The Mammoth Book of Roaring Twenties Whodunnits

by Mike Ashley

  “Incidentally,” remarked the girl, “the Duchess sent us a cheque for £500.”

  “Good for her,” said Lord Trevitter. “I suppose you’ve –”

  “Oh, of course, Jim! Anonymously, needless to say.”

  “Quite right,” murmured Everest. “Well, what’s the big idea this evening?”

  “How do you know I’ve got one?”

  “Listen to her!” exclaimed Williamson. “Breaking off a dance at twelve o’clock and keeping us out of our beds—”

  “But it’s rather a puzzling one, Hugh,” interrupting him. “We shall want all our ingenuity to get home this time.”

  “Splendid! Let’s have it, my dear.”

  Leaning forward in her chair, slim hands clasped, Daphne Wrayne outlined the story to them. Then, as she came to the end:

  “But I can add a good deal to this. It seemed obvious to me from the start that there was no double at all – it was just a ruse, carefully planned.”

  “Particularly why, Daph?” queried Lord Trevitter.

  “The signature, Jim, alone. In a forgery of this size your forger never makes a mistake with the signature. It’s miles too risky. Besides, assuming that it was Gorleston himself, look at all there is to support the idea? If they detect the flaw in the signature they can’t collar him – it’s merely a slip. But if it gets by, what happens then? Why the bank’s in the cart and they’re liable for carelessness.”

  “You’re a true woman, my dear,” smiled Everest. “Jump to a conclusion first and fit your facts to it afterwards.”

  Daphne pouted adorably.

  “I hate you, Martin,” she said. “Still, I was right.”

  “You’re sure?” demanded Williamson.

  “Absolutely. All the same, as my legal friend here will tell you,” laying her hand on Everest’s arm with a smile, “it’s going to be very difficult to prove. However, let me first give you all the facts I have.”

  She paused for a moment to light a cigarette, and they all waited eagerly.

  “I sent Rayte up to interview Adwinter,” she went on, “and established pretty satisfactorily that a man wearing glasses and answering in all other descriptions to Gorleston called there recently in the name of John Elwes, of 124, Unwin Street, Bloomsbury. He wanted new glasses and got them. So to Unwin Street, where apparently John Elwes has had a bedroom and sitting-room for over a year. Now, according to his landlady he is a man of no occupation who used to come once or twice a week and stay the night there. He turned up there, on the day the forgery was committed, at 2.15 in the afternoon – note the time – stayed a few minutes, during which he told his landlady he was going to the bank, got into his taxi saying he’d look in in a few days’ time. He has never been near there since.”

  She paused a moment to relight her cigarette, which had gone out. Then she went on.

  “Now as regards Gorleston. Gorleston’s been stopping, as he declared, at the Golden Crown, Portworth, two miles out of Tavistock. Every morning he’s breakfasted at eight and gone out, with his lunch, till ten o’clock at night. Now on the day that this forgery is supposed to have been committed Gorleston swears he was fishing all day. But the curious fact turns up that a ticket collector at Tavistock – who is a fisherman himself, and who had apparently seen Gorleston fishing there that week – swears that he saw him on that particular day going up to London on the 9.11. The booking clerk can’t help us, but it’s funny that there was only one return ticket to London issued that day. Funnier still that the return half should have been given up that evening, and funniest of all that Gorleston should have come in on that night – the only one – to say that he had had a blank day.”

  “How can you fix the day, Daph?”

  “It was a brilliantly fine day, Martin, and the people at the Inn remember it as strange because two other men staying there had had big catches.”

  “And the trains? How do they fit in?”

  “The 9.11 gets to town at 1.56. A taxi would take him to Bloomsbury at 2.15 a.m.; would get him to the bank at 2.30 – the time we know he was there. While another one would give him the 3.16 to land him at Tavistock at 8.41.”

  “If you could only find the taxi man who drove him –” began Sylvester, but Daphne cut him short.

  “Oh, I have, Allan! He remembers it well. Described his fare as tall and thin, wearing horn-rimmed glasses. Drove him to Unwin Street and waited a few minutes. Then to the bank, where he was given a ten-shilling note and dismissed.”

