The Dead Witness: A Connoisseur's Collection of Victorian Detective Stories

by Michael Sims

  “What job?” I asked mildly.

  “Oh, you know what I mean: the Summertrees affair?”

  “Oh, that!” I exclaimed, with surprise. “The Summertrees case is already completed, of course. If I had known you were in a hurry, I should have finished up everything yesterday, but as you and Podgers, and I don’t know how many more, have been at it sixteen or seventeen days, if not longer, I thought I might venture to take as many hours, as I am working entirely alone. You said nothing about haste, you know.”

  “Oh, come now, Valmont, that’s a bit thick. Do you mean to say you have already got evidence against the man?”

  “Evidence absolute and complete.”

  “Then who are the coiners?”

  “My most estimable friend, how often have I told you not to jump at conclusions? I informed you when you first spoke to me about the matter that Summertrees was neither a coiner nor a confederate of coiners. I secured evidence sufficient to convict him of quite another offense, which is probably unique in the annals of crime. I have penetrated the mystery of the shop, and discovered the reason for all those suspicious actions which quite properly set you on his trail. Now I wish you to come to my flat next Wednesday night at a quarter to six, prepared to make an arrest.”

  “I must know whom I am to arrest and on what counts.”

  “Quite so, mon ami Hale; I did not say you were to make an arrest, but merely warned you to be prepared. If you have time now to listen to the disclosures, I am quite at your service. I promise you there are some original features in the case. If, however, the present moment is inopportune, drop in on me at your convenience, previously telephoning so that you may know whether I am there or not, and thus your valuable time will not be expended purposelessly.” With this I presented to him my most courteous bow, and although his mystified expression hinted a suspicion that he thought I was chaffing him, as he would call it, official dignity dissolved somewhat, and he intimated his desire to hear all about it then and there. I had succeeded in arousing my friend Hale’s curiosity. He listened to the evidence with perplexed brow, and at last ejaculated he would be blessed.

  “This young man,” I said, in conclusion, “will call upon me at six on Wednesday afternoon, to receive his second five shillings. I propose that you, in your uniform, shall be seated there with me to receive him, and I am anxious to study Mr. Macpherson’s countenance when he realizes he has walked in to confront a policeman. If you will then allow me to cross-examine him for a few moments, not after the manner of Scotland Yard, with a warning lest he incriminate himself, but in the free and easy fashion we adopt in Paris, I shall afterwards turn the case over to you to be dealt with at your discretion.”

  “You have a wonderful flow of language, Monsieur Valmont,” was the officer’s tribute to me. “I shall be on hand at a quarter to six on Wednesday.”

  “Meanwhile,” said I, “kindly say nothing of this to anyone. We must arrange a complete surprise for Macpherson. That is essential. Please make no move in the matter at all until Wednesday night.”

  Spenser Hale, much impressed, nodded acquiescence, and I took a polite leave of him.

  The Absent-Minded Coterie

  The question of lighting is an important one in a room such as mine, and electricity offers a good deal of scope to the ingenious. Of this fact I have taken full advantage. I can manipulate the lighting of my room so that any particular spot is bathed in brilliancy, while the rest of the space remains in comparative gloom, and I arranged the lamps so that the full force of their rays impinged against the door that Wednesday evening, while I sat on one side of the table in semidarkness and Hale sat on the other, with a light beating down on him from above which gave him the odd, sculptured look of a living statue of Justice, stern and triumphant. Anyone entering the room would first be dazzled by the light, and next would see the gigantic form of Hale in the full uniform of his order.

  When Angus Macpherson was shown into this room, he was quite visibly taken aback, and paused abruptly on the threshold, his gaze riveted on the huge policeman. I think his first purpose was to turn and run, but the door closed behind him, and he doubtless heard, as we all did, the sound of the bolt being thrust in its place, thus locking him in.

  “I—I beg your pardon,” he stammered, “I expected to meet Mr. Webster.”

