“It is,” said Miller. “This one has fifteen alphabets. One of our men has calculated that it has about forty billion changes. No one is going to work that out, and there are no keys to get lost. But it is that strong– room that is worrying us, as well as the old joker himself. The Lord knows how much valuable stuff there is in it. What we are afraid of is that Shemmonds may have made away with the old chap and be lying low, waiting to swoop down on that strong–room.”
“But you said that Luttrell goes away sometimes,” said I.
“Yes; but then he always notifies his insurance company and he seals up his strong–room with a tape round the door–handle and a great seal on the door–post. This time he hasn't notified the company and the door isn't sealed. There's a seal on the door–post––left from last time, I expect–– but only the cut ends of tape. I got the caretaker to let me see the place this morning; and, by the way, doctor, I have taken a leaf out of your book. I always carry a bit of squeezing wax in my pocket now and a little box of French chalk. Very handy they are, too. As I had 'em with me this morning, I took a squeeze of the seal. May want it presently for identification.”
He brought out of his pocket a small tin box from which he carefully extracted an object wrapped in tissue paper. When the paper had been tenderly removed there was revealed a lump of moulding wax, one side of which was flattened and bore a sunk design.
“It's quite a good squeeze,” said Miller, handing it to Thorndyke. “I dusted the seal with French chalk so that the wax shouldn't stick to it.”
My colleague examined the “squeeze” through his lens, and passing it and the lens to me, asked: “Has this been photographed, Miller?”
“No,” was the reply, “but it ought to be before it gets damaged.”
“It ought, certainly,” said Thorndyke, “if you value it. Shall I get Polton to do it now?”
The superintendent accepted the offer gratefully and Thorndyke accordingly took the squeeze up to the laboratory, where he left it for our assistant to deal with. When he returned, Miller remarked: “It is a baffling case, this. Now that Shemmonds has dropped out of sight, there is nothing to go on and nothing to do but wait for something else to happen; another burglary or an attempt on the strong–room.”
“Is it clear that the strong–room has not been opened?” asked Thorndyke.
“No, it isn't,” replied Miller. “That's part of the trouble. Luttrell has disappeared and he may be dead. If he is, Shemmonds will probably have been through his pockets. Of course there is no strong–room key. That is one of the advantages of a puzzle lock. But it is quite possible that Luttrell may have kept a note of the combination and carried it about him. It would have been risky to trust entirely to memory. And he would have had the keys of the office about him. Any one who had those could have slipped in during business hours without much difficulty. Luttrell's premises are empty, but there are people in and out all day going to the other offices. Our man can't follow them all in. I suppose you can't make any suggestion, doctor?”
“I am afraid I can't,” answered Thorndyke. “The case is so very much in the air. There is nothing against Shemmonds but bare suspicion. He has disappeared only in the sense that you have lost sight of him, and the same is true of Luttrell––though there is an abnormal element in his case. Still, you could hardly get a search–warrant on the facts that are known at present.”
“No,” Miller agreed, “they certainly would not authorise us to break open the strong–room, and nothing short of that would be much use.”
Here Polton made his appearance with the wax squeeze in a neat little box such as jewellers use.
“I've got two enlarged negatives,” said he; “nice clear ones. How many prints shall I make for Mr. Miller?”
“Oh, one will do, Mr. Polton,” said the superintendent. “If I want any more I'll ask you.” He took up the little box, and, slipping it in his pocket, rose to depart. “I'll let you know, doctor, how the case goes on, and perhaps you wouldn't mind turning it over a bit in the interval. Something might occur to you.”
Thorndyke promised to think over the case, and when we had seen the superintendent launched down the stairs, we followed Polton up to the laboratory, where we each picked up one of the negatives and examined it against the light. I had already identified the seal by its shape––a vesica piscis or boat–shape––with the one that I had seen on Mr. Luttrell's finger. Now, in the photograph, enlarged three diameters, I could clearly make out the details. The design was distinctive and curious rather than elegant. The two triangular spaces at the ends were occupied respectively by a memento mori and a winged hour–glass and the central portion was filled by a long inscription in Roman capitals, of which I could at first make nothing.
“Do you suppose this is some kind of cryptogram?” I asked.
“No,” Thorndyke replied. “I imagine the words were run together merely to economise space. This is what I make of it.”
He held the negative in his left hand, and with his right wrote down in pencil on a slip of paper the following four lines of doggerel verse
Eheu alas how fast the dam fugaces
Labuntur anni especially in the cases
Of poor old blokes like you and me Posthumus
Who only wait for vermes to consume us.”
“Well,” I exclaimed, “it is a choice specimen; one of old Luttrell's merry conceited jests, I take it. But the joke was hardly worth the labour of engraving on a seal.”
“It is certainly a rather mild jest,” Thorndyke admitted. “But there may be something more in it than meets the eye.”
He looked at the inscription reflectively and appeared to read it through once or twice. Then he replaced the negative in the drying rack, and, picking up the paper, slipped it into his pocket–book.
