Delphi Complete Works of Arthur Morrison

by Arthur Morrison

  “After my examination of the body I went to the bush, and there, in the thick of it, were, for me, sufficiently distinct knee-marks, in one of which the knee had crushed a spray of the bush against the ground, and from that spray a leaf was missing. Behind the knee-marks were the indentations of boot-toes in the soft, bare earth under the bush, and thus the thing was plain. The poor lunatic had come in sight of the dangling rope, and the temptation to suicide was irresistible. To people in a deranged state of mind the mere sight of the means of self-destruction is often a temptation impossible to withstand. But at that moment he must have heard the steps — probably the voices — of the brothers behind him on the winding path. He immediately hid in the bush till they had passed. It is probable that seeing who the men were, and conjecturing that they were following him — thinking also, perhaps, of things that had occurred between them and himself — his inclination to self-destruction became completely ungovernable, with the result that you saw.

  “But before I inspected the bush I noticed one or two more things about the body. You remember I inquired if either of the brothers Foster was left-handed, and was assured that neither was. But clearly the hand had been cut off by a left-handed man, with a large, sharply pointed knife. For well away to the right of where the wrist had hung the knife-point had made a tiny triangular rent in the coat, so that the hand must have been held in the mutilator’s right hand, while he used the knife with his left — clearly a left-handed man.

  “But most important of all about the body was the jagged hair over the right ear. Everywhere else the hair was well cut and orderly — here it seemed as though a good piece had been, so to speak, sawn off. What could anybody want with a dead man’s right hand and certain locks of his hair? Then it struck me suddenly — the man was hanged; it was the Hand of Glory!

  “Then you will remember I went, at your request, to see the footprints of the Fosters on the part of the path past the watercourse. Here again it was muddy in the middle, and the two brothers had walked as far apart as before, although nobody had walked between them. A final proof, if one were needed, of my theory as to the three lines of footprints.

  “Now I was to consider how to get at the man who had taken his hand. He should be punished for the mutilation, but beyond that he would be required as a witness. Now all the foot-tracks in the vicinity had been accounted for. There were those of the brothers and of Sneathy, which we have been speaking of; those of the rustics looking on, which, however, stopped a little way off, and did not interfere with our sphere of observation; those of your man, who had cut straight through the wood when he first saw the body, and had come back the same way with you; and our own, which we had been careful to keep away from the others. Consequently there was no track of the man who had cut off the hand; therefore it was certain that he must have come along the hard gravel by the watercourse, for that was the only possible path which would not tell the tale. Indeed, it seemed quite a likely path through the wood for a passenger to take, coming from the high ground by the Shopperton road.

  “Brett and I left you and traversed the watercourse, both up and down. We found a footprint at the top, left lately by a man with a broken shoe. Right down to the bottom of the watercourse where it emerged from the wood there was no sign on either side of this man having left the gravel. (Where the body was, as you will remember, he would simply have stepped off the gravel on to the grass, which I thought it useless to examine, as I have explained.) But at the bottom, by the lane, the footprint appeared again.

  “This then was the direction in which I was to search for a left-handed man with a broken-soled shoe, probably a gipsy — and most probably a foreign gipsy — because a foreign gipsy would be the most likely still to hold the belief in the Hand of Glory. I conjectured the man to be a straggler from a band of gipsies — one who probably had got behind the caravan and had made a short cut across the wood after it; so at the end of the lane I looked for a patrin. This is a sign that gipsies leave to guide stragglers following up. Sometimes it is a heap of dead leaves, sometimes a few stones, sometimes a mark on the ground, but more usually a couple of twigs crossed, with the longer twig pointing the road.

  “Guided by these patrins we came in the end on the gipsy camp just as it was settling down for the night. We made ourselves agreeable (as Brett will probably describe to you better than I can), we left them, and after they had got to sleep we came back and watched for the gentleman who is now in the lock-up. He would, of course, seize the first opportunity of treating his ghastly trophy in the prescribed way, and I guessed he would choose midnight, for that is the time the superstition teaches that the hand should be prepared. We made a few small preparations, collared him, and now you’ve got him. And I should think the sooner you let the brothers Foster go the better.”

