The Mayfair Mystery

by Frank Richardson

  ‘Then he stated that with the assistance of Barlow—what assistance Barlow could ever be to anybody was a mystery to me—he would examine the servants.

  ‘One by one, each of them was questioned in the dining-room.

  ‘After about three hours, Barlow came and told me that I might join Johnson.

  ‘I availed myself of his permission.

  ‘Johnson told me that the matter was far more serious than he or Barlow had ever supposed.

  ‘“In what way?” I asked succinctly.

  ‘“Your butler has been with you for ten years. Have you ever had any suspicion of him?”

  ‘“Never.”

  ‘“Such confidence in a butler, Mr Robinson, is certain to warp his character. You have destroyed that butler as a butler. Your footman has been with you only a month.”

  ‘“He is absolutely honest.”

  ‘“How can you guarantee the honesty of a servant who has been with you only a month?”

  ‘The great detective paused. “Your cook has been in your service sixteen years?”

  ‘“That is so,” I admitted (to my shame).

  ‘“Is she a good cook?”

  ‘“Excellent.”

  ‘“Do you think that any good cook would remain in the same situation for sixteen years unless she was making a fortune out of secret commissions and perquisites?”

  ‘And so with my entire executive. According to Johnson—and Barlow entirely shared his view—I was living in a den of thieves: old criminals of ten years’ standing, like my butler and my cook; youngsters just stepping into the abyss of crime, like my footman and Ada, the “between-maid”—whatever that condition of life may mean.

  ‘I was staggered. Johnson, with great presence of mind, offered me a brandy-and-soda. He drank whisky, and smoked some of my cigars to pull me together. When they were satisfied that I was quite pulled together, they went away, promising, however, to return at any moment.

  ‘The butler was the first to give notice. He suggested that I had employed hirelings to call him a thief, and he insisted on going at once. The cook adopted the same view. She wouldn’t stay another minute in a house where she was accused of stealing things which weren’t any part of her business anyway. She’d go there and then—blessed if she didn’t. And she did. By seven o’clock there wasn’t a servant in the house. My home was depopulated. Johnson had driven my servants out of my house more quickly than St Patrick had solved the Irish snake question.

  ‘That night I dined at the Club, and wrote letters to all the registry-offices I knew of, ordering complete staffs of servants to be sent to me at once.

  ‘Then I went home and protected my property. I barricaded the doors, and packed my jewellery and certificate of birth in a biscuit-tin, which I put on top of my wardrobe.

  ‘The Wednesday was an eventful day in my life. I collected a vile breakfast of cold cheese-straws (five or six), fag end of mutton (the part that “careful cooks” are advised to make into beef-tea by ladies’ papers), lemon sponge (a fragment), and a bottle of Bass. It was like being besieged, but much duller.

  ‘After breakfast I tried to make myself useful about the house. By the twelve o’clock post the insulting letters from the registry-offices began to arrive. All sorts of things were said about me. It was urged that I should employ only detectives for domestic duties.

  ‘Grave doubt was expressed as to any English servants ever entering my employment again. Chinese labour was suggested. “Mrs Blunt presents her compliments to Mr Robinson, and begs to state that she does not supply criminals to private houses.” Several people presented the same sort of compliments, and begged to state similar matters. For lunch I had tinned tongue and Waw-waw sauce and a pint of champagne.

  ‘At two o’clock I opened the door to Johnson and P. Barlow. Johnson is perhaps my favourite detective. In fact, he is more like a friend than a detective.

  ‘When I told him of the departure of my servants, he was genuinely grieved, but not astonished.

  ‘P. Barlow was astonished, but not grieved. Johnson corrected him. I don’t see the use of Barlow anyway. He is always wrong on all points. In that respect he is consistent; which is something, though not much. But Johnson helps him out and bears with him. I suppose I must be good to Barlow for Johnson’s sake. I suggested that it was suspicious that all my servants had left suddenly.

  ‘Barlow said it was.

  ‘Johnson corrected him and explained that there were thieves and thieves. The more I see of Johnson, the more I like him. He takes you into his confidence; he gives you the benefit of his experience; he tells you all he knows; I think my sister would like Johnson.

