I was happy for Harry, of course. But while he was enjoying himself in the role of Holmes, I wasn’t content to play his Watson. I was now all the more anxious to solve my part of the affair, for the identity of the thieves was still unknown. The captain suggested that we forget about the wager. And Mr. Finn agreed. They seemed to think they were being chivalrous, but as is often the case with men, the chivalry was just a cloak for the ever-present condescension. Whatever his faults, Harry is never chivalrous. I assured the two gentlemen that there was no need to call off the wager.
“You expect to locate the gold still missing?” the captain asked.
“You forget, Captain. Our wager is that I identify the thieves behind it.”
Only Mme. Veblynde seemed to have any faith in my fulfilling my part of the bargain. Just after lunch we reached Sandy Hook, well ahead of schedule. So I was certain our syndicate had prevailed again. We then spent a great deal of time at the quarantine station. Apparently, there had been some illness among the crew and three of them were taken to the hospital there. However, since the technical end of the voyage was the passing of Sandy Hook, I was confident the delay had no effect on our chances of winning the pool.
IV
It wasn’t until early that evening that we finally docked in New York. I had made sure that Harry and I were positioned to observe the other passengers as they formed a queue. And I was much relieved when Mme. Dupagnier appeared, listing slightly to one side, then the other. I pointed her out to Harry, but he didn’t appreciate the significance—until I reminded him of the leather brace we’d seen in her cabin. Then Mlle. Moreau came into view. She had only a slight slouch, but it was enough to confirm my suspicions. I went over to M. Houyvet, who was supervising the disembarking. I pointed out the two women, but he, too, missed the point.
“The still-missing gold. I believe they may be carrying it. At least a portion of it.”
He looked more carefully, and then agreed that the two women appeared decidedly less graceful. He called down to a man on the pier and gave him a message for the customs officials. Then I led Harry back to the captain’s stateroom. I had already made Mme. Veblynde aware of my plan and she was there waiting. She told us the captain would be along shortly. Then Mr. Finn, whom I had also summoned, joined us. He asked what it was about, but I suggested we wait. A little while later, the captain arrived. He was impatient, so I revealed that I’d soon be able to identify the thieves. After what seemed like an hour, but was probably just minutes, M. Houyvet appeared. He told me I was correct. The two women had each hidden two bars of gold under their clothing, using harnesses fashioned from leather, like the one we had seen in Julie Dupagnier’s cabin. Knowing M. Houyvet’s secret, I was amused to see him blush with embarrassment over the details.
“Where is M. Guenard?” I asked him.
He didn’t know. Everyone seemed puzzled by my inquiry. Mr. Finn was the first to recover his wits.
“The purser?” he asked.
“Yes, it must be him.”
M. Houyvet left us in order to locate M. Guenard. He was soon found in his own cabin, where the ladies had left him bound and gagged. M. Houyvet brought him to the stateroom and he was informed that the two women had been arrested. He then told us the whole story. The plan was just as Harry had surmised, to replace the gold with the lead, and the lead with the gold. But the purser denied being behind it. He had been used, he said, by Mme. Yvard. She had seduced him, and the plan was hers entirely. It seems she knew of the gold shipment well in advance. And it was she who had arranged for the delivery of the lead and the fabrication of the faux seal. The work of carrying out the exchanges proved more than M. Guenard could manage alone, so he enlisted a steward he had suspected of stealing from passengers’ cabins. The man took no convincing. While most of the gold was to be sent to a warehouse, in the guise of lead, Mme. Yvard had taken three bars with her. As insurance, M. Guenard conjectured. She placed them in the false bottom of her trunk. But apparently when the porter upended the trunk to bring it up on deck, the weight of the gold shifted and it fell through a weak point. Hearing of the three bars’ discovery, the purser had his confederate remove the gold from the crates in the hold and hide it behind the wall panels of a little-used corridor.
