by Robert Barr
3. _The Clue of the Silver Spoons_
When the card was brought in to me, I looked upon it with somemisgiving, for I scented a commercial transaction, and, although suchcases are lucrative enough, nevertheless I, Eugene Valmont, formerlyhigh in the service of the French Government, do not care to beconnected with them. They usually pertain to sordid business affairs,presenting little that is of interest to a man who, in his time, hasdealt with subtle questions of diplomacy upon which the welfare ofnations sometimes turned.
The name of Bentham Gibbes is familiar to everyone, connected as it iswith the much-advertised pickles, whose glaring announcements in crudecrimson and green strike the eye throughout Great Britain, and shockthe artistic sense wherever seen. Me! I have never tasted them, andshall not so long as a French restaurant remains open in London. But Idoubt not they are as pronounced to the palate as their advertisementis distressing to the eye. If then, this gross pickle manufacturerexpected me to track down those who were infringing upon the recipesfor making his so-called sauces, chutneys, and the like, he would findhimself mistaken, for I was now in a position to pick and choose mycases, and a case of pickles did not allure me. 'Beware ofimitations,' said the advertisement; 'none genuine without a facsimileof the signature of Bentham Gibbes.' Ah, well, not for me were eitherthe pickles or the tracking of imitators. A forged cheque! yes, if youlike, but the forged signature of Mr. Gibbes on a pickle bottle was outof my line. Nevertheless, I said to Armand:--
'Show the gentleman in,' and he did so.
To my astonishment there entered a young man, quite correctly dressedin the dark frock-coat, faultless waistcoat and trousers thatproclaimed a Bond Street tailor. When he spoke his voice and languagewere those of a gentleman.
'Monsieur Valmont?' he inquired.
'At your service,' I replied, bowing and waving my hand as Armandplaced a chair for him, and withdrew.
'I am a barrister with chambers in the Temple,' began Mr. Gibbes, 'andfor some days a matter has been troubling me about which I have nowcome to seek your advice, your name having been suggested by a friendin whom I confided.'
'Am I acquainted with him?' I asked.
'I think not,' replied Mr. Gibbes; 'he also is a barrister withchambers in the same building as my own. Lionel Dacre is his name.'
'I never heard of him.'
'Very likely not. Nevertheless, he recommended you as a man who couldkeep his own counsel, and if you take up this case I desire the utmostsecrecy preserved, whatever may be the outcome.'
I bowed, but made no protestation. Secrecy is a matter of course withme.
The Englishman paused for a few moments as if he expected ferventassurances; then went on with no trace of disappointment on hiscountenance at not receiving them.
'On the night of the twenty-third, I gave a little dinner to sixfriends of mine in my own rooms. I may say that so far as I am awarethey are all gentlemen of unimpeachable character. On the night of thedinner I was detained later than I expected at a reception, and indriving to the Temple was still further delayed by a block of trafficin Piccadilly, so that when I arrived at my chambers there was barelytime for me to dress and receive my guests. My man Johnson hadeverything laid out ready for me in my dressing-room, and as I passedthrough to it I hurriedly flung off the coat I was wearing andcarelessly left it hanging over the back of a chair in thedining-room, where neither Johnson nor myself noticed it until myattention was called to it after the dinner was over, and everyonerather jolly with wine.
'This coat contains an inside pocket. Usually any frock-coat I wear atan afternoon reception has not an inside pocket, but I had been ratheron the rush all day.
'My father is a manufacturer whose name may be familiar to you, and Iam on the directors' board of his company. On this occasion I took acab from the city to the reception I spoke of, and had not time to goand change at my rooms. The reception was a somewhat bohemian affair,extremely interesting, of course, but not too particular as tocostume, so I went as I was. In this inside pocket rested a thinpackage, composed of two pieces of cardboard, and between them restedfive twenty-pound Bank of England notes, folded lengthwise, held inplace by an elastic rubber band. I had thrown the coat across thechair-back in such a way that the inside pocket was exposed, leavingthe ends of the notes plainly recognisable.
