On reaching Brussels Midi slightly different tactics were employed. Shaw was sent forward to reconnoitre, while French and Carter kept in the background.
At a distance the last two followed Shaw. They were interested to see that the quarry didn’t leave the station. Sheen headed to the booking-office, and they watched Shaw take his place behind him in the queue. Sheen booked and moved off, and French, fearful that while himself booking Shaw might lose the trail, hastened after Sheen. But in a couple of minutes Shaw overtook him, and French dropped back into his former obscurity.
Sheen appeared at ease and completely unconscious that he was being shadowed. He walked to the station restaurant and disappeared within. Shaw stopped at the door, and French hastened up to him.
‘What about a second door?’ he asked rapidly.
‘He’s booked to Amsterdam by the two-fifty,’ Shaw answered in the same way. ‘I think he’s safe enough.’
‘He might be on to us and it might be a trick,’ French insisted. ‘Better have a squint in and see that all’s well.’
Shaw disappeared, but returned in a few seconds. Sheen was seated at a table and was discussing the menu with the waiter.
‘I’m sure, sir,’ Shaw declared, ‘he’s not on to us. He didn’t see me at the booking window. I let a girl get in between us. He booked a second single to Amsterdam and asked if the train was fourteen-fifty. The clerk said yes, that it was the “Northern Star” pullman express, and that there was a supplement.’
‘Did they talk English?’
Shaw grinned. ‘I know enough French for that, sir.’
‘Good for you. Did you book?’
‘No, sir. I slipped out of the queue to follow him. I knew there’d be plenty of time.’
This news seemed extraordinarily satisfactory to French. Amsterdam! A name almost synonymous with precious stones! If these three had intended to meet in Amsterdam, the end was surely in sight.
There was a couple of hours till the train left. ‘You book three singles,’ he said to Carter, ‘while I go to police headquarters and get a message through to the Yard.’
He left the station and took a taxi. At the police station he met a polite and helpful officer who gave him some news in excellent English.
‘Ah, monsieur, we have heard already of your chase. One of your men sent us a letter, it is not yet half an hour—’ He took a paper from a file and glanced at it. ‘Ouilli? Is it not?’
‘That’s right, monsieur,’ French answered, ‘Willis.’
‘Ah, you call it Ouillize. Your English names!’ He shrugged good-humouredly. ‘This Ouillize, he has just left from the Gare du Midi by the 12.51 for Amsterdam. He has come this morning from Paris. He sent the letter by one of our men, and he asked us to inform your Scotland Yard of his movements. We did so immediately.’
‘That’s the best news you could have given me,’ French declared heartily. ‘It shows me I’m on the right track with my own inquiry. Will you do me the same favour you’ve already done my colleague—ring up Scotland Yard and ask them to advise Willis that I have traced Sheen here, that he has booked to Amsterdam by the two-fifty, and that I’m going on by the same train. Also will you ask them to advise the Amsterdam men to give me the help I’ll want. They know in London what that is.’
The officer promised he would do so at once.
‘Fine,’ said French heartily. ‘I can’t say how grateful I am. It’s that case of the safe burglary in Kingsway, London. I think we’ve got the men.’
‘I have read of the case. Congratulations, monsieur, on your success up to the present.’
French thanked the polite officer, then excusing himself on the ground that it was getting near his train time, he returned to the station.
Carter was waiting for him.
‘He’s in the train,’ he said. ‘Shaw’s at the barrier. Here are the tickets.’
The train, with a single stop at Antwerp Est, ran express to Rosendaal, where they crossed the frontier. The journey across Dutch territory was equally quickly carried out, and at 6.50 to the minute they drew into the Central Station at Amsterdam.
Once again the burden of the chase fell on Shaw. He kept reasonably close to Sheen, while French and Carter followed far to the rear.
One of the first persons they saw on the platform was Willis.
‘Just got word from the Yard you were coming in on this train,’ he said. ‘My bird’s gone to roost in the Hotel des Pays Bas.’
