Inspector French's Greatest Case (2 page)

“Yes, but his wife is an invalid, bedridden. He has two daughters. One lives at home and keeps house, the other is married and lives somewhere in town.”

“We shall have to send round word. You go, Carson.” He turned to one of the two other members of his quartet, constables in uniform. “Don't tell the old lady. If the daughter's not there, wait until she comes in. And put yourself at her disposal. If she wants her sister sent for, you go. You, Jackson, go down to the front door and let the Yard man up. Alcorn, remain here.” These dispositions made, he rang up the Yard and delivered his message, then turned once more to the young clerk.

“You say, Mr. Orchard, that no one could tell what, if anything, is missing from the safe, except Mr. Duke, the sole active partner. We ought to have Mr. Duke here at once. Is he on the 'phone?”

“Gerard, 1417B,” Orchard answered promptly. The young man's agitation had somewhat subsided, and he was following with interest the actions of the police, and admiring the confident, competent way in which they had taken charge.

The official once again took down the receiver from top of the desk, and put through the call. “Is Mr. Duke there?… Yes, say a superintendent of police.” There was a short silence, and then the man went on. “Is that Mr. Duke?… I'm speaking from your office in Hatton Garden. I'm sorry, sir, to tell you that a tragedy has taken place here. Your chief clerk, Mr. Gething, is dead. … Yes, sir. He's lying in your private office here, and the circumstances point to murder. The safe is standing open, and—Yes, sir, I'm afraid so—I don't know, of course, about the contents. … No, but you couldn't tell from that. … I was going to suggest that you come down at once. I've 'phoned Scotland Yard for a man. … Very good, sir, we shall be here when you come.” He replaced the receiver and turned to the others.

“Mr. Duke is coming down at once. There is no use in our standing here. Come to the outer office and we'll find ourselves chairs.”

It was cold in the general office, the fire evidently having been out for some time, but they sat down there to wait, the Superintendent pointing out that the furniture in the other room must not be touched. Of the four, only the Superintendent seemed at ease and self-satisfied. Orchard was visibly nervous and apprehensive and fidgeted restlessly, Constable Alcorn, slightly embarrassed by the society in which he found himself, sat rigidly on the edge of his chair staring straight in front of him, while the doctor was frankly bored and anxious to get home. Conversation languished, though spasmodic attempts were made by the Superintendent to keep it going, and none of the quartet was sorry when the sound of footsteps on the stairs created a diversion.

Of the three men who entered the room, two, carrying black leather cases, were obviously police constables in plain clothes. The third was a stout man in tweeds, rather under middle height, with a clean shaven, good-humoured face and dark blue eyes, which, though keen, twinkled as if at some perennially fresh private joke. His air was easy-going and leisurely, and he looked the type of man who could enjoy a good dinner and a good smoke-room story to follow.

“Ah, Superintendent, how are you?” he exclaimed, holding out his hand cordially. “It's some time since we met. Not since that little episode in the Limehouse hairdresser's. That was a nasty business. And now you've some other scheme for keeping a poor man from his hard-earned rest, eh?”

The Superintendent seemed to find the other's easy familiarity out of place.

“Good-evening, Inspector,” he answered with official abruptness. “You know Dr. Jordan?—Inspector French of the C.I.D. And this is Mr. Orchard, a clerk in this office, who discovered the crime.”

Inspector French greeted them genially. Behind his back at the Yard they called him “Soapy Joe” because of the reliance he placed on the suavity of his manners “I know your name, of course, Doctor, but I don't think we have ever met. Pleased to make your acquaintance, Mr. Orchard.” He subsided into a chair and went on: “Perhaps, Superintendent, you would just give me a hint of what this is all about before we go any further.”

The facts already learned were soon recited. French listened carefully, and annexing the constable's notebook, complimented that worthy on his industry. “Well,” he beamed on them, “I suppose we'd better have a look round inside before Mr. Duke turns up.”

The party moved to the inner room, where French, his hands in his pockets, stood motionless for some minutes, surveying the scene.

