by Ashton, Hugh
It was touching to see the old man and his son apparently so reconciled, but Holmes was not given to admiration of such displays of emotion, and he broke in upon the pair.
“Have you ever seen any of the counterfeits produced from the plates?” he asked the younger Bilton.
“Never,” replied the other.
“I have brought one with me,” replied Holmes, who extracted a sheet of paper from a tube that he had been carrying with him since we left Baker Street, much to my puzzlement.
Spreading it out on the table, father and son examined it together, both bringing printer’s loupes to bear.
“Almost perfect,” commented the father, “other than the smudging at the lower left corner. We would never have let such a slip leave our works.”
“You are obviously a man who loves perfection in small details,” smiled Holmes. “A man after my own heart. What I would like you to do,” turning back to the son, “is to send a message to Conk-Singleton, informing him that you have somehow caught sight of one of these certificates, which you immediately recognised as being one of the counterfeit shares, due to the flaw that your father has just pointed out. Suggest to him that you are introduced to the printer of the counterfeits and you can point out what is needed to improve the quality of the work.”
“And then?” enquired the young man.
“I will be waiting, together with the police. We will be able to have the whole gang behind bars if you can bring them together.”
“That would include me?” asked Bilton.
“Sadly, yes,” replied Holmes. “You can hardly expect to escape scot-free from the consequences of your folly. On the other hand, as I mentioned, your cooperation will certainly be taken into account at the time of your trial.”
“I will help you, all the same,” replied the other.
“How did you usually communicate with Conk-Singleton?” asked my friend.
“Usually I received messages from him, asking me to meet Masters at a designated time, in a place chosen by Conk-Singleton. However, he did leave an emergency address to which I could direct telegrams in the event of any urgent communication being required. Is it your opinion that I should use that means in this instance?”
“Indeed so. I leave it to your discretion to suggest the meeting place, but ensure that it is not the premises used by Masters. What I ask of you, though, is that you ensure that you, Conk-Singleton, and Masters, together with any others involved in this business, be at Masters’ office in the South Ealing Road at some time shortly after your initial meeting. I have every reason to believe that the counterfeiting is being carried out from there, but in the event it is not, I leave it to your ingenuity to move the party to those premises.”
“I understand. Let me compose the message, and I will show it to you before I send it to London.”
He wrote on a piece of paper, and showed it to Holmes, who nodded approvingly. “Excellent,” he commented. “If you will provide me with the address, I will send this off together with one or two telegrams of my own.”
This being done, Holmes pocketed the paper. “We will take our leave of you. And I expect to see you later on, Mr Bilton,” looking fixedly at the younger man, “in company with your erstwhile colleagues. And to you, sir,” addressed to the senior Bilton, “I extend my sincere thanks for your cooperation in this matter. I trust we will all meet again soon.”
-oOo-
We left the printing works, and returned the office keys to the agents, Holmes making some noncommittal remarks regarding the possible future lease of the premises. We then made our way to the post-office where, together with Geoffrey Bilton’s telegram to Conk-Singleton, Holmes sent one of his own to Gregson, requesting the police detective to come to Ealing, and specifying the location within the building where we were to meet him. After leaving the post-office, we entered a locksmith’s, where Holmes had requested that keys be made from the impressions he had made earlier.
The locksmith initially demurred, but Holmes persuaded him to carry out the work, after establishing his identity to the tradesman.
After he had obtained these duplicate keys, we took ourselves to a public house, the windows of whose saloon bar overlooked the premises occupied by Masters. We ordered a rude meal of ham and eggs, all the while watching the comings and goings at the house. We had not long to wait before a telegraph messenger appeared, and rang one of the bells at the front door. After about a minute, the door was opened to him, and we saw a man whom we recognised as Edward Masters receive a telegram from the messenger.
