Inspector French and the Box Office Murders

by Freeman Wills Crofts

  Style, it appeared, had arrived at the works at his usual hour, about half past ten. Customarily he remained till one o’clock, when he left for lunch. But on this occasion he had only waited a few minutes. He had sent the youth out on a message, and when the latter had returned half an hour later he had disappeared. The youth had not seen him since.

  French was not satisfied.

  ‘What was the message?’ he asked.

  It was a bow drawn at a venture with the general object of amassing detailed knowledge, but to his amazement the arrow got in between the joints of Style’s armour.

  ‘Postal order for two bob,’ the youth returned.

  ‘That shouldn’t have taken you half an hour.’

  ‘’E didn’t want no order,’ the youth declared, and his eyes looked sly and furtive. ‘’E only wanted me out of the way.’

  ‘What makes you think that?’

  The youth smiled, a sort of sickly leer, unpleasant to look upon.

  ‘The gal,’ he remarked laconically.

  ‘The girl? What girl?’

  ‘The gal as came in with him.’

  ‘A tall, strong, well-built girl with fair hair and complexion and blue eyes?’ French suggested eagerly, believing he was on the track of Gwen Lestrange.

  ‘Naw. Small and dark.’

  French leaped to his feet.

  ‘What?’ he roared, scaring the youth almost into fits.

  Molly Moran! He paused, thrilled at the thought, then sat down again.

  ‘That’s all right,’ he declared. ‘I was surprised for the moment. Now tell me all about this girl. When did she come?’

  Getting information from the youth was like getting treacle out of a test-tube, but by the exercise of all his patience French managed it.

  It seemed that when Style had arrived he had driven his car into the yard with his usual custom. It was a dark green Armstrong-Siddeley saloon. But instead of garaging it he had turned it and run it back into the entry, stopping opposite the office door. Then he had hurried back to the street. Evidently Molly—further questions had left French in no doubt as to the ‘gal’s’ identity—had been waiting for him, for both came at once into the office. Style had asked her to sit down and had then excused himself on urgent business in the workshops. In a few moments the speaking tube from the workshops had whistled. It was Style and he had instructed the youth to go out immediately and buy a two-shilling postal order. Such a thing had never been asked for before and the youth did not believe it was required. He had therefore assumed that the errand was to get him out of the way in order to allow the tender passages between Style and his caller which he imagined were desired. In this belief he had improved the opportunity to visit a friend, the message boy in a neighbouring shop, and he was not back for half an hour. Style and the young lady had then gone.

  French made a despairing gesture.

  ‘After my warning! After my warning!’ he lamented in a low voice to Ormsby. ‘How under the sun did that scoundrel get her into his power?’

  He turned again to the youth.

  ‘We’re going to search this place,’ he said sharply. ‘Here’s our warrant, if you’d like to see it. Now hand over any keys you have, then sit down there and don’t interfere.’

  As he spoke he shut and bolted the heavy outer door. Then ruthlessly silencing the clerk’s timid protests, the two men began the search.

  The safe was beyond them and French put through a call to the Yard for an expert. The roll top desk, however, was easily overcome by means of French’s skeleton keys. Quickly, but thoroughly, the two men turned the place out. For a couple of hours they worked, first in the office and then in the workshops behind, before French announced that he was satisfied.

  Though the search had yielded little, that little was important. No hint as to Style’s possible whereabouts had been gained nor any information as to the remaining members of the gang. Still less was there any hint as to what might have happened to Molly Moran, though French’s sketch of the tracks of Style’s car and its detailed description, obtained from the old workman, might later on help in tracing her. But two things had been made clear beyond possibility of doubt. First, the silversmiths’ business was practically non-existent. It was evidently a mere blind to cover more serious and lucrative operations. Secondly, though scarcely any silver articles had been sold, the purchase of bar silver had been very large.

