“That’s what I said.”
“Then, Superintendent,” said Thorndyke, “I think we have a working description of Mr. Sanders. Shall we take a note of Mr. Bert Wallis’s address?”
“I don’t see what you want with that,” Bunter objected. “He didn’t have nothing to do with the job. We used his work-shop, but he didn’t know what we wanted it for.”
“We realize that,” said Thorndyke, “and we have nothing whatever against him. But he may be able to give us some information on some other matters. By the way, speaking of that lead that you ladled out of the pot; what did you do with it?”
“Nothing. It wasn’t no good to us. We just left it in the pots for Bert, in case he had any use for it.”
“And Bert’s address is—?”
“Sixty-four Little Bolter Street, Walworth. But don’t you go worrying him. He don’t know nothing what he didn’t ought to.”
“You needn’t be afraid of our giving him any trouble,” said Miller. “We may not have to call on him at all, but, in any case it will only be a matter of a few questions which he won’t mind answering. And now, perhaps you’d like another fag to smoke while I am writing up your statement.”
Mr. Bunter accepted the “fag” readily and even hinted that the making of statements was dry work; on which Miller directed the sergeant to provide him with a further half-pint. Meanwhile, Thorndyke and I, having no concern with the formalities of the statement, went forth to stretch our legs and take a more detailed survey of the waterside. When we returned, the statement had been transcribed and duly signed by Mr. Frederick Bunter. And this brought to an end a very satisfactory day’s work.
XVII. THE UNCONSCIOUS RECEIVERS
During the return journey, the Superintendent showed a natural disposition to discuss the bearings of what we had learned from Bunter and reckon up his gains in the matter of evidence.
“It was a pleasant surprise to me,” said he, “to hear Bunter let himself go in the way he did. I was afraid, from what the sergeant said, that we shouldn’t get much out of him.”
“Yes,” said I, “he was rather unexpectedly expansive. I think what started him was your insistence that Wicks had got possession of the platinum, when he knew, as he supposed, that Bassett had planted the wrong weights. He was mightily staggered when you told him that the swag had been recovered. Still, we’ve a good deal more to learn yet before we shall know exactly what did happen.”
“That is true,” agreed Miller. “We’ve learned a lot from Bunter, but there is a lot more that we don’t know, and that Bunter doesn’t know. The question is, how much do we know? What do you say, Doctor? I should like to hear you sum up what we have gained by this statement, and tell us exactly how you think we stand.”
“My feeling,” said Thorndyke, “is that we have advanced our knowledge considerably. We have shortened the gap between the two parts of the problem which are known to us. When we came down, our knowledge of the platinum ceased with its disappearance from the cloak room and began again with its reappearance in the coffin. That was a big gap. But, as I have said, that gap is now to a great extent filled up. The problem that remains is to trace those lumps of alloy from Bert Wallis’s workshop to the false coffin; and I don’t think that we shall have much difficulty in doing it. But, before we proceed to count up our gains, we had better consider what it is that we want to know.
“Now, I remind you that there are two distinct problems, which we had better keep quite separate: the platinum robbery and the substituted coffin. Bunter’s statement bears on both, but we must not get them confused. Let us take the robbery first. My impression is that we now know all that we are likely to know about it. We all have probably formed certain suspicions; but suspicions are of no use unless there is some prospect of confirming them. And I do not think that there is. But, after all, is there any object in pursuing the matter? The two visible principals in the robbery are dead. As to poor Bunter, he was a mere spectator. He never knew any of the details.”
“He was, at least, an accessory after the fact,” said Miller.
“True. But is he worth powder and shot? Remember, this robbery was committed outside British jurisdiction. It will be an extradition case, unless you charge Bunter with complicity in the theft from the cloak room. It will be for the Latvian police to make the first move, which they probably will not, as the property has been recovered and the principal offenders are dead.”
Miller reluctantly admitted the cogency of this argument.