“That will be the summons from Conk-Singleton, I am positive,” said Holmes. “Excellent,” he added some ten minutes later, as we watched Masters leave the premises, and lock the front door carefully behind him. From the lack of lights in the other windows, we guessed that there was no other occupant currently in residence.
“Come,” Holmes said to me, as we watched our quarry disappear down the street. “Let us make our way inside.” We left the inn, and in the gathering dusk, made our way to the front door of the building from which Masters had emerged. “I could, naturally, have used my picklocks, had I brought them with me,” Holmes muttered as he fitted the recently crafted key into the lock, “but in lieu of them, it will be expedient to use these keys. Their use will likely provide us with the additional advantages of speed and stealth. As it turns out, we could possibly have arranged to retain the originals, but it suited my purposes to have these duplicates to hand, in case of any delays or hitches.”
While I kept a careful watch for any passers-by, Holmes opened the door, and we slipped inside, locking the door after us. The building had originally served, as Holmes had surmised, as a family residence, and the hall passage led from the front of the house to a back door, which Holmes unbolted.
“Gregson and his men should have no problem in entering,” he remarked, as he led the way silently up the stairs. “And here is our office, I think,” pointing to a door with no nameplate. “Perfectly located.” I noticed that the office next to the room bore the nameplate of Edward Masters. “A back room would be a necessity for him, if he has to do most of the printing at night. A light displayed at the front of the house on the side of the street would undoubtedly attract unwanted attention. And now,” closing the door and leaving it unlocked, “to let Gregson know where we are.” He removed three candles from his pocket and arranged them on the windowsill, equally spaced. “It is now eight fifty-five. The message that young Bilton wrote suggested a meeting at Ealing station at nine fifteen, and I expect them to arrive here at some time after nine thirty. Gregson should arrive on the previous train at five before nine, that is to say now. It is time.” So saying, he lit the candles. “There, that should serve as a signal to Gregson. I have already informed him of the address in my wire to him, but it is sometimes less than easy to locate a building from the wrong side like this, especially in the dark.”
I reached for my pipe and filled it, but as I retrieved my matches from my pocket, Holmes placed a hand on my arm, staying my action. “The smell of the tobacco would alert the friends for whom we are waiting to our presence,” he murmured softly. “Believe me, I feel the need as much as I believe you to do. Snuff, maybe?” he offered, extending a tin to me. “Take care not to sneeze, though,” he cautioned me.
I was about to avail myself of his offer, when a sharp rattle sounded at the window.
“Aha! Gregson warning us that he will be with us soon. I asked him to throw a couple of pebbles at the window which contained three candles. It is a pleasure to be working with a man who follows instructions.” Even as he finished speaking, I could hear the stealthy tread of several men moving up the stairs, followed by a knock at the door. Holmes moved to the door and allowed Gregson, accompanied by three burly constables, to enter.
“Well done, Mr Holmes,” Gregson congratulated Holmes, in a soft voice. “You expect your stratagem to succeed?”
“I do,” replied Holmes. “I have every reason to be
lieve that once we enter the room next door, we will discover the materials and the machinery that have been responsible for producing the counterfeits, together with some of the counterfeits themselves, and most importantly, the players in the drama. And I am confident that the bait is strong enough to entrap all of them. Hark!” he suddenly exclaimed, holding up a hand. “They are here before I expected.” Sure enough, Holmes’ sharp ears had detected the sound of the front door being unlocked and opened, followed by the sound of at least three pairs of footsteps ascending the staircase.
By the time the new arrivals had reached the top of the stairs, Holmes had snuffed the candles on the windowsill, ensuring that no light would spill from the cracks in the doorway. We stood in silence, and could hear heavy breathing from outside the room, presumably from Conk-Singleton, as the key turned in the lock of the next door. After a short while, there was a “pop” as the gas was lit, and the sound of low voices emanated from Masters’ office.
“Let us move,” Holmes breathed to Gregson. Stealthily, the six of us moved out of the room, and assembled outside the next door.
