Four Max Carrados Detective Stories

by Ernest Bramah

Carrados," he remarked in a pained voice.

  "And that, of course, would be independent of Mr. Carlyle'sprofessional charges," added Carrados.

  "Is that sum contingent on any specific performance?" inquired themanager.

  "I do not mind making it conditional on my procuring for you, for thepolice to act on, a photograph and a description of the thief."

  The two officials conferred apart for a moment. Then the managerreturned.

  "We will agree, Mr. Carrados, on the understanding that these thingsare to be in our hands within two days. Failing that--"

  "No, no!" cried Mr. Carlyle indignantly, but Carrados good-humouredlyput him aside.

  "I will accept the condition in the same sporting spirit that inspiresit. Within forty-eight hours or no pay. The cheque, of course, to begiven immediately the goods are delivered?"

  "You may rely on that."

  Carrados took out his pocket-book, produced an envelope bearingan American stamp, and from it extracted an unmounted print.

  "Here is the photograph," he announced. "The man is called Ulysses K.Groom, but he is better known as 'Harry the Actor.' You will find thedescription written on the back."

  Five minutes later, when they were alone, Mr. Carlyle expressed hisopinion of the transaction.

  "You are an unmitigated humbug, Max," he said, "though an amiable one,I admit. But purely for your own private amusement you spring thesethings on people."

  "On the contrary," replied Carrados, "people spring these things onme."

  "Now this photograph. Why have I heard nothing of it before?"

  Carrados took out his watch and touched the fingers.

  "It is now three minutes to eleven. I received the photograph attwenty past eight."

  "Even then, an hour ago you assured me that you had done nothing."

  "Nor had I--so far as result went. Until the keystone of the edificewas wrung from the manager in his room, I was as far away fromdemonstrable certainty as ever."

  "So am I--as yet," hinted Mr. Carlyle.

  "I am coming to that, Louis. I turn over the whole thing to you. Theman has got two clear days' start and the chances are nine to oneagainst catching him. We know everything, and the case has no furtherinterest for me. But it is your business. Here is your material.

  "On that one occasion when the 'tawny' man crossed our path, I tookfrom the first a rather more serious view of his scope and intentionthan you did. The same day I sent a cipher cable to Pierson of the NewYork service. I asked for news of any man of such and such adescription--merely negative--who was known to have left the States;an educated man, expert in the use of disguises, audacious in hisoperations, and a specialist in 'dry' work among banks andstrong-rooms."

  "Why the States, Max?"

  "That was a sighting shot on my part. I argued that he must be anEnglish-speaking man. The smart and inventive turn of the modern Yankhas made him a specialist in ingenious devices, straight or crooked.Unpickable locks and invincible lock-pickers, burglar-proof safes andsafe-specializing burglars, come equally from the States. So I tried avery simple test. As we talked that day and the man walked past us, Idropped the words 'New York'--or, rather, 'Noo Y'rk'--in his hearing."

  "I know you did. He neither turned nor stopped."

  "He was that much on his guard; but into his step there came--thoughyour poor old eyes could not see it, Louis--the 'psychological pause,'an absolute arrest of perhaps a fifth of a second; just as it wouldhave done with you if the word 'London' had fallen on your ear in adistant land. However, the whys and the wherefores don't matter. Hereis the essential story.

  "Eighteen months ago 'Harry the Actor' successfully looted the officesafe of M'Kenkie, J.F. Higgs & Co., of Cleveland, Ohio. He had justmarried a smart but very facile third-rate vaudeville actress--Englishby origin--and wanted money for the honeymoon. He got about fivehundred pounds, and with that they came to Europe and stayed in Londonfor some months. That period is marked by the Congreave Square postoffice burglary, you may remember. While studying such of the Britishinstitutions as most appealed to him, the 'Actor's' attention becamefixed on this safe-deposit. Possibly the implied challenge containedin its telegraphic address grew on him until it became a point ofprofessional honour with him to despoil it; at all events he waspresumedly attracted by an undertaking that promised not only glorybut very solid profit. The first part of the plot was, to the mostskilful criminal 'impersonator' in the States, mere skittles.Spreading over those months he appeared at 'The Safe' in twelvedifferent characters and rented twelve safes of different sizes. Atthe same time he made a thorough study of the methods of the place. Assoon as possible he got the keys back again into legitimate use,having made duplicates for his own private ends, of course. Five heseems to have returned during his first stay; one was received later,with profuse apologies, by registered post; one was returned through aleading Berlin bank. Six months ago he made a flying visit here,purely to work off two more. One he kept from first to last, and theremaining couple he got in at the beginning of his second longresidence here, three or four months ago.