‘Fine,’ French answered hurriedly. ‘I wish you’d relieve Shaw. He’s following Sheen, and he’s done it so long that he might be recognised any time.’
Willis nodded. ‘My room is 75 at the Pays Bas,’ he breathed, and slipped away. In a moment Shaw returned to the others.
‘Inspector Willis has taken over?’ he said interrogatively to French.
‘That’s right. Sheen has never seen him, while you’ve been on to him for about thirty hours. Let’s go to this Hotel des Pays Bas.’
The omnibus hadn’t left and they got on board. At the hotel Shaw was sent in to reconnoitre, and it was not till he reported all clear that the others followed. French showed his card to the reception clerk, and they were taken upstairs to wait in Willis’s room.
Presently the telephone rang. French picked up the receiver.
It was Willis. Sheen, it appeared, had gone to the Hotel Amstel, booked a room, asked for letters and gone upstairs. What would French like Willis to do?
‘Where did you leave Lyde?’ French asked in return.
‘In the smoking room of the des Pays Bas.’
‘I’ll put Shaw on to him and then I’ll come round and see you. Where are you now?’
‘At the Amstel. I’ll meet you outside the door.’
‘Right.’
Some careful reconnaisance on French’s part revealed the fact that Lyde was still in the smoking room. Having pointed him out to Shaw, French set off for the Amstel, leaving Carter to assist Shaw, should his help be required. Willis, his hat pulled down and his collar up round his ears, was waiting in a convenient doorway.
‘I expect they’ll meet presently,’ French began. ‘Any trouble following Lyde?’
‘None. He didn’t suspect we were on to him.’
‘Nor did Sheen. Extraordinary, but all the better for us. Go ahead with your story.’
‘It was pretty plain sailing,’ Willis declared. ‘We got to Paris last night at 11.00. Lyde put up at the Terminus Hotel opposite the Gare de l’Est. We all left this morning at 7.00. A deuced slow train, but I suppose it was to avoid travelling with Sheen in the express. We had three-quarters of an hour in Brussels and came on here.’
‘Much the same with us,’ said French, and rapidly sketched the Etaples-Calais journey. ‘The question now is what we’re going to do? Better get the Dutch police on to them, I think, and shadow them till we see if they don’t lift the stones or the equivalent money.’
‘I’ve seen the police,’ Willis answered. ‘They’ve heard from the Yard and they’re out to be helpful.’
‘I expect so. Foreign police usually are.’
Willis slowly filled his pipe. ‘There’s one thing I’ve been thinking over, chief,’ he went on, but French interrupted him.
‘None of that here, old man,’ he said. ‘That’s all right for the Yard, but when we’re alone I’m French as before.’
Willis grinned. ‘Right-o. I’ll remember. But about what I was going to tell you. I wonder if you think there’s anything in it. It’s this. The first thing Lyde did when he got to the des Pays Bas was to ask if there were any letters. There weren’t, but there was a parcel. It was a fairly large book, a bit larger than the ordinary-sized novel, but not so large as the usual encyclopædia; you know, about the size of those novels they sell for eight-and-six or ten shillings.’
French nodded.
‘I know it was a book, because I got the police representative to question the hall porter, and he knew London and had noticed Foyle’s label on
it.’
French nodded again.
‘Well, there was nothing in that, but here’s what has made me think. When Sheen got here just now the first thing he asked for was letters. And here again there were none, but there was a book: come by post. This time I happened to see the man’s face, and I’ll swear the book was what he was after, and what’s more, that it was of tremendous importance to him. I could see that from his expression.’
French turned and stared at his companion. ‘Man alive!’ he exclaimed with an oath. ‘You tell me that as a sort of afterthought. Has nothing struck you about it?’
Willis laughed outright. ‘Well, something did strike me, I’ll admit,’ he answered. ‘But I didn’t think there was any immediate hurry. I wasn’t sure, of course. And I couldn’t act without your authority.’
‘We’ll be sure before we’re much older,’ French returned. ‘Valuable books, those two. We’ll have a look inside them before we sleep tonight.’