“Still,” he insisted, “there is more in it than that. Didn’t it strike you that certain parts of Bunter’s statement seemed to suggest the possibility that the robbery had been planned and engineered by our friend, Gimbler?”
“It did,” Thorndyke admitted. “That was what I meant when I spoke of certain suspicions that we have formed. It would be possible, from Bunter’s statement, to build up quite a plausible argument to prove that Gimbler was probably the moving spirit in that robbery. But it would be a mere academic exercise; very entertaining, but quite unprofitable, since the principals are dead and Bunter knows less than we do. There are no means by which our suspicions could be put to the proof or our knowledge enlarged.”
“I expect you are right,” Miller agreed, gloomily; “but I should like to hear the argument, all the same.”
“It will be a waste of time,” said Thorndyke. “However, our time is not very valuable just now, and there will be no harm in assembling the relevant facts. Let us take them in order.
“1. Bunter had been defended on a criminal charge by Gimbler.
“2. Bunter was introduced to Bassett by ‘a gentleman,’ who must have, therefore, known them both.
“3. A gentleman—apparently the same gentleman—introduced Wicks to Bassett, and, therefore, knew Wicks
“4. The said gentleman—assuming him to be the same in both cases—was, therefore, acquainted with three persons who are known to us as having been engaged in crime.
“5. One of these three persons—Bunter—was acquainted with Gimbler.
“6. The unknown ‘gentleman,’ who was acquainted with three criminals, took an active and helpful part in the robbery inasmuch as he introduced Bassett to persons who would be likely to agree to assist in the carrying out of a criminal enterprise.”
Those are the principal facts; and now as to their application. The appearance of this mysterious ‘gentleman,’ acquainted with criminals and apparently acting, at least as an accessory, strongly suggests someone in the background directing, and possibly planning, this robbery. This suggestion is reinforced by the fact that someone connected with the robbery must have had a substantial amount of capital available. The yacht, even if bought quite cheap, must have cost not less than a hundred pounds; and then there were the considerable out-goings in respect of the provisioning and fitting-out for the cruise, and the payments of wages which seem to have been made, apart from the final ‘bonus,’ which might have been paid out of the proceeds of the robbery. Of course, Bassett may have had the money; but it is not probable. Persons who get their livelihood by crime are not usually capitalists. There is a strong suggestion that the ‘gentleman’ was behind the robbery in a financial sense as well as furnishing the brains and management. This is all reasonable inference—though of no evidential value. But when we try to give a name to this mysterious ‘gentleman,’ our inferences become highly speculative. However, let us speculate. Let us propose the hypothesis that the hidden hand behind this robbery was the hand of Mr. Horatio Gimbler, What is there to support that hypothesis?
“First, there is the coffin. It contained the proceeds of this robbery. Gimbler was not aware of the fact; but the circumstance that it was there establishes the fact of some sort of contact between Gimbler and the persons who were concerned in the robbery. The persons whom he dealt with in the preparation of the coffin had dealings with the persons who carried out the robbery.”
“There isn’t much in that,” I objected. “It m
ight have been pure chance.”
“So it might,” he agreed, “and there is very little in it, as you say. But circumstantial evidence is made up of little things. I merely assert that some sort of connexion is established.
“The next point is that, of the three criminals engaged in this robbery, the only one known to us—Bunter—was acquainted with Gimbler. But Bunter was also acquainted with the unknown gentleman. There isn’t much in that, taken alone; but it points in the same direction as the other facts.
“And now let us consider how Gimbler fits the character of the hypothetical person who may have directed and financed the robbery.
“First, this hypothetical person must have had a somewhat extensive acquaintance with members of the criminal class in order to be able to select suitable persons to carry out this rather peculiar and specialized piece of work. Criminals with a practical knowledge of seamanship cannot be very common. But Gimbler has a very extensive acquaintance with the criminal class.
