THE FIRST FIND
'Yes,' said George thoughtfully, 'a day or two ought to unravel this
matter. We must first, however, before going to the Police, find out as
much as we can ourselves. Let me take up the case by myself for a bit.'
'No--no,' Checkley grumbled. 'Police first. Catch the man first.'
'Put aside everything,' said the Chief, 'everything, George. Forget
everything until you have found out the mystery of the conspiracy.'
'It looks to me like a Long Firm,' George went on--'a Long Firm with a
sham name and a respectable address. Of course there is no such person,
really, as Edmund Gray.'
'It is not only the loss--perhaps, let us hope'--Mr. Dering
sighed--'only a temporary loss; if a real loss, then a most terrible
blow--not only that, but it is the sense of insecurity. No one ever
found out about that cheque--and here are the notes in the safe all the
time.'
'He put 'em in,' said Checkley.
'This is the second time--and the same name still--Edmund Gray. It fills
me with uneasiness--I am terrified, George. I know not what may be the
next blow--what may be taken from me--my mortgages--my houses--my
land--everything. Go. I can do the work of the office--all the work--by
myself. But this work I cannot do. I am not able to think about it.
These thoughts overpower me and cloud my reason.'
'Well,' said George, 'I will do what I can. I don't suppose there is any
Edmund Gray at all: but one must try to find out. There can be no harm
in paying a visit to Gray's Inn. If the thing had been done yesterday,
it would be necessary to strike at once with a warrant for the arrest of
the said Edmund Gray. As it is four months since the last robbery, there
can be small harm in the delay of a day or two. I will go and inquire a
little.'
Nothing easier than to inquire. There was the man's address: everybody
knows Gray's Inn: everybody knows South Square. The place is only ten
minutes' walk from Lincoln's Inn. George took his hat, walked over and
proceeded straight to No. 22, expecting to find no such name on the
door-posts. On the contrary, there it was. '2nd Floor, Mr. Edmund Gray,'
among the other occupants of the staircase. He mounted the stairs. On
the second floor right was the name over the door, 'Mr. Edmund Gray.'
But the outer door was closed. That is a sign that the tenant of the
Chambers is either not at home or not visible. On the first floor were
the offices of a Firm of Solicitors. He sent in his card. The name of
Dering and Son commands the respectful attention of every solicitor in
London. One of the partners received him. The firm of Dering and Son was
anxious to see Mr. Edmund Gray, who had the Chambers overhead. At what
hours was Mr. Edmund Gray generally in his rooms? Nobody knew, not
either of the partners, not any of the clerks. He might have been met
going up and down the stairs, but nobody knew him by sight or anything
about him. This at first sight seemed suspicious; afterwards George
reflected that men may live for years on the same staircase and never
know anything about each other. Men who live in Gray's Inn do not visit
each other: there is little neighbourly spirit among men in Chambers,
but rather an unspoken distrust.
'But,' said the partner, 'I can tell you who is his landlord. He does
not take the rooms of the Inn direct, but as we do, from one who has
several sets on a long lease, and sublets the rooms. They may know
something about the man at the Steward's office across the Square. If
not, the landlord will certainly know.'
George asked if Edmund Gray was newly arrived. No. It appeared that he
had been in the Inn for a long time. 'But then,' his informant added,
'he may have been here a hundred years for all we know: we never think
of our neighbours in Chambers. Opposite is a man whose name has been
over the door as long as I can remember anything. I don't know who he is
or what is his business. I don't even know him by sight. So with Mr.
Edmund Gray. If I were to meet him on the stairs, I should not be any
the wiser. You see, I am only here in the daytime. Now, the other man on
the second floor I do know something about, because he is a coach and
was a Fellow of my College. And the man in the garrets I hear about
occasionally, because he is an old barrister who sometimes defends a
prisoner.'
At the Steward's office George put the same question. 'I am a
solicitor,' he said. 'Here is my card. I am most anxious to see Mr.
Edmund Gray, of No. 22. Could you save me time by letting me know at
what hour he is in his Chambers?'
They could tell him nothing. Mr. Gray was not a tenant of the Inn. Very
likely he was a residential tenant who came home in the evenings after
business.