  ‘Also, he had found out that Harper’s Stores had employed the National Window-Cleaning Association to clean my windows. They had sublet the contract to the House-to-House Supply Company, which concern, having too much business on hand, had transferred the work to the Boy Helpers’ Corporation. The Boy Helpers’ Corporation being in bankruptcy, the cleaning of my windows had been taken on by a recently-started company called Distressed London Ladies, Limited. The Distressed London Ladies, not feeling up to the contract themselves, had transferred their window-cleaning department to a jobbing-builder in Battersea. He had been ordered to Bournemouth owing to some lung trouble, and his son-in-law, a plumber and glazier, was giving an eye to the business. Johnson had found this all out himself, and Barlow had taken it all down—wrong. But even this sketchy version shows the extraordinary ramifications of England’s window-cleaning trade today. The man who had cleaned my windows had not, of course, been traced. But, Johnson said that was not to be expected. Barlow was in two minds. He weighed the pros and cons, as he said. If I were Johnson, I wouldn’t let him do that sort of thing.

  ‘I am quite convinced that Johnson liked and respected me.

  ‘The empty bottle gave him an idea. He said that Barlow was not really strong. Barlow had been doing too much; it might be well to pick him up. I didn’t see the point of picking up Barlow. However, it is always a pleasure to oblige Johnson. I opened a bottle of champagne; and then it turned out that Barlow was a teetotaller. Johnson, happily, was not. Barlow’s stupidity will stand in Johnson’s way. This I hinted to Johnson, but he said “No,” and kindly explained to me that Barlow was not stupid; in fact, he was one of the greatest thinkers of our time. That accounted for my mistake. Barlow’s appearance of crass stupidity caused people to blurt out the truth to him, whereas, he (Johnson), owing to his (Johnson’s) analytical physiognomy, was mistrusted by our entire criminal community. No one regretted it more than he (Johnson), but these were the conditions under which he had to detect. More honour to him (Johnson) that he invariably succeeded, he said.

  ‘During the afternoon the detectives began to arrive in earnest.

  ‘Harper’s Stores sent their leading man. The Distressed London Ladies, Limited, were represented by ex-Inspector McQuisker. The young plumber and glazier, who had married the daughter of the jobbing builder in Battersea, felt that he was somehow mixed up in the matter of my pin, and arranged with a private detective to look after his “rights”. The Boy Helpers’ Corporation contributed a sort of Jaggers, who had an incipient talent for detecting things. By four o’clock I had admitted twenty-three persons who professed to represent guilds, corporations, leagues, syndicates, jobbing experts, and others who had not actually cleaned my windows. All of them were anti-teetotal, except the Boy Helper. He made up for that trouble by smoking cigarettes (sold in packets containing photographs of our brainiest boy burglars and hooligans). On the entrance of each detective I had, of course, explained that the matter was in the hands of Inspector Johnson. They all said that he was a very able man, and expressed their willingness to work with him and help him. Johnson didn’t mind how much help he got. So they all sat down in the dining-room and worked with him and helped him generally. Two or three miscellaneous detectives came later. They were expert Continental thief-catchers, and fancied that the robbery might have been
done by a gang which had the week before ransacked an hotel in Nijni Novgorod. I didn’t see why the gang should leave rural Russia simply to come over here and take my pin. Perhaps they couldn’t pronounce Nijni properly.

  ‘But I let them help. A man came from the Discharged Prisoners’ Association to assure me that the affair was not the work of any of his “clients”. He held a sort of watching brief for our leading criminals. But he helped, too, in his way. An unintelligible alien, giving an address in Budapest, suspected that the robbery was the work of an Austro-Hungarian thief—I think he said a relative of his by marriage. But I’m not sure. He proposed to help a little. But I can’t see that he was of any real use.

  ‘I was; or should have been, but for Barlow.

  ‘The scarf-pin I was wearing at the time was a meloceus—the only stone that discovers thieves. Its properties are perfected by the blood of kids. I explained this at some length to Johnson, who admitted that the system was new to him.