Over the coffee and cigars one of my guests laughingly calledattention to what he termed my vulgar display of wealth, and Johnson,in some confusion at having neglected to put away the coat, now pickedit up, and took it to the reception-room where the wraps of my guestslay about promiscuously. He should, of course, have hung it up in mywardrobe, but he said afterwards he thought it belonged to the guestwho had spoken. You see, Johnson was in my dressing-room when I threwmy coat on the chair in the corner while making my way thither, and Isuppose he had not noticed the coat in the hurry of arriving guests,otherwise he would have put it where it belonged. After everybody hadgone Johnson came to me and said the coat was there, but the packagewas missing, nor has any trace of it been found since that night.'
'The dinner was fetched in from outside, I suppose?'
'Yes.'
'How many waiters served it?'
'Two. They are men who have often been in my employ on similaroccasions, but, apart from that, they had left my chambers before theincident of the coat happened.'
'Neither of them went into the reception-room, I take it?'
'No. I am certain that not even suspicion can attach to either of thewaiters.'
'Your man Johnson--?'
'Has been with me for years. He could easily have stolen much morethan the hundred pounds if he had wished to do so, but I have neverknown him to take a penny that did not belong to him.'
'Will you favour me with the names of your guests, Mr. Gibbes?'
'Viscount Stern sat at my right hand, and at my left Lord Templemere;Sir John Sanclere next to him, and Angus McKeller next to Sanclere.After Viscount Stern was Lionel Dacre, and at his right, VincentInnis.'
On a sheet of paper I had written the names of the guests, and notedtheir places at the table.
'Which guest drew your attention to the money?'
'Lionel Dacre.'
'Is there a window looking out from the reception-room?'
'Two of them.'
'Were they fastened on the night of the dinner party?'
'I could not be sure; very likely Johnson would know. You are hintingat the possibility of a thief coming in through a reception-roomwindow while we were somewhat noisy over our wine. I think such asolution highly improbable. My rooms are on the third floor, and athief would scarcely venture to make an entrance when he could not butknow there was a company being entertained. Besides this, the coat wasthere less than an hour, and it appears to me that whoever stole thosenotes knew where they were.'
'That seems reasonable,' I had to admit. 'Have you spoken to any oneof your loss?';
'To no one but Dacre, who recommended me to see you. Oh, yes, and toJohnson, of course.'
I could not help noting that this was the fourth or fifth time Dacre'sname had come up during our conversation.
'What of Dacre?' I asked.
'Oh, well, you see, he occupies chambers in the same building on theground floor. He is a very good fellow, and we are by way of beingfirm friends. Then it was he who had called attention to the money, soI thought he should know the sequel.'
'How did he take your news?'
'Now that you call attention to the fact, he seemed slightly troubled.I should like to say, however, that you must not be misled by that.Lionel Dacre could no more steal than he could lie.'
'Did he show any surprise when you mentioned the theft?'
Bentham Gibbes paused a moment before replying, knitting his brows inthought.
'No,' he said at last; 'and, come to think of it, it appeared as if hehad been expecting my announcement.'
'Doesn't that strike you as rather strange, Mr. Gibbes?'
'Really my mind is in such a wh
irl, I don't know what to think. Butit's perfectly absurd to suspect Dacre. If you knew the man you wouldunderstand what I mean. He comes of an excellent family, and heis--oh! he is Lionel Dacre, and when you have said that you have madeany suspicion absurd.'
'I suppose you caused the rooms to be thoroughly searched. The packetdidn't drop out and remain unnoticed in some corner?'
'No; Johnson and myself examined every inch of the premises.'
'Have you the numbers of the notes?'
'Yes; I got them from the Bank next morning. Payment was stopped, andso far not one of the five has been presented. Of course, one or moremay have been cashed at some shop, but none have been offered to anyof the banks.'
'A twenty-pound note is not accepted without scrutiny, so the chancesare the thief may find some difficulty in disposing of them.'
'As I told you, I don't mind the loss of the money at all. It is theuncertainty, the uneasiness caused by the incident which troubles me.You will comprehend how little I care about the notes when I say thatif you are good enough to interest yourself in this case, I shall bedisappointed if your fee does not exceed the amount I have lost.'
Mr. Gibbes rose as he said this, and I accompanied him to the doorassuring him that I should do my best to solve the mystery. Whether hesprang from pickles or not, I realised he was a polished and generousgentleman, who estimated the services of a professional expert likemyself at their true value.