  Report from the Mint or no report, there could no longer be any doubt as to what was being done. Coining on an enormous scale was in progress. The next thing for French must be to find the plant. Or rather the next thing but one. At all costs Molly Moran’s life must be saved, were this humanly possible.

  While French was sitting in his office turning these matters over in his mind, the Yard expert had not been idle. He now called to them that he had just succeeded in opening the safe. French began eagerly to go through its contents. But he found only one thing of interest, four little leathern bags shaped to fit the divisions in the vanity bags, each containing from a hundred to a hundred and fifty half-crowns.

  Sure that at last he held the key to the affair, he poured the coins out on to the desk and examined them minutely. Immediately he was once again disappointed. All of them, he was prepared to swear, were genuine. Every test he applied proved them so. And then suddenly he wondered. All of them were dated 1921!

  Whether this meant anything or not he did not know, but it was at least certain that they must at once be sent to the Mint for an authoritative opinion.

  More anxious then ever as to Molly’s fate, French returned to the Yard, hoping against hope that some useful information might have come in.

  15

  Mr Cullimore Expounds

  French was profoundly worried by the disappearance of Molly Moran. He could not get out of his mind the thought that if anything happened to her he was by no means free from responsibility. There could be no doubt that it was through him that she had incurred the suspicion of the gang, and he had led her to believe that she could confide in him with perfect safety. Bitterly he regretted his oversight in not having her shadowed so that her kidnapping would have been impossible. Again and again he cursed his mistake and again and again he swore to leave no stone unturned to save her, and if unhappily he failed in that, to bring her murderers to justice.

  There was little that he could do personally but remain in his room and collate and sift the information which soon began to come in. A good deal was obtained as a result of the inquries which he had set on foot, but unfortunately it was all negative.

  The first news he had was from the men he had sent to the banks at which Style got rid of his half-crowns. At none of them had the man been seen. This was Thursday and since Tuesday he had neither paid in half-crowns nor drawn cheques. The total sum standing to his credit in all six was close on five hundred pounds. It was evident, therefore, that he was badly frightened, if, as seemed likely, he had abandoned the money.

  Telephone reports from the other men engaged were equally disappointing. Sergeant Harvey rang up to say that he had been unable to learn anything at the Panopticon. Miss Moran had left at her usual time on the Tuesday evening and an assistant with whom she had walked to the tube said that her remarks showed that she intended to be at work on the following day. Nor was any news available from her boarding house. On the Wednesday evening she had not returned after the performance. That was the desolating fact. She had not sent any message to explain her absence nor had she previously given a hint to anyone there that she might not be home.

  Even more disquieting was the report from Carter. He had been unable to arrest Curtice Welland because Welland also had disappeared. The man had not returned home on Wednesday evening nor had he been seen since. His housekeeper, however, was not alarmed about him as he had sent her a telegram on Wednesday afternoon to say that he was unexpectedly called away on business and would be absent for a few days. His usual haunts had been shadowed and exhaustive inquiries made, bu
t all to no purpose.

  The three other box office girls who had been changing coins were interrogated, also without result. At first all three had denied that they had been engaged in questionable practices with half-crowns, but the police examination had soon broken them down and they had admitted their complicity. But all stated that Wednesday was the last day on which they had seen Welland. None of them had seen Style for many weeks.

  One vitally important piece of information, however, came in, a piece, indeed, fundamental to the whole inquiry. At any other time it would have raised French to the pitch of exalted enthusiasm usual to him under such circumstances. But now he was so worried about Molly Moran’s safety that he took the news as a matter of course.

  Returning to the Yard from a further visit to the girl’s boarding house in Nelson Street, he found himself in demand. ‘Chief wants you, sir,’ he was told by the first three men he met, while Inspector Tanner, whom he passed on the way to his room, hailed him with, ‘Hullo, French, my son! Now you’ve been and gone and done it! There has been no peace here this morning, looking for Brer French.’

  Before French could reply a sergeant approached.