While L’Aquitaine was docked at Le Havre, M. Guenard contacted Mme. Yvard. She spoke to him coldly, telling him they must stay apart. He now realized he had been nothing more than a tool to her. If he wished some reward for all his risk, he would need to see to it himself. So he approached Mlle. Moreau. Years ago, they had had an understanding. He told her he had always regretted that they hadn’t married. Then he convinced her to travel on L’Aquitaine to New York. During the trip, he told her of his predicament. It was his intention to have her hide two bars under her clothing, using the leather harness he’d fashioned. Then, Julie Dupagnier appeared. She knew all about the scheme, from her aunt, and was there to claim a share on her behalf. In order to assuage her, the purser made a second harness and likewise gave her two bars. But he didn’t confide in either woman about the other. This was a grave error. Mlle. Moreau saw him visit Mme. Dupagnier’s cabin and, out of suspicion, confronted her. But Mme. Dupagnier convinced her she was being used by the purser, who she revealed was the lover of Mme. Yvard. When Harry uncovered the bulk of the gold, M. Guenard lost his nerve and wanted to leave the ship. But the two women were afraid that would give them away before they themselves could disembark with their own gold. So they made him a prisoner in his cabin.
“What about the last three bars of gold?” Mr. Finn asked.
The purser swore he had no idea where it was. His confederate was brought in. With the purser having given him up, he likewise confessed. But he also pled ignorance about the three missing bars. They were taken away and both Mr. Finn and the captain admitted I had won the wager. Mr. Finn had just counted out two hundred dollars—the equivalent to one thousand francs—when there was a knock at the door. It was my associate, Mr. Smallby, accompanied by two New York policemen.
Smallby, it seems, was a private investigator hired by National City Bank. They’d come to arrest Mr. Finn. Apparently, he and his father-in-law had conspired to steal from their employer—not gold, but bonds. They’d been falsifying ledgers for the last few years, moving securities to their own accounts, and eventually accumulating a sizable fortune in South America. The two hundred dollars on the table was seized by the policemen and Mr. Finn taken away in handcuffs.
Mr. Smallby then asked me to join him on deck. He confessed he hadn’t been able to secure our desired position in the final pool because he’d been distracted by his investigation of Mr. Finn. So he instead used our capital to make a side bet on what time we would dock in New York. The delay brought on by the bother at the quarantine station caused him to lose the bet and all our money. I was crestfallen. I’d gone to great effort to ensure my fortune, and this man had bungled it. Back inside, the captain paid me the hundred francs that he owed me. While I was glad to have succeeded, it seemed that I had gone through quite a lot for twenty dollars.
Once through customs, Harry and I went off to our apartment in Brooklyn. Since we hadn’t expected to be back until sometime the next month, we’d given our maid, Mary, a month’s vacation. The larder was empty, and so we went out to a nice restaurant for dinner. When we returned to the Margaret, our building on the Plaza, a French seaman approached us. Harry introduced him as Thibaut Francher, the undependable watchman. Then two of Thibaut’s friends emerged from the shadows. We invited them inside, where they told the most perplexing story of feigning illness so they’d be removed from the boat at quarantine. Then they escaped from the hospital in a dinghy. When I pointed out it seemed like a rather unnecessary detour when they would be arriving in New York shortly anyway, they said something about never getting enough leave. After they had consumed every drop of spirits in the apartment, Harry gave them a portion of our meager cash and suggested they take a hotel room. Since we had two spare rooms, I f
ound this decidedly inhospitable, and not at all like him.
When I asked Harry about his unfriendly attitude, he said that he simply didn’t feel comfortable having the truant seamen staying in our home. About ten the next morning, he informed me he needed to attend to some business. This heightened my suspicion. I let Harry go off alone. But five minutes later I set out myself, heading to the hotel which Harry had recommended to our guests. I hid outside where I could see the entrance but would myself remain unobserved. Ten minutes went by before the four of them emerged. Harry led them to a car going across the bridge to Park Row. I just managed to board at the far end. Once on the Manhattan side, they disembarked and walked over to William Street, then down to a building I was unfamiliar with. They took an elevator up to the sixth floor. The doorman informed me that the sixth floor housed a firm of lawyers. Given that they must have gone to see someone Harry was acquainted with, the general nature of this lawyer’s practice was obvious. And I could think of no likely explanation for the three Frenchmen wanting to consult such a lawyer, save one: they had the remaining three bars of gold. Most people don’t realize it, but insurance companies aren’t at all adverse to dealing with thieves—provided it saves them a sizable amount of money. When Harry came home that afternoon, I told him what I had observed and insisted he reveal all.
