Inspector French's Greatest Case

by Freeman Wills Crofts

  The senior partner was disengaged, and two minutes later French was ushered into a small, rather dark office, in which sat a tall, well-groomed man with graying hair, and a precise, somewhat pedantic manner.

  “They ’phoned me from the Yard that you were coming across, Inspector,” he announced, when French had introduced himself. “I can only say I hope I have not brought you on a wild-goose chase. But the affair should certainly be looked into.”

  “I have not heard the circumstances yet, sir,” French reminded him. “I shall naturally be glad if you can give me some helpful information.”

  “I did not care to give details over the ’phone,” Mr. Williams explained. “You can never tell who overhears you. I once heard a girl declining what was evidently a proposal of marriage. The circumstances in this case are very simple. About six weeks ago a lady, giving her name as Mrs. Chauncey S. Root, and evidently an American, called and asked if she could see one of the principals of my firm. She was shown in to me, and she explained that she was the wife of a Mr. Chauncey S. Root, a rich steel manufacturer of Pittsburg. She had just crossed by the Olympic for a holiday in Europe, reaching London on the previous evening. She said a series of misfortunes had brought her into a somewhat awkward predicament, and she wondered if I could do anything to assist her. In the first place she had been foolish enough to get into a gambling set on the way over, and had lost, as she expressed it, ‘the hell of a lot of money.’ She spoke in a very racy and American way, but she gave me the impression of being thoroughly competent and efficient. Her losses ran into several hundred pounds—she did not tell me the exact amount—but all her ready money was gone and in addition she had given several I.O.U.’s. This, however, she would not have thought twice about, as she had letters of credit for many times the amount, had it not been that a further calamity befell her in Southampton. There, in the crush on the quays, the small despatch case in which she kept her ready money and papers had been snatched from her, and she was left practically penniless, as well as without her letters of credit and her passport or other means of identification. She had, of course, reported the matter to the police authorities, but they had rather shaken their heads over it, though promising to do everything possible. She had had, indeed, to borrow a twenty-pound note from one of her travelling acquaintances to get her to London, and now she was practically without money at all. She wished, therefore, to borrow £3000, which would enable her to pay her gambling debts and to carry on in London until fresh letters of credit could be sent. Fortunately, she had with her a collection of unmounted diamonds, which she intended to have set by London jewellers, of whose skill she had heard great accounts. These diamonds she proposed to deposit as security, and she would agree to pay whatever rate of interest was customary. She asked me if my firm would be prepared to lend the money on these terms.”

  “Why did she not cable to her husband?”

  “I asked her that, and she explained that she did not wish to tell Mr. Root, as he had an inveterate dislike to gambling, and they had had several disagreements about her betting proclivities. In fact, relations had been seriously strained until she had promised amendment, and a confession might easily lead to a serious breach. She could not, either, attribute the loss to the theft, as it ran to so great a figure that she could not possibly be carrying the amount in her despatch case. She said she would prefer to borrow the money until she could write to her man of business to realise some of her own stocks.

  “I said that her proposition, as such, was acceptable, as we frequently took stones and jewellery as security for loans, but that as she was a stranger to us, before we could do business we should obviously require some evidence of her bona fides. She replied that that was all right, that she quite recognised that owing to the loss of her papers and particularly of her passport something of the kind would be necessary. She said we could make what inquiries we liked, provided only we were quick about them, for she wanted the money as soon as possible. She asked how long we should take, and when I said twenty-four hours, she admitted that was reasonable. She suggested that if we did business we should take the stones to be valued to one of the best-known London jewellers. I agreed to this, and rang up Mr. Stronge, of Hurst & Stronge, of Bond Street, to ask him if he would undertake the valuation. He is, as you probably know, one of the most famous experts in the world. He consented, and I settled with him the amount of his fee. Finally it was arranged that, provided our inquiries were satisfactory, I should meet Mrs. Root at Hurst & Stronge’s at half-past ten on the following morning, she with the stones and I with my cheque book. I was to pay her five-sixths of the value of the diamonds. She said she expected to pay back the loan in about four weeks, and suitable terms of interest were arranged.”