Everything learned is a step gained. Whether Edmund Gray was a man or a
Long Firm, the name had been on the door for many years. But--many
years?--could a confederacy of swindlers go on for many years,
especially if they undertook such mighty schemes for plunder as this
business?
Next he went to the address of the landlord. He was a house agent in
Bloomsbury, and apparently a person of respectability.
'If you could tell me,' George began with the same question, 'at what
hours I could find your tenant in his Chambers; or if you could give me
his business address, we should be very greatly obliged. We want to find
him at once--to-day, if possible, on very important business.'
'Well, I am sorry, very sorry--but--in fact, I don't know anything about
my tenant's hours, nor can I give you his place of business. I believe
he has no business.'
'Oh! But you took him as a tenant. You must have had some references.'
'Certainly. And upon that I can satisfy you very shortly.' He opened a
great book and turned over the pages. 'Here it is--to No. 22, South
Square, Gray's Inn, Second floor, north side--Edmund Gray, gentleman.
Rent 40_l_. a year. Date of taking the rooms, February, 1882, at the
half-quarter. Reference, Messrs. Dering and Son, Solicitors, New Square,
Lincoln's Inn.'
'Why--you mean that he referred to us--to Messrs. Dering and Son--in the
year 1882!'
'That is so. Would you like to see the letter which we received on
application? Wait a moment.' He rang the bell, and a clerk appeared, to
whom he gave instructions. 'I am bound to say,' the landlord went on,
'that a more satisfactory tenant than Mr. Gray does not exist. He pays
his rent regularly by Post-office order every quarter, on the day before
quarter day.'
'Oh! I wonder----' But he stopped, because to begin wondering is always
futile, especially at so early a stage. When there are already
accumulated facts to go upon, and not till then, wondering becomes the
putting together of the puzzle.
'Well, here is the letter. "Gentlemen"'--the house agent read the letter
received on application to the reference-'"In reply to your letter of
the 13th, we beg to inform you that Mr. Edmund Gray is a client of ours,
a gentleman of independent means, and that he is quite able to pay any
reasonable rent for residence or Chambers.--Your obedient servants,
DERING AND SON."--I suppose,' he added, 'that a man doesn't want a
better reference than your own?'
'No; certainly not.' George looked at the letter. It presented as to
handwriting exactly the same points of likeness and of difference as all
the other letters in this strange case: the body of the letter
apparently written in the hand of Mr. Dering; that is, so as to deceive
everybody: the signature, with one or two small omissions. 'Certainly
not,' he repeated. 'With such a reference, of course, you did not
hesitate. Did you ever see Mr. Gray?'
'Certainly. I have seen him often. First when he was getting his rooms
furnished, and afterwards on various occasions.'
'What kind of a man is he to look at?'
'Elderly. Not exactly the kind of man you'd expect to have Chambers.
Mostly, they're young ones who like the freedom. An elderly gentleman:
pleasant in his manners: smiling and affable: gray-haired.'
'Oh!' Then there was a real Edmund Gray of ten years' standing in the
Inn, who lived or had Chambers at the number stated in the forged
letters.
'I suppose,' said the house agent, 'that my respectable tenant has not
done anything bad?'
'N-no--not to my knowledge. His name occurs in rather a disagreeable
case. Would you be so very kind as to let him know, in case you should
meet him--but of course we shall write to him--that we are most anxious
to see him?'
This the landlord readily promised. 'There is another person,' he said,
'who can tell you a great deal more than anybody else. That is his
laundress. I don't know who looks after him, but you can find out at
the Inn. The policeman will know. Go and ask him.'
In the game of battledore and shuttlecock, the latter has no chance
except to take the thing coolly, without temper. George was the
shuttlecock. He was hit back into Gray's Inn--this time into the arms of
the policeman.
'Well, sir,' said the guardian of the peace, 'I do not know anything
about the gentleman myself. If he was one of the noisy ones, I should
know him. But he isn't, and therefore I have never heard of him. But if
he lives at No. 22, I can tell you who does his rooms; and it's old Mrs.
