“I thought at once, of course, of a jackdaw or a magpie — these birds’ thievish reputations made the guess natural. But the marks on the match were much too wide apart to have been made by the beak of either. I conjectured, therefore, that it must be a raven. So that, when we arrived near the coach-house, I seized the opportunity of a little chat with your groom on the subject of dogs and pets in general, and ascertained that there was no tame raven in the place. I also, incidentally, by getting a light from the coach-house box of matches, ascertained that the match found was of the sort generally used about the establishment — the large, thick, red-topped English match. But I further found that Mr. Lloyd had a parrot which was a most intelligent pet, and had been trained into comparative quietness — for a parrot. Also, I learned that more than once the groom had met Mr. Lloyd carrying his parrot under his coat, it having, as its owner explained, learned the trick of opening its cage-door and escaping.
“I said nothing, of course, to you of all this, because I had as yet nothing but a train of argument and no results. I got to Lloyd’s room as soon as possible. My chief object in going there was achieved when I played with the parrot, and induced it to bite a quill toothpick.
“When you left me in the smoking-room, I compared the quill and the match very carefully, and found that the marks corresponded exactly. After this I felt very little doubt indeed. The fact of Lloyd having met the ladies walking before dark on the day of the first robbery proved nothing, because, since it was clear that the match had not been used to procure a light, the robbery might as easily have taken place in daylight as not — must have so taken place, in fact, if my conjectures were right. That they were right I felt no doubt. There could be no other explanation.
“When Mrs. Heath left her window open and her door shut, anybody climbing upon the open sash of Lloyd’s high window could have put the bird upon the sill above. The match placed in the bird’s beak for the purpose I have indicated, and struck first, in case by accident it should ignite by rubbing against something and startle the bird — this match would, of course, be dropped just where the object to be removed was taken up; as you know, in every case the match was found almost upon the spot where the missing article had been left — scarcely a likely triple coincidence had the match been used by a human thief. This would have been done as soon after the ladies had left as possible, and there would then have been plenty of time for Lloyd to hurry out and meet them before dark — especially plenty of time to meet them coming back, as they must have been, since they were carrying their ferns. The match was an article well chosen for its purpose, as being a not altogether unlikely thing to find on a dressing-table, and, if noticed, likely to lead to the wrong conclusions adopted by the official detective.
“In Mrs. Armitage’s case the taking of an inferior brooch and the leaving of a more valuable ring pointed clearly either to the operator being a fool or unable to distinguish values, and certainly, from other indications, the thief seemed no fool. The door was locked, and the gas-fitter, so to speak, on guard, and the window was only eight or ten inches open and propped with a brush. A human thief entering the window would have disturbed this arrangement, and would scarcely risk discovery by attempting to replace it, especially a thief in so great a hurry as to snatch the brooch up without unfastening the pin. The bird could pass through the opening as it was, and would have to tear the pin-cushion to pull the brooch off, probably holding the cushion down with its claw the while.
“Now in yesterday’s case we had an alteration of conditions. The window was shut and fastened, but the door was open — but only left for a few minutes, during which time no sound was heard either of coming or going. Was it not possible, then, that the thief was already in the room, in hiding, while Mrs. Cazenove was there, and seized its first opportunity on her temporary absence? The room is full of draperies, hangings, and what not, allowing of plenty of concealment for a bird, and a bird could leave the place noiselessly and quickly. That the whole scheme was strange mattered not at all. Robberies presenting such unaccountable features must have been effected by strange means of one sort or another. There was no improbability. Consider how many hundreds of examples of infinitely higher degrees of bird-training are exhibited in the London streets every week for coppers.
“So that, on the whole, I felt pretty sure of my ground. But before taking any definite steps I resolved to see if Polly could not be persuaded to exhibit his accomplishments to an indulgent stranger. For that purpose I contrived to send Lloyd away again and have a quiet hour alone with his bird. A piece of sugar, as everybody knows, is a good parrot bribe; but a walnut, split in half, is a better — especially if the bird be used to it; so I got you to furnish me with both. Polly was shy at first, but I generally get along very well with pets, and a little perseverance soon led to a complete private performance for my benefit. Polly would take the match, mute as wax, jump on the table, pick up the brightest thing he could see, in a great hurry, leave the match behind, and scuttle away round the room; but at first wouldn’t give up the plunder to me. It was enough. I also took the liberty, as you know, of a general look round, and discovered that little collection of Brummagem rings and trinkets that you have just seen — used in Polly’s education, no doubt. When we sent Lloyd away, it struck me that he might as well be usefully employed as not, so I got him to fetch the police, deluding him a little, I fear, by talking about the servants and a female searcher. There will be no trouble about evidence; he’ll confess. Of that I’m sure. I know the sort of man. But I doubt if you’ll get Mrs. Cazenove’s brooch back. You see, he has been to London to-day, and by this time the swag is probably broken up.”
Sir James listened to Hewitt’s explanation with many expressions of assent and some of surprise. When it was over, he smoked a few whiffs and then said: “But Mrs. Armitage’s brooch was pawned, and by a woman.”
“Exactly. I expect our friend Lloyd was rather disgusted at his small luck — probably gave the brooch to some female connection in London, and she realized on it. Such persons don’t always trouble to give a correct address.”
The two smoked in silence for a few minutes, and then Hewitt continued: “I don’t expect our friend has had an easy job altogether with that bird. His successes at most have only been three, and I suspect he had many failures and not a few anxious moments that we know nothing of. I should judge as much merely from what the groom told me of frequently meeting Lloyd with his parrot. But the plan was not a bad one — not at all. Even if the bird had been caught in the act, it would only have been ‘That mischievous parrot!’ you see. And his master would only have been looking for him.”
THE LOSS OF SAMMY CROCKETT
It was, of course, always a part of Martin Hewitt’s business to be thoroughly at home among any and every class of people, and to be able to interest himself intelligently, or to appear to do so, in their various pursuits. In one of the most important cases ever placed in his hands he could have gone but a short way toward success had he not displayed some knowledge of the more sordid aspects of professional sport, and a great interest in the undertakings of a certain dealer therein.
The great case itself had nothing to do with sport, and, indeed, from a narrative point of view, was somewhat uninteresting, but the man who alone held the one piece of information wanted was a keeper, backer, or “gaffer” of professional pedestrians, and it was through the medium of his pecuniary interest in such matters that Hewitt was enabled to strike a bargain with him.
The man was a publican on the outskirts of Padfield, a northern town, pretty famous for its sporting tastes, and to Padfield, therefore, Hewitt betook himself, and, arrayed in a way to indicate some inclination of his own toward sport, he began to frequent the bar of the Hare and Hounds. Kentish, the landlord, was a stout, bull-necked man, of no great communicativeness at first; but after a little acquaintance he opened out wonderfully, became quite a jolly (and rather intelligent) companion, and came out with innumerable anecdotes o
f his sporting adventures. He could put a very decent dinner on the table, too, at the Hare and Hounds, and Hewitt’s frequent invitation to him to join therein and divide a bottle of the best in the cellar soon put the two on the very best of terms. Good terms with Mr. Kentish was Hewitt’s great desire, for the information he wanted was of a sort that could never be extracted by casual questioning, but must be a matter of open communication by the publican, extracted in what way it might be.
“Look here,” said Kentish one day, “I’ll put you on to a good thing, my boy — a real good thing. Of course you know all about the Padfield 135 Yards Handicap being run off now?”
“Well, I haven’t looked into it much,” Hewitt replied. “Ran the first round of heats last Saturday and Monday, didn’t they?”
“They did. Well” — Kentish spoke in a stage whisper as he leaned over and rapped the table— “I’ve got the final winner in this house.” He nodded his head, took a puff at his cigar, and added, in his ordinary voice. “Don’t say nothing.”
“No, of course not. Got something on, of course?”
“Rather! What do you think? Got any price I liked. Been saving him up for this. Why, he’s got twenty-one yards, and he can do even time all the way! Fact! Why, he could win runnin’ back’ards. He won his heat on Monday like — like — like that!” The gaffer snapped his fingers, in default of a better illustration, and went on. “He might ha’ took it a little easier, I think; it’s shortened his price, of course, him jumpin’ in by two yards. But you can get decent odds now, if you go about it right. You take my tip — back him for his heat next Saturday, in the second round, and for the final. You’ll get a good price for the final, if you pop it down at once. But don’t go makin’ a song of it, will you, now? I’m givin’ you a tip I wouldn’t give anybody else.”
“Thanks, very much; it’s awfully good of you. I’ll do what you advise. But isn’t there a dark horse anywhere else?”
“Not dark to me, my boy, not dark to me. I know every man runnin’ like a book. Old Taylor — him over at the Cop — he’s got a very good lad at eighteen yards, a very good lad indeed; and he’s a tryer this time, I know. But, bless you, my lad could give him ten, instead o’ taking three, and beat him then! When I’m runnin’ a real tryer, I’m generally runnin’ something very near a winner, you bet; and this time, mind this time, I’m runnin’ the certainest winner I ever run — and I don’t often make a mistake. You back him.”
“I shall, if you’re as sure as that. But who is he?”
“Oh, Crockett’s his name — Sammy Crockett. He’s quite a new lad. I’ve got young Steggles looking after him — sticks to him like wax. Takes his little breathers in my bit o’ ground at the back here. I’ve got a cinder-sprint path there, over behind the trees. I don’t let him out o’ sight much, I can tell you. He’s a straight lad, and he knows it’ll be worth his while to stick to me; but there’s some ‘ud poison him, if they thought he’d spoil their books.”
Soon afterward the two strolled toward the taproom. “I expect Sammy’ll be there,” the landlord said, “with Steggles. I don’t hide him too much — they’d think I’d got something extra on if I did.”
In the tap-room sat a lean, wire-drawn-looking youth, with sloping shoulders and a thin face, and by his side was a rather short, thick-set man, who had an odd air, no matter what he did, of proprietorship and surveillance of the lean youth. Several other men sat about, and there was loud laughter, under which the lean youth looked sheepishly angry.
“‘Tarn’t no good, Sammy, lad,” some one was saying, “you a-makin’ after Nancy Webb — she’ll ha’ nowt to do with ‘ee.”
“Don’ like ‘em so thread-papery,” added another. “No, Sammy, you aren’t the lad for she. I see her — —”
“What about Nancy Webb?” asked Kentish, pushing open the door. “Sammy’s all right, any way. You keep fit, my lad, an’ go on improving, and some day you’ll have as good a house as me. Never mind the lasses. Had his glass o’ beer, has he?” This to Raggy Steggles, who, answering in the affirmative, viewed his charge as though he were a post, and the beer a recent coat of paint.
“Has two glasses of mild a day,” the landlord said to Hewitt. “Never puts on flesh, so he can stand it. Come out now.” He nodded to Steggles, who rose and marched Sammy Crockett away for exercise.
On the following afternoon (it was Thursday), as Hewitt and Kentish chatted in the landlord’s own snuggery, Steggles burst into the room in a great state of agitation and spluttered out: “He — he’s bolted; gone away!”
“What?”
“Sammy — gone! Hooked it! I can’t find him.”
The landlord stared blankly at the trainer, who stood with a sweater dangling from his hand and stared blankly back. “What d’ye mean?” Kentish said, at last. “Don’t be a fool! He’s in the place somewhere. Find him!”
But this Steggles defied anybody to do. He had looked already. He had left Crockett at the cinder-path behind the trees in his running-gear, with the addition of the long overcoat and cap he used in going between the path and the house to guard against chill. “I was goin’ to give him a bust or two with the pistol,” the trainer explained, “but, when we got over t’other side, ‘Raggy,’ ses he, ‘it’s blawin’ a bit chilly. I think I’ll ha’ a sweater. There’s one on my box, ain’t there?’ So in I coomes for the sweater, and it weren’t on his box, and, when I found it and got back — he weren’t there. They’d seen nowt o’ him in t’ house, and he weren’t nowhere.”
Hewitt and the landlord, now thoroughly startled, searched everywhere, but to no purpose. “What should he go off the place for?” asked Kentish, in a sweat of apprehension. “‘Tain’t chilly a bit — it’s warm. He didn’t want no sweater; never wore one before. It was a piece of kid to be able to clear out. Nice thing, this is. I stand to win two years’ takings over him. Here — you’ll have to find him.”
“Ah, but how?” exclaimed the disconcerted trainer, dancing about distractedly. “I’ve got all I could scrape on him myself. Where can I look?”
Here was Hewitt’s opportunity. He took Kentish aside and whispered. What he said startled the landlord considerably. “Yes, I’ll tell you all about that,” he said, “if that’s all you want. It’s no good or harm to me whether I tell or no. But can you find him?”
“That I can’t promise, of course. But you know who I am now, and what I’m here for. If you like to give me the information I want, I’ll go into the case for you, and, of course, I shan’t charge any fee. I may have luck, you know, but I can’t promise, of course.”
The landlord looked in Hewitt’s face for a moment. Then he said: “Done! It’s a deal.”
“Very good,” Hewitt replied; “get together the one or two papers you have, and we’ll go into my business in the evening. As to Crockett, don’t say a word to anybody. I’m afraid it must get out, since they all know about it in the house, but there’s no use in making any unnecessary noise. Don’t make hedging bets or do anything that will attract notice. Now we’ll go over to the back and look at this cinder-path of yours.”
Here Steggles, who was still standing near, was struck with an idea. “How about old Taylor, at the Cop, guv’nor, eh?” he said, meaningly. “His lad’s good enough to win with Sammy out, and Taylor is backing him plenty. Think he knows any thing o’ this?”
“That’s likely,” Hewitt observed, before Kentish could reply. “Yes. Look here — suppose Steggles goes and keeps his eye on the Cop for an hour or two, in case there’s anything to be heard of? Don’t show yourself, of course.”
Kentish agreed, and the trainer went. When Hewitt and Kentish arrived at the path behind the trees, Hewitt at once began examining the ground. One or two rather large holes in the cinders were made, as the publican explained, by Crockett, in practicing getting off his mark. Behind these were several fresh tracks of spiked shoes. The tracks led up to within a couple of yards of the high fence bounding the ground, and there stopped abruptly an
d entirely. In the fence, a little to the right of where the tracks stopped, there was a stout door. This Hewitt tried, and found ajar.
“That’s always kept bolted,” Kentish said. “He’s gone out that way — he couldn’t have gone any other without comin’ through the house.”
“But he isn’t in the habit of making a step three yards long, is he?” Hewitt asked, pointing at the last footmark and then at the door, which was quite that distance away from it. “Besides,” he added, opening the door, “there’s no footprint here nor outside.”
The door opened on a lane, with another fence and a thick plantation of trees at the other side. Kentish looked at the footmarks, then at the door, then down the lane, and finally back toward the house. “That’s a licker!” he said.
“This is a quiet sort of lane,” was Hewitt’s next remark. “No houses in sight. Where does it lead?”
“That way it goes to the Old Kilns — disused. This way down to a turning off the Padfield and Catton road.”
Hewitt returned to the cinder-path again, and once more examined the footmarks. He traced them back over the grass toward the house. “Certainly,” he said, “he hasn’t gone back to the house. Here is the double line of tracks, side by side, from the house — Steggles’ ordinary boots with iron tips, and Crockett’s running pumps; thus they came out. Here is Steggles’ track in the opposite direction alone, made when he went back for the sweater. Crockett remained; you see various prints in those loose cinders at the end of the path where he moved this way and that, and then two or three paces toward the fence — not directly toward the door, you notice — and there they stop dead, and there are no more, either back or forward. Now, if he had wings, I should be tempted to the opinion that he flew straight away in the air from that spot — unless the earth swallowed him and closed again without leaving a wrinkle on its face.”
Delphi Complete Works of Arthur Morrison Page 4