The recollection of this anticlimax amused him so much that he laughed aloud and had perforce to wipe his eyes with a handkerchief which might once have been clean.
“And what became of this lead?” asked Thorndyke. “Did they take it away with them?”
“No,” replied Wallis. “It wasn’t no good to them. They just left it in the pots.”
“And is it in your workshop still?” asked Thorndyke.
“No, it ain’t. I sold it to a builder for five bob, which paid for the gas that they had used and left a bit over.”
“Do you know what the builder wanted it for?”
“Said he wanted some lead for to fix some iron railings in their sockets.”
“Did he take the whole of it?”
“Yes; he took the whole boiling of it, and a small roll of sheet lead as well. But the sheet wasn’t included in the five bob.”
“Do you mind telling us the name of this builder?” Thorndyke asked.
Wallis looked rather hard at Thorndyke, and the slightly apprehensive expression reappeared on his face.
“I don’t see as his name is neither here nor there,” said he. “What’s all the fuss about? You was speaking of valuable property. Lead ain’t valuable property.”
“For legal reasons,” said Thorndyke, “I wish to trace that lead and see where it went to. And there is no reason for you to be secret about it. The transaction between you and the builder was a perfectly lawful transaction; but I should like to ascertain from the builder exactly what he did with the lead.”
The plumber was evidently still a little uneasy, but the question was so simple and straightforward that he could hardly refuse to answer.
“Well,” he replied, grudgingly, “if you must know, the builder what I sold the lead to was my brother, Joe Wallis, what lives a couple of doors further up the street.”
“Thank you,” said Thorndyke. Then, turning to Miller, he said: “That is all I wanted to know. Probably Mr. Joe Wallis will be able to help us a stage further. Is there anything that you want to ask?”
“No,” replied Miller; “that seems to be all plain sailing. I don’t think we need trouble Mr. Wallis any further.”
With this, Thorndyke thanked the plumber for the assistance that he had given and we took our departure. As soon as we were outside, the Superintendent broke out into low-voiced self-congratulations—low-voiced—by reason of the fact that Mr. Wallis had taken his post at the shop door to observe our further movements.
“It was just as well,” said Miller, “that you were able to get the information without letting the cat out of the bag. It has saved a lot of chin-wagging. But I expect we shan’t have such an easy job with our friend Joseph. Bert had nothing to conceal; but Joseph must have been in the swim to some extent. This is his house.”
The premises, which bore the superscription, “J. Wallis, Builder and Decorator,” were divided into two parts, a carpenter’s shop and an office. We entered the latter, and, as it was at the moment unoccupied, the Superintendent thumped on the counter with his stick; which brought out from some inner lair a very large youth of about eighteen who saluted us with an amiable grin.
“Dad in?” inquired Miller, making a chance shot; which was justified by the result, as the youth replied:
“Yes. What’s it about?”
“This gentleman, Dr. Thorndyke, wants to see him on important legal business,” Miller replied; whereupon the youth grinned again and retired. In about a minute he returned and requested us to “walk this way,” indicating the direction by walking in advance. We followed him across a hail and up a flight of stairs to a door, which he opened, and, having seen us enter, once more departed.
The room was quite an interesting survival—a typical example of a Victorian tradesman’s drawing room, with the typical close, musty smell. As we entered, I noticed that Thorndyke cast his eyes down and then took a quick glance at the window. But there was no time for detailed observation, for we were almost immediately followed by a man whom I judged from his stature and a certain family resemblance to be “Dad.” But the resemblance did not extend to the amiable grin, On the contrary, the newcomer viewed us with an expression compounded of a sort of foxy curiosity and a perceptible tinge of hostility.
“Which of you is Dr. Thorndyke?” he inquired.
My colleague introduced himself, and the inevitable question followed.
“And who are these other two gentlemen?”
“This,” replied Miller, indicating me, “is Dr. Jervis, also a lawyer; and”—here he produced a professional card and pushed it across an “occasional table,” “that’s who I am.”
