Then he decided to melt them down; and, to this end, he provided himself with a small crucible furnace that burned coke or charcoal—there was no gas at the Manor House—and was fitted with a foot bellows. He also obtained a few crucibles, one or two jeweller's ingot moulds, and the necessary tongs and other implements; and with these appliances he set to work to reduce the miscellaneous collection of stoneless jewellery to neat little ingots, each of which he carefully marked with a punch to show its "fineness" in carats.
But even this did not quite solve the difficulty. For, as we have seen, Mr. Toke was an eminently cautious gentleman, and it was borne in on him that the sale of gold ingots on a somewhat considerable scale was a proceeding that might, in the course of time, lead to inconvenient enquiries. He was known as a dealer in stones. But gold ingots were things that needed to be accounted for. He decided, at least for the present, not to run the risk.
So, by degrees, the ingots accumulated. But Mr. Toke was not disturbed. On the contrary, the larger his stock grew—and it grew apace—the less desirous did he become to dispose of it. For a curious change had come over him. Gradually, the affection that he had felt for the sovereigns transferred itself to the growing pile of ingots; and at nights, when he had turned out the surviving remnants of coins from the drawer, he would bring forth the ingots from the cupboard where they were secreted and lay them out on the table or build them up into little stacks. And as the stacks grew steadily in size and number, he would think of his partners and their mysterious activities with pleasant anticipations of yet further additions to his hoard; which was rapidly becoming more real to him than the less visible wealth that was represented by the figures in his bank books and his lists of investments.
Occasionally he found himself speculating on the part that Mr. Hughes played in this curious, unlawful business. Was he a receiver, pure and simple, or was he an actual operator? On the rare occasions when they met, Hughes maintained the most profound reticence. Mr. Toke’s view was that Hughes and Dobey formed a small firm to which Hughes contributed the brains and power of contrivance, and Dobey the manual skill and executive ability.
Possibly he was right. At any rate, as we have said, all went well and smoothly, and Dobey, more fortunate than most of his fellow practitioners, continued to keep out of the clutches of the law.
IV. MR. TOKE’S INDISCRETION
In a remote corridor at the top of a large building in Holborn the rather infrequent visitors might have seen a door, glazed with opaque glass, on which was painted the name of Mr. Arthur Hughes. No further information was vouchsafed; but if the directory had been consulted it would have been ascertained that Mr. Hughes was a patent agent. His practice was not extensive; but still, on certain rare occasions, stray members of that peculiarly optimistic class, prospective patentees, discovered his existence by means of the directory aforesaid, and subjected him to a mild surprise by appearing in his office.
Their visits were not unwelcome; for, though the business that they brought was of little enough value, they rendered possible the keeping of books which could be produced in evidence of a bona fide industry.
The visitor, however, who appeared on a certain afternoon was not one of these clients, nor was he connected with the patent industry; being, in fact, none other than Mr. Didbury Toke. Mr. Toke was a good deal out of breath, having climbed the long staircase as a matter of precaution, and now sat panting across the table behind which Mr. Hughes was seated, regarding him with undisguised impatience.
"It’s a devil of a way up," said Mr. Toke.
"It is if you are fool enough to walk," was the ungracious reply. "Why the deuce don’t you use the lift?"
"Well," Mr. Toke explained, "one is apt to meet people in a lift, or at least be seen and possibly remembered, by the lift girl, at any rate. It is better to avoid contacts as far as possible."
"You’re mighty careful," said Hughes, sourly. "You’re glad enough to mop up the profits of our little enterprises, but you don’t mean to take any of the risks."
"Not if I can help it," Toke admitted. "Why should I? And what good would it be if I did?"
The question was so obviously reasonable (since the safety of each member of the firm was essential to the well-being of the others) that Hughes was reduced to a non-committal snort; and might have left it at that had not Toke rather untactfully added: "And I am not aware that you are in the habit of exposing yourself unnecessarily."
Mr. Hughes was apparently in a somewhat irritable state of mind, for he took needless umbrage at this remark.