“On my mark,” commanded Holmes, a police whistle ready to raise to his lips. “One... two...” and blew a blast on the whistle. Gregson and his men rushed through the door, with Gregson crying in a loud voice that the occupants of the room were to stay where they were, and not to move. Holmes followed them, almost sauntering in a leisurely fashion, forming a contrast to the activity of the official force, and I brought up the rear.
The first thing that I noticed in the room was a large copperplate press, taking up almost one half of the space, with a stack of paper by the side of it. On the other side was a small pile of printed sheets, which I took to be counterfeit certificates.
Conk-Singleton was obviously shaken to the core by the entrance of Gregson and the constables, and started visibly, but that was nothing compared to his reaction when he recognised Holmes and myself. His mouth dropped open, and the colour drained from his face, turning it an ashen colour. He clutched at his chest, and as a doctor, I had genuine concerns that he was about to suffer some sort of seizure. Indeed, I was about to rush forward, and offer him my professional aid which, as a matter of my Oath, I was bound to give, when he appeared to recover a little. I remained watchful for further signs of weakness, however, as events proceeded.
As for Morden, he gazed wildly about him, like a rat caught in a trap, nervously seeking some escape, or possibly considering the some excuse he could use for his being in the same room as the counterfeit certificates and the means of their production. His eyes blazed fury at Holmes, and he was muttering vile epithets semi-audibly as Gregson advanced towards him. Geoffrey Bilton, for his part, stood calmly to one side, obviously resigned to his fate, with a manly demeanour that excited my admiration, despite his actions in the past.
“Charles Conk-Singleton, Geoffrey Bilton, and Eric Morden, I have warrants for your arrest,” announced Gregson in ringing tones. “I must warn you now that anything you say will be recorded and may be used in evidence against you at your trial.”
“On what charges?” stammered Conk-Singleton, who appeared to have recovered a little of his poise.
“Conspiracy to defraud would be one of the least of the charges, I believe,” Holmes informed him. “There are various other matters concerned with forgery, and the receiving of stolen property, to wit, the plates used to create the counterfeit securities.”
Conk-Singleton reeled visibly as Holmes listed these possible charges. “I assume that you have proof?” he spluttered. For answer, Holmes nodded silently. Conk-Singleton turned to Morden, his face creased in fury. “This is your doing, you incompetent fool!” he fairly roared at his confederate. “It was your idea to bring Sherlock Holmes into this affair in order to divert attention. Instead of which, the whole business has come crashing down on our heads. I will make sure you receive the maximum sentence when we stand in the dock together.”
“And I you,” retorted Morden. “If you had not approached me with this scheme, I would be a free man.”
Conk-Singleton retorted with an insult that does not bear repeating here, and Morden riposted with a foul oath. In their rage against Holmes and against each other, they appeared to have forgotten Geoffrey Bilton, who had been led away quietly by one of the constables, following a sign from Gregson. Holmes was standing by, observing the quarrel, a sardonic smile on his lips.
“Honour among thieves, would you say, Gregson?” he observed mildly.
“You may be right at that, Mr Holmes,” replied the policeman, smiling broadly. “But this little comedy must come to an end. You handle Morden, Jenkins and Douglas,” he said to the constables, “and you come along with me,” to Conk-Singleton.
As Conk-Singleton was led away, he turned to Holmes. “You treacherous fiend,” he hissed. “Believe me; I will seek your ruin.”
“You may seek it,” replied Holmes equably. “I doubt if you will ever realise it. Farewell. I expect to see you at the Bailey,” he added, as Conk-Singleton disappeared down the stairs, preceded by the handcuffed Morden and his escorts, and followed by the solid form of Inspector Gregson.
“A good night’s work, would you not agree, Watson?” said Holmes. “There is time, I think,” consulting his watch, “for us to return to Town for a late supper at Alberti’s, if the notion is agreeable to you?”
“Indeed it is. An excellent suggestion.”