Mr. Wallis studied the card for a few moments, and the hostility of his expression became more pronounced. Nevertheless, he said with gruff civility: “Well, you may as well sit down,” and gave us a lead by sitting down, himself, in an arm-chair.
“Now,” said he, “what’s this important legal business?”
“It is concerned,” said Thorndyke, “with certain property which came into your hands and which you had from your brother, Albert Wallis.”
“Property what I had from my brother Albert Wallis!” our friend repeated in obviously genuine surprise. “I haven’t had no property from him. What do you mean?”
“I am referring to certain pieces of metal which you bought from him about three months ago.”
Mr. Joseph continued to stare at Thorndyke for some seconds.
“Pieces of metal!” he repeated, at length. “I haven’t bought no pieces of metal from him, You’ve made a mistake.”
“The metal that I am referring to,” said Thorndyke, “consisted of a roll of sheet lead and some remainders from melting-pots.”
“Gawd!” exclaimed Joseph, contemptuously, “you don’t call that property, do you? I gave him five bob for the lot, and that was more than it was worth.”
“So I understood,” said Thorndyke. “But we have reasons for wishing to trace that metal. We have managed to trace it to you, and we should be greatly obliged if you would tell us what has become of it, supposing it not to be still in your possession.”
At this persistence on Thorndyke’s part, the hostility expressed in Joseph’s countenance became tinged with unmistakeable uneasiness. Nevertheless, he answered truculently enough:
“I don’t see what business it is of yours what I do with the material that I buy. But, if you must know, I used that sheet lead for making a damp-course, and the other stuff for fixing some iron railings in a stone kerb.”
“Then,” said Miller, “somebody has got some pretty valuable iron railings.”
Wallis looked at him inquiringly, and from him to Thorndyke.
“Perhaps,” said the latter, “I had better explain. Some time ago, two men, one of whom was named Wicks, stole a case containing a quantity of platinum from the cloak room at Fenchurch Street. They took it to the house of your brother Albert, who, not knowing what it was, or anything about it, allowed them to melt it down in his workshop. But, when they had melted it down, they did not recognize it. They thought it was lead, and that they had taken the wrong case. So they left the lumps in the melting-pots for your brother to do what he pleased with. But he, also, did not recognize the metal. He, also, thought that it was lead; and he sold the whole consignment to you for five shillings. And I take it that you, like the others, mistook it for lead.”
Mr. Wallis had suddenly become attentive and interested.
“Certainly, I took it for lead,” said he. “And you say it was platinum. That’s rather expensive stuff, isn’t it?”
“The little lot,” said Miller, “that you bought for five shillings has been valued at just under eighteen thousand pounds.”
That “knocked him,” as they say in the Old Kent Road, For some seconds he sat speechless, clutching the arms of his chair and staring at Miller as if he had been some dreadful apparition.
“Eighteen thousand pounds!” he exclaimed, at length, in something approaching a sc
reech. “Eighteen—thousand—pounds! And to think—”
“Yes,” said Miller, “to think of those iron railings. We shall have to see that you don’t go rooting them up.”
Mr. Wallis made no reply. As with the dying gladiator, “his thoughts were far away,” and I had little doubt whither they had strayed. I do not profess to be a thought-reader; but the expression on Joseph’s face conveyed clearly to me that he had, in that moment, decided, as soon as the night fell, to make a bee-line for Josiah Pippet’s vault. His reverie was interrupted by Thorndyke.
“So, Mr. Wallis,” said he, “you will understand our natural anxiety to find out where this metal went to.”
“But I’ve told you,” said Wallis, rousing himself from dreams of sudden opulence, “so far as I can recollect, that I used the stuff to plant some iron railings.”
As we seemed to have got into a blind alley, the Superintendent abruptly changed his tone.
“Never mind about those iron railings,” he said, sharply. “We want to know what you did with that stuff. Are you going to tell us?”