“The next point is that this hypothetical person must have had a modest amount of capital at his disposal, say two or three hundred pounds. We do not know much of Gimbler’s circumstances, but it would be very remarkable if he were not able to produce that amount to finance a scheme which was likely to yield a profit of thousands. But, as there must be innumerable persons in the same financial position, this argument has no significance. It is merely an argument.
“Finally, our hypothetical person must have combined considerable ingenuity with extreme dishonesty. Here there is undoubted agreement; but, unfortunately, Gimbler is in this respect far from unique.
“That is the argument; and, as you see, though it is enough to allow of our entertaining a suspicion of Gimbler, it is not enough to establish the most flimsy prima facie case. If Gimbler was the hidden director of this crime, he was extremely well hidden, and I think he will remain hidden. Probably, Bassett was the only person who knew the whole of the facts.”
“Yes,” Miller agreed, glumly, “I’m afraid you are right. Unless the Latvian police raise an outcry, it will probably be best to let the matter drop. After all, the robbery failed and we have got the stuff back. Still, I feel in my bones that Gimbler engineered the job, and I should have liked to lay my hands on him. But, as you say, he kept out of sight and is out of sight still. He always does keep out of sight, damn him!“
“Not always,” said Thorndyke. “You are forgetting the other case—the counterfeit coffin. That is an entirely different matter. There he is already in full view. A manifest fraud has been committed, and there are only two persons who could possibly be suspected of having committed it—Gimbler and Pippet. Actually, I suppose, no one suspects Pippet. But he is the claimant in whose interest—ostensibly—the fraud was perpetrated, and it is certain that Gimbler will try to put it on him, If it were not for Pippet, you could arrest Gimbler tomorrow and be confident of a conviction. As it is, direct evidence against Gimbler is a necessity, and it is for you, Miller, to secure that evidence. I think you will not have much difficulty, with the facts now in our possession.”
“No,” said Miller, “we seem to have got a pretty good lead from Bunter; but, all the same, I should like to hear your views on the evidence that we have.”
“Well,” said Thorndyke, “let us approach the problem from both ends. At one end we have four lumps of metal, one lead and three alloy, in the workshop of a plumber, Bert Wallis. At the other we have the same four lumps of metal in a coffin; and the problem is to bridge the interval between the two appearances.
“Now, the fact that those four lumps appeared together in the coffin is evidence that the interval was quite short. There were no intermediate wanderings during which they might have become separated. We may be sure that the passage from the workshop to the coffin was pretty direct; in effect, we may assume that the man who prepared the coffin got his lead from Bert Wallis. The next inference is very obvious, though it may be erroneous. But when we consider that a couple of doors from Bert Wallis’s premises were those of a man who had served his time as an undertaker, and who was, therefore, capable of making a perfectly correct and workmanlike coffin; who had a motor van and who was Bert Wallis’s brother; it is impossible to ignore the probability that the coffin was made by Joe Wallis. He had all the means of carrying out the substitution—you will remember that there was a cart shed adjoining the wall of the burial ground, in which a van could be conveniently hidden, and from which the coffin could be easily passed over the wall—and, if he had done the job, he would presumably have got his lead from his brother whose premises were close by. The only weak place in the argument is that we are accusing a man, who may be a perfectly honest and reputable tradesman, of being concerned in a crime.”
“I don’t think you need worry yourself about that,” said Miller. “You heard what I said to Bunter on the subject of pewter and plaster moulds. He knew what I meant. There had been some suspicion that Mr. Bert Wallis occasionally turned his hand to the manufacture of counterfeit coin. It was never brought home to him; but the fact that Bunter—who lives with him when he is at home—had been charged with issuing counterfeit money (which I had not heard of before) gives colour to the suspicion. And Bunter, himself, as we know, is a decidedly shady customer. I don’t think we need have any scruples of delicacy in giving Mr. Joseph Wallis a little attention. I’ll call and have a friendly talk with him.”
“I shouldn’t do that,” said Thorndyke; “at least, not in the first place. It would be much better to make the initial attack on Bert. There, you have something definite to go on. You know that the metal was in his workshop. And, if he has not heard of the facts disclosed in the Probate Court, or has not connected them with the metal that he had, you will have a good opening for an inquiry as to what has become of certain valuable property which is known to have been in his possession. When he learns what the value of that metal was, I fancy you may look for an explosion which may give you the leading facts before he has realized the position. Besides, there is the possibility that he gave away or sold the metal without any knowledge of its origin.”
“So there is,” agreed Miller, leaning back to laugh with more comfort, “in fact, it is quite probable. My eye! What a lark it will be! I shall go straight on from Fenchurch Street. Couldn’t I persuade you to come with me and do some of the talking?”
Thorndyke required no persuading, nor did I, for the interview promised to be highly entertaining. Accordingly, the arrangement was made and the plan of campaign settled; and, on our arrival at the terminus, after a brief halt at the buffet for a sandwich and a glass of beer, we made our way to the tube railway, by which we were conveyed to the “Elephant and Castle.”
“By the way,” said I, as Miller struck out towards the Walworth Road, “I suppose you have got the address?”
“Yes,” was the reply, “I got it from Bunter when he signed the statement. It’s in East Street. I made a note of the number.”
He brought out his note-book and glanced at it as we threaded our way through the multitude that thronged the pavement. Presently he turned to the left down a side street and walked on with his eyes on the numbers of the houses.
“This is the show,” he said, at length, halting before a seedy-looking plumber’s shop, the façade of which bore the inscription, “A. Wallis.” “Shop looks as if it was open.”
It was, technically, although the door was closed; but it yielded to a push, announcing the fact by the jangling of a bell, which brought a man out of the parlour at the back. Apparently, we had disturbed him at a meal, for his jaws were working as he came out, and he looked at us inquiringly without speaking. Perhaps “inquiringly” hardly expresses the kind of look that he gave us. It was a mere coincidence, but it happened that we were, all three, over six feet in height, and Miller, at least, looked a good deal like what he was.
The Superintendent opened the ball. “You are Mr. Bert Wallis, I think?”
Mr. Wallis nodded, chewing frantically. Finall
y, he bolted his mouthful and replied: “Yes, that’s who I am. What about it?”
“My friend here, Dr. Thorndyke, who is a lawyer, wants to make a few inquiries of you.”
Mr. Wallis turned to Thorndyke but made no comment, having, apparently, some slight arrears to dispose of in the matter of chewing.
“My inquiries,” said Thorndyke, “have reference to certain valuable property which came into your possession some time ago.”
“Valuable property in my possession,” said Wallis. “It’s the first I have heard of it. What property are you talking about?”
“It is a quantity of metal,” replied Thorndyke. “You had it from two men named Wicks and Bunter.”
Wallis stared at Thorndyke for a few seconds; and, gradually, the look of apprehension faded from his countenance and gave place to one of amusement. His mouth extended laterally until it exhibited an undeniable grin.
“I know what you are talking about, now,” he chuckled; “but you’ve got hold of the wrong end of the stick altogether. I’ll tell you how it happened. Them two silly fools, Wicks and Bunter, thought they had got hold of some valuable stuff. I don’t know what they thought it was, but they asked me to let them melt it down in my workshop. I didn’t much like the idea of it, because I didn’t know what stuff it was or how they had got it; but, as Bunter is my wife’s brother and I knew Wicks, I didn’t quite like to refuse. So I let them have the run of my workshop on a Sunday night when I was out, and they did the job. They melted down this here valuable stuff; and what do you suppose it turned out to be, after all?”
Thorndyke shook his head and waited for the answer.
“It was lead!” Wallis exclaimed with a triumphant giggle. “Just think of it! These two silly asses had put theirselves to no end of trouble and expense to get hold of this stuff—I don’t know how they did get hold of it—and when they come to melt it down, it was just lead, worth about twopence a pound! But, my aunt! Wasn’t they blooming sick! You ought to have heard the language that Wicks used!”
Dr. Thorndyke Omnibus Vol 6 Page 49