  "This brings us to the serious part of the cool enterprise. He hadfunds from the Atlantic and South-Central Mail-car coup when hearrived here last April. He appears to have set up threeestablishments; a home, in the guise of an elderly scholar with ayoung wife, which, of course, was next door to our friend the manager;an observation point, over which he plastered the inscription 'Rub inRubbo for Everything' as a reason for being; and, somewhere else, adressing-room with essential conditions of two doors into differentstreets.

  "About six weeks ago he entered the last stage. Mrs. Harry, with quiteridiculous ease, got photographs of the necessary page or two of therecord-book. I don't doubt that for weeks before then everyone whoentered the place had been observed, but the photographs linked themup with the actual men into whose hands the 'Actor's' old keys hadpassed--gave their names and addresses, the numbers of their safes,their passwords and signatures. The rest was easy."

  "Yes, by Jupiter; mere play for a man like that," agreed Mr. Carlyle,with professional admiration. "He could contrive a dozen differentoccasions for studying the voice and manner and appearance of hisvictims. How much has he cleared?"

  "We can only speculate as yet. I have put my hand on seven doubtfulcallers on Monday and Tuesday last. Two others he had ignored for somereason; the remaining two safes had not been allotted. There is onepoint that raises an interesting speculation."

  "What is that, Max?"

  "The 'Actor' has one associate, a man known as 'Billy the Fondant,'but beyond that--with the exception of his wife, of course--he doesnot usually trust anyone. It is plain, however, that at least sevenmen must latterly have been kept under close observation. It hasoccurred to me--"

  "Yes, Max?"

  "I have wondered whether Harry has enlisted the innocent services ofone or other of our private inquiry offices."

  "Scarcely," smiled the professional. "It would hardly pass muster."

  "Oh, I don't know. Mrs. Harry, in the character of a jealous wife or asuspicious sweetheart, might reasonably--"

  Mr. Carlyle's smile suddenly faded.

  "By Jupiter!" he exclaimed. "I remember--"

  "Yes, Louis?" prompted Carrados, with laughter in his voice.

  "I remember that I must telephone to a client before Beedel comes,"concluded Mr. Carlyle, rising in some haste.

  At the door he almost ran into the subdued director, who was wringinghis hands in helpless protest at a new stroke of calamity.

  "Mr. Carrados," wailed the poor old gentleman in a tremulous bleat,"Mr. Carrados, there is another now--Sir Benjamin Gump. He insists onseeing me. You will not--you will not desert us?"

  "I should have to stay a week," replied Carrados briskly, "and I'mjust off now. There will be a procession. Mr. Carlyle will supportyou, I am sure."

  He nodded "Good-morning" straight into the eyes of each and found hisway out with the astonishing certainty of movement that made so manyforget
his infirmity. Possibly he was not desirous of encounteringDraycott's embarrassed gratitude again, for in less than a minute theyheard the swirl of his departing car.

  "Never mind, my dear sir," Mr. Carlyle assured his client, withimpenetrable complacency. "Never mind. _I_ will remain instead.Perhaps I had better make myself known to Sir Benjamin at once."

  The director turned on him the pleading, trustful look of a cornereddormouse.

  "He is in the basement," he whispered. "I shall be in theboardroom--if necessary."