“I don't quite see,” said I, “why Miller brought this case to us or what he wants you to think over. In fact, I don't see that there is a case at all.”
“It is a very shadowy case,” Thorndyke admitted. “Miller has done a good deal of guessing, and so has Badger; and it may easily turn out that they have found a mare's nest. Nevertheless there is something to think about.”
“As, for instance––?”
“Well, Jervis, you saw the men; you saw how they behaved; you have heard Miller's story and you have seen Mr. Luttrell's seal. Put all those data together and you have the material for some very interesting speculation, to say the least. You might even carry it beyond speculation.”
I did not pursue the subject, for I knew that when Thorndyke used the word “speculation,” nothing would induce him to commit himself to an opinion. But later, bearing in mind the attention that he had seemed to bestow on Mr. Luttrell's schoolboy verses, I got a print from the negative and studied the foolish in exhaustively. But if it had any hidden meaning––and I could imagine no reason for supposing that it had––that meaning remained hidden; and the only conclusion at which I could arrive was that a man of Luttrell's age might have known better than to write such nonsense.
The superintendent did not leave the matter long in suspense. Three days later he paid us another visit. and half–apologetically reopened the subject.
“I am ashamed to come badgering you like this,” he said, “but I can't get this case out of my head. I've a feeling that we ought to, get a move of some kind on. And, by the way––though that is nothing to do with it–– I've copied out the stuff on that seal and I can't make any sense of it. What the deuce are fugaces? I suppose 'vermes' are worms, though I don't see why he spelt it that way.”
“The verses,” said Thorndyke, “are apparently a travesty of a Latin poem; one of the odes of Horace which begins:
Eheu fugaces, Postume, Postume, Labuntur anni,'
which means, in effect, 'Alas! Postume, the flying years slip by.'
“Well,” said Miller, “any fool knows that––any middle–aged fool, at any rate. No need to put it into Latin. However, it's of no consequence. To
return to this case; I've got an authority to look over Luttrell's premises––not to pull anything about, you know, just to look round. I called in on my way here to let the caretaker know that I should be coming in later. I thought that perhaps you might like to come with me. I wish you would, doctor. You've got such a knack of spotting things that other people overlook.”
He looked wistfully at Thorndyke, and as the latter was considering the proposal, he added: “The caretaker mentioned a rather odd circumstance. It seems that he keeps an eye on the electric meters in the building and that he has noticed a leakage of current in Mr. Luttrell's. It is only a small leak; about thirty watts an hour. But he can't account for it in any way. He has been right through the premises to see if any lamp has been left on in any of the rooms. But all the switches are off everywhere, and it can't be a short circuit. Funny, isn't it?
It was certainly odd, but there seemed to me nothing in it to account for the expression of suddenly awakened interest that I detected in Thorndyke's face. However, it evidently had some special significance for him, for he asked almost eagerly “When are you making your inspection?”
“I am going there now,” replied Miller, and he added coaxingly, “Couldn't you manage to run round with me?”
Thorndyke stood up. “Very well,” said he. “Let us go together. You may as well come, too, Jervis, if you can spare an hour.”
I agreed readily, for my colleague's hardly disguised interest in the inspection suggested a definite problem in his mind; and we at once issued forth and made our way by Mitre Court and Fetter Lane to the abode of the missing dealer, an old–fashioned house near the end of Thavies Inn.
“I've been over the premises once,” said Miller, as the caretaker appeared with the keys, “and I think we had better begin the regular inspection with the offices. We can examine the stores and living–rooms afterwards.”
We accordingly entered the outer office, and as this was little more than a waiting–room, we passed through into the private office, which had the appearance of having been used also as a sitting–room or study. It was furnished with an easy–chair, a range of book–shelves and a handsome bureau book–case, while in the end wall was the massive iron door of the strong–room. On this, as the chief object of interest, we all bore down, and the superintendent expounded its peculiarities.
It is quite a good idea,” said he, “this letter–lock. There's no keyhole––though a safe–lock is pretty hopeless to pick even if there was a keyhole––and no keys to get lost. As to guessing what the 'open sesame' may be––well, just look at it. You could spend a life time on it and be no forrader.”
The puzzle lock was contained in the solid iron door post, through a slot in which a row of fifteen A's seemed to grin defiance on the would–be safe–robber. I put my finger on the milled edges of one or two of the letters and rotated the discs, noticing how easily and smoothly they turned.
“Well,” said Miller, “it's no use fumbling with that. I'm just going to have a look through his ledger and see who his customers were. The book–case is unlocked. I tried it last time. And we'd better leave this as we found it.”
He put back the letters that I had moved, and turned away to explore the book–case; and as the letter–lock appeared to present nothing but an insoluble riddle, I followed him, leaving Thorndyke earnestly gazing at the meaningless row of letters.
The superintendent glanced back at him with an indulgent smile.