“I have told you,” Wallis replied doggedly. “You can’t expect me to remember what I did with every bit of lead that I bought.”
“Very well,” said Miller, “then perhaps it might help your memory if we were to do a bit of supposing. What do you say?”
“You can if you like,” Joseph replied, sulkily, “so long as you don’t ask me to help you.”
“Now, Wallis,” said Miller, “you’ve got to bear this in mind. Those two fools didn’t know this stuff when they had got it in their hands, and neither did you or Bert. But there were other people who knew what was in that case. Bassett, the man who murdered Wicks, knew, because he put the stuff in the case. And there was another man, a very artful gentleman, who kept out of sight but who knew all about it. We mustn’t mention names, so we will just call him Mr. Rumbler, because he rumbled what had happened.
“Now, supposing this Mr. Rumbler, knowing where the stuff had been left by those two gabeys, had a bright idea for getting hold of it without showing his hand. Supposing he went to a certain undertaker whose place was close to Bert’s and pitched him a yarn about wanting a dummy coffin weighted with lead. Supposing he employed him to make that coffin, knowing that he would be certain to get his lead from Bert, and plant it in a nice convenient vault in a disused burial ground—say, somewhere out Stratford way—where he could get at it easily with a big skeleton key and a tommy to turn it with. How’s that? Mind you, I am only supposing.”
As Miller recited his fable, a cloud fell on Mr. Wallis’s countenance. The dream of sudden opulence was dissipated. The resurrection job was obviously “off.” But, glum as the expression of Joseph’s face became, the effect produced was not quite the one on which Miller had based his calculations.
“If you know where the coffin is,” was the natural comment, “why don’t you go and open it and take the stuff out?”
“Because,” Miller replied, impressively, “the stuff isn’t there. Somebody has had the coffin open and taken it out.”
Even this did not answer. Wallis looked sulky enough, but he had not gorged the bait.
“I don’t believe there is any coffin,” said he. “You’ve just invented it to try to get me to say something.”
I detected an expression of grim amusement on Thorndyke’s face. Perhaps he was contrasting—as I was—Miller’s present proceedings with the lofty standard of veracity among police officers that he had presented to Bunter. But I was also aware of some signs of impatience. As a matter of fact, all these artful probings on Miller’s part were getting us nowhere. Moreover, we had really ascertained nearly all that we wanted to know.
“Perhaps,” said Thorndyke, “as I am not a police officer, I may venture to be a little more explicit with Mr. Wallis. We are not interested in the present whereabouts of this platinum. We know where it is; but we want to know exactly how it got there. As to the coffin, we have evidence that it was made by you, Mr. Wallis, and planted by you in the vault. But this coffin was made to some person’s order, and we want to know with certainty who that person is. At present, our information is to the effect that it was made to the order of a Mr. Gimbler, a solicitor who resides in the neighbourhood of Kennington. But Mr. Gimbler has managed to keep, to some extent, out of sight and put the whole responsibility on you. Even the dust that was found in the vault was your dust. It came from this very room.”
At this latter statement, Wallis started visibly, and so did Miller.
“Yes, by Jove!” the latter exclaimed, after a glance at the floor and another at the window, “here is the identical carpet that you described in court, and there are the blue cotton curtains.”
“So you see, Mr. Wallis,” Thorndyke continued, “you have nothing to conceal respecting the coffin. The facts are known to us. The question is, are you prepared to tell us the name of the person to whose order this coffin was made?”
“If you know his name,” was the reply, “you don’t want me to tell you.”
“Your evidence,” said Thorndyke, “would save us a good deal of trouble, and perhaps it might save you some trouble, too. Are you prepared to tell us who this person was?”
“No,” was the dogged reply. “I’m not going to tell you nothing. The least said the soonest mended. I don’t know nothing about any coffin, and I don’t believe there ever was any coffin.”
At this reply Miller’s face hardened, and I think he was about to pursue the matter farther; but Thorndyke calmly and civilly brought the interview to a close.