  Mr. Williams paused and glanced at his companion, as though to assure himself that his story was receiving the attention he evidently felt it deserved. But French’s air of thrilled interest left him no room for doubt, and he continued:

  “I made my inquiries, and all appeared satisfactory. I called up Mrs. Root at the Savoy, told her I was prepared to deal, and at the hour named met her at Hurst & Stronge’s. Mr. Stronge took us to his private room, and there Mrs. Root produced a bag of stones, mostly diamonds, though there were a few emeralds and a large ruby, all unmounted. There were sixteen stones ranging in value from £40 to £400, but averaging about £200 or £220. Mr. Stronge valued them very carefully, and after a long wait we got his opinion. The whole were worth about £3300, and in accordance with our bargain. I proposed to hand Mrs. Root a cheque for £2750. She admitted the correctness of this, but said she wanted the £3000, and after some conversation I agreed to meet her wishes and filled the cheque for the latter sum. She then objected that no bank would pay her without inquiring as to her identity, which would mean another delay, and asked me if I would go with her to the bank to certify that she was the person for whom I intended the money. I agreed to this, and we went to the Piccadilly branch of the London and Counties Bank. There we saw the manager, and there I left her. I returned here and lodged the stones in my safe.”

  “The manager took your identification, I suppose?”

  “Oh, yes. I know him personally and there was no difficulty. That ended the matter as far as I was concerned, and for four weeks I thought no more of it. But as the fifth and sixth week passed and the lady made no sign, I began to wonder. I telephoned to the Savoy, but it appeared she had left on the day of our deal. I assumed, however, that she was on the Continent, and no suspicion that all was not right occurred to me.”

  “Then what roused your suspicion?”

  “I am coming to that,” Mr. Williams answered in a slightly frigid tone. “This morning I happened to show the stones—without saying how they came into my possession, of course—to a personal friend of my own, a diamond merchant named Sproule, who had called with me on other business. When he saw them he grew very much excited, and asked me where I had got them from. I pressed him for an explanation, and he said they fitted the description circulated of those stolen from Messrs. Duke & Peabody. He was emphatic that I should inform the firm, but I thought it better to ring you up instead.”

  “Very wise, sir,” French approved. “That was certainly your proper course. Now, I take it the first thing we have to do is to see if your friend, Mr. Sproule, is correct in his supposition. I have a list of the missing stones in my pocket, but I don’t know that I’m expert enough to identify them. I think we’ll have Mr. Duke over. May I use your ’phone?”

  Mr. Duke was naturally eager to learn details of the new development, and in less than half an hour he joined the others in Mr. Williams’s office. French explained the situation, ending up, “Now we want you, Mr. Duke, to tell us if these were among the stones you lost.”

  The diamond merchant, obviously much excited, began at once to make his examination. He inspected the stones minutely through a lens, weighed them on a delicate balance he had brought, and put them to other tests which greatly interes
ted his companions. As he put each down he gave his judgment. One after another were identified. All were among those stolen from him. They were the sixteen smallest and least valuable stones of the collection.

  The fact was learned by the three men with very different emotions. Mr. Duke’s gain was Mr. Williams’s loss, and resulting satisfaction and consternation showed on their respective faces, while French’s countenance wore an expression of the liveliest delight, not unmixed with mystification.

  “Good heavens!” Mr. Williams cried, his voice trembling with agitation and excitement. “Then I’ve been swindled! Swindled out of three thousand pounds!” He glared at the Inspector as if he were at fault. “I suppose,” he continued, “that if this gentleman establishes his claim, the loss will fall on me? God knows, I can ill afford it.”

