The Third R. Austin Freeman Megapack

by R. Austin Freeman

  “Were you proposing to let us hear your scheme of the robbery?” I asked.

  “Well,” said Miller, “I don’t see why not, as I have told you so much. Of course, you will understand that it is very largely guess-work, but still, it comes together into a consistent whole. I will just give you an outline of what we believe to have been the course of events.

  “We take it that this was a very carefully planned robbery, carried out by a party of experienced criminals who must all have had a fair knowledge of sea-faring. One of them, at least—probably the skipper, Bassett—must have had some pretty exact information as to the time and place at which the platinum was shipped and the size and character of the cases that it was stowed in. They must have arrived at the selected berth with a carefully prepared dummy case ready for use at the psychological moment. Then, when the cases of platinum arrived—and they must have known when to expect them—the dummy was smuggled up to the quay, covered up in some way, and slipped in amongst the genuine cases. Then they must have managed to cover up one of these, and they probably waited until the whole consignment, including the dummy, had been put on board and checked. There would have been the right number, you must remember.

  “Well, when all the platinum appeared to have been put on board, there would have been no difficulty in taking the one that they had pinched—still covered up—on to the yacht along with their own stores. As soon as they had got it on board, they cast off and went for a sail in the bay; and during that little trip, they would be able safely to unload the case, break it up and burn it and stow the platinum in the hiding-place that they had got prepared in advance. When they came back to their berth, they had got the loot safely hidden and were ready to submit to a search, if need be. And it must have been an uncommonly cleverly devised hiding-place, for they made no difficulty about letting the Customs officer at Southend rummage the vessel to his heart’s content.”

  “It must, as you say, have been a mighty perfect hiding-place,” I remarked, “to have eluded the Customs man. When one of those gentry becomes really inquisitive, there isn’t much that escapes him. He knows all the ropes and is up to all the smugglers’ dodges.”

  “You must bear in mind, Jervis,” Thorndyke reminded me, “that he was not looking for platinum. He was looking for tobacco. Do you know, Miller, in what form the metal was shipped? Was it in ingots or bars or plates?”

  “It was in plates; thin sheets, in fact, about a millimetre in thickness and thirty centimetres—roughly twelve inches—square; a most convenient form for stowing in a hiding-place, for you could roll up the plates or cut them up with shears into little pieces.”

  “Yes,” said Thorndyke, “and the plates themselves would take up very little room. You say the Customs man squeezed down into the hold. Do you know what the ballast was like? In a fishing vessel, it usually consists of rough pigs of iron and square ends of old chain and miscellaneous scrap, in which a few rolled-up plates of metal would not be noticed.”

  “Ah!” Miller replied, “the Cormorant’s ballast wasn’t like that. It was proper yacht’s ballast; lead weights, properly cast to fit the timbers and set in a neat row on each side of the kelson. So the hold was perfectly clear and the Customs man was able to see all over it from end to end.

  “But to return to our scheme. When they had got the platinum safely hidden, our friends decided to stay on in their berth for a few days for the sake of appearances. Then they put to sea and proceeded in a leisurely, yacht-like fashion to make their way home. But during the voyage something seems to have happened. It looks rather as if the rogues had fallen out. At any rate, Mr. ‘X’ seems to have left the ship, and this stranger to have come on board in his place. I don’t understand the stranger at all. I can’t fit him into the picture. But Mr. ‘X’ apparently had a plan for grabbing the loot for himself, and, when he went ashore, he must have left a confederate on board to keep him informed as to when the cargo was going to be landed.

  “As to the landing, there wouldn’t have been any difficulty about that. When the Customs man had made his search and found everything in order, the papers would be made out and the ship would be passed as ‘cleared.’ After that, the crew would be at liberty to take any of their goods ashore unchallenged. And the arrangements for getting the platinum landed were excellent. The yacht was brought up in Benfleet Creek, quite close to the railway. Evidently, the case was carried up to the station, and Bassett must have taken it into the carriage with him to avoid having a label stuck on it and giving a clue to the cloak room attendant.

  “Why Bassett decided to plant it in the cloak room is not very clear. We can only suppose that he hadn’t any other place to put it at the moment, and that he left it there while he was making arrangements for its disposal. But it gave Mr. ‘X’ his chance. No doubt his pal on board made it his business to find out what became of the case, and gave Mr. ‘X’ the tip; which Mr. ‘X’ acted on very promptly and efficiently. And he and his pal are at this moment some seventeen thousand pounds to the good.

  “That is the scheme of the affair that we suggest. Of course, it is only a rough sketch, and you will say that it is all hypothesis from beginning to end, and so it is. But it hangs together.”

  “Yes,” I agreed, “it is a consistent story, but it is all absolutely in the air. It is just a string of assumptions without a particle of evidence at any point. You begin by assuming that the case which was stolen from the cloak room contained the missing platinum. Then, from that, you deduce that the case came from the yacht, and therefore the man who deposited it must be Bassett, and the other man must be a member of the crew. And you don’t even refer to the trivial circumstance that a box containing a man’s head was left in exchange.”

