“Several of the papers have been somewhat sympathetic to Mr. Whitworth. He had a splendid career in the army and has fought gallantly for the Crown across several continents. I must admit, Holmes, that I do not understand how a man with a record such as this could be guilty of such a foul crime as embezzlement. Could he be innocent?”
“That hardly seems likely, Doctor. The papers outlining the scheme were found on his desk and written in his hand. It would seem that the bank became aware of the incident by mere happenstance. Some important papers were to have been forwarded by Whitworth to the branch president that morning. When they did not arrive by the deadline, an assistant was sent to retrieve them. As Whitworth was at lunch during that time, the assistant looked for them. The papers were on top of the man’s desk, but the assistant was startled to find the plans for the crime under them, and that the crime had been perpetrated that very morning. The authorities were notified, and Mr. Whitworth was put under watch by Scotland Yard.”
“That is one thing I have failed to understand. Why was the man not arrested at once?”
“The plot was apparently a very clever and involved one. It consisted, as I understand it, of creating false accounts and shifting monies to them. Whitworth, of course, came into possession of the money while it appeared all the while to still be under the bank’s control. It would seem that the bank officials were not entirely convinced that the money was gone at all. Only after two days of auditing the books was the crime, and the amount of money, confirmed. At that point, Mr. Whitworth became acquainted with our law enforcement. It would seem to have been a very clever plan.”
“And yet he was exposed and caught, Holmes,” I observed.
“That has not escaped my attention,” said he. He pondered for a few moments with his chin in his hand. “Have you read whether Gordon Whitworth has any issue?”
“One daughter. I saw mention of her in an early article about the crime. She is married to a minor French Count and has not answered any questions posed to her by reporters.”
“And Whitworth was arrested at a Channel port with baggage,” said Holmes.
“True, but he had not purchased nor inquired about a ticket. He claimed to be on a weekend holiday.”
At that we both lapsed into silence for some time. Holmes presently sprang from his chair and began pacing. He was soon out the door, saying only that he had affairs to attend to. This behavior was so typical of the man that I had long since stopped being surprised by his disappearances. This one lasted for the entirety of the day, and I retired without him returning home.
When morning came, Holmes arrived at our dining table as usual. I asked if yesterday’s jaunt had proven productive, but he merely shrugged in answer. I made no further attempt to press him on matters he clearly did not wish to share with me.
Inspector Hopkins arrived at eleven o’clock, accompanied by two sergeants, a man in handcuffs that I took to be Gordon Whitworth, and an officious looking man introduced as Charles Leeds, who was a representative of Capital and Counties Bank. Gordon Whitworth’s face was devoid of emotion. After all were seated, Inspector Hopkins began proceedings.
“Mr. Holmes,” he began, “we have arrived at an impasse in this matter and I have come to seek your counsel. Shall I tell you what we know at present?”
“Has Mr. Whitworth made a statement as of yet?” asked Holmes.
“He has not, sir,” said Hopkins.
“Then a brief summation, Inspector,” said Holmes. “It is possible that the newspapers have missed something of importance.”
Hopkins cleared his throat and gave a very straightforward account of the case to date. There was little in it that we had not read before and the evidence seemed damning. As he finished, Hopkins looked to Holmes, waiting for the great detective to speak.
“Why have you come here?” asked Holmes finally.
“Why, as I - as I said, sir,” he stammered. “I wished your counsel.”
“It is obvious to a child that there is ample evidence to convict,” said Holmes. “Put it before twelve Englishmen and be done with it.”
Inspector Hopkins seemed a bit crestfallen and said nothing. However, the bank official sprang to his feet.
“But what of our money?” he demanded in a shrill voice. “We have been defrauded!”
“And we have a court system that punishes wrongdoers,” said Holmes mildly. “The fact that Mr. Whitworth has concealed his ill-gotten gains will engender a heavy sentence, I am sure.”
Charles Leeds turned to Inspector Hopkins with disdain.
“I thought you said this man could help us!”
“Calm yourself, sir,” said the inspector. He turned to Holmes. “Surely, you know we came for your help in finding the money.”
“I do realize that, Inspector,” said Holmes with a bit of a smile. “I merely wished it baldly stated. I therefore propose a solution. Mr. Whitworth must have had several hours from the time the police were called in and before he was put under surveillance to secrete the cash somewhere. I propose that he will tell you where he has hidden the money and the bank will promise not to prosecute.”
To my great surprise, Mr. Whitworth and Mr. Leeds both shouted, “Never!” in unison.
Gordon Whitworth added nothing else and returned to his stoic demeanor. Mr. Leeds, however, had more to say.
“Speaking for the bank, we categorically reject such an offer. It would set a terrible precedent. Our employees would know that they could steal at will and if caught, simply return the money to avoid a jail sentence.”
“I must say that I understand the bank’s position, Mr. Leeds,” said Holmes. “It is entirely logical. What I am curious about is why you rejected such a proposition so vehemently, Mr. Whitworth?”