  “Seems to me,” said Lord Trevitter, “that you’ve proved it up to the hilt.”

  But Everest shook his head.

  “Circumstantially, Jim,” he said, “it’s excellent. But it’s not a good case to go to a jury with. Brief me for Gorleston and I’ll find a hundred flaws.”

  “I was afraid you’d say that, Martin,” said Daphne, a little ruefully.

  “I don’t want to say it, dear, but I must. Mind you, I haven’t the slightest doubt from all you’ve told me that John Elwes has never existed, but I’m equally certain that even with the evidence you’ve got, it’s going to be hard to establish. You see, who’s going to prove that the taximan’s passenger was Gorleston from Tavistock? It might have been John Elwes from, say, Surbiton! Frankly, it’s a very clever fraud that has got home and looks like staying home. He’s got overwhelming evidence that he was at Tavistock, and all that we can produce is a ticket collector who’s only seen him once or twice. While he, Gorleston, can produce a hundred intimate pals who will swear that he has never worn spectacles, and a thousand or two cheques all bearing his accurate and original signature. No, no, it won’t do!”

  “Of course there is another way,” murmured Daphne thoughtfully, “but the question is, will you agree to it?”

  The four men exchanged glances.

  “It’s one of Peter Pan’s very choicest, right off the ice!” smiled Sylvester. “Now I’ll lay anyone a quid—”

  “Oh, Allan!” laughing and blushing. “Don’t be a beast! All right, I’ll tell you then. You can laugh at me afterwards.”

  But there was little laughter in their faces as she talked.

  When she had finished Lord Trevitter threw back his head and laughed like a schoolboy.

  “Daphne, you’re a marvel!” he exclaimed. “My dear, how do you think of these things?”

  “Is it good, Jim?”

  “Good?” echoed Everest. “It’s glorious, magnificent! Of course, he may not fall for it, but if he’s guilty I believe he will. If, on the other hand, he’s innocent, well – we’re no worse off than we were before.”

  “I’m in this, mind!” exclaimed Williamson.

  “We’re all in it, the four of us!” answered Lord Trevitter, with his boyish laugh. “Another success for the Adjusters!”

  “Oh, I’m so glad you like my idea!” exclaimed the girl. “Let’s thrash it out!”

  Richard Henry Gorleston was entirely pleased with himself. As he sat in a West End restaurant eating his dinner he smiled complacently to himself. Twenty-five thousand pounds for nothing, he told himself, was the finest day’s work he had ever done. His solicitors, furthermore, had hinted to him that the bank, rather than court publicity, would settle with him. He signed to his waiter and ordered himself another bottle of champagne and a Corona.

  “Have you any objection to my sitting here?”

  A suave, smiling, elderly gentleman with white hair and gold-rimmed pince-nez was standing at the table, hesitating, but Gorleston answered his smile cheerfully.

  “Not a bit in the world. Crowded here to-night.”

  “Somewhat. I don’t know my London well. I’m from the country – North Wales. My annual trip to London. I come up once a year, I see all the sights. And,” with a smile, “I have a little opportunity to indulge my pet hobby – billiards.”

  Gorleston was interested in a moment.

  “Funny that,” he said. “It’s a particular hobby of mine, and –”

  They were hard at it in a m
oment. Finally, when the stranger, who volunteered his name as Professor Lucas, called for his bill, Gorleston ventured to suggest that he and his new friend should adjourn for a game.

  They played several games. The Professor was charmed with his new acquaintance and pressed him to dine with him the following evening. Gorleston accepted with alacrity.

  The following evening they met again, but soon after the meal had started the Professor was claimed by three friends of his. He expressed extraordinary surprise at seeing them, introduced them to Gorleston, and insisted on their dining with him. It was a merry dinner, and a considerable amount of wine was consumed. Later on the quintette adjourned – this time it was to a pet place of the Professor’s. They had a private room there, and Gorleston trounced the Professor soundly. Then, in boisterous mood, he took on his three friends and administered severe hidings to each of them. So pleased was he that he sent for two magnums of champagne and after trying ineffectually to play with the rest, which he had previously chalked, he subsided gracefully on to the couch. Eventually Gorleston, hopelessly drunk, was assisted into a taxi. The Professor gave the driver the address of 124, Unwin Street, Bloomsbury –

  Inside the taxi the behaviour of the four men was a little strange, for they proceeded to extract a good many things from the drunken man’s pockets. They also carefully placed a pair of horn-rimmed spectacles on his face!