“It’s not what you think, Emmie. I was as surprised to see the fellows last night as you were.”
“But you knew they had the gold?”
“Yes, I did know that. And that they left the boat at the quarantine station.”
“Why did you remain silent when you were telling the captain the rest of the story?”
“Well, I had made a deal with the fellows. You see, yesterday morning I woke Thibaut and told him I wanted him to help me search the cargo. He pointed out we’d need tools and went off to find some. He came back with the tools as well as the two other fellows. We opened all the crates, but found nothing. Then they split open some barrels and the whole floor was soon covered in some kind of lubricant. I had a feeling I’d let things get a little out of control, so I tried to rein the boys in. But they’d developed a certain momentum that would have been pretty difficult to stop. Finally, the only thing left was that giant piece of machinery. Some sort of press. It looked formidable, big pieces of cast iron with gigantic bolts holding it together. But the fellows knew its weak points and in no time its insides were exposed. That’s where we found the twenty bars hidden.”
“All but the four found on the women.”
“Yes, all but those four. Well, I was feeling pretty pleased with myself, and the fellows even more so. But the gaiety didn’t last long. It seems that my comrades were strongly against turning over the gold. And they made several very persuasive arguments against my crossing them, all of which ended with me being bludgeoned and tossed overboard. I made the usual speech about honor and the law, appealed to their patriotism, etc., but it all sounded a little flat when stacked up against twenty bars of gold. Then I came up with a compromise. They could each have one bar, and I could live to see Brooklyn again. At first, they didn’t find my idea terribly appealing. But by then our efforts had roused one of the officers and we could hear him coming down the metal stairway. In a flash, the three of them were gone.”
“Then they managed to feign illness at quarantine?”
“Yes, but I imagine it had more to do with some authentic bribery.”
“How did they know to come here?”
“I’d given Thibaut our address. We’d gotten kind of chummy. That was before the mutiny, of course. Once they got ashore it dawned on them that disposing of gold bars in a strange city held certain perils. The people who’d be willing to take on the merchandise would be just the sort willing to send them to the bottom of the bay. And, as I said, Thibaut and I had developed a kind of rapport.”
“Before the mutiny,” I added for him. “And now you’ve found a lawyer to negotiate with the insurance company?”
“Yes, at least to test the waters. One never knows how these things will transpire.”
Harry’s prophecy proved more true than he realized. That evening, while he was out entertaining his new friends, two men from the French consulate visited me. It seems there was an effort underway to keep certain names from being associated with the affair. I was told that the present government of France would be needlessly maligned if a minister’s wife were linked to the theft. They proposed laying the blame on the purser, the steward, and the purser’s fiancée, and forgetting about Mme. Yvard and her niece.
“But we will need your cooperation, Mme. Reese.”
“That would be quite impossible,” I answered firmly.
“We understand, certainly, there should be some… acknowledgement of your efforts. Perhaps a payment of five hundred dollars?”
“Do you think my integrity can be bought so cheaply, monsieur?”
“No, certainly not. I would never suggest anything so crass. But, as I say, as an acknowledgement…. Perhaps one thousand dollars?”
“Will you release Mlle. Moreau as well? If there is one true victim here, it is she.”
“I don’t think there would be any objection to that.”
Having reached our agreement, they immediately handed me the money. All in cash. Their eagerness to complete the transaction caused me to wonder if I shouldn’t have held on to my integrity a little longer. But one can never be sure. If they had called me on it, I might have ended up with nothing but my integrity. So I had no regrets. And I have kept my side of the bargain to this very day.