  Mr. Carlyle had no difficulty in discovering the centre of interest inthe basement. Sir Benjamin was expansive and reserved, bewildered anddecisive, long-winded and short-tempered, each in turn and more orless all at once. He had already demanded the attention of themanager, Professor Bulge, Draycott and two underlings to his case andthey were now involved in a babel of inutile reiteration. The inquiryagent was at once drawn into a circle of interrogation that he did hisbest to satisfy impressively while himself learning the new facts.

  The latest development was sufficiently astonishing. Less than an hourbefore Sir Benjamin had received a parcel by district messenger. Itcontained a jewel-case which ought at that moment to have beensecurely reposing in one of the deposit safes. Hastily snatching itopen, the recipient's incredible forebodings were realized. It wasempty--empty of jewels, that is to say, for, as if to add a sting tothe blow, a neatly inscribed card had been placed inside, and on itthe agitated baronet read the appropriate but at the moment rathergratuitous maxim: "Lay not up for yourselves treasures upon earth--"

  The card was passed round and all eyes demanded the expert'spronouncement.

  "'--where moth and rust doth corrupt and where thieves break throughand steal.' H'm," read Mr. Carlyle with weight. "This is a mostimportant clue, Sir Benjamin--"

  "Hey, what? What's that?" exclaimed a voice from the other side of thehall. "Why, damme if I don't believe you've got another! Look at that,gentlemen; look at that. What's on, I say? Here now, come; give me mysafe. I want to know where I am."

  It was the bookmaker who strode tempestuously in among them,flourishing before their faces a replica of the card that was in Mr.Carlyle's hand.

  "Well, upon my soul this is most extraordinary," exclaimed thatgentleman, comparing the two. "You have just received this, Mr.--Mr.Berge, isn't it?"

  "That's right, Berge--'Iceberg' on the course. Thank the Lord Harry, Ican take my losses coolly enough, but this--this is a facer. Put intomy hand half-an-hour ago inside an envelope that ought to be here andas safe as in the Bank of England. What's the game, I say? Here,Johnny, hurry and let me into my safe."

  Discipline and method had for the moment gone by the board. There wasno suggestion of the boasted safeguards of the establishment. Themanager added his voice to that of the client, and when the attendantdid not at once appear he called again.

  "John, come and give Mr. Berge access to his safe at once."

  "All right, sir," pleaded the harassed key-attendant, hurrying up withthe burden of his own distraction. "There's a silly fathead got inwhat thinks this is a left-luggage office, so far as I can make out--aforeigner."

  "Never mind that now," replied the manager severely, "Mr. Berge'ssafe: No. 01724."

  The attendant and Mr. Berge went off together down one of thebrilliant colonnaded vistas. One or two of the others who had caughtthe words glanced across and became aware of a strange figure that wasdrifting indecisively towards them. He was obviously an elderly Germantourist of pronounced type--long-haired, spectacled, outrageouslygarbed and involved in the mental abstraction of his philosophicalrace. One hand was occupied with the manipulation of a pipe, asmarkedly Teutonic as its owner; the other grasped a carpet-bag thatwould have ensured an opening laugh to any low comedian.

  Quite impervious to the preoccupation of the group, the German madehis way up to them and picked out the manager.

  "This was a safety deposit, _nicht wahr_?"

  "Quite so," acquiesced the manager loftily, "but just now--"

  "Your fellow was dense of comprehension." The eyes behind the clumsyglasses wrinkled to a ponderous humour. "He forgot his own business.Now this goot bag--"

  Brought into fuller prominence, the carpet-bag revealed furtherdetails of its overburdened proportions. At one end a flannel shirtcuff protruded in limp dejection; at the other an ancient collar, withthe grotesque attachment known as a "dickey," asserted its presence.No wonder the manager frowned his annoyance. "The Safe" was in lowenough repute among its patrons at that moment without any burlesqueinterlude to its tragic hour.

  "Yes, yes," he whispered, attempting to lead the would-be depositoraway, "but you are under a mistake. This is not--"

  "It was a safety deposit? Goot. Mine bag--I would deposit him insafety till the time of mine train. _Ja_?"