  As he said this, I pressed the button under my table, and was instantly enshrouded with light. A sickly smile overspread the countenance of Macpherson as he caught sight of me, and he made a very creditable attempt to carry off the situation with nonchalance.

  “Oh, there you are, Mr. Webster; I did not notice you at first.”

  It was a tense moment. I spoke slowly and, impressively.

  “Sir, perhaps you are not unacquainted with the name of Eugène Valmont.”

  He replied brazenly: “I am sorry to say, sir, I never heard of the gentleman before.”

  At this came a most inopportune “Haw-haw” from that block-head Spenser Hale, completely spoiling the dramatic situation I had elaborated with such thought and care. It is little wonder the English possess no drama, for they show scant appreciation of the sensational moments in life; they are not quickly alive to the lights and shadows of events.

  “Haw-haw,” brayed Spenser Hale, and at once reduced the emotional atmosphere to a fog of commonplace. However, what is a man to do? He must handle the tools with which it pleases Providence to provide him. I ignored Hale’s untimely laughter.

  “Sit down, sir,” I said to Macpherson, and he obeyed.

  “You have called on Lord Semptam this week,” I continued sternly.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And collected a pound from him?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “In October, 1893, you sold Lord Semptam a carved antique table for fifty pounds?”

  “Quite right, sir.”

  “When you were here last week you gave me Ralph Summertrees as the name of a gentleman living in Park Lane. You knew at the time that this man was your employer?” Macpherson was now looking fixedly at me, and on this occasion made no reply. I went on calmly: “You also knew that Summertrees, of Park Lane, was identical with Simpson, of Tottenham Court Road?”

  “Well, sir,” said Macpherson, “I don’t exactly see what you’re driving at, but it’s quite usual for a man to carry on a business under an assumed name. There is nothing illegal about that.”

  “We will come to the illegality in a moment, Mr. Macpherson. You and Rogers and Tyrrel and three others are confederates of this man Simpson.”

  “We are in his employ; yes, sir, but no more confederates than clerks usually are.”

  “I think, Mr. Macpherson, I have said enough to show you that the game is what you call up. You are now in the presence of Mr. Spenser Hale, from Scotland Yard, who is waiting to hear your confession.” Here the stupid Hale broke in with his: “And remember, sir, that anything you be—”

  “Excuse me, Mr. Hale,” I interrupted hastily, “I shall turn over the case to you in a very few moments, but I ask you to remember our compact, and to leave it for the present entirely in my hands. Now, Mr. Macpherson, I want your confession, and I want it at once.”

  “Confession? Confederates?” protested Macpherson, with admirably simulated surprise. “I must say you use extraordinary terms, Mr.—Mr.—What did you say the name was?”

  “Haw-haw,” roared Hale. “His name is Monsieur Valmont.”

  “I implore you, Mr. Hale, to leave this man to me for a very few moments. Now, Macpherson, what have you to say in your defense?”

  “There nothing criminal has been alleged, Monsieur Valmont, I see no necessity for defense. If you wish me to admit that somehow you have acquired a number of details regarding our business, I am perfectly willing to do so, and to subscribe to their accuracy. If you will be good enough to let me know of what you complain, I shall endeavor to make the point clear to you, if I can. There has evidently been some misapprehension, but for the life of me, without
further explanation, I am as much in a fog as I was on my way coming here, for it is getting a little thick outside.”

  Macpherson certainly was conducting himself with great discretion, and presented, quite unconsciously, a much more diplomatic figure than my friend Spenser Hale, sitting stiffly opposite me. His tone was one of mild expostulation, mitigated by the intimation that misunderstanding speedily would be cleared away. To outward view he offered a perfect picture of innocence neither protesting too much nor too little. I had, however, another surprise in store for him, a trump card, as it were, and I played it down on the table.

  “There!” I cried with vim, “have you ever seen that sheet before?”

  He glanced at it without offering to take it in his hand.

  “Oh, yes,” he said, “that has been abstracted from our file. It is what I call my visiting list.”