“Well, Mr. Wallis,” said he, “you must do as you think best. I feel that you would have been wiser to have been more open with us; but we cannot compel you to give us information which you choose to withhold.”
With this, he rose, and Miller reluctantly followed suit, looking distinctly sulky. But nothing further was said until, shepherded by our host, we had descended to the office and had been thence launched into the street. Then Miller made his protest.
“I think, Doctor,” said he, “that it is a pity you didn't let me play him a little longer. I believe he would have let on if we had kept rubbing into him that he had been used as a cat's paw by Gimbler to get hold of that platinum."
"I don't think he would," said Thorndyke. "He is an obstinate man, and he evidently doesn't like the idea of turning upon his employer; and we can hardly blame him for that. But, after all, Miller, what would have been the use of going on with him? We have got a complete train of evidence. We have got Bunter's written and signed statement that he left the platinum in Bert Wallis's workshop. We have got Bert Wallis's statement, made before witnesses, that he sold the stuff to his brother Joe Wallis. We have got Joe Wallis's statement, made before witnesses, that he bought the stuff from Bert. We know that Joe is a coffin maker, and that the stuff was found in a coffin, together with certain dust which came from a room which was identical in character with Joe Wallis's drawing room. The agreement is complete, even without the dust."
"So it is," Miller agreed; "but it proves the wrong thing. We can fix this job on Joseph all right. But it isn't Joseph that we want. He is only the jackal; but we want the lion—Gimbler. And if Joseph won't talk, we've got no direct evidence against Gimbler."
Thorndyke shook his head. "You are magnifying the difficulties, Miller," said he. "I don't know what you, or the Public Prosecutor, may propose to do; but I can tell you what I am going to do, if you don't. I am going to lay a sworn information charging Gimbler with having conspired with Joseph Wallis to commit certain fraudulent acts including the manufacture of false evidence, calculated and intended to defeat the ends of justice. We have enough evidence to convict him without any assistance from Wallis; but I think you will find that Joseph, when he discovers that he is involved in a fraud of which he knew nothing, will be far from willing to share the burden of that fraud with Gimbler. I think you can take it that Joseph will tell all that he knows (and perhaps a little more) when we begin t
o turn the screw. At any rate, I am quite satisfied with my case against Gimbler."
"Well, Doctor," said Miller in a less gloomy tone, "if you see your way to a conviction, I have nothing more to say. It's all I want."
Here the subject dropped; and the effect of the sandwiches having by this time worn off, we agreed with one accord to seek some reputable place of entertainment to make up the arrears in the matter of nourishment. As those arrears were somewhat considerable, the settling of them occupied our whole attention for a time; and it was not until our cravings had been satisfied and the stage of coffee and pipes had been reached that Miller suddenly raised a question which I had been expecting, and which I had secretly decided to raise, myself, at the first opportunity.
"By the way, Doctor," said he, "what about that head in the box? All these alarums and excursions in chase of that blooming platinum had driven it out of my head. But, now that we have done with the metal, at least for the present, supposing we have a word about the box. From the questions that you put to Bunter, it is clear to me that you have given the matter more attention than I had supposed; and it is obvious that you know something. I wonder how much you know."
"Not very much," replied Thorndyke; "but I shall probably know more when I have made a few inquiries. You are so far right that I have given the affair some attention, though not a great deal. But when I heard of the discovery in the cloak room, and afterwards read the account of the inquest, I formed certain opinions—quite speculatively, of course—as to what the incident probably meant; and I even formed a still more speculative opinion as to the identity of one, at least, of the persons who might be concerned in the affair. Bunter’s account of the passenger with the parcel seemed to agree with my hypothesis, and his answers to my questions seemed to support my identification of the person. That is all. Of actual, definite knowledge I have none.”
“And your opinions,” said Miller, a trifle sourly, “I suppose you are going to keep to yourself.”
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