The Third R. Austin Freeman Megapack

by R. Austin Freeman

  “This is very odd,” said he. “The door is free of the latches, but it won’t open. There seems to be something inside preventing it.”

  The Superintendent laid his large hand on the door and gave a hearty shove. But still the door refused to move more than half an inch.

  “Rum,” said he. “Doesn’t feel like a solid obstruction. There’s a distinct give in it. Shall I throw my weight against the door?”

  “Better not,” said Woodburn. “There’s a flight of steps on the inside.”

  Here Polton’s voice was heard enquiring meekly if it wouldn’t be better to lever the door open.

  “Certainly it would,” replied Miller, “if you know where to find a lever.”

  “I happen to have a case-opener in my pocket,” said Polton, in the matter-of-fact tone of one announcing the possession of a lead pencil or a fountain pen. “I think it would answer the purpose.”

  “I expect it would,” Miller agreed, casting an inquisitive glance at our versatile artificer. “At any rate, you may as well try.”

  Thus encouraged, Polton advanced to the door and unblushingly produced from a long inside pocket a powerful telescopic jemmy of the most undeniably felonious aspect. Quite unmoved by the Superintendent’s stare of astonishment, he first felt the door critically to locate the point of resistance, and then, skilfully insinuating the beak of the jemmy into the rebate of the door-jamb, gave a firm wrench at the long handle of the lever. Immediately, there came a bursting sound from within, and the door swung open, disclosing a short flight of steps leading down to the gallery floor.

  The Superintendent tripped down the steps and turned to look for the obstruction.

  “Well, I’m jiggered!” he exclaimed. “Your Mr. Toke is a cautious man with a vengeance! He isn’t taking any risks. Just look at that.”

  He pointed to the door-post, on which was a large seal, and, depending from it, a length of strong tape with a mass of sealing-wax adhering to its free end. We came down the steps and stood gazing at this singular phenomenon while Miller swung the door round and exhibited, near its edge, the broken seal from which the tape had torn out.

  “Now, why the deuce,” demanded Wilier, “should he have wanted to seal the door on the inside? And when he had done it, how the devil did he get out?”

  “Exactly,” said Thorndyke, “that is what interests us. This inside seal gives a conclusive answer to our principal question. He couldn’t have got out by this door, so there must be some other way out. And a way out is a way in.”

  “M’yes,” Miller agreed in a reflective tone. “That is so. But it seems to raise another question. Is it quite certain that Mr. Toke has really gone abroad? Is it certain, for instance, that he is not just keeping out of sight for some private reasons?”

  “Of course,” Woodburn replied, a trifle stiffly, “there is no absolute proof that he has gone abroad. But he said that he was going abroad; he locked and sealed his premises, and was seen thereafter to go away from his house. He put his car into storage, and he has not since been seen in any of his usual places of resort. I may say further that he is a gentleman of the highest character and repute, and that I can imagine no reasons that should induce him to keep out of sight.”

  “Then,” said Miller, apologetic—but unconvinced, as I suspected—“that settles it. You must excuse me, Mr. Woodburn, but I did not know Mr. Toke. We shall have to look for some other explanation. Probably we shall find it when we have made our examination of the premises; when we have ascertained, for instance, whether there is anything missing. Shall we take a look round and check the property? I suppose you know roughly what there was in these rooms when Mr. Toke went away?”

  “Yes,” replied Woodburn; “I think I should know if anything of value had been taken away.”

  With this, Miller and the solicitor proceeded to make a systematic tour of inspection, passing along the range of wall—cases and rapidly glancing at the objects on the shelves and apparently finding the collection intact.

  “It’s rather queer, you know,” said Miller, when they had made the round, “that none of these things should have been taken. I imagine that they are pretty valuable pieces.”

  “They are,” replied Woodburn, “but they wouldn’t be much use to a thief, seeing that they could be so easily identified; at least, that was Mr. Toke’s opinion. He always considered the collection quite safe, so far as burglars were concerned.”