We collected our hats and coats, and, passing and hailing the police officers whom Gregson had left to guard the premises, made our way to the station.
-oOo-
Over the excellent meal and the bottle of Lacrima Christi that accompanied it, I questioned Holmes on further details of the case. “I fail to understand why Conk-Singleton engaged your services in the first place,” I said to Holmes, who chuckled in reply.
“It was almost certain that I would be called in, either by the police, or by a rival broker, to assist with the case. As Conk-Singleton himself admitted, if you recall, Morden suggested that I be called in to assist with the discovery of the counterfeit certificates. What better way of keeping track of my movements and learning of my discoveries than by engaging me, and thereby diverting suspicion from himself? Who would ever suspect a criminal of hiring a detective in order to catch himself? In addition, by requesting me to serve under the direction of Morden, he could be sure that my energies would be directed by Morden towards dead ends, and I would be unable to solve the case.”
“But you refused to be directed by Morden?”
“Naturally I refused. And this provided something of a crimp to his plans. He had to fall back on the rather crude expedient of having me arrested and charged with a crime I did not commit. The unfortunate clerk who suffered the injuries alleged to have been inflicted by me was, I am sure, handsomely rewarded for his pains. Gregson will almost certainly discover who actually broke the nose and bruised the body of Michael Frignall, but my opinion is that it was Morden himself. Happily, Conk-Singleton and Morden are such bunglers that it was easy for me to disprove their lies. Frignall’s description of his alleged attacker was obviously based on Morden’s recollection of the way I was dressed when he met me earlier in the day and repeated by the victim with no regard to the circumstances under which he was allegedly attacked. The false charge also served, as we discovered, to remove me from my rooms while an attempt was made to remove whatever evidence I might have accumulated on the case.”
“Gregson’s dropping of the charges certainly came as a great surprise to Morden when I observed him in court,” I said.
Holmes laughed outright. “Good old Gregson! I was extremely fortunate to have him assigned to my case. He is, as I have remarked to you before, one of the more competent of the Scotland Yard force, and remarkably quick on the uptake of new theories and ideas. I am certainly in his debt.”
“And he in yours,” I reminded Holmes. “Without your aid, he would never have been credited with the detection and capture of
Conk-Singleton and Morden.”
“True,” mused Holmes. “Maybe we can consider honours to be even in this instance.”
“But how did you come to hit upon Ealing as the location for all these events? I know that Morden’s card gave Ealing as his address, but I fail to see how you then came to discover that the printing was being carried out in this town.”
“Tut, Watson. You failed to remark the state of Morden’s hands when he visited us, then? Printer’s ink firmly embedded under the nails and in the pores of the skin. I am amazed that you could overlook that. Added to which, of course I was aware of his past history as a forger. There were two additional points that linked Conk-Singleton to Ealing, and hence to Morden. You remember the eucalyptus leaf that he carried into my rooms on his boots? Ealing is one of the few locations in London where such a tree is to be found. When I spotted that peculiar light grey clay on his boots, as well as on those of Morden, it confirmed my suspicions that the two of them had been together in Ealing. To what end? I asked myself. Since Conk-Singleton was employing Morden’s services, it would have seemed only natural for Morden to have visited his employer, rather than the other way around. There was obviously a good reason for Conk-Singleton to make the trip from the City, which involved some activity of Morden’s – and that was printing, judging by the state of his hands.”
“So you knew almost from the start that Conk-Singleton was involved in the matter?”
“I suspected, Watson, I did not know. There is a big difference. I required proof, and I also needed to know the mechanism by which this all took place. Geoffrey Bilton has been instrumental in providing these details, which will make a strong watertight case when Conk-Singleton and Morden stand in the dock.” Unexpectedly, Holmes started to laugh softly.
“It is not like you, Holmes, to make light of others’ misfortunes in this way, even when they are wrongdoers,” I remonstrated.