A few weeks later, the insurer reached a settlement for the return of the three bars of gold. They would pay half the value, some twelve thousand dollars. The lawyer took a third of this, but then the three Frenchmen insisted Harry accept an equal share of the remainder for his help—two thousand dollars. I was very pleased for Harry. And for myself, for now I felt no need to tell him about the thousand dollars I’d received. I had plans for that money, and wished to husband it until I was ready to execute them. In the meantime, Harry rented a little office in Manhattan and went into business for himself. I thoroughly approved, of course. However, I declined his offer of a position in the firm. Insurance investigations can be exceedingly dull work and I would be loath to spend a week in Allentown documenting an excessive claim on a fire policy. Nevertheless, I did intend to take an interest in his work whenever it proved challenging. In fact, I was already lining up just such a case for him, and would soon be ready to let him know all about it.
Psi no more…
by
Robert Bruce Stewart
I
This is an account of a decidedly odd set of events which occurred during the spring of 1902. It involved not one mystery, but four. Or, perhaps more correctly, three mysteries and a conundrum—which was, at first, masquerading as a mystery. I had just finished what I felt was my finest literary effort to date, an account of the famed European jewel thief Madame B____.
It’s no exaggeration, nor mere conceit, to say this was a tale worthy of Dumas. For in addition to filching the gems of noblewomen, Madame B____ also made off with a good many noble hearts. She quite regularly had dukes, counts, and earls dueling over her fickle affections. And enough baronets groveled before her that her boots need never to have touched the ground—a great convenience during the winter months.
The piece was finished in late February. In truth, it had been completed two weeks before, but the damned parrot that Harry, my husband, bought me for Christmas had managed to eat a good part of my manuscript and left the results on the remainder. However, now restored, my work was at last ready for the publisher.
And had I a publisher there would have been no need to visit Mr. Sackett, of Baily & Sackett, Literary Agency. Mr. Sackett (there was, in fact, no Mr. Baily) had placed some articles of mine in English periodicals the previous year. They had achieved a certain recognition, particularly in the county of Lancashire, and I was sure he would welcome th
e opportunity of marketing my new work. His office was just at the Manhattan end of the bridge, right on Park Row—the Fleet Street of New York. I dropped my manuscript off with him on a Thursday and returned, as instructed, on Monday. Mr. Sackett had read my piece and pronounced it a masterpiece, though perhaps not in so many words.
“Then you think you can find a publisher? The Strand, possibly?” I asked.
“Yes, possibly. But what the magazines most want are serials, something that entices the reader to buy the next issue. Then, later, we can find a book publisher.”
“Oh, I already have plans for just such a book, The Queens of Criminality. It would serve as a companion to Lady Carbury’s Criminal Queens. I was imagining that each profile would appear sequentially in some magazine of note.”
“Ah, an admirable aspiration,” he said. “But the key to a successful serial is that no installment be finite. For instance, the Madame B____ piece should end with the hint that her true identity will be revealed at the beginning of the next installment.”
“But I don’t reveal her true identity.”
“Quite. However, you do know it?”
“Yes, but I’m pledged never to reveal it.”
“Mrs. Reese, if you wish to get anywhere in this game, you must be willing to make compromises. I’m sure your promise was sincere when you made it, but circumstances change.”
“It isn’t merely a matter of honor. If I were to break my word, I would fear for my safety, and yours, Mr. Sackett.”
I knew he thought I was being overly dramatic, but if I’d related to him the truth of Madame B____’s nature, I felt sure he’d want nothing to do with my project. Finally, he suggested that the piece end with the promise that the great woman’s identity would be revealed in the next installment, and that we leave off worrying about the resolution until the time came. I agreed, and told him I would begin work on the next queen of criminality. My intended subject was Sophie Lyons, the notorious blackmailing seductress of the previous century. Much had been written about Mrs. Lyons, so I only needed to liven it up with detail and color to come up with my next installment.
First Blush: A Meegs Miscellany (A Harry Reese Mystery) Page 7