  “Come, come, sir,” I cried sternly, “you refuse to confess, but I warn you we know all about it. You never heard of Dr. Willoughby, I suppose?”

  “Yes, he is the author of the silly pamphlet on Christian Science.”

  “You are in the right, Mr. Macpherson; on Christian Science and Absent-Mindedness.”

  “Possibly. I haven’t read it for a long while.”

  “Have you ever met this learned doctor, Mr. Macpherson?”

  “Oh, yes. Dr. Willoughby is the pen name of Mr. Summertrees. He believes in Christian Science and that sort of thing, and writes about it.”

  “Ah, really. We are getting your confession bit by bit, Mr. Macpherson. I think it would be better to be quite frank with us.”

  “I was just going to make the same suggestion to you, Monsieur Valmont. If you will tell me in a few words exactly what is your charge against either Mr. Summertrees or myself, I will know then what to say.”

  “We charge you, sir, with obtaining money under false pretenses, which is a crime that has landed more than one distinguished financier in prison.”

  Spenser Hale shook his fat forefinger at me, and said: “Tut, tut, Valmont; we mustn’t threaten, we mustn’t threaten, you know”; but I went on without heeding him.

  “Take, for instance, Lord Semptam. You sold a table for fifty pounds, on the installment plan. He was to pay a pound a week, and in less than a year the debt was liquidated. But he is an absent-minded man, as all your clients are. That is why you came to me. I had answered the bogus Willoughby’s advertisement. And so you kept on collecting and collecting for something more than three years. Now do you understand the charge?”

  Mr. Macpherson’s head, during this accusation, was held slightly inclined to one side. At first his face was clouded by the most clever imitation of anxious concentration of mind I had ever seen, and this was gradually cleared away by the dawn of awakening perception. When I had finished, an ingratiating smile hovered about his lips.

  “Really, you know,” he said, “that is rather a capital scheme. The absent-minded league, as one might call them. Most ingenious. Summertrees, if he had any sense of humor, which he hasn’t, would be rather taken by the idea that his innocent fad for Christian Science had led him to be suspected of obtaining money under false pretenses. But, really, there are no pretensions about the matter at all. As I understand it, I simply call and receive the money through the forgetfulness of the persons on my list, but where I think you would have both Summertrees and myself, if there was anything in your audacious theory, would be an indictment for conspiracy. Still, I quite see how the mistake arises. You have jumped to the conclusion that we sold nothing to Lord Semptam except that carved table three years ago. I have pleasure in pointing out to you that his lordship is a frequent customer of ours, and has had many things from us at one time or another. Sometimes he is in our debt; sometimes we are in his. We keep a sort of running contract with him by which he pays us a pound a week. He and several other customers deal on the same plan, and in return, for an income that we can count upon, they get the first offer of anything in which they are supposed to be interested. As I have told you, we call these sheets in the office our visiting lists, but to make the visiting lists complete you need what we term our encyclopedia. We call it that because it is in so many volumes; a volume for each year, running back I don’t know how long. You will notice little figures here from time to time above the amount stated on this visiting list. These figures refer to the page of the encyclopedia for the current year, and on that page is noted the next sale and the amount as it might be set down, say, in a ledger.”

  “That is a very entertaining explanation, Mr. Macpherson. I suppose this encyclopedia, as you call it, is in the shop at Tottenham Court Road?”

  “Oh, no, sir. Each volume of the encyclopedia is self-locking. These books contain the real secret of our business, and they are kept in the safe at Mr. Summertrees’s house in Park Lane. Take Lord Semptam’s account, for instance. You will find in faint figures under a certain date, 102. If you turn to page 102 of the encyclopedia for that year, you will then see a list of what Lord Semptam has bought, and the prices he was charged for them. It is really a very simple matter. If you will allow me to use your telephone for a moment I will ask Mr. Summertrees, who has not yet begun dinner, to bring with him here the volume for 1893, and within a quarter of an hour you will he perfectly satisfied that everything is quite legitimate.” I confess that the young man’s naturalness and confidence staggered me, the more so as I saw by the sarcastic smile on Hale’s lips that he did not believe a single word spoken. A portable telephone stood on the table, and as Macpherson finished his explanation, he reached over and drew it toward him. Then Spenser Hale interfered.