“I have my reasons,” said the prisoner.
“Of that I am certain,” said Holmes. “I call upon you to unburden yourself. I can assure you that I will listen with an open mind. I can tell you that I have looked into your background as a soldier and I have been impressed with your service to the country. My friend, Dr. Watson, is a former soldier himself, and we both find this crime completely out of character for a man such as yourself.”
Gordon studied Holmes for some minutes and I also came under his gaze.
“Very well, Mr. Holmes,” he said. “You have convinced me. I will tell you my tale.”
Chapter II
I must admit that I was surprised that Gordon Whitworth had chosen to speak to us after Holmes’s rather mild cajoling, but my friend could be quite persuasive. In any case, I leaned forward, eager to hear his story.
“It is a tale long in the making,” he began. “This incident-”
“Crime!” cried Mr. Leeds in interruption.
“Really, Mr. Leeds, we will make no progress with such dramatics.”
Leeds glowered, but said no more for the time being.
“Proceed, sir,” said Holmes.
“Thank you, Mr. Holmes. Thirty years ago, when I was ten, my family was a member of the landed gentry. My father, never a good man of business, squandered much of his inheritance, but we needed nothing more than we had. I dreamed of Eton, followed by Oxford. My father came to worry that we would need greater sums in the future and he brooded on his losses.
“One day, he was approached by agents of the bank Mr. Leeds represents and offered the opportunity to invest in timber land in Canada. The promised returns were robust, and the bank assured my father that they were investing as well. Father invested through them. Twenty-thousand pounds was needed, and that was borrowed against the estate. The stock was purchased, but the returns never arrived. As the months slipped away, Father became frantic. Word finally arrived that the company in which he had invested through Capital and Counties was a fraud. Clear title to the lands had never been purchased. The bank must have known
that investment was shaky.”
“Why is that, Mr. Whitworth?” asked Holmes.
“Because they sold their shares before the fraud became public knowledge.”
“A mere coincidence,” said Mr. Leeds. “A concern as large as ours is constantly adjusting our capital.”
“You sued of course,” said Holmes.
“We did, sir, but our foes were too slippery, and too well versed in covering their tracks.”
I saw Leeds tense, but he remained silent.
“Their crime knocked my father from society to that of a workman. These monsters stole my birth right. Now, my good father never uttered a word of shame at his new station. He simply went about to attempt to rebuild our fortune through his labor and force of will, but the backbreaking work caused him to die years before his time.
“Any chance of Eton and Oxford was now forever gone. With those dreams shattered, I resolved to serve in the army when I came of age and perhaps rise through the ranks. Those were happy but dangerous years. I fought for the Crown on three continents, until I mustered out two years ago. My wife had passed away while I was away, but I have a fine daughter and she is well.”
“I know that,” said Holmes in a detached tone. “She seems to be of more than moderate means. I have looked into her finances. She recently made an investment in a steel mill in the United States and is, by all accounts, a lady of intelligence.”
“You had no right to bring my daughter into this affair,” said Whitworth with controlled anger.
“I apologize for your distress,” said Holmes. “I merely wish to make plain that your daughter could have provided you with funds if you needed them.”
“I did not want her money!” said Gordon Whitworth at a near shout. “I wanted the money that was stolen from me. I hated those bankers.”
“I see,” Holmes said. “However, in spite of your hatred of bankers, you became one yourself.”
“A simple clerk, sir, but it gave me the opportunity to slake my vengeance.”
“But you were caught, and the outrage you describe is unredressed as a consequence.”
“Such are the fortunes of war, Mr. Holmes.”
“C’est la guerre, sir?”
“If you wish,” replied the prisoner.
“Please complete your tale from after you left the army,” said Holmes.
“Very well. Once I was a civilian again, I applied for a position at the Capital and Counties Bank. I used my real name, but the crime they committed against my family was so long in the past that they never gave a thought to who I actually was. I took my time and let an entire year pass. I finally carried my plan to fruition, but was brought down by mistake on my part, of which I am certain you are aware. I left some incriminating papers on my desk and they were discovered. I could tell right away that the atmosphere at the bank had changed, and I became aware that I was under watch by the police. I made a dash out of London and was arrested before I could make my way out of the country.”
“Where were you going to go?” I asked.
“I am not certain, Doctor. South America perhaps, but I honestly had no set destination in mind.”
“I’ll tell you where you are going. You’ll go to prison for a long term, and when you are released, we will be waiting,” said Mr. Leeds. “You’ll spend not a farthing of the stolen funds. We will hound you until your death!”
“That is quite theatrical, but I doubt it will come to that,” said Holmes. “Now, Mr. Whitworth, you say that you were attempting to leave the country when you were arrested.”
“That is so, Mr. Holmes,” replied the man. “I could feel the police closing in on me, and had hoped to make a dash for it.”
“Then you must have had the money on your person.”