  “But why didn’t you tell me all the conclusions you had arrived at at the time?” asked Mr. Hardwick.

  “Well, really,” Hewitt replied, with a quiet smile, “you were so positive, and some of the traces I relied on were so small, that it would probably have meant a long argument and a loss of time. But more than that, confess, if I had told you bluntly that Sneathy’s hand had been taken away to make a mediæval charm to enable a thief to pass through a locked door and steal plate calmly under the owner’s nose, what would you have said?”

  “Well, well, perhaps I should have been a little sceptical. Appearances combined so completely to point to the Fosters as murderers that any other explanation almost would have seemed unlikely to me, and that — well no, I confess, I shouldn’t have believed in it. But it is a startling thing to find such superstitions alive now-a-days.”

  “Yes, perhaps it is. Yet we find survivals of the sort very frequently. The Wallachians, however, are horribly superstitious still — the gipsies among them are, of course, worse. Don’t you remember the case reported a few months ago, in which a child was drowned as a sacrifice in Wallachia in order to bring rain? And that was not done by gipsies either. Even in England, as late as 1865, a poor paralysed Frenchman was killed by being ‘swum’ for witchcraft — that was in Essex. And less atrocious cases of belief in wizardry occur again and again even now.”

  Then Mr. Hardwick and my uncle fell into a discussion as to how the gipsy in the lock-up could be legally punished. Mr. Hardwick thought it should be treated as a theft of a portion of a dead body, but my uncle fancied there was a penalty for mutilation of a dead body per se, though he could not point to the statute. As it happened, however, they were saved the trouble of arriving at a decision, for in the morning he was discovered to have escaped. He had been left, of course, with free hands, and had occupied the night in wrenching out the bars at the top of the back wall of the little prison-shed (it had stood on the green for a hundred and fifty years) and climbing out. He was not found again, and a month or two later the Foster family left the district entirely.

  “Good luck, brothers!”

  “How do you do, father? Give me your hand.”

  “Spirits for water, lads. Give me the water and take your share of the spirits.”

  Country.

  Smith.

  Horses.

  Vans.

  Good-night.

  “Not understand?”

  Fire-hand.

  THE CASE OF LAKER, ABSCONDED.

  There were several of the larger London banks and insurance offices from which Hewitt held a sort of general retainer as detective adviser, in fulfilment of which he was regularly consulted as to the measures to be taken in different cases of fraud, forgery, theft, and so forth, which it might be the misfortune of the particular firms to encounter. The more important and intricate of these cases were placed in his hands entirely, with separate commissions, in the usual way. One of the most important companies of the sort was the General Guarantee Society, an insurance corporation which, among other risks, took those of the integrity of secretaries, clerks, and cashiers. In the case of a cash-box elopement on the part of any person guaranteed by
the society, the directors were naturally anxious for a speedy capture of the culprit, and more especially of the booty, before too much of it was spent, in order to lighten the claim upon their funds, and in work of this sort Hewitt was at times engaged, either in general advice and direction, or in the actual pursuit of the plunder and the plunderer.

  Arriving at his office a little later than usual one morning, Hewitt found an urgent message awaiting him from the General Guarantee Society, requesting his attention to a robbery which had taken place on the previous day. He had gleaned some hint of the case from the morning paper, wherein appeared a short paragraph, which ran thus: —

  Serious Bank Robbery. — In the course of yesterday a clerk employed by Messrs. Liddle, Neal & Liddle, the well-known bankers, disappeared, having in his possession a large sum of money, the property of his employers — a sum reported to be rather over £15,000. It would seem that he had been entrusted to collect the money in his capacity of “walk-clerk” from various other banks and trading concerns during the morning, but failed to return at the usual time. A large number of the notes which he received had been cashed at the Bank of England before suspicion was aroused. We understand that Detective-Inspector Plummer, of Scotland Yard, has the case in hand.