  “Capital!” murmured the Professor as he gazed at the unconscious man. “John Elwes, surely?”

  “We’ll hope so,” replied one of the others. “We’ll knock up his landlady and if she greets him as such we’re home.”

  “When will he wake up?”

  “About eleven to-morrow,” replied the other. “I got that drug from the natives on the West Coast, and I know it backwards. Still, we’ll be on the safe side and turn up at ten o’clock tomorrow.”

  One hour later the landlady, profuse in her thanks for bringing Mr Elwes home, showed the four men out of 124, Unwin Street. In a quiet street they proceeded to remove beards, moustaches and wigs – the Professor becoming Allan Sylvester and his three companions – Martin Everest, Sir Hugh Williamson and Lord Trevitter!

  “It was a brain-wave of Daphne’s!” chuckled Everest as he lit a cigarette. “We know he’s Gorleston, he knows he’s Gorleston, but his landlady and Adwinter are prepared to swear he’s John Elwes. Besides, he’s in Elwes’ rooms in Elwes’ bed, all his clothes are marked with Elwes’ name, and even his cards are in the name of John Elwes. If I were on the bench,” thoughtfully, “I should have to come to the conclusion that he was Elwes.”

  “Of course, the amusing thing to me,” said Williamson, “is that we’ve done it so carefully that even if he can prove he’s Gorleston, he’s in a worse mess. For that establishes definitely that he’s been runnin’ a dual personality in order to defraud the bank.”

  “Ah, but his attitude to-morrow morning will decide that. If he refuses to give in, we may be wrong. But he won’t. He’ll throw up the sponge. You see if he doesn’t.”

  When Richard Henry Gorleston awoke the next morning he stared dazedly round the room. Then with a startled cry he leapt out of bed. But he stopped short, for at that moment the door opened and two men, complete strangers to him, came into the room, and locked the door.

  “Well, John Elwes – the game’s up!”

  “W – w – what d’you mean? My name’s not John Elwes!”

  “Really! Then may I ask what you’re doing in John Elwes’ room, sleeping in John Elwes’ bed?” He took a quick step forward, picked up a coat which lay on a chair, glanced at it. “And how come you to be wearing John Elwes’ clothes?”

  The other gasped.

  “John Elwes’ – clothes?”

  “See for yourself! Name in coat – name on the shirt – name on the collar – card case here on the dressing-table” – he took it up and examined it, “with John Elwes’ cards in it! If you’re not John Elwes, perhaps you’ll not only tell us how you come to be in possession of all his things, but who you are and how you are here.”

  For a space of seconds Gorleston glared at him like a rat caught in a trap.

  “My name’s Gorleston,” he blurted out desperately. “Richard Henry Gorleston. How I got here I don’t know.”

  The taller of the two men smiled pityingly.

  “Come again, sonnie,” he answered. “We’re acting on behalf of the Universal Banking Corporation who are rather interested in getting hold of John Elwes for forging Gorleston’s signature to a £25,000 cheque. Adwinter, of Queen Anne Street, will swear to you anywhere, and so will your landlady.”

  Gorleston moistened his dry lips.

  “It’s going to trouble you to prove I’m Elwes,” he said.

  “It’s going to trouble you to prove you’re not,” laughed the other easily. “We’ve got your four pals of last night who swear that while you were drunk you let out the whole story.”

  “It’s a plant!” Gorleston muttered at length. “A frame-up! You know it!”

  “Try that on the magistrate,” smiled the other. “Of course, it’s always open to you, when you get to Bow Street, to subpœna Gorleston himself. If there is such a strong likeness between the two of you, you might get off that way.”

  “My dear Allan,” chimed in his friend sarcastically, “do think of what he’s told us! He is Gorleston. Though if he can prove it, then Heaven help him, because we can quite easily establish that he is Elwes as well. So all the bank do is to charge him with trying to obtain twenty-five thou’ by means of a trick.”