  ‘Beg pardon, sir, but the assistant commissioner wishes to see you in his room as soon as possible.’

  ‘Lord!’ said French. ‘What’s all the shindy about? Right, Sergeant. I’m going now.’

  Sir Mortimer Ellison, the assistant commissioner, was seated at his desk in his well but plainly furnished office when French entered. With him were two other men, evidently from their dress and bearing persons of importance. One was small, white-haired and precise looking, the other, a younger man, was evidently his subordinate. All three were smoking the opulent Turkish cigarettes which Sir Mortimer affected. The elder of the visitors was speaking, the others listening with every appearance of interest.

  ‘Come along, French,’ said Sir Mortimer, interrupting the other’s flow of conversation. ‘You’ve turned up in the nick of time. This is the inspector who has been handling the case, gentlemen. French, these are Mr Cullimore and Mr Dove from the Mint. They’ve called about that silver bombshell you sent down.’

  ‘What, sir?’ French exclaimed. ‘Then the coins were counterfeit all right?’

  ‘All right?’ Sir Mortimer waved his hand towards French and looked quizzically at the others. ‘Hear Scotland Yard speak! French, you’ve got a distorted mind. Revelling in iniquity. Why should you be pleased because the revered institution which our friends represent has been the victim of a fraud?’

  French knew his superior.

  ‘Pleased to tell them, sir, that thanks to Scotland Yard the fraud is at an end,’ he said without a smile.

  ‘There’s Scotland Yard again. When you have no answer, beg the question. I do it myself, so I know. Now, French, sit down in that chair and tell us all about it.’

  But French remained standing with a puzzled expression on his face.

  ‘But what about—’ he began, then stopped.

  ‘What is it, French?’

  ‘Sorry, sir. But this can only refer to the second lot of coins. The first lot were good.’

  ‘That is so,’ broke in Cullimore in thin, precise tones. ‘The first batch was good. It is this second batch alone that is in question.’

  ‘A bit puzzling that, sir,’ French went on to the assistant commissioner. ‘I should have expected it the other way round. The first batch was given to the girl Moran to pass out to the public, the second was in Style’s safe. Why should they pass out good coins?’

  ‘You’ve got them the wrong way round. That lot you got from the girl must have been received from the public, not from the gang.’

  French shook his head.

  ‘No, sir, I’m quite sure of my ground there. Miss Moran put the coins she got from the public in the car. What she gave me were taken from the car for distribution.’

  There was silence for a moment, then Sir Mortimer spoke.

  ‘Well, if I can’t prove you in the wrong I must try something else. How would this do? Those people are smarter than you’ve been giving them credit for. They twigged you were on them and went canny. Is there any way they could have known what you were up to?’

  ‘Through the girls, sir,’ French admitted. ‘I saw the risk, but I had to take it.’

  ‘There you are, then. The girls reported your activities and Welland, Style & Co., thought it healthier to trade good money. Well, French, when these gentlemen rang me up to make an appointment I expected Chief Inspector Mitchell would be here to post me in the affair until you got back. But Mitchell has been detained at Croydon so that I have been unable to tell them more than the main outlines. Now you start in from the beginning and let us have all the details.’

  ‘About the cinema girls, sir?’

  ‘About the silver. I’ve explained the method of distribution through the cinema girls and that is all these gentlemen require to know on that point. You tell about everything connected directly with the silver.’

  ‘I’m afraid, sir, there’s not so much to be told. All I’ve found is—’ and French began explaining his investigations in detail. He told of the distribution and transport of the coins, the vanity bags, the secret panel beneath the seat of Welland’s car and the pipe connecting the two garages. Then he read out his notes of what he had found in the office, particularly the weights of silver and copper purchased compared to the weight of silver ornaments sold. The three men listened with keen attention, Cullimore congratulating him warmly when he had finished.