“Nothing has been touched, of course?” he asked.

“Nothing. From what they tell me, both Mr. Orchard and Constable Alcorn have been most circumspect.”

“Excellent; then we may go ahead. Get your camera rigged, Giles, and take the usual photos I think, gentlemen, we may wait in the other room until the photographs are taken. It won't be long.”

Though French had tactfully bowed his companions out, he did not himself follow them, but kept prowling about the inner office, closely inspecting its contents, though touching nothing. In a few minutes the camera was ready, and a number of flashlight photographs were taken of the body, the safe, every part of both offices, and even the stairs and hall. In the amazing way in which tales of disaster travel, news of the crime had already leaked out, and a small crowd of the curious hung, open-mouthed, about the door.

Scarcely had the camera been put away, when the proceedings were interrupted by a fresh arrival. Hurried steps were heard ascending the stairs, and a tall, thin, extremely well-dressed old gentleman entered the room. Though evidently on the wrong side of sixty, he was still a handsome man, with strong, well-formed features, white hair, and a good carriage. Under normal circumstances he would have presented a dignified and kindly appearance, but now his face was drawn into an expression of horror and distress, and his hasty movements also betokened his anxiety. On seeing so many strangers, he hesitated. The Inspector stepped forward.

“Mr. Duke, sir? I am Inspector French of the Criminal Investigation Department of New Scotland Yard. I very much regret to confirm the news which you have already heard, that your head clerk, Mr. Gething, has been murdered, and I fear also that your safe may have been burgled.”

It was evident that the old gentleman was experiencing strong emotion, but he controlled it and spoke quietly enough.

“This is terrible news, Inspector. I can hardly believe that poor old Gething is gone. I came at once when I heard. Tell me the details. Where did it happen?”

French pointed to the open door.

“In here, sir, in your private office. Everything is still exactly as it was found.”

Mr. Duke moved forward, then on seeing the body, stopped and gave a low cry of horror.

“Oh, poor old fellow!” he exclaimed. “It's awful to see him lying there.
Awful!
I tell you, Inspector, I've lost a real friend, loyal and true and dependable. Can't he be lifted up? I can't bear to see him like that.” His gaze passed on to the safe. “And the safe! Merciful heavens, Inspector! Is anything gone? Tell me at once, I must know! It seems heartless to think of such a thing with that good old fellow lying there, but after all I'm only human.”

“I haven't touched the safe, but we'll do so directly,” the Inspector answered. “Was there much in it?”

“About three-and-thirty thousand pounds worth of diamonds were in that lower drawer, as well as a thousand in notes,” groaned the other. “Get the body moved, will you, and let us look.”

French whistled, then he turned to his men.

“Get that table cleared outside there, and lift the body on to it,” he ordered; then to the doctor he added, “Perhaps, Doctor, you could make your examination now?”

The remains were lifted reverently and carried from the room. Mr. Duke turned impatiently to the safe, but the Inspector stopped him.

“A moment, sir, if you please. I am sorry to ask you to stretch your patience a little longer, but before you touch the safe I must test it for finger prints. You see the obvious necessity?”

“I would wait all night if it would help you to get on the track of the scoundrels who have done this,” the old gentleman answered grimly. “Go on in your own way. I can restrain myself.”

With a word of approval, Inspector French fetched one of the cases brought by his assistants, and producing little boxes of French chalk and of lampblack, he proceeded to dust over the smooth portions of the safe, using white powder on a dark background and
vice versa
. On blowing off the surplus powder, he pointed triumphantly to a number of finger prints, explaining that the moisture deposited from the skin held the powder, which otherwise dropped off. Most of the marks were blurred and useless, but a few showed clearly the little loops and whorls and ridges of thumbs and fingers.

“Of course,” French went on, “these may all be quite useless. They may be those of persons who had a perfect right to open the safe—your own for instance. But if they belong to the thief, if there was one, their importance may be incalculable. See here now, I can open this drawer without touching any of them.”