  “Excuse me,” he said, “I’ll do the telephoning. What is the call number of Mr. Summertrees?”

  “One forty Hyde Park.”

  Hale at once called up Central, and presently was answered from Park Lane. We heard him say: “Is this the residence of Mr. Summertrees? Oh, is that you, Podgers? Is Mr. Summertrees in? Very well. This is Hale. I am in Valmont’s flat—Imperial Flats—you know. Yes, where you went with me the other day. Very well, go to Mr. Summertrees, and say to him that Mr. Macpherson wants the encyclopedia for 1893. Do you get that? Yes, encyclopedia. Oh, don’t understand what it is. Mr. Macpherson. No, don’t mention my name at all. Just say Mr. Macpherson wants the encyclopedia for the year 1893, and that you are to bring it. Yes, you may tell him that Mr. Macpherson is at Imperial Flats, but don’t mention my name at all. Exactly. As soon as he gives you the book, get into a cab, and come here as quickly as possible with it. If Summertrees doesn’t want to let the book go, then tell him to come with you. If he won’t do that, place him under arrest, and bring both him and the book here. All right. Be as quick as you can; we’re waiting.”

  Macpherson made no protest against Hale’s use of the telephone; he merely sat back in his chair with a resigned expression on his face which, if painted on canvas, might have been entitled, “The Falsely Accused.” When Hale rang off, Macpherson said: “Of course you know your own business best, but if your man arrests Summertrees, he will make you the laughingstock of London. There is such a thing as unjustifiable arrest, as well as getting money under false pretenses, and Mr. Summertrees is not the man to forgive an insult. And then, if you will allow me to say so, the more I think over your absent-minded theory, the more absolutely grotesque it seems, and, if the case ever gets into the newspapers, I am sure, Mr. Hale, you’ll experience an uncomfortable half hour with your chiefs at Scotland Yard.”

  “I’ll take the risk of that, thank you,” said Hale stubbornly.

  “Am I to consider myself under arrest?” inquired the young man.

  “No, sir.”

  “Then, if you will pardon me, I shall withdraw. Mr. Summertrees will show you everything you wish to see in his books, and can explain his business more capably than I, because he knows more about it; therefore, gentlemen, I bid you good night.”

  “No you don’t. Not just yet awhile,” exclaimed Hale, rising to his feet simultaneously wi
th the young man.

  “Then I am under arrest,” protested Macpherson.

  “You’re not going to leave this room until Podgers brings that book.”

  “Oh, very well,” and he sat down again.

  And now, as talking is dry work, I set out something to drink, a box of cigars, and a box of cigarettes. Hale mixed his favorite brew, but Macpherson, shunning the wine of his country, contented himself with a glass of plain mineral water, and lit a cigarette. Then he awoke my high regard by saying pleasantly, as if nothing had happened: “While we are waiting, Monsieur Valmont, may I remind you that you owe me five shillings?”

  I laughed, took the coin from my pocket, and paid him, whereupon he thanked me.

  “Are you connected with Scotland Yard, Monsieur Valmont?” asked Macpherson, with the air of a man trying to make conversation to bridge over a tedious interval; but before I could reply Hale blurted out: “Not likely!”

  “You have no official standing as a detective, then, Monsieur Valmont?”

  “None whatever,” I replied quickly, thus getting in my oar ahead of Hale.

  “That is a loss to our country,” pursued this admirable young man, with evident sincerity.

  I began to see I could make a good deal of so clever a fellow if he came under my tuition.

  “The blunders of our police,” he went on, “are something deplorable. If they would but take lessons in strategy, say, from France, their unpleasant duties would be so much more acceptably performed, with much less discomfort to their victims.”

  “France,” snorted Hale in derision, “why, they call a man guilty there until he’s proven innocent.”