  "_Nein, nein_!" almost hissed the agonized official. "Go away, sir, goaway! It isn't a cloakroom. John, let this gentleman out."

  The attendant and Mr. Berge were returning from their quest. The innerbox had been opened and there was no need to ask the result. Thebookmaker was shaking his head like a baffled bull.

  "Gone, no effects," he shouted across the hall. "Lifted from 'TheSafe,' by crumb!"

  To those who knew nothing of the method and operation of the fraud itseemed as if the financial security of the Capital was tottering. Anamazed silence fell, and in it they heard the great grille door of thebasement clang on the inopportune foreigner's departure. But, as if itwas impossible to stand still on that morning of dire happenings, hewas immediately succeeded by a dapper, keen-faced man in severeclerical attire who had been let in as the intruder passed out.

  "Canon Petersham!" exclaimed the professor, going forward to greethim.

  "My dear Professor Bulge!" reciprocated the canon. "You here! A mostdisquieting thing has happened to me. I must have my safe at once." Hedivided his attention between the manager and the professor as hemonopolized them both. "A most disquieting and--and outrageouscircumstance. My safe, please--yes, yes, Rev. Henry Noakes Petersham.I have just received by hand a box, a small box of no value but onethat I _thought_, yes, I am convinced that it was the one, a box thatwas used to contain certain valuables of family interest which shouldat this moment be in my safe here. No. 7436? Very likely, very likely.Yes, here is my key. But not content with the disconcerting effect ofthat, professor, the box contained--and I protest that it's a mostunseemly thing to quote any text from the Bible in this way to aclergyman of my position--well, here it is. 'Lay not up for yourselvestreasures upon earth--' Why, I have a dozen sermons of my own in mydesk now on that very verse. I'm particularly partial to the veryneedful lesson that it teaches. And to apply it to _me_! It'smonstrous!"

  "No. 7436, John," ordered the manager, with weary resignation.

  The attendant again led the way towards another armour-plated aisle.Smartly turning a corner, he stumbled over something, bit a profaneexclamation in two, and looked back.

  "It's that bloomin' foreigner's old bag again," he explained acrossthe place in aggrieved apology. "He left it here after all."

  "Take it upstairs and throw it out when you've finished," said themanager shortly.

  "Here, wait a minute," pondered John, in absent-minded familiarity."Wait a minute. This is a funny go. There's a label on that wasn'there before. '_Why not look inside_?'"

  "'Why not look inside?'" repeated someone.

  "That's what it says."

  There was another puzzled silence. All were arrested by someintangible suggestion of a deeper mystery than they had yet touched.One by one they began to cross the hall with the conscious air of menwho were not curious but thought that they might as well see.

  "Why, curse my crumpet," suddenly exploded Mr. Berge, "if that ain'tthe same writing as these texts!"

  "By gad, but I believe you are right," assented Mr. Carlyle. "Well,why not look inside?"

  The attendant, from his stooping posture, took the verdict of the ringof faces and in a trice tugged open the
two buckles. The centralfastening was not locked, and yielded to a touch. The flannel shirt,the weird collar and a few other garments in the nature of a"top-dressing" were flung out and John's hand plunged deeper....

  Harry the Actor had lived up to his dramatic instinct. Nothing waswrapped up; nay, the rich booty had been deliberately opened out anddisplayed, as it were, so that the overturning of the bag, when Johnthe keybearer in an access of riotous extravagance lifted it up andstrewed its contents broadcast on the floor, was like the looting of asmuggler's den, or the realization of a speculator's dream, or thebursting of an Aladdin's cave, or something incredibly lavish andbizarre. Bank-notes fluttered down and lay about in all directions,relays of sovereigns rolled away like so much dross, bonds and scripfor thousands and tens of thousands clogged the downpouring stream ofjewellery and unset gems. A yellow stone the size of a four-poundweight and twice as heavy dropped plump upon the canon's toes and senthim hopping and grimacing to the wall. A ruby-hilted kris cut acrossthe manager's wrist as he strove to