  “We shall hope not, sir,” French said sympathetically. “We shall hope that with luck you’ll recover your money. But we must not waste any more time. I shall start by going to the bank to see if all the money has been withdrawn. I’d be obliged, Mr. Williams, if you would come also. I’ll keep you advised, Mr. Duke, how things go on, and of course you’ll get back your stones after the usual formalities have been carried out.”

  Mr. Williams had recovered his composure, and the gems having been locked in his safe, the three men left the office and descended to the street. There French said good-day to Mr. Duke, who somewhat reluctantly took his leave, the other two continuing to the bank. After a few moments’ wait they were shown into the manager’s room.

  “I am afraid, Mr. Scarlett, I have had a serious misfortune,” Mr. Williams began, almost before they were seated. “I have just learned that I have been swindled out of £3000. This is Inspector French of Scotland Yard, and we both want your help in the matter.”

  Mr. Scarlett, a well-groomed, middle-aged gentleman of fashionable appearance and suave manners, looked suitably concerned. He shook hands with French, and expressed his commiseration with his client’s loss in a few easy words, declaring also his desire to be of service.

  “Do you remember,” Mr. Williams went on eagerly, “my coming to see you one morning about six weeks ago with a lady whom I introduced as Mrs. Root, of Pittsburg, U.S.A.? She held my cheque for £3000, and I came to introduce her to you.”

  The manager recalled the incident.

  “That money was a loan, for which she deposited with me a number of diamonds. The diamonds were valued by Mr. Stronge of Hurst & Stronge’s, and I gave her less than their value. I thought I had taken all reasonable precautions, but now,” Mr. Williams made a faint gesture of despair, “now it seems that they were stolen.”

  “Stolen?” Mr. Scarlett repeated in a shocked voice. “My dear sir! Allow me to say how extremely sorry I am to have to tell you that I fear your discovery has come too late. Your cheque had been paid practically in full.”

  Mr. Williams gave a little groan, though he had evidently been expecting the bad news. He would have spoken, but French broke in with: “Is that so, sir? That is really what we came to ask. Now I want you please to give me as detailed an account of the whole business as you can.”

  “I will do so, of course,” Mr. Scarlett returned, “but I fear my story will not help you much.” He raised his desk telephone. “Ask Mr. Plenteous to come here,” he directed, and when a young, fair-haired man had entered he resumed, “This is Mr. Plenteous who carried out the details of the transaction. As Mr. Williams has said, he and the lady called on me,” he turned over the leaves of a diary, “about midday on Thursday, 26th November. He introduced the lady as a Mrs. Chauncey S. Root, of Pittsburg, and stated he had called to certify that she was the person referred to in a cheque he had made out. She produced a cheque for £3000, and Mr. Williams identified it as his. She thanked him and he withdrew. She then said that she wished to open a temporary account, and that she would like cash for £1500, and to lodge the remainder. I sent for Mr. Plenteous, and asked him to arrange the matter, and he showed the lady out to his counter. Next day the balance was withdrawn except for a few shillings, which I believe we still hold. Is not that correct, Plenteous?”

  “Yes, sir,” the fair-haired young man answered, “quite correct. I can turn you up the exact balance in a moment.”

  “Presently, thank you, Mr. Plenteous,” French interposed. “In the meantime perhaps you would tell us what took place between you and the lady after you left this office.”

  After a glance at his chief, the clerk answered:

  “Mrs. Root handed me the cheque for £3000, and said she wished to lodge half. I filled the customary forms, took her signature, and gave her a passbook, all in the usual way. Then she told me she would like the other £1500 cashed in notes of small value. She said she was a stranger to London, but that already she had discovered the difficulty of changing Bank of England notes. Being short of ready money, she had proffered a twenty-pound note in a shop. It was refused, and on asking for change in a bank which happened to be next door, the cashier politely informed her he was not permitted to change notes for strangers. She had, indeed, to go back to her hotel before she could get it done. She said she therefore wanted nothing larger than ten pounds, and at her further request I counted her out a hundred tens and a hundred fives. She stowed them away in a despatch case she was carrying. I pointed out that that was not a very safe way to carry so large a sum, but she laughed and said she guessed it was all right, that no one would know she had money in it. She said good-day and went out, and that was the last I saw of her.”