  The clerk, whose name was Charles William Laker, had, it appeared from the message, been guaranteed in the usual way by the General Guarantee Society, and Hewitt’s presence at the office was at once desired, in order that steps might quickly be taken for the man’s apprehension, and in the recovery, at any rate, of as much of the booty as possible.

  A smart hansom brought Hewitt to Threadneedle Street in a bare quarter of an hour, and there a few minutes’ talk with the manager, Mr. Lyster, put him in possession of the main facts of the case, which appeared to be simple. Charles William Laker was twenty-five years of age, and had been in the employ of Messrs. Liddle, Neal & Liddle for something more than seven years — since he left school, in fact — and until the previous day there had been nothing in his conduct to complain of. His duties as walk-clerk consisted in making a certain round, beginning at about half-past ten each morning. There were a certain number of the more important banks between which and Messrs. Liddle, Neal & Liddle there were daily transactions, and a few smaller semi-private banks and merchant firms acting as financial agents, with whom there was business intercourse of less importance and regularity; and each of these, as necessary, he visited in turn, collecting cash due on bills and other instruments of a like nature. He carried a wallet, fastened securely to his person by a chain, and this wallet contained the bills and the cash. Usually at the end of his round, when all his bills had been converted into cash, the wallet held very large sums. His work and responsibilities, in fine, were those common to walk-clerks in all banks.

  On the day of the robbery he had started out as usual — possibly a little earlier than was customary — and the bills and other securities in his possession represented considerably more than £15,000. It had been ascertained that he had called in the usual way at each establishment on the round, and had transacted his business at the last place by about a quarter-past one, being then, without doubt, in possession of cash to the full value of the bills negotiated. After that, Mr. Lyster said, yesterday’s report was that nothing more had been heard of him. But this morning there had been a message to the effect that he had been traced out of the country — to Calais, at least, it was thought. The directors of the society wished Hewitt to take the case in hand personally and at once, with a view of recovering what was possible from the plunder by way of salvage; also, of course, of finding Laker, for it is an important moral gain to guarantee societies, as an example, if a thief is caught and punished. Therefore Hewitt and Mr. Lyster, as soon as might be, made for Messrs. Liddle, Neal & Liddle’s, that the investigation might be begun.

  The bank premises were quite near — in Leadenhall Street. Having arrived there, Hewitt and Mr. Lyster made their way to the firm’s private rooms. As they were passing an outer waiting-room, Hewitt noticed two women. One, the elder, in widow’s weeds, was sitting with her head bowed in her hand over a small writing-table. Her face was not visible, but her whole attitude was that of a person overcome with unbearable grief; and she sobbed quietly. The other was a young woman of twenty-two or twenty-three. Her thick black veil revealed no more than that her features were small and regular, and that her face was pale and drawn. She stood with a hand on the elder woman’s shoulder, and she quickly turned her head away as the two men entered.

  Mr. Neal, one of the partners, received them in his own room. “Good-morning, Mr. Hewitt,” he said, when Mr. Lyster had introduced the detective. “This is a serious business — very. I think I am sorrier for Laker himself than for anybody else, ourselves included — or, at any rate, I am sorrier for his mother. She is waiting now to see Mr. Liddle, as soon as he arrives — Mr. Liddle has known the family for a long time. Miss Shaw is with her, too, poor girl. She is a governess, or something of that sort, and I believe she and Laker were engaged to be married. It’s all very sad.”

  “Inspector Plummer, I understand,” Hewitt remarked, “has the affair in hand, on behalf of the police?”

  “Yes,” Mr. Neal replied; “in fact, he’s here now, going through the contents of Laker’s desk, and so forth; he thinks it possible Laker may have had accomplices. Will you see him?”

  “Presently. Inspector Plummer and I are old friends. We met last, I think, in the case of the Stanway cameo, some months ago. But, first, will you tell me how long Laker has been a walk-clerk?”

  “Barely four months, although he has been with us altogether seven years. He was promoted to the walk soon after the beginning of the year.”

  “Do you know anything of his habits — what he used to do in his spare time, and so forth?”