  ‘I asked him if he was familiar with Alphonso’s Clericalis Disciplina, or that convenient handbook of Marbodius, Bishop of Rennes in the eleventh century, called De Lapidibus Enchiridion, or the celebrated treatise on precious stones by Onamakritus.

  ‘He said he wasn’t.

  ‘Barlow thanked God he wasn’t, and asked how many kids I required.

  ‘I told him, rather severely, that Onamakritus was a Greek author whose knowledge of the practical utility of gems had been endorsed by Ovid in the Metamorphoses. He had written a poetical treatise on jewels—not a cookery-book.

  ‘But Barlow regarded the invaluable meloceus as a blackleg in his profession.

  ‘Even if the meloceus could discover thefts, he said, no stipendiary would accept its evidence. You couldn’t take it down in writing and alter it and use it against anybody at his trial. How could Sir Charles Mathews cross-examine a meloceus?

  ‘On this point Johnson became pro-Barlow.

  ‘By five o’clock my house became a mass-meeting of detectives; European, American, Asiatic and Irish. Oddly enough, there was not a Japanese detective present. I commented on this, and asked Boswell—I mean Barlow—if that wasn’t suspicious. He thought it was, Johnson maintained not. He told me that he had never heard of a Japanese burglar stealing an opal pin. Japanese burglars were rare anyway, he said. In fact, he had their names at his fingers’ ends. He told me them. They were like Welsh villages, only worse.

  ‘The detectives finished helping Johnson by about six o’clock, and went away, promising to come back next day and do some more work.

  ‘I had not been alone ten minutes when there was a ring. I opened the door.

  ‘The new arrival wore a full set of red whiskers, but was otherwise a gentleman.

  ‘“Too late,” I said, “the meeting is adjourned for today. You can come round in the morning and help the others to help Johnson if you like.”

  ‘He said he didn’t want to help Johnson; didn’t know Johnson: knew some Johnsons, but not one that he wanted to help.

  ‘“Well, what is your idea? Do you want to carry on an independent investigation?”

  ‘Yes, he did. He wanted to examine my gas fixtures.

  ‘“But you can’t trace criminals by examining gas fixtures.”

  ‘“No, certainly not. Why should I?”

  ‘“Well, then?’ I answered, clinching the matter. He said it would be a great advantage for me, as a householder, to know if my gas fixtures were in good order.

  ‘“Then you don’t want to detect anything?”

  ‘“If there was an escape of gas anywhere, I shall certainly detect it.”

  ‘“You’ll be satisfied with that. On your word of honour, that’s all you want to detect?”

  ‘He said that would do for him.

  ‘“Well, you may come in. I don’t burn much gas here. I use electric light. But if you take your pleasure that way, you may examine the gas fixtures.”

  ‘So he came in.

  ‘I asked him frankly: “Are you doing this for your own selfish amusement, or out of a mistaken wish to please me? And, if so, which pays?”

  ‘He wagged his whiskers sadly and explained that it was the duty of all householders to have their gas fixtures examined. He helped them to perform that duty. In fact, he was a sort of guardian angel for gas-fittings. Anyhow, he wasn’t a detective.

  ‘I had begun to tire of moving solely in detective circles.

  ‘So I humoured him and let him see my fittings. He was a pleasant, conscientious fellow, and examined everything. When I told him that I had lost all my servants, he didn’t sympathise much. He said servants were a nuisance. But I never saw a man so pained as he was when I told him I’d been burgled. I feared he would weep. But I cheered him up by saying that the loss was slight.

  ‘He complimented me on my gas fixtures. They were the best he’d handled in a private house for some years. He praised me very much for having them. And altogether he seemed to think more highly of me than any of the detectives—except, perhaps, Johnson.

  ‘He was genuinely pleased to hear that I had learned a lesson from my loss. I told him that I had put all my jewellery in an oval thin Captain biscuit-box on top of my wardrobe, and gave him permission to recommend that course to any of his clients who were afraid of being burgled.

  ‘He said that was a great scheme, because it was hardly probable that any burglar would burgle in Mayfair for oval thin Captains.

