful yell.
"Help! help! Open the door! I'm going mad--mad! O my God!"
And there was a sound of desperate beating from the inside of the cellar
door at the extreme end. The men stopped, startled.
"Come," said Hewitt, "more matches!" and he rushed to the door. It was
fastened with a bar and padlock.
"Let me out, for God's sake!" came the voice, sick and hoarse, from the
inside. "Let me out!"
"All right!" Hewitt shouted. "We have come for you. Wait a moment."
The voice sank into a sort of sobbing croon, and Hewitt tried several
keys from his own bunch on the padlock. None fitted. He drew from his
pocket the wire he had used for the bolt of the front door, straightened
it out, and made a sharp bend at the end.
"Hold a match close," he ordered shortly, and one of the men obeyed.
Three or four attempts were necessary, and several different bendings of
the wire were effected, but in the end Hewitt picked the lock, and flung
open the door.
From within a ghastly figure fell forward among them fainting, and
knocked out the matches.
"Hullo!" cried Plummer. "Hold up! Who are you?"
"Let's get him up into the open," said Hewitt. "He can't tell you who he
is for a bit, but I believe he's Laker."
"Laker! What, here?"
"I think so. Steady up the steps. Don't bump him. He's pretty sore
already, I expect."
Truly the man was a pitiable sight. His hair and face were caked in dust
and blood, and his finger-nails were torn and bleeding. Water was sent
for at once, and brandy.
"Well," said Plummer hazily, looking first at the unconscious prisoner
and then at Hewitt, "but what about the swag?"
"You'll have to find that yourself," Hewitt replied. "I think my share
of the case is about finished. I only act for the Guarantee Society, you
know, and if Laker's proved innocent----"
"Innocent! How?"
"Well, this is what took place, as near as I can figure it. You'd better
undo his collar, I think"--this to the men. "What I believe has happened
is this. There has been a very clever and carefully prepared conspiracy
here, and Laker has not been the criminal, but the victim."
"Been robbed himself, you mean? But how? Where?"
"Yesterday morning, before he had been to more than three banks--here,
in fact."
"But then how? You're all wrong. We _know_ he made the whole round, and
did all the collection. And then Palmer's office, and all, and the
umbrella; why----"
The man lay still unconscious. "Don't raise his head," Hewitt said. "And
one of you had best fetch a doctor. He's had a terrible shock." Then
turning to Plummer he went on, "As to _how_ they managed the job I'll
tell you what I think. First it struck some very clever person that a
deal of money might be got by robbing a walk-clerk from a bank. This
clever person was one of a clever gang of thieves--perhaps the Hoxton
Row gang, as I think I hinted. Now you know quite as well as I do that
such a gang will spend any amount of time over a job that promises a big
haul, and that for such a job they can always command the necessary
capital. There are many most respectable persons living in good style in
the suburbs whose chief business lies in financing such ventures, and
taking the chief share of the proceeds. Well, this is their plan,
carefully and intelligently carried out. They watch Laker, observe the
round he takes, and his habits. They find that there is only one of the
clerks with whom he does business that he is much acquainted with, and
that this clerk is in a bank which is commonly second in Laker's round.
The sharpest man among them--and I don't think there's a man in London
could do this as well as young Sam Gunter--studies Laker's dress and
habits just as an actor studies a character. They take this office and
cellar, as we have seen, _because it is next door to a bank whose front
entrance is being altered_--a fact which Laker must know from his daily
visits. The smart man--Gunter, let us say, and I have other reasons for
believing it to be he--makes up precisely like Laker, false moustache,
dress, and everything, and waits here with the rest of the gang. One of
the gang is dressed in a blue coat with brass buttons, like a
hall-porter in Buller's bank. Do you see?"
"Yes, I think so. It's pretty clear now."
"A confederate watches at the top of the court, and the moment Laker
turns in from Cornhill--having already been, mind, at the only bank
where he was so well known that the disguised thief would not have
passed muster--as soon as he turns in from Cornhill, I say, a signal is
given, and that board"--pointing to that with the white letters--"is
hung on the hook in the doorpost. The sham porter stands beside it, and
as Laker approaches says, 'This way in, sir, this morning. The front
way's shut for the alterations.' Laker, suspecting nothing, and
supposing that the firm have made a temporary entrance through the empty
house, enters. He is seized when well along the corridor, the board is
taken down and the door shut. Probably he is stunned by a blow on the
head--see the blood now. They take his wallet and all the cash he has
already collected. Gunter takes the wallet and also the umbrella, since
it has Laker's initials, and is therefore distinctive. He simply
completes the walk in the character of Laker, beginning with Buller,
Clayton & Ladds's just round the corner. It is nothing but routine work,
which is quickly done, and nobody notices him particularly--it is the
bills they examine. Meanwhile this unfortunate fellow is locked up in
the cellar here, right at the end of the underground corridor, where he
can never make himself heard in the street, and where next him are only
the empty cellars of the deserted house next door. The thieves shut the
front door and vanish. The rest is plain. Gunter, having completed the
round, and bagged some L15,000 or more, spends a few pounds in a tourist
ticket at Palmer's as a blind, being careful to give Laker's name. He
leaves the umbrella at Charing Cross in a conspicuous place right
opposite the lost property office, where it is sure to be seen, and so
completes his false trail."