Cripps, and she lives in Leather Lane.'
This street, which is now, comparatively speaking, purged and cleansed,
is not yet quite the ideal spot for one who would have pure air and
cleanliness combined with godliness of conversation. However, individual
liberty is nowhere more absolutely free and uncontrolled than in Leather
Lane.
Mrs. Cripps lived on the top floor, nearest to Heaven, of which she
ought to be thinking because she was now old and near her end. She was
so old that she was quite past her work, and only kept on Mr. Gray's
rooms because he never slept there, and they gave her no trouble except
to go to them in the morning with a duster and to drop asleep for an
hour or so. What her one gentleman gave her, moreover, was all she had
to live upon.
Though the morning was warm, she was sitting over the fire watching a
small pan, in which she was stewing a savoury mess, consisting of a
'block ornament' with onions, carrots, and turnips. Perhaps she was
thinking--the poor old soul--of the days gone by--gone by for fifty
years--when she was young and wore a feather in her hat. Old ladies of
her class do not think much about vanished beauty, but they think a good
deal about vanished feathers and vanished hats: they remember the old
free carriage in the streets with the young friends, and the careless
laugh, and the ready jest. It is the ancient gentlewoman who remembers
the vanished beauty, and thinks of what she was fifty years ago.
Mrs. Cripps heard a step on the narrow stair leading to her room--a
manly step. It mounted higher and more slowly, because the stairs were
dark as well as narrow. Then the visitor's hat knocked against the door.
He opened it, and stood there looking in. A gentleman! Not a District
Visitor or a Sister trying to persuade her to early Church--nor yet the
clergyman--a young gentleman.
'You are Mrs. Cripps?' he asked. 'The policeman at Gray's Inn directed
me here. You are laundress, I believe, to Mr. Edmund Gray of No. 22?'
'Suppose I am, sir,' she replied suspiciously. A laundress is like the
Hall Porter of a Club: you must not ask her about any of her gentlemen.
'I have called to see Mr. Edmund Gray on very important business. I
found his door shut. Will you kindly tell me at what hours he is
generally in his Chambers?'
She shook her head: but she held out her hand.
The young gentleman placed half a sovereign in her palm. Her fingers
closed over the coin. She clutched it, and she hid it away in some
secret fold of her ragged dress. There is no woman so ragged, so
dropping to pieces with shreds and streamers and tatters, but she can
find a safe hiding-place, somewhere in her rags, for a coin or for
anything else that is small or precious.
'I never tell tales about my gentlemen,' she said, 'especially when they
are young and handsome, like you. A pore laundress has eyes and ears and
hands, but she hasn't got a tongue. If she had, there might be terrible,
terrible trouble. Oh! dear--yes. But Mr. Gray isn't a young gentleman.
He's old, and it isn't the same thing.'
'Then,' said George, 'how and when can I find him?'
'I was coming to that. You can't find him. Sometimes he comes, and
sometimes he doesn't come.'
'Oh! He doesn't live in the rooms, then!'
'No. He doesn't live in the rooms. He uses the rooms sometimes.'
'What does he use them for?'
'How should I know? All the gentlemen do things with pens and paper. How
should I know what they do? They make their money with their pens and
paper. I dun know how they do it. I suppose Mr. Gray is making his money
like the rest of them.'
Oh! he goes to the Chambers and writes?'
'Sometimes it's weeks and weeks and months and months before he comes at
all. But always my money regular and beforehand sent in an envelope and
a postal order.'
'Well, what is his private address? I suppose he lives in the country?'
'I don't know where he lives. I know nothing about him. I go there every
morning, and I do the room. That's all I know.'
There was no more information to be obtained. Sometimes he came to the
Inn; sometimes he stayed away for weeks and weeks, and for months and
months.
'I might ha' told you more, young gentleman,' murmured the old woman,
'and I might ha' told you less. P'raps you'll come again.'
He went back to Lincoln's Inn, and set down his facts.
First, there was a forgery in the year 1882, in which the name of Edmund
Gray was used. Next, in the series of forgeries just discovered, not
only was the name of Edmund Gray used throughout, but the handwriting of
the letters and cheques was exactly the same as that of the first
cheque, with the same peculiarities in the signature. This could hardly
be a coincidence. The same man must have written the whole.