“The doctor is going to work out the combination,” he chuckled. “Well, well. There are only forty billion changes and he's a young man for his age.”
With this encouraging comment, he opened the glass door of the book–case, and reaching down the ledger, laid it on the desk–like slope of the bureau.
“It is a poor chance,” said he, opening the ledger at the index, “but some of these people may be able to give us a hint where to look for Mr. Luttrell, and it is worth while to know what sort of business he did.”
He ran his finger down the list of names and had just turned to the account of one of the customers when we were startled by a loud click from the direction of the strong–room. We both turned sharply and beheld Thorndyke grasping the handle of the strong–room door, and I saw with amazement that the door was now slightly ajar.
“God!” exclaimed Miller, shutting the ledger and starting forward, “he's got it open!” He strode over to the door, and directing an eager look at the indicator of the lock, burst into a laugh. “Well, I'm hanged!” he exclaimed. “Why, it was unlocked all the time! To think that none of us had the sense to tug the handle! But isn't it just like old Luttrell to have a fool's answer like that to the blessed puzzle!”
I looked at the indicator, not a little astonished to observe the row of fifteen A's, which apparently formed the key combination. It may have been a very amusing joke on Mr. Luttrell's part, but it did not look very secure. Thorndyke regarded us with an inscrutable glance and still grasped the handle, holding the door a bare half–inch open.
“There is something pushing against the door,” said he. “Shall I open it?
“May as well have a look at the inside,” replied Miller. Thereupon Thorndyke released the handle and quickly stepped aside. The door swung slowly open and the dead body of a man fell out into the room and rolled over on to its back.
“Mercy on us!” gasped Miller, springing back hastily and staring with horror and amazement at the grim apparition. “That is not Luttrell.” Then, suddenly starting forward and stooping over the dead man, be exclaimed “Why, it is Shemmonds. So that is where be disappeared to. I wonder what became of Luttrell?”
“There is somebody else in the strong–room,” said Thorndyke; and now, peering in through the doorway, I perceived a dim light, which seemed to come from a hidden recess, and by which I could see a pair of feet projecting round the corner. In a moment Miller had sprung in, and I followed. The strong–room was L shaped in plan, the arm of the L formed by a narrow passage at right angles to the main room. At the end of this a single small electric bulb was burning, the light of which showed the body of an elderly man stretched on the floor of the passage. I recognised him instantly in spite of the dimness of the light and the disfigurement caused by a ragged wound on the forehead.
“We had better get him out of this,” said Miller, speaking in a flurried tone, partly due to the shock of the horrible discovery and partly to the accompanying physical unpleasantness, “and then we will have a look round, This wasn't just a mere robbery. We are going to find things out.”
With my help he lifted Luttrell's corpse and together we carried it out, laying it on the floor of the room at the farther end, to which we also dragged the body of Shemmonds.
“There is no mystery as to how it happened,” I said, after a brief inspection of the two corpses. “Shemmonds evidently shot the old man from behind with the pistol close to the back of the head. The hair is all scorched round the wound of entry and the bullet came out at the forehead.”
“Yes,” agreed Miller, “that is all clear enough. But the mystery is why on earth Shemmonds didn't let himself out. He must have known that the door was unlocked. Yet instead of turning the handle, he must have stood there like a fool, battering at the door with his fists. Just look at his hands.”
“The further mystery,” said Thorndyke who, all this time, had been making a minute examination of the lock both front without and within, “is how the door came to be shut. That is quite a curious problem.”
“Quite,” agreed Miller. “But it will keep. And there is a still more curious problem inside there. There is nearly all the swag from that Colchester robbery. Looks as if Luttrell was in it.”
Half reluctantly he re–entered the strong–room and Thorndyke and I followed. Near the angle of the passage he stooped to pick up an automatic pistol and a small, leather book, which he opened and looked into by the light of the lamp. At the first glance he uttered an exclamation and shut the book with a snap.
“Do you know what this is?” he asked, holding it out to us. “It is the nominal roll, address book and journal of the gang. We've got them in the hollow of our hand; and it is dawning upon me that old Luttrell was the managing director whom I have been looking for so long. Just run your eyes along those shelves. That's loot; every bit of it. I can identify the articles from the lists that I made out.”
He stood looking gloatingly along the shelves with their burden of jewellery, plate and other valuables. Then his eye lighted on a drawer in the end wall just under the lamp; an iron drawer with a disproportionately large handle and bearing a very legible label inscribed “unmounted stones.”
“We'll have a look at his stock of unmounted gems,” said Miller; and with that he bore down on the drawer, and seizing the handle, gave a vigorous pull. “Funny,” said he. “It isn't locked, but something seems to be holding it back.”
He planted his foot on the wall and took a fresh purchase on the handle. “Wait a moment, Miller,” said Thorndyke; but even as he spoke, the superintendent gave a mighty heave; the drawer came out a full two feet; there was a loud click, and a moment later the strong–room door slammed.
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