"Then who are the people at 197, Hackworth Road?"
"The capitalist lives there--the financier, and probably the directing
spirit of the whole thing. Merston's the name he goes by there, and I've
no doubt he cuts a very imposing figure in chapel every Sunday. He'll be
worth picking up--this isn't the first thing he's been in, I'll
warrant."
"But--but what about Laker's mother and Miss Shaw?"
"Well, what? The poor women are nearly out of their minds with terror
and shame, that's all, but though they may think Laker a criminal,
they'll never desert him. They've been following us about with a feeble,
vague sort of hope of being able to baffle us in some way or help him if
we caught him, or something, poor things. Did you ever hear of a real
woman who'd desert a son or a lover merely because he was a criminal?
But here's the doctor. When he's attended to him will you let your men
take Laker home? I must hurry and report to the Guarantee Society, I
think."
"But," said the perplexed Plummer, "where did you get your clue? You
must have had a tip from some one, you know--you can't have done it by
clairvoyance. What gave you the tip?"
"The _Daily Chronicle_."
"The _what_?"
"The _Daily Chronicle_. Just take a look at the 'agony column' in
yesterday morning's issue, and read the message to 'Yob'--to Gunter, in
fact. That's all."
By this time a cab was waiting in Lombard Street, and two of Plummer's
men, under the doctor's directions, carried Laker to it. No sooner,
however, were they in the court than the two watching women threw
themselves hysterically upon Laker, and it was long before they could be
persuaded that he was not being taken to gaol. The mother shrieked
aloud, "My boy--my boy! Don't take him! Oh, don't take him! They've
killed my boy! Look at his head--oh, his head!" and wrestled desperately
with the men, while Hewitt attempted to soothe her, and promised to
allow her to go in the cab with her son if she would only be quiet. The
younger woman made no noise, but she held one of Laker's limp hands in
both hers.
Hewitt and I dined together that evening, and he gave me a full account
of the occurrences which I have here set down. Still, when he was
finished I was not able to see clearly by what process of reasoning he
had arrived at the conclusions that gave him the key to the mystery, nor
did I understand the "agony column" message, and I said so.
"In the beginning," Hewitt explained, "the thing that struck me as
curious was the fact that Laker was said to have given his own name at
Palmer's in buying his ticket. Now, the first thing the greenest and
newest criminal thinks of is changing his name, so that the giving of
his own name seemed unlikely to begin with. Still, he _might_ have made
such a mistake, as Plummer suggested when he said that criminals usually
make a mistake somewhere--as they do, in fact. Still, it was the least
likely mistake I could think of--especially as he actually didn't wait
to be asked for his name, but blurted it out when it wasn't really
wanted. And it was conjoined with another rather curious mistake, or
what would have been a mistake if the thief were Laker. Why should he
conspicuously display his wallet--such a distinctive article--for the
clerk to see and note? Why rather had he not got rid of it before
showing himself? Suppose it should be somebody personating Laker? In any
case I determined not to be prejudiced by what I had heard of Laker's
betting. A man may bet without being a thief.
"But, again, supposing it _were_ Laker? Might he not have given his
name, and displayed his wallet, and so on, while buying a ticket for
France, in order to draw pursuit after himself in that direction while
he made off in another, in another name, and disguised? Each supposition
was plausible. And, in either case, it might happen that whoever was
laying this trail would probably lay it a little farther. Charing Cross
was the next point, and there I went. I already had it from Plummer that
Laker had not been recognised there. Perhaps the trail had been laid in
some other manner. Something left behind with Laker's name on it,
perhaps? I at once thought of the umbrella with his monogram, and,
making a long shot, asked for it at the lost property office, as you
know. The guess was lucky. In the umbrella, as you know, I found that
scrap of paper. That, I judged, had fallen in from the hand of the man
carrying the umbrella. He had torn the paper in half in order to fling
it away, and one piece had fallen into the loosely flapping umbrella. It
is a thing that will often happen with an omnibus ticket, as you may
have noticed. Also, it was proved that the umbrella _was_ unrolled when
found, and rolled immediately after. So here was a piece of paper
dropped by the person who had brought the umbrella to Charing Cross and
left it. I got the whole advertisement, as you remember, and I studied
it. 'Yob' is back-slang for 'boy,' and it is often used in nicknames to
denote a young smooth-faced thief. Gunter, the man I suspect, as a
matter of fact, is known as the 'Hoxton Yob.' The message, then, was
addressed to some one known by such a nickname. Next, 'H.R. shop roast.'