Then, who was Edmund Gray?
He was a real personage--a living man--not a Firm--one known to the
landlord of the Chambers, and to the laundress, if to nobody else. He
did not live in the Chambers, but he used them for some business
purposes; he sometimes called there and wrote. What did he write? Where
was he, and what was he doing, when he was not at the Chambers? He might
be one--leader or follower--of some secret gang. One has read of such
gangs, especially in French novels, where the leaders are noble Dukes of
the first rank, and Princesses--young, lovely, of the highest fashion.
Why should there not be such a gang in London? Clever conspirators could
go a very long way before they were even suspected. In this civilisation
of cheques and registered shares and official transfers, property is so
much defended that it is difficult to break through the armour. But
there must be weak places in that armour. It must be possible for the
wit of man to devise some plan by means of which property can be
attacked successfully. Had he struck such a conspiracy?
Thus. A man calling himself Edmund Gray gets a lease of Chambers by
means of a forged letter in answer to a reference. It is convenient for
certain conspirators, hereinafter called the company, to have an
address, though it may never be used. The conspiracy begins by forging
a cheque to his order for 720_l_. That was at the outset, when the
conspirators were young. It was found dangerous, and the notes were
therefore replaced in the safe. Note, that the company, through one or
other of its members, has access to that safe. This might perhaps be by
means of a key--in the evening, after office hours: or by some one who
was about the place all day.
Very good. The continued connection of some member of the Firm with
Dering and Son is proved by the subsequent proceedings. After eight
years, the company having matured their machinery, and perhaps worked
out with success other enterprises, return to their first quarry, where
they have the advantage of access to the letters, and can look over
their disposition. They are thus enabled to conduct their successive
_coups_, each bigger than the one before. And for four months the thing
remains undiscovered. Having the certificates in their hands, what was
to prevent them from selling the whole and dividing the proceeds?
Nothing. Yet, in such a case they would disappear, and here was Edmund
Gray still fearlessly at large. Why had he not got clear away long
before?
Again--all the correspondence concerning Edmund Gray was carried on
between the office and the brokers. There were no letters from Edmund
Gray at all. Suppose it should be found impossible to connect Edmund
Gray with the transactions carried on in his name. Suppose the real
Edmund Gray were to deny any knowledge at all of the transactions.
Suppose he were to say that ten years before he had brought a letter of
introduction to Mr. Dering, and knew nothing more about him. Well--but
the certificates themselves--what about them? Their possession would
have to be accounted for. So he turned the matter over and over and
arrived at nothing, not even the next step to take.
He went back to the Chief and reported what he had discovered: the
existence of an Edmund Gray--the letter of recommendation to the
landlord. 'Another forgery,' groaned Mr. Dering.
'It is done in the office,' said George. 'It is all done in the
office--letters--cheques--everything.'
'The office,' Checkley repeated. 'No doubt about it.'
'Give up everything else, George,' said Mr. Dering eagerly 'everything
else. Find out--find out. Employ detectives. Spend money as much as you
please. I am on a volcano--I know not what may be taken from me next.
Only find out, my partner, my dear partner--find out.'
When George was gone, Checkley went after him and opened the door
mysteriously, to assure himself that no one was listening.
'What are you going on like that for, Checkley?' asked his master
irritably. 'Is it another forgery? It rains forgeries.'
'No--no. Look here. Don't trouble too much about it. Don't try to think
how it was done. Don't talk about the other man. Look here. You've sent
that young gentleman to find out this business. Well--mark my words: he
won't. He won't, I say. He'll make a splash, but he won't find anything.
Who found out the last job?'
'You said you did. But nothing was proved.'
'I found that out. Plenty of proof there was. Look here'--his small eyes
twinkled under his shaggy eyebrows--'I'll find out this job as well, see
if I don't. Why----' He rubbed his hands. 'Ho! ho! I _have found out_.
Don't ask me--don't put a single question. But--I've got 'em--oh! I've
got 'em. I've got 'em for you--as they say--on toast.'