I shall not set down the details of my researches during the followingfew days, because the trend of them must be gone over in the accountof that remarkable interview in which I took part somewhat later.Suffice it to say that an examination of the rooms and a closecross-questioning of Johnson satisfied me he and the two waiters wereinnocent. I became certain no thief had made his way through thewindow, and finally I arrived at the conclusion that the notes werestolen by one of the guests. Further investigation convinced me thatthe thief was no other than Lionel Dacre, the only one of the six inpressing need of money at this time. I caused Dacre to be shadowed,and during one of his absences made the acquaintance of his manHopper, a surly, impolite brute, who accepted my golden sovereignquickly enough, but gave me little in exchange for it. While Iconversed with him, there arrived in the passage where we were talkingtogether a huge case of champagne, bearing one of the best-known namesin the trade, and branded as being of the vintage of '78. Now I knewthat the product of Camelot Freres is not bought as cheaply as Britishbeer, and I also had learned that two short weeks before Mr. LionelDacre was at his wits' end for money. Yet he was still the samebriefless barrister he had ever been.
On the morning after my unsatisfactory conversation with his manHopper, I was astonished to receive the following note, written on adainty correspondence card:--
'3 and 4 Vellum Buildings, 'Inner Temple, E.C.
'Mr. Lionel Dacre presents his compliments to Monsieur Eugene Valmont, and would be obliged if Monsieur Valmont could make it convenient to call upon him in his chambers tomorrow morning at eleven.'
* * * * *
Had the young man become aware that he was being shadowed, or had thesurly servant informed him of the inquiries made? I was soon to know.I called punctually at eleven next morning, and was received withcharming urbanity by Mr. Dacre himself. The taciturn Hopper hadevidently been sent away for the occasion.
'My dear Monsieur Valmont, I am delighted to meet you,' began theyoung man with more of effusiveness than I had ever noticed in anEnglishman before, although his very next words supplied anexplanation that did not occur to me until afterwards as somewhatfar-fetched. 'I believe we are by way of being countrymen, and,therefore, although the hour is early, I hope you will allow me tooffer you some of this bottled sunshine of the year '78 from _la belleFrance_, to whose prosperity and honour we shall drink together. Forsuch a toast any hour is propitious,'and to my amazement he broughtforth from the case I had seen arrive two days before, a bottle ofthat superb Camelot Freres '78.
'Now,' said I to myself, 'it is going to be difficult to keep a clearhead if the aroma of this nectar rises to the brain. But tempting asis the cup, I shall drink sparingly, and hope he may not be sojudicious.'
Sensitive, I already experienced the charm of his personality, andwell understood the friendship Mr. Bentham Gibbes felt for him. But Isaw the trap spread before me. He expected, under the influence ofchampagne and courtesy, to extract a promise from me which I must findmyself unable to give.
'Sir, you interest me by claiming kinship with France. I hadunderstood that you belonged to one of the oldest families ofEngland.'
'Ah, England!' he cried, with an expressive gesture of outspreadinghands truly Parisian in its significance. 'The trunk belongs toEngland, of course, but the root--ah! the root--Monsieur Valmont,penetrated the soil from which this wine of the gods has been drawn.'
Then filling my glass and his own he cried:--
'To France, which my family left in the year 1066!'
I could not help laughing at his fervent ejaculation.
'1066! With William the Conqueror! That is a long time ago, Mr. Dacre.'
'In years perhaps; in feelings but a day. My forefathers came over tosteal, and, lord! how well they accomplished it. They stole the wholecountry--something like a theft, say I--under that prince of robberswhom you have well named the Conqueror. In our secret hearts we alladmire a great thief, and if not a great one, then an expert one, whocovers his tracks so perfectly that the hounds of justice are baffledin attempting to follow them. Now even you, Monsieur Valmont (I cansee you are the most generous of men, with a lively sympathy found toperfection only in France), even you must suffer a pang of regret whenyou lay a thief by the heels who has done his task deftly.'
'I fear, Mr. Dacre, you credit me with a magnanimity to which I darenot lay claim. The criminal is a danger to society.'