"Oh," he exclaimed, "so you think so, too, do you?"
"Too?" repeated Toke, interrogatively.
"Yes. You are taking up the same position as that infernal Dobey."
"I hope not," said Mr. Toke. "But what is Dobey’s position?
"In effect the same as yours. He says that he takes all the risks while we take most of the profits."
"I did not say that," Mr. Toke protested. "I admit that I keep out of harm’s way to the best of my ability. And, really, I suppose, as a matter of fact, Dobey does take more risks than we do."
"Do you?" snarled Hughes. "How do you know what risks I take?"
Mr. Toke had to admit that he knew very little about the matter. "But," he continued, "there is no use in mutual fault-finding. We each have our respective parts to play, and each of us is indispensable to the others."
"That isn’t Dobey’s view," said Hughes. "I have discovered that he has been doing some jobs on his own, and what is worse, he has found some other market for the swag. He is a slippery devil. Thanks to me, he has been able to work in safety, and do uncommonly well. Now he thinks he knows all there is to know, and he is going to work on his own and stick to all the stuff that he collects—the ungrateful bounder!"
Mr. Toke expressed his profound disgust at this base conduct of the unappreciative gas-fitter. "But, after all," he added optimistically, "I suppose he is not the only pebble on the beach."
"No," Hughes admitted, "but he is a pretty big pebble, from our point of view. We can’t afford to lose his little contributions. But it is not only that. Now that he seems to have gone off on his own, and knows that I have spotted him, he may give us trouble, especially if he should get into a tight place. As I said before, he is a slippery devil. But he had better look out. If I see any signs of his making trouble, I shall make things most unpleasantly lively for him. However, he hasn’t starved us out yet. I have got quite a nice little collection from another artist. Got it here, too. I don’t usually bring stuff to this place, but I had to, on this occasion. So here it is, all ready for you to take away when we have settled preliminaries."
"Oh, dear!" exclaimed Mr. Toke, "how very unfortunate! I can’t possibly take it now. I called to tell you that I am just starting on a longish tour on the Continent."
"Well, you’ll just have to put off the start for a day. I can’t have the stuff here, and I certainly can’t store it while you are browsing about the Continent."
"But," protested Mr. Toke, "I have made all my arrangements. I have shut up the wing of my house where I keep my collection and sealed the doors, and I have notified my solicitor that I have started."
"I suppose you can alter your arrangements if you please. You are your own master."
Mr. Toke shook his head, and was about to add some confirmatory remarks when Hughes suddenly lost what little patience he had and broke out, angrily:
"Look here, Toke, you are going to take that stuff. You have got to. I am not going to keep it in store for months. Besides, I want the money for it. There is a hundred and fifty pounds’ worth in this parcel. You can look at it now, and, if you are afraid to take it away with you, I will plant it in your car later."
"But," pleaded Toke, "I haven’t got my car. I took it to the garage this morning to be overhauled and taken care of while I am away. I should have to go by train with the confounded stuff in a hand-bag."
Mr. Hughes was on the point of demanding w
hat the occasion of the train journey might be, seeing that the "stuff" was presumably to be deposited either at Mr. Toke’s bank or in his safe-deposit. That was how he had always understood that Mr. Toke secured his valuables. But the reference to the train journey seemed to offer a rather curious suggestion. And, Mr. Hughes being a decidedly reticent, not to say secretive, gentleman, refrained from either comment or question. But he stuck to his point, and continued to insist that the property must be transferred. If he had done so in a polite and tactful manner, all might have been well. Unfortunately, he adopted a bullying, hectoring tone that jarred heavily on Mr. Toke’s already ruffled feelings. As a result, his customary suavity gave place to a slightly forbidding manner.
"I think," he said stiffly, "you misunderstand the nature of our relations. I purchase from you at my convenience. You are addressing me as if I were some sort of subordinate, as you might address Dobey—who, by the way, doesn’t seem to have found your manners endearing."
"He will find them a good deal less endearing if, he doesn’t take care, and so will you. Don’t you come here with your damned superior airs. You are one of the firm, and I am the boss of the firm, and you have got to understand that."
"And suppose I don’t accept that relationship? Suppose I retire from the firm, as you call it, and wash my hands of you? Would that suit you?"
"It wouldn’t suit you if the police got to know that the eminently respectable Mr. Didbury Toke had been doing a roaring trade in stolen gems."
Mr. Toke’s face hardened. "It is a great mistake to utter threats," he said in a warning tone. And then, in total disregard of the admirable principle that he had just laid down, he continued: "And, in fact, it would not suit you particularly well if the police should be induced to take an interest in you."
"But they couldn’t," retorted Hughes. "You couldn’t prove anything against me. I’ve made it my business to see to that. In regard to this swag, the man who collected it is at one end and the man who marketed it—that’s you—is at the other. I don’t appear in it at all."
Mr. Toke smiled sourly. "I see," he said, quietly, "that you don’t remember me. But my memory is better."
"What the devil do you mean?" Hughes demanded angrily, but with a startled expression which he failed to control.
"Of course," Mr. Toke continued, calmly, "I am a good deal changed. So are you since the days when you used to have a sandy moustache and a bushy head of hair. But, all the same, I recognized you at the first glance" (which was not quite correct. It had taken him some three months to convert a vague sense of familiarity into a definite identification). "The sight of you carried me back to the time when I used to have connections with the assaying industry, and when a good deal was heard about a certain famous thumb-print."
He stopped rather abruptly—and wished that he had stopped sooner, as he noted the effect of his foolish speech. Hughes did not trouble to contest the statement, but sat gazing fixedly at the speaker; and the concentrated malignity that expressed itself in that look brought Mr. Toke suddenly to his senses. The gentle art of making enemies is an art that is practised only by fools. But Mr. Toke was not a fool, and he certainly did not want to make an enemy of Mr. Hughes. He saw clearly that reconciliation was the necessary policy, and proceeded forthwith to swallow his pride.
"This won’t do, Hughes," he said in a conciliatory tone. "We are behaving like a couple of fools. Of course we sink or swim together. I understand that. I was annoyed at having my arrangements upset and lost my temper. Let us have a look at that stuff."
Without a word, Hughes rose and walked across to a small safe which he unlocked and threw open. From some inner recess in it he produced a parcel which he laid on the table. Then he stepped over to the door, and, having slipped the catch of the lock, came back and began methodically to untie the string of the parcel. When the various wrappings were loosened, there was exposed to view a miscellaneous collection of jewellery which Mr. Toke diagnosed as probably the pooled swag from several different robberies. He looked it over with tepid interest, being anxious chiefly to get the business over and bring the rather unpleasant interview to an end.
"Well," he said, "there’s nothing sensational about it. You say you want a hundred and fifty for this lot. It’s quite enough, but it isn’t worthwhile to haggle over a trifle. I’ll give you what you ask. I suppose a cheque won’t do for you?"
"No," Hughes replied gruffly, "of course it won’t."
"It’s infernally inconvenient," Toke grumbled. "This will eat up the greater part of the cash that I had provided for travelling."
He produced a fat wallet from his pocket, and sorted out its contents; a process that was watched by Hughes with a curious, avid interest as he retied the string of the parcel.
"Fifteen tens," said Toke. "Will that do? I would rather keep the fives for use on the road."
As Hughes made no reply, but silently held out his hand, Toke placed in the latter the sheaf of crisp, rustling notes, and closed his wallet, fastening it and returning it to his pocket.
"Now, Hughes," he said as he dropped the parcel into his hand-bag and put on his hat, "let us forget the nonsense that we talked just now and bury the hatchet. We shan’t see each other again for a month or two. Don’t let us carry away unpleasant memories."
He held out his hand genially, and Hughes, relaxing with an effort the grimness of his expression, took it and gave it a formal shake.
"I suppose," said he, "you will spend the night at Hartsden?"
"No," replied Toke, "I can’t do that. I want to catch the night—or rather early morning—train to Dover."
"You will have some trouble in making the various connections," Hughes remarked. "There aren’t so very many trains to and from Hartsden. It is a pity that you didn’t keep your car for another hour or two."
"Yes," Toke agreed reflectively. "I think you are right. The trains will be an awkward complication. I rather think that I will just get the car out again or borrow another. That will make me independent of trains."
"But what will you do with the car?" asked Hughes, who was beginning to take an interest in Toke’s movements.
"I dare say I shall be able to run it down to the garage. Or perhaps I shall be able to get a taxi driver to run it round from the station. It will only take him a few minutes."
"Yes," Hughes agreed, "that will be quite simple. And the car will enable you to take your own time. Much better than the suburban trains. Well, so long. I hope you will have a pleasant and profitable trip."
He gave a sort of valedictory grin—the nearest that he could get to the semblance of a friendly smile—and accompanied Toke out into the corridor, where he stood, watching the retreating figure of his associate in iniquity. And, even as he looked, the grin faded from his features and was replaced by a scowl of the most intense malice.
He went back into his office, still scowling forbiddingly, and with the air of one wrapped in profound thought. Which was, in fact, his condition. For Mr. Toke’s indiscreet outburst had furnished him with the matter for anxious cogitation. That Toke could or would "blow on" the little transactions that took place between them had never occurred to him. Nor did it now. He had made his position at least as safe as that of Mr. Toke himself. Neither of them could effectively blow on the other. But now it appeared that Mr. Toke could, by merely uttering a few words in the proper quarter, send him, Mr. Hughes, to a term of penal servitude. This was quite a different affair. The sudden appearance of Mr. Toke as a potential accuser was, to put it very mildly, an extremely disagreeable surprise. Up to this time, Hughes had believed that one person only in the whole world had penetrated the very effective disguise with which a natural affliction had furnished him as a free gift. For Mr. Hughes’s wig was, in any case, a necessity. An attack of the complaint known as Alopecia areata had produced large bald patches which had to be covered up by a wig; and this, together with the loss of his eyebrows, and aided by the removal of his beard and moustache, had so metamorphose
d him that, though he avoided all old haunts and old acquaintances, he was almost completely secure from recognition. But, as we have said, there was one person who had appeared, at least, to suspect his identity, and whose existence kept him in a state of constant watchfulness and anxiety. And now there was another.
Mr. Hughes was not a scrupulous man; and if he was a cautious man, he was ready to take a present risk for the sake of future safety. In the very moment when Mr. Toke had foolishly proclaimed his power, he had made a decision. He was not going to walk abroad with this everlasting menace at his elbow. One dangerous enemy was more than enough. Two were more than could be borne. The plain fact was that Mr. Toke knew too much; and that fact pointed to the obvious remedy. So much Hughes had decided even while Toke was speaking. The rest was only a question of ways and means.
Apparently, this question also was in course of being settled, for Mr. Hughes, after pacing up and down the office for a few minutes, began, in a leisurely and deliberate fashion, to make certain changes in his visible characteristics that suggested a definite purpose. It is one of the compensations of being compelled to wear a wig that one can choose one’s wig and even, on occasion, change it. Of this privilege Mr. Hughes proceeded to avail himself. From a locked drawer in a locked cupboard he took out a wig of a pronounced red and of a fluffy, rather ragged texture, strikingly different from the sleek, dark brown one that he was wearing. Having locked the door, he put on the new wig, and then produced from the drawer a reddish moustache, a small bunch of hair of the same colour, and a bottle of spirit gum. With some of the latter, he anointed the base of the moustache (which was not one of those artless devices used by the amateur actor, but a workmanlike affair, made by a regular theatrical wig-maker) and carefully affixed it to his upper lip with the aid of a small mirror.
When he had fixed it securely in position he cut off some wisps of hair from the bundle, and, having stuck them along the upper margin of the moustache, combed them over the latter and finally trimmed them off with scissors. The effect was extremely realistic; and when, in the same way, a pair of darkish eyebrows had been attached, the transformation was complete.
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