‘Just a minute, French: there’s not that hurry. I’ve been thinking while you were walking over. Suppose the diamonds are in the books, as we both seem to think. Well, has this occurred to you: each man will have about a third of the lot in his book.’
French stared again. ‘Well, suppose he has?’
‘Then we’ll only get two-thirds.’
‘Two-thirds would be better than none.’
‘Ah, but what about getting the other third as well?’
French’s stare became fixed. He remained motionless so long that Willis began to grin.
‘By heck, I see what you mean: and you’re right. You mean there’s another book lying here in some hotel awaiting Sloley’s call?’
‘I should guess that was about the size of it.’
‘And so would I. You’ve not been asleep, Willis, I will say.’ French considered for a moment, then went on: ‘That reminds me, Sloley called at a post office on his way to the station when he was starting. What price posting a book?’
Willis nodded. ‘That’s the ticket. There’s a big hotel near the Central Station, the Victoria. It looks the biggest and I should think the most likely. If you like to hare off there, I’ll watch the mousehole till you get back.’
‘Bless you, my son. I’ll have to go to police headquarters to get a man.’
‘You’ll find them all right,’ said Willis comfortingly, as French turned away.
French found it hard to control his excitement as he considered the possibilities which might lie in this new development. The sending of the stones through the post in the form of books was just what might be expected from men of the mentality of these three thieves. How the trader’s labels had been obtained—for if one bore a trader’s label, it was probable the others did too—was not, of course, clear, but men who had shown such ingenuity as Sloley, Sheen and Lyde would have had no difficulty in arranging it.
But this was a minor point. What really mattered was that there was now a chance of arresting Sheen and Lyde with the stones actually in their possession. If so, it would bring his case to the most triumphant conclusion that he could possibly wish. It would not only be an overwhelming proof of guilt, but it would recover the swag: the two essentials for which he had been striving.
Sternly repressing his feelings so that he could exhibit the detachment proper to so high an official of the British police, he presented himself at the Amsterdam headquarters. There he was received with politeness and asked, again in excellent English, what his Dutch confrères could have the pleasure of doing for him.
French was obliged for his courteous reception. If it would not be an inconvenience, he would like an officer to accompany him to the Victoria or other hotel, to try and find out if his third suspect had engaged a room there, and if so, to take over any correspondence which might be awaiting him. Would this be possible?
He was assured that nothing could be arranged more easily, and in a few minutes he left for the Victoria in company with a large, grave-faced and silent man named Slaats, who, he thought, but was not sure, occupied the position of an inspector. On the few occasions on which Slaats did speak, it was also in English.
French was too eager about his business to pay much attention to the streets through which they walked, but he could not fail to notice their distinctive and charming character. The outstanding features were, of course the ‘grachten’ or canals, whose waters shimmered peacefully, if somewhat coldly, under the electric lights, and the rows of well-grown elms, now unhappily bare of leaves, with behind them glimpses of the picturesque old seventeenth and eighteenth century houses for which the city is famous.
They soon reached the hotel and Slaats, having asked for the manager and explained to him the situation, suggested that French should be allowed to ask his questions. The manager, obviously anxious that whatever happened, it should be without scandal to the hotel, instantly agreed to give every possible facility.
‘Can you tell me,’ French began, ‘if an Englishman booked a room here for tonight, and if he has failed to turn up?’
The manager could not, but he rang for a clerk, and presently it was found the suggestion of the visitor was correct. A Mr Johnson, of London, had made the reservation, but had not arrived to claim his room.
This looked well, but French was dashed by the answer to his next question. Asked if this Mr Johnson was a stranger, the clerk said not, that he had stayed in the hotel on one previous occasion, about a month earlier. He was, the clerk, understood, an engineer, and was interested in land reclamation; at least he had asked how he might get in touch with the engineers of the great works on the Zuider Zee.
This would seem to rule out Sloley, but French was taking no risks. He handed the clerk his bundle of photographs and asked if Mr Johnson was represented.