  “To a certain extent he was right,” said Miller. “This stuff would be no use to an ordinary burglar if there was a hue and cry and a description of the stolen property. But that doesn’t apply to the present conditions. If someone has been entering these rooms, he might have taken the whole boiling away and have offered it quite safely at a common auction, in small lots at a time. Because, you see, nobody would have known that it had been taken. And there’s plenty of demand for this sort of stuff. What is in this room?” he added, as their peregrinations brought them to a door near the entrance.

  “That is where the collection of bronzes is kept,” replied Woodburn. “We may as well see if they are all right, too.”

  Thereupon, he opened the door and entered the room with the Superintendent.

  Meanwhile, Thorndyke had been devoting his attention to the seals on the gallery door, making a minute comparison of the outside seal with that on the inside door-post. As Miller and the solicitor disappeared into the adjoining room (closely attended by Polton, who was apparently determined that the Superintendent should not steal a march on his employer), Thorndyke handed me his lens, remarking:

  “The seals appear to be identical. I should say that they were both made with the same matrix.”

  “Is there any reason why they should not be?” I asked in some surprise.

  “No,” he replied, “I don’t think there is.” I made a somewhat perfunctory comparison—for Thorndyke’s opinion was good enough for me—and then remarked:

  “I am in the same case as Miller. I can’t imagine what object Toke can have had in sealing the inside of the door. Do you understand it?”

  “Not if the seals were affixed by Toke,” he replied; “seeing that Toke had access to the whole of the house and could examine the sealed door from the outside to satisfy himself that the seals were intact. But it would be quite understandable if the inside seals were fixed by someone who had not access to the house, but who would wish to be assured that the outside seals had not been broken. Supposing, for instance, there had been no inside seals, and supposing that we made our inspection without disturbing anything and went away, locking the door behind us. There would be no trace of our visit, nor any evidence that the rooms had been entered. But now, if we should go away and our friends should return tonight, they would see at a glance that someone had been here, and, no doubt, they would discreetly clear off and abandon their tenancy.”

  “Yes,” said I. “That seems to be the explanation. It had not occurred to me, nor, apparently to Miller. But there is another point. If the visitors sealed the door on the inside, they must be in possession of the seal.”

  “Obviously,” he agreed. “That is the important point. If it is a fact, it is an extremely significant fact, especially when it is considered in connection with a certain ‘Ginger Lushington.’”

  At this critical stage, our conversation was interrupted by the Superintendent’s voice, hailing us from an adjoining room. At once we hurried into the room which we had seen him enter, but, finding it empty, passed through into a second room, with which it communicated, and so, by another communicating doorway, into a third. This also was empty, save for a company of bronze statuettes on its shelves, but, through the farther doorway, we could see into a fourth, larger room, and thither we made our way.

  As we entered, I looked round me with no little surprise. The three small rooms through which we had passed with their glazed wall-cases and rare and curious contents, had the trim, well-kept aspect of an art museum. This fourth room presented a startling contras
t. Considerably larger than the others, it had the appearance of a goldsmith’s or metal-worker’s workshop. In one corner was a large, rectangular chemical sink, and, adjoining it a fixed wash-hand basin. At one side was a massive crucible-furnace, arranged to burn charcoal and fitted with a foot-bellows. Close by was a massive post, fitted with a flat stake and a jeweller’s “sparrowhawk.” There were one or two cupboards and enclosed nests of drawers, and a strong bench provided with a serviceable vice. These details my eye took in rapidly, but there was no time for a complete survey, for my attention was instantly riveted on an object on the bench round which our three friends were gathered in a mighty ferment of excitement.

  “Here’s a discovery, if you like, Doctor!” the Superintendent exclaimed, gleefully. “You remember my telling you about those bogus sovereigns? Well, we’ve struck the sovereign factory! Just look at this!”

  He indicated the object on the bench—which I now recognized as the box that I had seen through the keyhole periscope, resting on the gallery table, and that had been shown in the “Tuesday” photograph.

  Polton’s diagnosis had been correct. It was a casting box, or “flask,”—an iron frame in two halves, held together in position by pins and eyes at the sides. The upper, or pin, half had now been lifted off, and the mould which filled the interior was displayed. And a very remarkable mould it was, and very illuminating as to the kind of industry that was being carried on in this room. In the smooth, flat surface of the matrix were twenty sunk impressions of sovereigns, each beautifully clear and shiny with graphite. The impressions were connected with one another, and with the “pour” or inlet of the mould, by a deep groove, which was one-half of the channel along which the molten metal was conducted to the impressions.

  “Quite a workmanlike outfit,” chuckled the delighted Superintendent. “Don’t you think so, Mr. Polton?”

  Polton crinkled approvingly. “Yes, sir,” he replied; “and he knows how to use it. He’s no amateur. That is a wonderfully good matrix; hard enough to stand brushing with graphite, and to be used over and over again. I should like to know what it is. There’s bone-ash in it, but there’s something else on the surface.”

  “Well,” said Miller, “that’s more interesting to you than to me. Let us have a look at that other flask.”

  He indicated a second, similar flask that had been pushed to the back of the bench. Reaching out, he drew it forward and passed it to Polton, who tenderly lifted off the top half and turned it over, laying it beside the lower half and thus exhibiting the two halves of the mould. As he laid it down, he bestowed a crinkly leer on the Superintendent.

  “Well, I’m jiggered!” the latter exclaimed. “Half-crowns, too! But I always suspected that the half-crowns and the sovereigns were made by the same man. It was the same idea in both cases. But now we have got to find out where the stuff came from—where he kept his bullion, I mean. We had better go through these cupboards and drawers.”

  He gave a lead by throwing open a deep cupboard, and, as the door swung out, he uttered the single word, “Moses!” The relevancy of the exclamation was not obvious, but the cause was extremely so. For the deep shelves were occupied by an assemblage of silver articles—candle-sticks, tea-pots, spoons, and the like, mostly a good deal battered, and many of them reduced to small fragments, apparently by means of shears. A second cupboard made a similar sinister display, though the quantity was smaller. But of gold there was no trace.

  “He must have kept his gold in the drawers,” said Miller. “He couldn’t have brought it with him.”

  “He brought some of it with him, sir,” said Polton, who had been pulling out the drawers of a nest and peering in with a school-boy’s delight in a treasure-hunt. “Here is a piece of fine gold plate—twenty-four carats—which certainly came from a bullion dealer’s.”

  At this report, Thorndyke, who had hitherto maintained the attitude of a mildly interested observer, suddenly woke up. Taking a pair of pliers from the bench, he went to the drawer which Polton was holding open and carefully lifted out the piece of plate. Having scrutinized it closely on both sides, he held it out for Miller’s inspection.

  “You had better secure this,” said he. “There are some fairly clear fingerprints on it which may be helpful later on, if our friend should fail to keep his appointment tonight.”

  The Superintendent took the pliers from him, and examined the gold plate, but with less enthusiasm than I should have expected. However, he laid it carefully on a shelf of the cupboard, and then returned to the quest in which he appeared to be specially interested. By this time Polton had made some further discoveries that seemed more relevant, one of which he announced by pulling a drawer out bodily and placing it on the bench.

  “Sovereigns, by gosh!” exclaimed Miller, as he looked into the drawer. “Now, I wonder whether these are some of the castings, or the originals that he worked from. What do you think, Doctor?”

  Thorndyke picked out one of the coins and examined its edge through his lens, turning it round and inspecting the whole circumference.

  “I should say that this is certainly genuine,” he reported. “There is no trace of the edge tool. The milling is quite perfect, and it seems to show slight traces of wear. Moreover, the number—there are about two dozen in the drawer—is not more than would be required as models to avoid repetition of a particular coin.”

  “Yes, I expect you are right,” said Miller, “but they will know at the Mint, in any case. Ah!” he exclaimed, as Polton laid another drawer on the bench. “This looks more interesting. No bullion dealer’s stuff this time, I fancy.”

  The drawer contained about a dozen small ingots of gold, each marked by means of a punch with a number—presumably the carats of “fineness.” One of these Miller took up and held out for Polton’s inspection.

  “No, sir,” said the latter, “that did not come from a dealer. It was cast in that ingot mould on the shelf, there.”

  As he spoke, he took the mould down from the shell and slipped the ingot into it, when it was seen to fit with quite convincing accuracy.

  The Superintendent regarded it with profound attention for some moments. Suddenly he turned to Polton and asked impressively:

  “I want you to tell me, Mr. Polton, which of these things might have been brought here by an outsider and which must have been put here by Mr. Toke. There is this gold plate. That must have been brought here. But what was it brought for?”

  “To melt down with these ingots,” replied Polton, “to bring the gold up to 22 carats. The ingots are all 18 carats or less.”

  “But why couldn’t he have used that acid process that you spoke of?”

  “Because he would have had to cut up the ingots and hammer the pieces out thin on the stake. But, if he had done that at night, they’d have heard him all over the house. Besides, the fine gold plate would be quicker and less trouble, and it would come to the same thing. He would get his money back. As to what you were asking, I should say that the whole outfit of this place must have been put here by Mr. Toke. The furnace certainly was, and the crucibles and ingot moulds seem to belong to it; in fact, it is a regular metal-worker’s shop.”

  “And what do you make of those ingots?”

  Polton crinkled knowingly. “I think, sir,” he answered, “they are more in your line than mine. They are not trade ingots, but they are about the fineness of good-class jewellery.”

  At this point, Thorndyke, who had been listening with rather detached interest to this discussion, sauntered out into the gallery, leaving Polton and Miller to their devices.

  “I think,” said he, as I followed him out, “we had better get on with our own job. This coining business is no concern of ours.”

  With this, he went along to the entrance door, on the steps of which he had left his research case, and, picking it up, carried it back to the table and deposited it thereon.

  “We may as well begin with the most obvious probabilities,” said he, as he opened the case and
ran his eye over the contents. “I suppose you noticed this end of the room, as it showed in the photograph?”

  I had to admit that I had not taken especial note of it, nor did I now perceive anything particularly striking in its appearance. The end wall was decorated pleasantly enough, by a low elliptical arch of simply moulded oak supported by a pair of oaken pilasters, the surfaces of which were enriched with shallow strap carving in the form of a guilloche with small rosettes in the spaces. There was nothing remarkable about it; and, to tell the truth, I was not quite clear as to what I was expected to see. And Thorndyke’s proceedings enlightened me not at all.

  “The police methods are good enough for our present purpose,” he remarked, as he took out a wide-mouthed bottle and a large camel-hair brush. “The good old Hyd. cum-creta.”

  Removing the stopper from the bottle, he picked up the latter and the brush, and walked across to the pilaster nearest the window. Dipping the brush into the bottle of powder, he began to paint it lightly over the carved surface. I watched him with slightly bewildered curiosity; and, looking through the door way into the workshop, where I noticed Woodburn listening with an anxious and rather disapproving expression to the comments of our assistant and the Superintendent, I perceived that the two latter had developed a sudden interest in my colleague’s activities. Presently Miller came out for a closer inspection.

  “I thought you always used a powder-spray,” he remarked. “And you needn’t worry about fingerprints. Those on the gold plate will tell us all we want to know. And,” he added in a lower tone, “let me give you a hint. Your nocturnal stranger is a myth. The name of the chappie who runs the sovereign factory is Toke. Mustn’t say so before Woodburn, but it’s a fact. It stares you in the face. Mr. Toke is a fence. Dam’ clever fence, too. Buys the scrap from the jewel-robbers, sells the stones, and melts down the settings into sovereigns. I take my hat off to him, and I only hope he’ll turn up tonight and let me have the pleasure of making his acquaintance.”