Mr. Duke was clearly at the end of his patience, and he kept fidgeting about, clasping and unclasping his hands, and showing every sign of extreme impatience and uneasiness. As the drawer opened, he stepped forward and plunged in his hand.

“Gone!” he cried hoarsely. “They're all gone! Thirty-three thousand pounds' worth! Oh, my God! It means ruin.” He covered his face with his hands, then went on unsteadily. “I feared it, of course. I thought it must be the diamonds when the officer rang me up. I have been trying to face it ever since. I shouldn't care for myself. It's my daughter. To think of her exposed to want! But there. It is wicked of me to speak so who have only lost money, while poor old Gething has lost his life. Don't mind me, Inspector. Carry on. What I want most now is to hear of the arrest of the murderer and thief. If there is anything I can do to help in that, command me.”

He stood, a little stooped and with haggard face, but dignified even in his grief. French in his pleasant, kindly way tried to reassure him.

“Now, you don't need to give up heart, sir,” he advised. “Diamonds are not the easiest things to dispose of, and we're right on to the loss at once. Before the thief can pass them on we shall have all the channels under observation. With any ordinary luck, you'll get them back. They were not insured?”

“Part of them only. About nineteen thousand pounds' worth were insured. It was my cursed folly that the rest were not. Gething advised it, but I had never lost anything, and I wanted to save the money. You understand our trade has been difficult since the war, and our profits were not the same as formerly. Every little has counted, and we have had to economise.”

“At worst, then, that is £14,000 gone?”

“If the insurance companies pay in full, that is all, besides the thousand in notes. But, Inspector, it is too much. To meet my share of the loss will beggar me.” He shook his head despondently. “But never mind my affairs in the meantime. Don't, I beg of you, lose any time in getting after the criminal.”

“You are right, sir. If, then, you will sit down there for a few minutes I'll get rid of the others, and then I shall ask you for some information.”

The old gentleman dropped wearily into a chair while French went to the outer office. The policeman who had been sent to inform Gething's family of the tragedy had just returned. French looked at him inquiringly.

“I called, sir, at the address you gave me,” he reported. “Miss Gething was there, and I told her what had occurred. She was considerably upset, and asked me if I could get a message to her sister and brother-in-law at 12 Deeley Terrace, Hawkins Street, in Battersea. I said I would fetch them for her. The brother-in-law, name of Gamage, was from home in Leeds, being a traveller for a firm of fur dealers, but Mrs. Gamage was there and I took her across. It seemed the old lady had wanted to know what was up, and Miss Gething had told her, and she had got some kind of stroke. They asked me to call a doctor, which I did. The two daughters say they can't get across here on account of being occupied with the mother.”

“So much the better,” French commented, and having added the names and addresses of Mr. and Mrs. Gamage to his list, he turned to the doctor.

“Well, Doctor,” he said pleasantly. “How do you get on?”

The doctor straightened himself up from his position over the corpse.

“I've done all I can here,” he answered. “I don't think there's any doubt the man was killed instantaneously by the blow on the head. The skull is fractured, apparently by some heavy, blunt weapon. I should think it was done from behind while the old fellow was stooping, possibly working at the safe, though that, perhaps, is your province.”

“I'm glad of the hint anyway. Now, gentlemen, I think that's all we can do to-night. Can your men remove the body, Superintendent? I want to stay for a moment to take a few measurements. You'll let me know to-morrow about the inquest? Mr. Orchard, you might stay a moment also; there is a question or two I want to ask you.”

The Superintendent had sent one of his men for a stretcher, and the remains were lifted on and carried slowly down to the waiting taxi. With an exchange of good-nights, the local men withdrew, leaving Inspector French, Mr. Duke, Orchard, and the two plain-clothes men from the Yard in charge of the premises.

When Inspector French ushered the clerk, Orchard, into the inner office, they found Mr. Duke pacing the floor with an expression of utter mystification imprinted on his features.

“I say, Inspector, here's a puzzle,” he cried. “I happened to look behind the safe door, and I find it has been opened with a key. I thought at first it had been broken or forced or the lock somehow picked. But I see it is unlocked.”