  “You noticed nothing in any way suspicious about her manner or actions?”

  “Nothing whatever.”

  “You say the lodgment was subsequently withdrawn? You might tell me about that.”

  “It was withdrawn in the sense that cheques were issued for almost the whole amount. The lady did not herself call again, nor was the account closed. There is still a small balance.”

  French nodded.

  “Yes, I understood you to say so. Could you let me see the ledger, and also the cheques that were issued?”

  In a few seconds the clerk returned with a ponderous tome, which he opened at the name Mrs. Helen Sadie Root. The account possessed but few items. On the debit side there was but the single entry of £1500, but on the other side, there were six entries, varying from £210 10s. to £295, and totalling £1495 7s. 9d. Six cancelled cheques corresponded with the entries. As French examined these, he was interested to see that all were made out on fashionable London jewellers.

  “Can you lend me these?” he asked, pointing to the cheques.

  The clerk hesitated, but Mr. Scarlett intervened.

  “Certainly,” he answered readily, “but you will have to give us a receipt for our auditors.”

  This was soon arranged, and after French had asked a few more questions, he and Mr. Williams left the bank.

  “Now,” he said briskly, before his companion could frame a remark, “I am going round to these six jewellers, but first I want some further information from you. Shall we go back to your office?”

  Mr. Williams assented eagerly. He had lost his air of detached precision, and, like a somewhat spoiled child, plied the other with questions as to his probable chances of success. French answered in his usual cheery, optimistic way, and it was not until they were once more seated in Mr. Williams’s sanctum that he dropped his air of fatherly benevolence and became once more the shrewd and competent officer of Scotland Yard.

  “In the first place,” he began, as he took out his notebook, “I want your description of the lady. I gather she was a good-looking woman, attractive both in appearance and manner. Did you find her so?”

  Mr. Williams hesitated.

  “Well, yes, I did,” he admitted, somewhat apologetically, as French thought. “She certainly had a way with her—something different from my usual clients. From her manner I never should have suspected she was other than all right.”

  “Most women crooks are attractive looking,” French declared smoo
thly. “It’s part of their stock in trade. Just let me have as detailed a description of her as you can.”

  It seemed she was of middle height, and dark, very dark as to hair and eyelashes, but less so as to eyes. They were rather a golden shade of brown. She had a somewhat retroussé nose, and a tiny mouth set in an oval face, with a complexion of extreme, but healthy, pallor. She wore her hair low over her ears, and her smile revealed an unexpected dimple. Mr. Williams had remarked these details so thoroughly that French smiled inwardly, as he solemnly noted them in his book. The money-lender had not particularly observed what she was wearing, but this did not matter as Mr. Scarlett had, and a detailed description of her dress was already entered up.

  “Tell me next, please, Mr. Williams, what identification the lady gave of herself, and what inquiries you made to test her statement. She had lost her passport?”

  “Yes, I told you how, or rather I told you what she said about it. She gave me her card, and showed me the envelopes of several letters addressed to her at Pittsburg. She also showed me some photographs of groups in which she appeared which had been taken on board the Olympic, as well as a dinner menu dated for the third day out. She explained that her return ticket had been stolen with the passport, so that she could not let me see it.”

  “Not very conclusive, I’m afraid,” French commented. “All that evidence might have been faked.”

  “I quite see that, and saw it at that time,” declared the money-lender. “But I did not rest there. I applied to Dashford’s, you know, the private inquiry people. I asked them to cable their agents in Pittsburg for a description of Mrs. Root, and to know if she had left for England on the Olympic. There is the reply,”

  He took a paper from a file and handed it across. It was headed, “J. T. Dashford & Co., Private Inquiry Agents,” and read: