by Michael Sims
“Haven’t you found out where the money comes from?”
“Yes, we have; it is brought there night after night by a man who looks like a respectable city clerk, and he puts it into a large safe, of which he holds the key, this safe being on the ground floor, in the dining room.”
“Haven’t you followed the clerk?”
“Yes. He sleeps in the Park Lane house every night and goes up in the morning to an old curiosity shop in Tottenham Court Road, where he stays all day, returning with his bag of money in the evening.”
“Why don’t you arrest and question him?”
“Well, Monsieur Valmont, there is just the same objection to his arrest as to that of Summertrees himself. We could easily arrest both, but we have not the slightest evidence against either of them, and then, although we put the go-betweens in clink, the worst criminals of the lot would escape.”
“Nothing suspicious about the old curiosity shop?”
“No. It appears to be perfectly regular.”
“This game has been going on under your noses for how long?”
“For about six weeks.”
“Is Summertrees a married man?”
“No.”
“Are there any women servants in the house?”
“No, except that three charwomen come in every morning to do up the rooms.”
“Of what is his household comprised?”
“There is the butler, then the valet, and last the French cook.”
“Ah,” cried I, “the French cook! This case interests me. So Summertrees has succeeded in completely disconcerting your man? Has he prevented him going from top to bottom of the house?”
“Oh, no! He has rather assisted him than otherwise. On one occasion he went to the safe, took out the money, had Podgers—that’s my chap’s name—help him to count it, and then actually sent Podgers to the bank with the bag of coin.”
“And Podgers has been all over the place?”
“Yes.”
“Saw no signs of a coining establishment?”
“No. It is absolutely impossible that any coining can be done there. Besides, as I tell you, that respectable clerk brings him the money.”
“I suppose you want me to take Podgers’s position?”
“Well, Monsieur Valmont, to tell you the truth, I would rather you didn’t. Podgers has done everything a man can do, but I thought if you got into the house, Podgers assisting, you might go through it night after night at your leisure.”
“I see. That’s just a little dangerous in England. I think I should prefer to assure myself the legitimate standing of being amiable Podgers’s successor. You say that Summertrees has no business?”
“Well, sir, not what you might call a business. He is by way of being an author, but I don’t count that any business.”
“Oh, an author, is he? When does he do his writing?”
“He locks himself up most of the day in his study.”
“Does he come out for lunch?”
“No; he lights a little spirit lamp inside, Podgers tells me, and makes himself a cup of coffee, which he takes with a sandwich or two.”
“That’s rather frugal fare for Park Lane.”
“Yes, Monsieur Valmont, it is, but he makes it up in the evening, when he has a long dinner, with all them foreign kickshaws you people like, done by his French cook.”
“Sensible man! Well, Hale, I see I shall look forward with pleasure to making the acquaintance of Mr. Summertrees. Is there any restriction on the going and coming of your man Podgers?”
“None in the least. He can get away either night or day.”
“Very good, friend Hale; bring him here to-morrow, as soon as our author locks himself up in his study, or rather, I should say, as soon as the respectable clerk leaves for Tottenham Court Road, which I should guess, as you put it, is about half an hour after his master turns the key of the room in which he writes.”
“You are quite right in that guess, Valmont. How did you hit it?”
“Merely a surmise, Hale. There is a good deal of oddity about that Park Lane house, so it doesn’t surprise me in the least that the master gets to work earlier in the morning than the man. I have also a suspicion that Ralph Summertrees knows perfectly well what the estimable Podgers is there for.”
“What makes you think that?”
“I can give no reason except that my opinion of the acuteness of Summertrees has been gradually rising all the while you were speaking, and at the same time my estimate of Podgers’s craft has been as steadily declining. However, bring the man here to-morrow, that I may ask him a few questions.”
The Strange House in Park Lane
Next day, about eleven o’clock, the ponderous Podgers, hat in hand, followed his chief into my room. His broad, impassive, immobile, smooth face gave him rather more the air of a genuine butler than I had expected, and this appearance, of course, was enhanced by his livery. His replies to my questions were those of a well-trained servant who will not say too much unless it is made worth his while. All in all, Podgers exceeded my expectations, and really my friend Hale had some justification for regarding him, as he evidently did, a triumph in his line.
“Sit down, Mr. Hale, and you, Podgers.”
The man disregarded my invitation, standing like a statue until his chief made a motion; then he dropped into a chair. The English are great on discipline.
“Now, Mr. Hale, I must first congratulate you on the make-up of Podgers. It is excellent. You depend less on artificial assistance than we do in France, and in that I think you are right.”
“Oh, we know a bit over here, Monsieur Valmont!” said Hale, with pardonable pride.
“Now then, Podgers, I want to ask you about this clerk. What time does he arrive in the evening?”
“At prompt six, sir.”
“Does he ring, or let himself in with a latchkey?”
“With a latchkey, sir.”
“How does he carry the money?”
“In a little locked leather satchel, sir, flung over his shoulder.”
“Does he go direct to the dining room?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Have you seen him unlock the safe, and put in the money?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Does the safe unlock with a word or a key?”
“With a key, sir. It’s one of the old-fashioned kind.”
“Then the clerk unlocks his leather money bag?”
“Yes, sir.”
“That’s three keys used within as many minutes. Are they separate or in a bunch?”
“In a bunch, sir.”
“Did you ever see your master with this bunch of keys?”
“No, sir.”
“You saw him open the safe once, I am told?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Did he use a separate key, or one of a bunch?”
Podgers slowly scratched his head, then said: “I don’t just remember, sir.”
“Ah, Podgers, you are neglecting the big things in that house! Sure you can’t remember?”
“No, sir.”
“Once the money is in and the safe locked up, what does the clerk do?”
“Goes to his room, sir.”
“Where is this room?”
“On the third floor, sir.”
“Where do you sleep?”
“On the fourth floor with the rest of the servants, sir.”
“Where does the master sleep?”
“On the second floor, adjoining his study.”
“The house consists of four stories and a basement, does it?”
“Yes, sir.”
“I have somehow arrived at the suspicion that it is a very narrow house. Is that true?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Does the clerk ever dine with your master?”
“No, sir. The clerk don’t eat in the house at all, sir.”
“Does he go away before breakfast?”
“No, sir.”
“No one
takes breakfast to his room?”
“No, sir.”
“What time does he leave the house?”
“At ten o’clock, sir.”
“When is breakfast served?”
“At nine o’clock, sir.”
“At what hour does your master retire to his study?”
“At half past nine, sir.”
“Locks the door on the inside?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Never rings for anything during the day?”
“Not that I know of, sir.”
“What sort of a man is he?”
Here Podgers was on familiar ground, and he rattled off a description minute in every particular.
“What I meant was, Podgers, is he silent, or talkative, or does he get angry? Does he seem furtive, suspicious, anxious, terrorized, calm, excitable, or what?”
“Well, sir, he is by way of being very quiet, never has much to say for hisself; never saw him angry or excited.”
“Now, Podgers, you’ve been at Park Lane for a fortnight or more. You are a sharp, alert, observant man. What happens there that strikes you as unusual?”
“Well, I can’t exactly say, sir,” replied Podgers, looking rather helplessly from his chief to myself, and back again.
“Your professional duties have often compelled you to enact the part of butler before, otherwise you wouldn’t do it so well. Isn’t that the case?”
Podgers did not reply, but glanced at his chief. This was evidently a question pertaining to the service, which a subordinate was not allowed to answer. However, Hale said at once:
“Certainly. Podgers has been in dozens of places.”
“Well, Podgers, just call to mind some of the other households where you have been employed, and tell me any particulars in which Mr. Summertrees’s establishment differs from them.”
Podgers pondered a long time.
“Well, sir, he do stick to writing pretty close.”
“Ah, that’s his profession, you see, Podgers. Hard at it from half past nine till toward seven, I imagine?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Anything else, Podgers? No matter how trivial.”
“Well, sir, he’s fond of reading, too; leastways, he’s fond of newspapers.”
“When does he read?”
“I never seen him read ’em, sir; indeed, so far as I can tell, I never knew the papers to be opened, but he takes them all in, sir.”
“What, all the morning papers?”
“Yes, sir, and all the evening papers, too.”
“Where are the morning papers placed?”
“On the table in his study, sir.”
“And the evening papers?”
“Well, sir, when the evening papers come, the study is locked. They are put on a side table in the dining room, and he takes them upstairs with him to his study.”
“This has happened every day since you’ve been there?”
“Yes, sir.”
“You reported that very striking fact to your chief, of course?”
“No, sir, I don’t think I did,” said Podgers confused. “You should have done so. Mr. Hale would have known how to make the most of a point so vital.”
“Oh, come now, Valmont,” interrupted Hale, “you’re chaffing us! Plenty of people take in all the papers!”
“I think not. Even clubs and hotels subscribe to the leading journals only. You said all, I think, Podgers?”
“Well, nearly all, sir.”
“But which is it? There’s a vast difference.”
“He takes a good many, sir.”
“How many?”
“I don’t just know, sir.”
“That’s easily found out, Valmont,” cried Hale, with some impatience, “if you think it really important.”
“I think it so important that I’m going back with Podgers myself. You can take me into the house, I suppose, when you return?”
“Oh, yes, sir!”
“Coming back to these newspapers for a moment, Podgers. What is done with them?”
“They are sold to the ragman, sir, once a week.”
“Who takes them from the study?”
“I do, sir.”
“Do they appear to have been read very carefully?”
“Well, no, sir; leastways, some of them seem never to have been opened, or else folded up very carefully again.”
“Did you notice that extracts have been clipped from any of them?”
“No, sir.”
“Does Mr. Summertrees keep a scrapbook?”
“Not that I know of, sir.”
“Oh, the case is perfectly plain!” said I, leaning back in my chair, and regarding the puzzled Hale with that cherubic expression of self-satisfaction which I know is so annoying to him.
“What’s perfectly plain?” he demanded, more gruffly perhaps than etiquette would have sanctioned.
“Summertrees is no coiner, nor is he linked with any band of coiners.”
“What is he, then?”
“Ah, that opens another avenue of inquiry! For all I know to the contrary, he may be the most honest of men. On the surface it would appear that he is a reasonably industrious tradesman in Tottenham Court Road, who is anxious that there should be no visible connection between a plebeian employment and so aristocratic a residence as that in Park Lane.”
At this point Spenser Hale gave expression to one of those rare flashes of reason which are always an astonishment to his friends.
“That is nonsense, Monsieur Valmont,” he said; “the man who is ashamed of the connection between his business and his house is one who is trying to get into society, or else the women of his family are trying it, as is usually the case. Now Summertrees has no family. He himself goes nowhere, gives no entertainments, and accepts no invitations. He belongs to no club; therefore, to say that he is ashamed of his connection with the Tottenham Court Road shop is absurd. He is concealing the connection for some other reason that will bear looking into.”
“My dear Hale, the Goddess of Wisdom herself could not have made a more sensible series of remarks. Now, mon ami, do you want my assistance, or have you enough to go on with?”
“Enough to go on with? We have nothing more than we had when I called on you last night.”
“Last night, my dear Hale, you supposed this man was in league with coiners. To-day you know he is not.”
“I know you say he is not.”
I shrugged my shoulders, and raised my eyebrows, smiling at him.
“It is the same thing, Monsieur Hale.”
“Well, of all the conceited—” and the good Hale could get no farther.
“If you wish my assistance, it is yours.”
“Very good. Not to put too fine a point upon it, I do.”
“In that case, my dear Podgers, you will return to the residence of our friend Summertrees, and get together for me in a bundle all of yesterday’s morning and evening papers that were delivered to the house. Can you do that, or are they mixed up in a heap in the coal cellar?”
“I can do it, sir. I have instructions to place each day’s papers in a pile by itself in case they should be wanted again. There is always one week’s supply in the cellar, and we sell the papers of the week before to the ragman.”
“Excellent. Well, take the risk of abstracting one day’s journals, and have them ready for me. I will call upon you at half past three o’clock exactly, and then I want you to take me upstairs to the clerk’s bedroom in the third story, which I suppose is not locked during the daytime?”
“No, sir, it is not.”
With this the patient Podgers took his departure. Spenser Hale rose when his assistant left.
“Anything further I can do?” he asked.
“Yes; give me the address of the shop in Tottenham Court Road. Do you happen to have about you one of those new five-shilling pieces which you believe to be illegally coined?”
He opened his pocketbook, took out the bit of white metal, and handed it
to me.
“I’m going to pass this off before evening,” I said, putting it in my pocket, “and I hope none of your men will arrest me.”
“That’s all right,” laughed Hale as he took his leave.
At half past three Podgers was waiting for me, and opened the front door as I came up the steps, thus saving me the necessity of ringing. The house seemed strangely quiet. The French cook was evidently down in the basement, and we had probably all the upper part to ourselves, unless Summertrees was in his study, which I doubted. Podgers led me directly upstairs to the clerk’s room on the third floor, walking on tiptoe, with an elephantine air of silence and secrecy combined, which struck me as unnecessary.
“I will make an examination of this room,” I said. “Kindly wait for me down by the door of the study.”
The bedroom proved to be of respectable size when one considers the smallness of the house. The bed was all nicely made up, and there were two chairs in the room, but the usual washstand and swing mirror were not visible. However, seeing a curtain at the farther end of the room, I drew it aside, and found, as I expected, a fixed lavatory in an alcove of perhaps four feet deep by five in width. As the room was about fifteen feet wide, this left two-thirds of the space unaccounted for. A moment later I opened a door which exhibited a closet filled with clothes hanging on hooks. This left a space of five feet between the clothes closet and the lavatory. I thought at first that the entrance to the secret stairway must have issued from the lavatory, but examining the boards closely, although they sounded hollow to the knuckles, they were quite evidently plain match boarding, and not a concealed door. The entrance to the stairway, therefore, must issue from the clothes closet. The right-hand wall proved similar to the match boarding of the lavatory, so far as the casual eye or touch was concerned, but I saw at once it was a door. The latch turned out to be somewhat ingeniously operated by one of the hooks which held a pair of old trousers. I found that the hook, if pressed upward, allowed the door to swing outward, over the stairhead. Descending to the second floor, a similar latch let me into a similar clothes closet in the room beneath. The two rooms were identical in size, one directly above the other, the only difference being that the lower-room door gave into the study, instead of into the hall, as was the case with the upper chamber.