Now, in thieves' slang, to 'roast' a thing or a person is to watch it or
him. They call any place a shop--notably, a thieves' den. So that this
meant that some resort--perhaps the 'Hoxton Row shop'--was watched. 'You
1st then to-night' would be clearer, perhaps, when the rest was
understood. I thought a little over the rest, and it struck me that it
must be a direction to some other house, since one was warned of as
being watched. Besides, there was the number, 197, and 'red bl.,' which
would be extremely likely to mean 'red blinds,' by way of clearly
distinguishing the house. And then the plan of the thing was plain. You
have noticed, probably, that the map of London which accompanies the
Post Office Directory is divided, for convenience of reference, into
numbered squares?"
"Yes. The squares are denoted by letters along the top margin and
figures down the side. So that if you consult the directory, and find a
place marked as being in D 5, for instance, you find vertical divisions
D, and run your finger down it till it intersects horizontal division 5,
and there you are."
"Precisely. I got my Post Office Directory, and looked for 'O 2.' It was
in North London, and took in parts of Abney Park Cemetery and Clissold
Park; '2nd top' was the next sign. Very well, I counted the second
street intersecting the top of the square--counting, in the usual way,
from the left. That was Lordship Road. Then, '3rd L.' From the point
where Lordship Road crossed the top of the square, I ran my finger down
the road till it came to '3rd L,' or, in other words, the third turning
on the left--Hackworth Road. So there we were, unless my guesses were
altogether wrong. 'Straight mon' probably meant 'straight moniker'--that
is to say, the proper name, a thief's _real_ name, in contradistinction
to that he may assume. I turned over the directory till I found
Hackworth Road, and found that No. 197 was inhabited by a Mr. Merston.
From the whole thing I judged this. There was to have been a meeting at
the 'H.R. shop,' but that was found, at the last moment, to be watched
by the police for some purpose, so that another appointment was made for
this house in the suburbs. 'You 1st. Then to-night'--the person
addressed was to come first, and the others in the evening. They were to
ask for the householder's 'straight moniker'--Mr. Merston. And they were
to come one at a time.
"Now, then, what was this? What theory would fit it? Suppose this were a
robbery, directed from afar by the advertiser. Suppose, on the day
before the robbery, it was found that the place fixed for division of
spoils were watched. Suppose that the principal thereupon advertised (as
had already been agreed in case of emergency) in these terms. The
principal in the actual robbery--the 'Yob' addressed--was to go first
with the booty. The others were to come after, one at a time. Anyway,
the thing was good enough to follow a little further, and I determined
to try No. 197, Hackworth Road. I have told you what I found there, and
how it opened my eyes. I went, of course, merely on chance, to see what
I might chance to see. But luck favoured, and I happened on that
coat--brought back rolled up, on the evening after the robbery,
doubtless by the thief who had used it, and flung carelessly into the
handiest cupboard. _That_ was this gang's mistake."
"Well, I congratulate you," I said. "I hope they'll catch the rascals."
"I rather think they will, now they know where to look. They can
scarcely miss Merston, anyway. There has been very little to go upon in
this case, but I stuck to the thread, however slight, and it brought me
through. The rest of the case, of course, is Plummer's. It was a
peculiarity of my commission that I could equally well fulfil it by
catching the man with all the plunder, or by proving him innocent.
Having done the latter, my work was at an end, but I left it where
Plummer will be able to finish the job handsomely."
Plummer did. Sam Gunter, Merston, and one accomplice were taken--the
first and last were well known to the police--and were identified by
Laker. Merston, as Hewitt had suspected, had kept the lion's share for
himself, so that altogether, with what was recovered from him and the
other two, nearly L11,000 was saved for Messrs. Liddle, Neal & Liddle.
Merston, when taken, was in the act of packing up to take a holiday
abroad, and there cash his notes, which were found, neatly packed in
separate thousands, in his portmanteau. As Hewitt had predicted, his
gas bill _was_ considerably less next quarter, for less than half-way
through it he began a term in gaol.
As for Laker, he was reinstated, of course, with an increase of salary
by way of compensation for his broken head. He had passed a terrible
twenty-six hours in the cellar, unfed and unheard. Several times he had
become insensible, and again and again he had thrown himself madly
against the door, shouting and tearing at it, till he fell back
exhausted, with broken nails and bleeding fingers. For some hours before
the arrival of his rescuers he had been sitting in a sort of stupor,
from which he was suddenly aroused by the sound of voices and footsteps.
He was in bed for a week, and required a rest of a month in addition
before he could resume his duties. Then he was quietly lectured by Mr.
Neal as to betting, and, I believe, dropped that practice in
consequence. I am told that he is "at the counter" now--a considerable
promotion.