Then delight once more surged up in his mind. The clerk, without the slightest hesitation, picked out a photograph. ‘Mr Johnson, sir,’ he declared. It was Sloley’s.
Crushing down unprofessional expressions of satisfaction, French nodded gravely and said that that was the man in whom he was interested. He would like to ask one other question. Had a parcel, a book in all probability, arrived for Mr Johnson? If so, might he see it?
The clerk returned to his office, but almost immediately reappeared with a parcel. French found himself utterly unable to hide his delight when he saw it was a book, wrapped up with the two ends left open, and bearing the label of Messrs Bumpus. It was addressed to Mr A. J. Johnson, Hotel Victoria, Amsterdam, and had not been opened by the Customs.
‘That’s what I was hoping to find,’ said French. ‘There were no other letters, I suppose?’
The clerk shook his head; this was the only thing. ‘But,’ he went on, looking at his manager, ‘I don’t know whether the gentleman would be interested, but I remember that on Mr Johnson’s last visit he received an exactly similar package, a book from the same firm. I try to improve my English by reading, and I have bought books from Messrs Bumpus: that’s how I know their name.’
‘Interested?’ French answered. ‘I should think I am. I’m exceedingly obliged to you for telling me. I think it will help me quite a lot. Now,’ he went on to the manager, ‘I want to take charge of this book. I’ll give you a receipt for it, of course.’
The manager was perfectly agreeable. Once again all he wanted was for French and everything connected with him to leave the hotel and vanish into oblivion. French gravely wrote his receipt, handed it over, and expressed his thanks.
‘I want you to be witness that I take this parcel to headquarters,’ he went on to Slaats, as they left the hotel. ‘I think it may turn out to be valuable.’
At police headquarters French saw again the official with whom he had already dealt. ‘I want one other favour of you, if you will be kind enough,’ he asked, ‘it won’t take long. I want to open this parcel in your presence and the presence of Mynheer Slaats. Can that be arranged?’
Nothing, it appeared, would give the officer more pleasure than to assist his disti
nguished visitor. The parcel could be opened then and there. They would not be interrupted.
The three men sat round a table. French was almost, but not quite, trembling with excitement. Slowly, controlling himself, he took out his knife and cut the string. Then, equally slowly and carefully, he unwrapped the paper and took out the book.
It was Cripps’ work on Old English Plate, a book measuring something like 9 inches by 6 inches by 2; a book, as French presently discovered, of over 500 pages, and weighing pretty heavily. He attempted to open it, and with a further thrill of pure joy found he could not do so. Pages and covers were stuck tightly together.
On seeing this, Slaats and his superior officer, who had seemed politely bored, waked up suddenly and began to take notice. French continued his operations. Placing the book flat on the table, he inserted his knife between the pages about quarter of the way from the upper cover, and began to cut between the leaves. He carried his cut right round the book except for the spine. then he lifted. This time the cover came up at his cut.
The inside of the book was hollow, and there packed in cotton wool lay a gleaming mass of gems! Diamonds, sapphires, emeralds, rubies: scintillating as if giving off flames of lambent fire. The two Dutchmen gazed with goggling eyes. Apart from the glory before them, here was a demonstration of the methods of the world-famed Scotland Yard which had more than fulfilled their highest expectations. Then at last they swore; at least it sounded like oaths. French beamed effusively. Under the circumstances he could permit himself a somewhat relaxed attitude.
‘This,’ he said, waving his hand over the cache, ‘represents, if I’m correct, one-third of what was stolen. Those other two men about whom you’ve heard, each received books on arrival at their hotels. I suspected what they contained, but wasn’t sure till this moment. It now remains for me to arrest those men before they can get rid of the swag. And there I am in your hands and must ask for your help.’
Help was soon forthcoming. The necessary formalities were quickly undertaken, and about two in the morning both the other hotels were visited, and Sheen and Lyde were taken into custody. Their books were also found to be hollow, and when the contents of the three were checked up, practically the whole of the loot was discovered.
Crime at Guildford Page 27