'True, true, you are in the right, Monsieur Valmont Still, admit thereare cases that would touch you tenderly. For example, a man,ordinarily honest; a great need; a sudden opportunity. He takes thatof which another has abundance, and he, nothing. What then, MonsieurValmont? Is the man to be sent to perdition for a momentary weakness?'
His words astonished me. Was I on the verge of hearing a confession?It almost amounted to that already.
'Mr. Dacre,' I said, 'I cannot enter into the subtleties you pursue. Myduty is to find the criminal.'
'Again I say you are in the right, Monsieur Valmont, and I amenchanted to find so sensible a head on French shoulders. Although youare a more recent arrival, if I may say so, than myself, younevertheless already give utterance to sentiments which do honour toEngland. It is your duty to hunt down the criminal. Very well. In thatI think I can aid you, and thus have taken the liberty of requestingyour attendance here this morning. Let me fill your glass again,Monsieur Valmont.'
'No more, I beg of you, Mr. Dacre.'
'What, do you think the receiver is as bad as the thief?'
I was so taken aback by this remark that I suppose my face showed theamazement within me. But the young man merely laughed with apparentlyfree-hearted enjoyment, poured some wine into his own glass, andtossed it off. Not knowing what to say, I changed the current ofconversation.
'Mr. Gibbes said you had been kind enough to recommend me to hisattention. May I ask how you came to hear of me?'
'Ah! who has not heard of the renowned Monsieur Valmont,' and as hesaid this, for the first time, there began to grow a suspicion in mymind that he was chaffing me, as it is called in England--a procedurewhich I cannot endure. Indeed, if this gentleman practised such abarbarism in my own country he would find himself with a duel on hishands before he had gone far. However, the next instant his voiceresumed its original fascination, and I listened to it as to somedelicious melody.
'I need only mention my cousin, Lady Gladys Dacre, and you will atonce understand why I recommended you to my friend
. The case of LadyGladys, you will remember, required a delicate touch which is notalways to be had in this land of England, except when those whopossess the gift do us the honour to sojourn with us.'
I noticed that my glass was again filled, and bowing an acknowledgmentof his compliment, I indulged in another sip of the delicious wine. Isighed, for I began to realise it was going to be very difficult forme, in spite of my disclaimer, to tell this man's friend he had stolenthe money. All this time he had been sitting on the edge of the table,while I occupied a chair at its end. He sat there in careless fashion,swinging a foot to and fro. Now he sprang to the floor, and drew up achair, placing on the table a blank sheet of paper. Then he took fromthe mantelshelf a packet of letters, and I was astonished to see theywere held together by two bits of cardboard and a rubber band similarto the combination that had contained the folded bank notes. Withgreat nonchalance he slipped off the rubber band, threw it and thepieces of cardboard on the table before me, leaving the documentsloose to his hand.
'Now, Monsieur Valmont,' he cried jauntily, 'you have been occupiedfor several days on this case, the case of my dear friend BenthamGibbes, who is one of the best fellows in the world.'
'He said the same of you, Mr. Dacre.'
'I am gratified to hear it. Would you mind letting me know to whatpoint your researches have led you?'
'They have led me in a direction rather than to a point.'
'Ah! In the direction of a man, of course?'
'Certainly.'
'Who is he?'
'Will you pardon me if I decline to answer this question at thepresent moment?'
'That means you are not sure.'
'It may mean, Mr. Dacre, that I am employed by Mr. Gibbes, and do notfeel at liberty to disclose the results of my quest without hispermission.'
'But Mr. Bentham Gibbes and I are entirely at one in this matter.Perhaps you are aware that I am the only person with whom he hasdiscussed the case beside yourself.'
'That is undoubtedly true, Mr. Dacre; still, you see the difficulty ofmy position.'
'Yes, I do, and so shall press you no further. But I also have beenstudying the problem in a purely amateurish way, of course. You willperhaps express no disinclination to learn whether or not mydeductions agree with yours.'
'None in the least. I should be very glad to know the conclusion atwhich you have arrived. May I ask if you suspect any one inparticular?'
'Yes, I do.'
'Will you name him?'