  “Well, hop it and call a policeman,” replied his friend. “I’m sick of all this cackle.”

  But as the other moved over to the door Gorleston sprang up trembling.

  “Can’t we – can’t we settle this?” he exclaimed desperately.

  The man at the door smiled.

  “There’s Gorleston to be considered,” he replied.

  “I tell you I am Gorleston.”

  The other strode back, his hands clenched.

  “Yes,” he snapped, his voice like a whiplash, “and John Elwes as well! Don’t you dare to interrupt me!” as Gorleston made as if to speak. “What about the 9.11 up to London from Tavistock on the day the forgery was committed? What about the chauffeur who drove you here the moment you arrived so that your landlady could prove that John Elwes was in town that day? What about your telling her that you were in a hurry to get to the Universal Bank to cash a cheque? Excellent corroborative evidence, eh, that John Elwes was a real live person? And then you drove on to the bank, gave the chauffeur ten shillings and walked in as Richard Henry Gorleston – and caught the 3.16 back to Tavistock, picked up your fishing rod en route to Portworth and walked into the hotel and said you’d had a blank day. Want any more, you lying devil?”

  But evidently Gorleston didn’t. He fell back in his chair the picture of absolute rage and despair.

  “I – don’t know – who on earth you are—”

  “And you won’t!” interrupted the other. “Now, then, which is it to be – the police, or a confession?”

  “A con – con – confession!” stammered Richard Henry Gorleston.

  Once more Sir John Colston sat opposite Daphne Wrayne in her private room.

  “You will probably agree with me, Sir John,” she began in her cool little voice, “that if Richard Henry Gorleston decided to drop his action, gave you a written undertaking to that effect, agreed furthermore to accept the loss and never proceed against you on the same count – you would then, I think, be quite satisfied? In other words, you would sooner let the matter drop – providing your bank didn’t suffer – rather than he should get, say, seven years, and the public should know that although you had been swindled, you had been just a little careless?”

  “Why, of course, my dear young lady. Publicity is the thing we’re most anxious to avoid. But you don’t mean to say that Gorleston will do that?”

  Daphne Wrayne unlocked a drawer in her table and dr
ew out a paper.

  “Please listen to this, Sir John,” she said:

  “I, Richard Henry Gorleston, of 849, The Albany, London, W., being of sound mind, do declare as follows that the cheque for twenty-five thousand pounds, cashed under my signature at the Universal Banking Corporation, of 99, Lombard Street, in the City of London, on June 15th, 1927, was written by me, and that the error in the signature was made wilfully by me with intent to deceive. Furthermore, that the name of John Elwes was invented by me, and the person and identity of John Elwes was no other than myself—”

  “Great Heavens! May I – may I see it?”

  “Sir John!” Daphne Wrayne leant forward in her chair and her hazel eyes were earnest on his. “You have perhaps a right to ask to see this paper, but I am going to ask you as a gentleman not to exercise that right. This paper bears the signatures, as witnesses, of two men whose names are household words for uprightness, and integrity, throughout England – two of my colleagues – the Adjusters!”

  Just for a moment silence, while he gazed at her spellbound. Then she went on:

  “In asking you not to insist on seeing this paper I know that I am asking you a favour. But so that there shall be no uneasiness in your mind, I will give you a letter which will no doubt satisfy you equally.”

  Daphne took out of her drawer a sealed envelope and handed it to him. He slit it open. Then:

  “Do you know what is in this letter, Miss Wrayne?”

  “Well, I think I do,” with a smile.

  “It is from Gorleston’s solicitors! In it they say that he has discontinued his action against us, that he exonerates us from all liability, and that no further proceedings will be taken over this matter.”

  “And you can go on cashing his cheques, Sir John,” she added sweetly, “and can henceforward reckon him the most scrupulously honourable client – so far as you’re concerned – whom you have on your books. You see, he knows that if he tries such a thing again – well, we produce this paper!”

  For some moments he gazed at her, too bewildered to speak.

  “Miss Wrayne,” he said at length, “words simply fail me. How on earth have you managed this?”