  “I have already said,” Miller rejoined a little impatiently, “that we are letting the problem of the head rest for the moment, as we have nothing to go on. But it is evidently connected in some way with the stolen case, so we are following that up. If we can connect that with the platinum robbery and lay our hands on Bassett and Mr. ‘X,’ we shall soon know something more about that head. I don’t think your criticism is quite fair, Dr. Jervis. What do you say, Doctor?”

  “I agree with you,” said Thorndyke, “that Jervis’s criticism overstates the case. Your scheme is admittedly hypothetical, and there is no direct evidence. So it may or may not be a true account of what happened. But I think the balance of probabilities is in favour of its being substantially true. You don’t know anything about any of these men?”

  “No; you see they are only names, and probably wrong names.”

  “You found no fingerprints on the address label of the ‘head case’?”

  “None that we could identify. Probably only those of chance strangers.”

  “And what has become of the yacht and the crew?”

  “The yacht is still lying in Benfleet Creek. Bassett left her in charge of a local boat builder as there is no one on board and the crew have gone away. We got a search warrant and rummaged her thoroughly, but we didn’t find anything. So we sealed up the hatches and put on special padlocks and left the keys with the local police.”

  “Do you know whom she belongs to?”

  “She belongs to Bassett. He bought her from a man at Shoreham. And she is now supposed to be for sale; but, as the owner’s whereabouts are not known, of course, she can’t be sold. For practical purposes she is abandoned, but we are paying the boat builder for keeping an eye on her, pending the re-appearance of Mr. Bassett. Meanwhile we are keeping a lookout for that gentleman and Mr. ‘X,’ and for the appearance on the market of any platinum of uncertain origin. And that is about all that we can do until we get some fresh information.”

  “I suppose it is,” said Thorndyke; “and, by the way, to return to the mysterious head; what has been done with it?”

  “It has been buried in an air-tight case in Tower Hamlets Cemetery, with a stone to mark the spot in case it should be wanted. But we’ve got a stock of photographs o
f it which we have been circulating in the provinces to the various police stations. Perhaps you would like me to send you a set.”

  “Thank you, Miller,” Thorndyke replied. “I should like a set to attach to the report of the inquest, which I have filed for reference.”

  “On the chance that, sooner or later, the inquiry may come into your hands?”

  “Yes. There is always that possibility,” Thorndyke replied. And this brought the discussion to an end, at least so far as Miller was concerned.

  CHAPTER VI

  Mr. Brodribb’s Dilemma

  The silence which fell after Thorndyke’s last rejoinder lasted for more than a minute. At length it was broken by Brodribb who, after profound meditation, launched a sort of broadcast question, addressed to no one in particular.

  “Does anyone know anything about a certain Mr. Horatio Gimbler?”

  “Police court solicitor?” inquired Miller.

  “That is what I assumed,” replied Brodribb, “from his address, which seemed to be an unlikely one for a solicitor in general practice. Then you do, apparently, know him, at least by name.”

  “Yes,” Miller admitted, “I have known him, more or less, for a good many years.”

  “Then,” said Brodribb, “you can probably tell me whether you would consider him a particularly likely practitioner to have the conduct of a claim to a peerage.”

  “A peerage!” gasped Miller, gazing at Brodribb in astonishment. “Holy smoke! No. I—certainly—should—NOT!” He paused for a few moments to recover from his amazement and then asked: “What sort of a claim is it, and who is the claimant?”

  “The claimant is an American and, at present, I don’t know much about him. I’ll give you some of the particulars presently, but, first, I should like to hear what you know about Mr. Gimbler.”

  Miller appeared to reflect rapidly, accompanying the process by the emission of voluminous clouds of smoke. At length he replied, cautiously:

  “It is understood that what is said here is spoken in strict confidence.”

  To this reasonable stipulation we all assented with one accord and Miller continued: “This fellow, Gimbler, is a rather remarkable person. He is a good lawyer, in a sense; at any rate, he has criminal law and procedure at his finger ends. He knows all the ropes—some that he oughtn’t to know quite so well. He is up to all the tricks and dodges of the professional crooks, and I should think that his acquaintance includes practically all the crooks that are on the lay. If we could only pump him, he would be a perfect mine of information. But we can’t. He’s as secret as the grave. The criminal class provide his living, and he makes it his business to study their interests.”

  “I don’t see that you can complain of that,” said Brodribb. “It is a lawyer’s duty to consider the interests of his clients, no matter who they may be.”

  “That’s perfectly true,” replied Miller, “in respect of the individual client; but it is not the duty even of a criminal lawyer to grease the wheels of crime, so to speak. However, we are speaking of the man. Well, I have told you what we know of him, and I may add that he is about the downiest bird that I am acquainted with and as slippery as an eel. That is what we know.”

  Here Miller paused significantly with the air of a man who expects to be asked a question. Accordingly, Brodribb ventured to offer a suggestion.

  “That is what you know. But I take it that you have certain opinions in addition to your actual knowledge?”