'No; I shall copy the admirable reticence you yourself have shown. Andnow let us attack this mystery in a sane and businesslike manner. Youhave already examined the room. Well, here is a rough sketch of it.There is the table; in this corner stood the chair on which the coatwas flung. Here sat Gibbes at the head of the table. Those on theleft-hand side had their backs to the chair. I, being on the centre tothe right, saw the chair, the coat, and the notes, and calledattention to them. Now our first duty is to find a motive. If it werea murder, our motive might be hatred, revenge, robbery--what you like.As it is simply the stealing of money, the man must have been either aborn thief or else some hitherto innocent person pressed to the crimeby great necessity. Do you agree with me, Monsieur Valmont?'
'Perfectly. You follow exactly the line of my own reasoning.'
'Very well. It is unlikely that a born thief was one of Mr. Gibbes'sguests. Therefore we are reduced to look for a man under the spur ofnecessity; a man who has no money of his own but who must raise acertain amount, let us say, by a certain date. If we can find such aman in that company, do you not agree with me that he is likely to bethe thief?'
'Yes, I do.'
'Then let us start our process of elimination. Out goes ViscountStern, a lucky individual with twenty thousand acres of land, and Godonly knows what income. I mark off the name of Lord Templemere, one ofHis Majesty's judges, entirely above suspicion. Next, Sir JohnSanclere; he also is rich, but Vincent Innis is still richer, so thepencil obliterates both names. Now we arrive at Angus McKeller, anauthor of some note, as you are well aware, deriving a good incomefrom his books and a better one from his plays; a canny Scot, so wemay rub his name from our paper and our memory. How do my erasurescorrespond with yours, Monsieur Valmont?'
'They correspond exactly, Mr. Dacre.'
'I am flattered to hear it. There remains one name untouched, MrLionel Dacre, the descendant, as I have said, of robbers.'
'I have not said so, Mr. Dacre.'
'Ah! my dear Valmont, the politeness of your country asserts itself.Let us not be deluded, but follow our inquiry wherever it leads. Isuspect Lionel Dacre. What do you know of his circumstances before thedinner of the twenty-third?'
As I made no reply he looked up at me with his frank, boyish faceillumined by a winning smile.
'You know nothing of his circumstances?' he asked.
'It grieves me to state that I do. Mr. Lionel Dacre was penniless onthe night of the dinner.'
'Oh, don't exaggerate, Monsieur Valmont,' cried Dacre with a gestureof pathetic protest; 'his pocket held one sixpence, two pennies, and ahalfpenny. How came you to suspect he was penniless?'
'I knew he ordered a case of champagne from the London representativeof Camelot Freres, and was refused unless he paid the money down.'
'Quite right, and then when you were talking to Hopper you saw thatcase of champagne delivered. Excellent! excellent! Monsieur Valmont.But will a man steal, think you, even to supply himself with sodelicious a wine as this we have been tasting? And, by the way,forgive my neglect, allow me to fill your glass, Monsieur Valmont.'
'Not another drop, if you will excuse me, Mr. Dacre.'
'Ah, yes, champagne should not be mixed with evidence. When we havefinished, perhaps. What further proof have you discovered, monsieur?'
'I hold proof that Mr. Dacre was threatened with bankruptcy, if, on thetwenty-fourth, he did not pay a bill of seventy-eight pounds that hadbeen long outstanding. I hold proof that this was paid, not on thetwenty-fourth, but on the twenty-sixth. Mr. Dacre had gone to thesolicitor and assured him he would pay the money on that date,whereupon he was given two days' grace.'
'Ah, well, he was entitled to three, you know, in law. Yes, there,Monsieur Valmont, you touch the fatal point. The threat of bankruptcywill drive a man in Dacre's position to almost any crime. Bankruptcyto a barrister means ruin. It means a career blighted; it means a lifeburied, with little chance of resurrection. I see, you grasp thesupreme importance of that bit of evidence. The case of champagne isas nothing compared with it, and this reminds me that in the crisisnow upon us I shall take another sip, with your permission. Sure youwon't join me?'
'Not at this juncture, Mr. Dacre.'
'I envy your moderation. Here's to the success of our search, MonsieurValmont.'
I felt sorry for the gay young fellow as with smiling face he drankthe champagne.