  ‘He made no charge for all he’d done, and said that he wouldn’t detain me if I was going out. I told him that I intended to dine at the club.

  ‘He remarked that, as I’d had a tiring day, he would advise me to get to bed early.

  ‘I said that I never went to bed before three when my sister was away, because I was very fond of playing Bridge. Besides, all the men at the club would want me to tell them about the robbery. Anyhow, I should tell them.

  ‘He was a nice man, but his whiskers were too red for ordinary wear.

  ‘He didn’t say that he would call again, but he repeated that it was a pleasure to meet fittings like mine.

  CHAPTER XIX

  THE DETECTIVES

  ‘WHEN I came home next morning, the house had been ransacked. The servants’ beds, some cane chairs, a refrigerator, and the fire-escape remained. Otherwise my home had ceased to be. The place had given up being a house. It was merely an architectural feature. A tramp in a small way of business might have consented to live there for a day or two; but he would not have taken his wife there—if he loved her.

  ‘When the detectives congregated, they detected the change at once. The man who held the watching brief was really astounded at the completeness of the removal. The Austro-Hungarian was nonplussed.

  ‘Johnson preserved his calm. Barlow said that he felt sure Johnson expected it all along.

  ‘Johnson corrected him.

  ‘The meeting of detectives was more complete than yesterday’s. It seemed to me a full house.

  ‘In all human probability my collection was complete; I had examples of every known brand. There were detectives who looked like archdeacons, detectives who ate like British workmen defying German competition, detectives who drank like lords, policemen disguised as detectives, detectives disguised as policemen. It was a full hand.

  ‘It was unique.

  ‘I had made a corner in detectives.

  ‘Had I possessed any financial ability, I should have floated the population of my house as ‘Detection, Limited’, joined the board after allotment, and sold the goodwill of the entire concern to a composition of leading British criminals.

  ‘Even in the scullery there were men whose reputations were world-wide for the detection of robbery from the person with violence. Any quieter form of robbery could have been detected with despatch by equally prominent practitioners. I had amongst my guests a specialist in riot and unlawful assembly. If anybody had shown a tendency to riot the least bit in the world, or to assemble in an indiscreet manner, he would have been dea
lt with then and there. Loiterers with felonious intent, or people without visible means of subsistence, would not have dared to show their faces in my house, even if there had been room.

  ‘No “person or persons unknown” “about to commit felonies” showed any wish to practise in Albemarle Street. My box-room was occupied by a select committee of detectives, whose special talent lay in apprehending persons suspected of being about to demand money with menaces. Every brand of criminal, or ex-criminal, or criminal in posse, seemed to be catered for.

  ‘I asked myself this question: “What would happen if a member of the criminal classes, or some bright young mind who had never got beyond the stage of being ‘about to commit a felony’, were to blow up my house and destroy the flower of our detective force?”

  ‘I got no answer.

  ‘So I asked Johnson.

  ‘Hastily he changed the subject, and addressed the meeting which hung upon his words.

  ‘“There has been a burglary here,” he said, with absolute frankness.

  ‘One could have heard a pin drop—and some of the men present would have detected the man who had dropped it.

  ‘Again Johnson spoke: ‘This burglary is not the work of a single man.’

  ‘Accustomed as I was to the statements of this master mind, I gasped:

  ‘“Do you mean to say that you have discovered a clue which proves that this is the work of a married burglar? Can you say for certain that he is not a widower? Are you convinced that the culprit is not—say—a burglar who has obtained a judicial separation, with the custody of the children?”

  ‘“When I use the word ‘single’ I do not speak matrimonially. I speak numerically. No one man could, unaided, have removed your grand piano, your billiard-table, and your bound volumes of Punch. No man could possibly have lifted any one of these things without assistance, mechanical or otherwise.”

  ‘A murmur of admiration ran round the room.

  ‘He spoke again: “You don’t think it could have been done by a club friend out of petty spite?”

  ‘“Petty spite!” I cried. “Why, it looks as though two impis of Zulus had gone through the place!”