“What do you mean, Holmes?” asked I.
“Simply this, Doctor. If Mr. Whitworth was planning his exit from England, then surely he would take the money with him. His mail has been watched, so he would have to have it with him if he were to enjoy his plunder.”
“Those were my thoughts as well, Mr. Holmes,” said Inspector Hopkins, “but he and his baggage have been thoroughly searched. It is impossible that he has concealed it.”
“You surprise me, Hopkins. You know well my axiom that, when all other possibilities are eliminated, that which remains, however improbable, must be the truth.”
“I do know that, sir. That is why I have sought your expertise.”
Holmes was not above enjoying flattery, though he would likely deny it, and I saw that the words Hopkins spoke had their intended impact.
“I take it that you have had the foresight to bring along all the effects that Mr. Whitworth was carrying with him.”
Hopkins nodded to one of the sergeants and he brought over two bags. I brought a small table and sat it before Holmes. The items in them were removed and put before him.
“I have made a list, sir,” said Inspector Hopkins.
Holmes examined the list and then handed it to me. It contained the following:
A stamped envelope
One box of brass buttons
Matches
One jewelry box with key
Large Bible
Wallet with eleven pounds
Playing cards
Fishing reel with no rod
Holmes examined the list and the items for some minutes before he spoke. The items seemed very ordinary to me, if a bit eclectic. He sent for our page-boy and dashed off a quick message for him to carry.
“I see that the envelope has been torn open,” said Holmes finally, turning his attention back to the matter at hand.
“Yes, sir,” Hopkins said. “I was obliged to open it. There was only a simple poem. It is not in the prisoner’s hand. He, of course, has given us no clue as to who wrote it!”
Holmes barely glanced at the letter before handing it to me. It was mere piece of doggerel and I saw no connection to the case.
“How did this come into your possession, Mr. Whitworth?” asked Holmes holding the envelope in his hand. “It is neither addressed to you, nor apparently written by you.”
Gordon Whitworth gave no answer.
“It is addressed to a James Smith at the Harrington Hotel in Liverpool, Holmes,” said I. “Perhaps he can shed some light on this matter. I suggest we make inquiries there.”
“We have already done so, Doctor,” said Inspector Hopkins. “The Harrington Hotel has no such resident. The manager of the establishment tells us he often receives mail for people not actually at the hotel at the moment. It is their policy to hold letters for several weeks in case the addressee checks in.”
“The letter has not even been postmarked,” observed Holmes.
“Is that important?” I asked.
“If the letter was never postmarked, then it was never sent, and since it is not in Mr. Whitworth’s hand, someone else wrote it,” said Holmes. “The question becomes where did the letter come from, and who wrote the poem. Read it aloud please, Watson.”
I cleared my throat and began:
My uncle was almost a tramp.
His cellar was always quite damp.
He once had a horse,
that was well-loved, of course.
Of his bit he would thoroughly clamp.
“Inspector, must we continue to listen to this?” asked Charles Leeds. “We are making no progress. I say we lock this thief up until he tells us what he knows!”
“Patience, sir,” said Holmes mildly. “I believe we can come to a satisfactory conclusion.”
“I am still against any amnesty in return for the stolen money,” said Mr. Leeds.
“Of course,” said Holmes with a slight smile. “I have realized the logic of the bank’s position from the beginning. Any fool wo
uld. No, I mean I believe that with simple reasoning, we can solve this little mystery.”
“Do you really mean it, Mr. Holmes?” asked the inspector. “I knew you were the man to consult.”
“Holmes, do you mean to say that one or more of these items on the table is worth twenty-thousand pounds?” I asked with skepticism.
Holmes did not reply and began to make a thorough examination of each item. He employed his magnifying lens on most of them. This went on for a full twenty minutes. I could see that the patience of Charles Leeds was growing thin, and even Inspector Hopkins glanced more than once at his pocket watch. At one point, Holmes carried the envelope and the letter over to his desk. He rummaged about the drawers until he found what he was seeking. It was a jeweler’s glass, and he closely examined the two pieces of evidence. This went on for a short while. Finally he put both items in his jacket pocket and returned to his seat, bringing a candle back with him.
“Gentlemen, I believe that I have made a discovery,” he said.
“I hope it is one you are willing to share with us,” said I.
“I have no reticence in doing so, Doctor. I’m convinced that both the letter with the poem and the envelope contain a message written in invisible ink.”
“What?” exclaimed Gordon Whitworth.
He looked around the room in embarrassment and lapsed back into silence.
“Is there something you wish to share with us, sir?” asked Holmes.
The man shook his head no, but he kept his eyes locked onto Holmes. For the first time, he seemed a bit uncertain, even apprehensive.
“Very well then. We will proceed,” said Holmes.
“Mr. Holmes, if there is some type of invisible writing on these items, how will we read the message?” asked Hopkins.
The MX Book of New Sherlock Holmes Stories - Part X Page 15