  Miller nodded. “Yes,” said he. “We are very much interested in Mr. Gimbler. Some of us have a feeling that there may possibly be something behind his legal practice. You know, in the practice of crime there is a fine opening for a clever and crooked brain. The professional crook, himself, is usually an unmitigated donkey, who makes all sorts of blunders in planning his jobs and carrying them out; and when you find the perfect ass doing a job that seems right outside his ordinary capabilities, you can’t help wondering whether there may not be someone of a different calibre behind the scenes, pulling the strings.”

  “Ah!” said Brodribb. “Do I understand that you suspect this legal luminary of being the invisible operator of a sort of unlawful puppet show?”

  “I would hardly use the word ‘suspect,’” replied Miller. “But some of us—including myself—have entertained the idea. And not, mind you, without any show of reason. There was a certain occasion on which we really thought we had got our hands on him; but we hadn’t. If he was guilty—I don’t say that he was, mind you—but if he was, he slipped out of the net uncommonly neatly. It was a case of forgery; at least we thought it was. But, if it was, it was so good that the experts wouldn’t swear to it, and the case wasn’t clear enough to take into Court.”

  Mr. Brodribb pricked up his ears. “Forgery, you say; and a good forgery at that? You don’t remember the particulars, I suppose? Because the question has a rather special interest for me.”

  “I only remember that it was a will case. The signature of the testator and the two witnesses were disputed, but, as all three were dead, the question had to be decided on the opinions of experts; and none of the experts were certain enough to swear that the signatures might not be genuine. So the will had to be accepted as a genuine document. I suppose I mustn’t ask how the question interests you?”

  “Well,” said Brodribb, “we are speaking in confidence, and I don’t know that the matter is one of any great secrecy. It concerns this peerage claim that I was speaking about. I have had a copy of the pleadings, and I see that the claimant relies on certain documents to prove the identity of a very doubtful person. If you would care to hear an outline of the case, I don’t think there would be any harm in my giving you a few of the particulars. I really came here to talk the case over with Thorndyke.”

  “If the pleadings were drawn up by Mr. Gimbler,” said Miller, “I should like very much to hear an outline of the case. And you can take it that I shall not breathe a word to any living soul.”

  “The pleadings,” said Brodribb, “were drawn up by counsel, but, of course, on Gimbler’s instructions. The facts, or alleged facts, must have been supplied by him. However, before I come to his part in the business, there are certain other matters to consider; so it will be better if I take the case as a whole and in the natural order of events.

  “Let me begin by explaining that I am the Earl of Winsborough’s man of business. My father and grandfather both acted in the same capacity for former holders of the title, so, naturally, all the relevant documents on the one side are in my keeping. I am also the executor of the present Earl’s will, though there is not much in that, as practically everything is left to the heir.”

  “You speak of the present Earl,” said Thorndyke. “But, if there is a present Earl, how comes it that a claim is being made to the earldom? Is an attempt being made to oust the present holder of the title?”

  “I spoke of the present Earl,” replied Brodribb, “because that is the legal position, and I, as his agent, am bound to accept it. But, as a matter of fact, I do not believe that there is a present Earl of Winsborough. I have no doubt that the Earl is dead. He went away on an exploring and big game hunting expedition to South America nearly five years ago, and has not been heard of for over four years. But, of course, in a legal sense, he is still alive and will remain alive until he is either proved or presumed to be dead. Hence these present proceedings; which began with a proposal on the part of the heir presumptive to apply to the Court for permission to presume death. The heir presumptive is a young man, a son of the Earl’s first cousin, who has only recently come of age. As I had no doubt that he was the real heir presumptive—there being, in fact, no other possible claimant known to me—and very little doubt that the Earl was dead, I did not propose to contest the application; but, as the Earl’s agent, I could not very well act for the applicant. Accordingly, I turned the business over to my friend, Marchmont, and intended only to watch the case in the interests of the estate. Then, suddenly, this new claimant appea
red out of the blue; and his appearance has complicated the affair most infernally.

  “You see the dilemma. Both claimants wish to apply for permission to presume death. But neither of them is the admitted heir presumptive, and consequently neither of them has the necessary locus standi to make the application.”

  “Couldn’t they make a joint application?” Miller asked, “and fight out the claim afterwards?”

  “I doubt whether that could be done,” replied Brodribb, “or whether they would be prepared to act in concert. Each would probably be afraid of seeming to concede the claim to the other. The alternative plan would be for them to settle the question of heirship before applying for leave to presume death. But there is the difficulty that, until death is presumed, the present Earl is alive in a legal sense, and, that being so, the Court might reasonably hold that the question of heirship does not arise. And, as the Earl is a bachelor and there are no near relatives, there is no one else to make the application.”

  “In any event,” said I, “the new claimant’s case would have to be dealt with by a Committee of Privileges of the House of Lords. Isn’t that so?”

  “I don’t think it is,” replied Brodribb. “This is not a case of reviving a dormant peerage. If the American’s case, as stated in the pleadings, is sound, he is unquestionably the heir presumptive.”