'Now, Monsieur,' he went on, 'I am amazed to learn how much you havediscovered. Really, I think tradespeople, solicitors, and all suchshould keep better guard on their tongues than they do. Nevertheless,these documents at my elbow, which I expected would surprise you, aremerely the letters and receipts. Here is the communication from thesolicitor threatening me with bankruptcy; here is his receipt datedthe twenty-sixth; here is the refusal of the wine merchant, and hereis his receipt for the money. Here are smaller bills liquidated. Withmy pencil we will add them up. Seventy-eight pounds--the principaldebt--bulks large. We add the smaller items and it reaches a total ofninety-three pounds seven shillings and fourpence. Let us now examinemy purse. Here is a five-pound note; there is a golden sovereign. Inow count out and place on the table twelve and sixpence in silver andtwo pence in coppers. The purse thus becomes empty. Let us add thesilver and copper to the amount on the paper. Do my eyes deceive me,or is the sum exactly a hundred pounds? There is your money fullyaccounted for.'
'Pardon me, Mr. Dacre,' I said, 'but I observe a sovereign resting onthe mantelpiece.'
Dacre threw back his head and la
ughed with greater heartiness than Ihad yet known him to indulge in during our short acquaintance.
'By Jove,' he cried, 'you've got me there. I'd forgotten entirelyabout that pound on the mantelpiece, which belongs to you.'
'To me? Impossible!'
'It does, and cannot interfere in the least with our centurycalculation. That is the sovereign you gave to my man Hopper, who,knowing me to be hard-pressed, took it and shamefacedly presented itto me, that I might enjoy the spending of it. Hopper belongs to ourfamily, or the family belongs to him. I am never sure which. You musthave missed in him the deferential bearing of a man-servant in Paris,yet he is true gold, like the sovereign you bestowed upon him, and hebestowed upon me. Now here, Monsieur, is the evidence of the theft,together with the rubber band and two pieces of cardboard. Ask myfriend Gibbes to examine them minutely. They are all at yourdisposition, Monsieur, and thus you learn how much easier it is todeal with the master than with the servant. All the gold you possesswould not have wrung these incriminating documents from old Hopper. Iwas compelled to send him away to the West End an hour ago, fearingthat in his brutal British way he might assault you if he got aninkling of your mission.'
'Mr. Dacre,' said I slowly, 'you have thoroughly convinced me--'
'I thought I would,' he interrupted with a laugh.
'--that you did _not_ take the money.'
'Oho, this is a change of wind, surely. Many a man has been hanged ona chain of circumstantial evidence much weaker than this which I haveexhibited to you. Don't you see the subtlety of my action? Ninety-ninepersons in a hundred would say: "No man could be such a fool as toput Valmont on his own track, and then place in Valmont's hands suchstriking evidence." But there comes in my craftiness. Of course, therock you run up against will be Gibbes's incredulity. The firstquestion he will ask you may be this: "Why did not Dacre come andborrow the money from me?" Now there you find a certain weakness inyour chain of evidence. I knew perfectly well that Gibbes would lendme the money, and he knew perfectly well that if I were pressed to thewall I should ask him.'
'Mr. Dacre,' said I, 'you have been playing with me. I should resentthat with most men, but whether it is your own genial manner or theeffect of this excellent champagne, or both together, I forgive you.But I am convinced of another thing. You know who took the money.'
'I don't know, but I suspect.'
'Will you tell me whom you suspect?'
'That would not be fair, but I shall now take the liberty of fillingyour glass with champagne.'
'I am your guest, Mr. Dacre.'
'Admirably answered, monsieur,' he replied, pouring out the wine, 'andnow I offer you a clue. Find out all about the story of the silverspoons.'
'The story of the silver spoons! What silver spoons?'
'Ah! That is the point. Step out of the Temple into Fleet Street,seize the first man you meet by the shoulder, and ask him to tell youabout the silver spoons. There are but two men and two spoonsconcerned. When you learn who those two men are, you will know thatone of them did not take the money, and I give you my assurance thatthe other did.'
'You speak in mystery, Mr. Dacre.'
'But certainly, for I am speaking to Monsieur Eugene Valmont.'