  “Not a great deal. He went in for boating, I believe, though I have heard it whispered that he had one or two more expensive tastes — expensive, that is, for a young man in his position,” Mr. Neal explained, with a dignified wave of the hand that he peculiarly affected. He was a stout old gentleman, and the gesture suited him.

  “You have had no reason to suspect him of dishonesty before, I take it?”

  “Oh, no. He made a wrong return once, I believe, that went for some time undetected, but it turned out, after all, to be a clerical error — a mere clerical error.”

  “Do you know anything of his associates out of the office?”

  “No, how should I? I believe Inspector Plummer has been making inquiries as to that, however, of the other clerks. Here he is, by the bye, I expect. Come in!”

  It was Plummer who had knocked, and he came in at Mr. Neal’s call. He was a middle-sized, small-eyed, impenetrable-looking man, as yet of no great reputation in the force. Some of my readers may remember his connection with that case, so long a public mystery, that I have elsewhere fully set forth and explained under the title of “The Stanway Cameo Mystery.” Plummer carried his billy-cock hat in one hand and a few papers in the other. He gave Hewitt good-morning, placed his hat on a chair, and spread the papers on the table.

  “There’s not a great deal here,” he said, “but one thing’s plain — Laker had been betting. See here, and here, and here” — he took a few letters from the bundle in his hand— “two letters from a bookmaker about settling — wonder he trusted a clerk — several telegrams from tipsters, and a letter from some friend — only signed by initials — asking Laker to put a sovereign on a horse for the friend ‘with his own.’ I’ll keep these, I think. It may be worth while to see that friend, if we can find him. Ah, we often find it’s betting, don’t we, Mr. Hewitt? Meanwhile, there’s no news from France yet.”

  “You are sure that is where he is gone?” asked Hewitt.

  “Well, I’ll tell you what we’ve done as yet. First, of course, I went round to all the banks. There was nothing to be got from that. The cashiers all knew him by sight, and one was a personal friend of his. He had called as usual, said
nothing in particular, cashed his bills in the ordinary way, and finished up at the Eastern Consolidated Bank at about a quarter-past one. So far there was nothing whatever. But I had started two or three men meanwhile making inquiries at the railway stations, and so on. I had scarcely left the Eastern Consolidated when one of them came after me with news. He had tried Palmer’s Tourist Office, although that seemed an unlikely place, and there struck the track.”

  “Had he been there?”

  “Not only had he been there, but he had taken a tourist ticket for France. It was quite a smart move, in a way. You see it was the sort of ticket that lets you do pretty well what you like; you have the choice of two or three different routes to begin with, and you can break your journey where you please, and make all sorts of variations. So that a man with a ticket like that, and a few hours’ start, could twist about on some remote branch route, and strike off in another direction altogether, with a new ticket, from some out-of-the-way place, while we were carefully sorting out and inquiring along the different routes he might have taken. Not half a bad move for a new hand; but he made one bad mistake, as new hands always do — as old hands do, in fact, very often. He was fool enough to give his own name, C. Laker! Although that didn’t matter much, as the description was enough to fix him. There he was, wallet and all, just as he had come from the Eastern Consolidated Bank. He went straight from there to Palmer’s, by the bye, and probably in a cab. We judge that by the time. He left the Eastern Consolidated at a quarter-past one, and was at Palmer’s by twenty-five-past — ten minutes. The clerk at Palmer’s remembered the time because he was anxious to get out to his lunch, and kept looking at the clock, expecting another clerk in to relieve him. Laker didn’t take much in the way of luggage, I fancy. We inquired carefully at the stations, and got the porters to remember the passengers for whom they had been carrying luggage, but none appeared to have had any dealings with our man. That, of course, is as one would expect. He’d take as little as possible with him, and buy what he wanted on the way, or when he’d reached his hiding-place. Of course, I wired to Calais (it was a Dover to Calais route ticket) and sent a couple of smart men off by the 8.15 mail from Charing Cross. I expect we shall hear from them in the course of the day. I am being kept in London in view of something expected at headquarters, or I should have been off myself.”