  ‘It’s the cleverest fraud I’ve come across for many a day,’ he declared. ‘Indeed I don’t mind admitting that if it hadn’t been for our friend here it might have gone on almost indefinitely. It would never have been discovered from mere inspection of the coins. They look perfect. Only careful tests in our laboratories proved they were counterfeit.’

  ‘Made by an expert?’ Sir Mortimer prompted.

  ‘Unquestionably. Perfectly marvellous the way they were turned out! I have shown them to several of our people and they all said they were good; men with wide experience too. I don’t wonder that Miss Moran’s bank clerk friend was deceived. You see,’ Cullimore monopolised the conversation with evident pleasure, ‘there are four principal tests of a silver coin: its appearance, by which I include feel and texture as well as design; its weight, its composition and its ring. All these tests were met or discounted, except perhaps that of composition and that was practically met.’

  ‘I don’t know that I quite follow you,’ said Sir Mortimer, and French nodded his agreement.

  ‘Well, take composition. The composition of these coins was the actual composition of the coins we turn out from the Mint. In other words, the fake coins were genuine as far as the material of which they were made was concerned—at least, as nearly as it could be done without our extraordinarily accurate system of proportioning the ingredients. In fact, it took our extraordinarily accurate system to discover the inaccuracy. That is what I meant by saying that this test of composition had been practically met.’

  The assistant commissioner nodded.

  ‘The proportions of metal in our silver at present,’ went on Cullimore, ‘are 50 per cent silver and 50 per cent alloy, principally copper. You will see what I mean when I tell you that these fake coins contained not less than 48.63 nor more than 51.12 per cent of silver, the remainder being alloy. Nothing there to call one’s attention to a fake!’

  ‘That is so. Yet your people found the discrepancy.’

  Cullimore shrugged his shoulders.

  ‘We did, but we’re not proud of it. The less we say about that part of the affair the better. My point is that no one would have suspected anything wrong from the appearance of the coins.’

  Sir Mortimer nodded again.

  ‘You mentioned three other tests?’

  ‘Yes, those of design, weight and ring. Take the first of these. Now I’m sure you know, Sir Mortimer, that no matter how carefully a coin is copied, defects
will creep in. Particles of dust or slight defects in the original will make a difference. Admittedly these may be invisible to the naked eye, but a microscope will reveal them. Any coins struck as copies, that is, not from the original dies, will be microscopically defective in the detail of its design. You follow me?’

  ‘Quite.’

  ‘Now take weight. This is dependent primarily on the thickness of the coin and the correct thickness can only be produced by the elaborate machines in the Mint. It is scarcely conceivable that a forger could obtain one of these machines. These two tests together are therefore very reliable and convincing.’

  ‘Then surely the fake coins could have been discovered by these?’

  ‘Ah,’ Cullimore replied, making a little gesture of demonstration as he reached his point, ‘that’s what I thought you’d say and that’s where the cleverness of this gang comes in. They discounted these two tests, and that in the simplest and most natural way imaginable. They wore the coins.’

  ‘Wore them?’

  ‘Yes. In some way which we can only imagine they produced wear. Our engineers imagine that they turned them with very fine sand in some kind of a rotary churn, for the microscope shows that the wear is really caused by numbers of very fine scores and cuts. Ordinary wear from circulation, while it shows occasional cuts and scratches, leaves a comparatively smooth surface on the higher parts of the design. But even so, what I might call this counterfeiting of wear was uncommonly well done. Here again only the microscope could have told the difference.’

  ‘And that had the effect—’

  ‘Yes,’ interrupted Cullimore, determined not to be cheated of his climax. ‘Don’t you see? That had the effect of blurring the design so that minor defects became invisible and also lightening it so that the weight test became inoperative. Clever, wasn’t it?’

  ‘Rather an obvious precaution, I should say,’ the assistant commissioner commented, annoyed at having the words taken out of his mouth.

  ‘No doubt,’ the other admitted, ‘but how to do it is not so obvious.’