'I echo your words, sir. Admirably answered. You put me on my mettle,and I flatter myself that I see your kindly drift. You wish me tosolve the mystery of this stolen money. Sir, you-do me honour, and Idrink to your health.'
'To yours, monsieur,' said Lionel Dacre, and thus we drank and parted.
On leaving Mr. Dacre I took a hansom to a cafe in Regent Street, whichis a passable imitation of similar places of refreshment in Paris.There, calling for a cup of black coffee, I sat down to think. Theclue of the silver spoons! He had laughingly suggested that I shouldtake by the shoulders the first man I met, and ask him what the storyof the silver spoons was. This course naturally struck me as absurd,and he doubtless intended it to seem absurd. Nevertheless, itcontained a hint. I must ask somebody, and that the right person, totell me the tale of the silver spoons.
Under the influence of the black coffee I reasoned it out in this way.On the night of the twenty-third one of the six guests there presentstole a hundred pounds, but Dacre had said that an actor in the silverspoon episode was the actual thief. That person, then, must have beenone of Mr. Gibbes's guests at the dinner of the twenty-third. Probablytwo of the guests were the participators in the silver spoon comedy,but, be that as it may, it followed that one at least of the menaround Mr. Gibbes's table knew the episode of the silver spoons.Perhaps Bentham Gibbes himself was cognisant of it. It followed,therefore, that the easiest plan was to question each of the men whopartook of that dinner. Yet if only one knew about the spoons, thatone must also have some idea that these spoons formed the clue whichattached him to the crime of the twenty-third, in which case he waslittle likely to divulge what he knew to an entire stranger.
Of course, I might go to Dacre himself and demand the story of thesilver spoons, but this would be a confession of failure on my part,and I rather dreaded Lionel Dacre's hearty laughter when I admittedthat the mystery was too much for me. Besides this I was very wellaware of the young man's kindly intentions towards me. He wished me tounravel the coil myself, and so I determined not to go to him exceptas a last resource.
I resolved to begin with Mr. Gibbes, and, finishing my coffee, I gotagain into a hansom, and drove back to the Temple. I found BenthamGibbes in his room, and after greeting me, his first inquiry was aboutthe case.
'How are you getting on?' he asked.
'I think I'm getting on fairly well,' I replied, 'and expect to finishin a day or two, if you will kindly tell me the story of the silverspoons.'
'The silver spoons?' he echoed, quite evidently not understanding me.
'There happened an incident in which two men were engaged, and thisincident related to a pair of silver spoons. I want to get theparticulars of that.' 'I haven't the slightest idea what you aretalking about,' replied Gibbes, thoroughly bewildered. 'You will needto be more definite, I fear, if you are to get any help from me.'
'I cannot be more definite, because I have already told you all Iknow.'
'What bearing has all this on our own case?'
'I was informed that if I got hold of the clue of the silver spoons Ishould be in a fair way of settling our case.'
'Who told you that?'
'Mr. Lionel Dacre.'
'Oh, does Dacre refer to his own conjuring?'
'I don't know, I'm sure. What was his conjuring?'
'A very clever trick he did one night at dinner here about two monthsago.'
'Had it anything to do with silver spoons?'
'Well, it was silver spoons or silver forks, or something of thatkind. I had entirely forgotten the incident. So far as I recollect atthe moment there was a sleight-of-hand man of great expertness in oneof the music halls, and the talk turned upon him. Then Dacre said thetricks he did were easy, and holding up a spoon or a fork, I don'tremember which, he professed his ability to make it disappear beforeour eyes, to be found afterwards in the clothing of some one therepresent. Several offered to bet that he could do nothing of the kind,but he said he would bet with no one but Innis, who sat opposite him.Innis, with some reluctance, accepted the bet, and then Dacre, with agreat show of the usual conjurer's gesticulations, spread forth hisempty hands, and said we should find the spoon in Innis's pocket, andthere, sure enough, it was. It seemed a proper sleight-of-hand trick,but we were never able to get him to repeat it.'
'Thank you very much, Mr. Gibbes; I think I see daylight now.'
'If you do you are cleverer than I by a long chalk,' cried BenthamGibbes as I took my departure.
I went directly downstairs, and knocked at Mr. Dacre's door once more.He opened the door himself, his man not yet having returned.
'Ah, monsieur,' he cried, 'back already? You don't mean to tell me youhave so soon got to the bottom of the silver spoon entanglement?'
'I think I have, Mr. Dacre. You w
ere sitting at dinner opposite MrVincent Innis. You saw him conceal a silver spoon in his pocket. Youprobably waited for some time to understand what he meant by this, andas he did not return the spoon to its place, you proposed a conjuringtrick, made the bet with him, and thus the spoon was returned to thetable.'
'Excellent! excellent, monsieur! that is very nearly what occurred,except that I acted at once. I had had experiences with Mr. VincentInnis before. Never did he enter these rooms of mine without mymissing some little trinket after he was gone. Although Mr. Innis is avery rich person, I am not a man of many possessions, so if anythingis taken, I meet little difficulty in coming to a knowledge of myloss. Of course, I never mentioned these abstractions to him. Theywere all trivial, as I have said, and so far as the silver spoon wasconcerned, it was of no great value either. But I thought the bet andthe recovery of the spoon would teach him a lesson; it apparently hasnot done so. On the night of the twenty-third he sat at my right hand,as you will see by consulting your diagram of the table and theguests. I asked him a question twice, to which he did not reply, andlooking at him I was startled by the expression in his eyes. They werefixed on a distant corner of the room, and following his gaze I sawwhat he was staring at with such hypnotising concentration. Soabsorbed was he in contemplation of the packet there so plainlyexposed, now my attention was turned to it, that he seemed to beentirely oblivious of what was going on around him. I roused him fromhis trance by jocularly calling Gibbes's attention to the display ofmoney. I expected in this way to save Innis from committing the actwhich he seemingly did commit. Imagine then the dilemma in which I wasplaced when Gibbes confided to me the morning after what had occurredthe night before. I was positive Innis had taken the money, yet Ipossessed no proof of it. I could not tell Gibbes, and I dare notspeak to Innis. Of course, monsieur, you do not need to be told thatInnis is not a thief in the ordinary sense of the word. He has no needto steal, and yet apparently cannot help doing so. I am sure that noattempt has been made to pass those notes. They are doubtless restingsecurely in his house at Kensington. He is, in fact, a kleptomaniac,or a maniac of some sort. And now, monsieur, was my hint regarding thesilver spoons of any value to you?'
'Of the most infinite value, Mr. Dacre.'
'Then let me make another suggestion. I leave it entirely to yourbravery; a bravery which, I confess, I do not myself possess. Willyou take a hansom, drive to Mr. Innis's house on the Cromwell Road,confront him quietly, and ask for the return of the packet? I amanxious to know what will happen. If he hands it to you, as I expecthe will, then you must tell Mr. Gibbes the whole story.'
'Mr. Dacre, your suggestion shall be immediately acted upon, and Ithank you for your compliment to my courage.'
I found that Mr. Innis inhabited a very grand house. After a time heentered the study on the ground floor, to which I had been conducted.He held my card in his hand, and was looking at it with some surprise.
'I think I have not the pleasure of knowing you, Monsieur Valmont,' hesaid, courteously enough.
'No. I ventured to call on a matter of business. I was onceinvestigator for the French Government, and now am doing privatedetective work here in London.'
'Ah! And how is that supposed to interest me? There is nothing that Iwish investigated. I did not send for you, did I?'
'No, Mr. Innis, I merely took the liberty of calling to ask you to letme have the package you took from Mr. Bentham Gibbes's frock-coatpocket on the night of the twenty-third.'
'He wishes it returned, does he?'
'Yes.'
Mr. Innis calmly walked to a desk, which he unlocked and opened,displaying a veritable museum of trinkets of one sort and another.Pulling out a small drawer he took from it the packet containing thefive twenty-pound notes. Apparently it had never been opened. With asmile he handed it to me.
'You will make my apologies to Mr. Gibbes for not returning it before.Tell him I have been unusually busy of late.'
'I shall not fail to do so,' said I, with a bow.
'Thanks so much. Good-morning, Monsieur Valmont.'
'Good-morning, Mr. Innis,'
And so I returned the packet to Mr. Bentham Gibbes, who pulled thenotes from between their pasteboard protection, and begged me toaccept them.