The Complete Works of Arthur Morrison (Illustrated). Arthur Morrison

the office?’

      ‘No, how should I? I believe Inspector Plummer has been making inquiries as to that, however, of the other clerks. Here he is, by the bye, I expect. Come in!’

      It was Plummer who had knocked, and he came in at Mr Neal’s call. He was a middle-sized, small-eyed, impenetrable-looking man, as yet of no great reputation in the force. Some of my readers may remember his connection with that case, so long a public mystery, that I have elsewhere fully set forth and explained under the title of ‘The Stanway Cameo Mystery’. Plummer carried his billy-cock hat in one hand and a few papers in the other. He gave Hewitt good-morning, placed his hat on a chair, and spread the papers on the table.

      ‘There’s not a great deal here,’ he said, ‘but one thing’s plain — Laker had been betting. See here, and here, and here’— he took a few letters from the bundle in his hand —‘two letters from a bookmaker about settling — wonder he trusted a clerk — several telegrams from tipsters, and a letter from some friend — only signed by initials — asking Laker to put a sovereign on a horse for the friend “with his own”. I’ll keep these, I think. It may be worth while to see that friend, if we can find him. Ah, we often find it’s betting, don’t we, Mr Hewitt? Meanwhile, there’s no news from France yet.’

      ‘You are sure that is where he is gone?’ asked Hewitt.

      ‘Well, I’ll tell you what we’ve done as yet. First, of course, I went round to all the banks. There was nothing to be got from that. The cashiers all knew him by sight, and one was a personal friend of his. He had called as usual, said nothing in particular, cashed his bills in the ordinary way, and finished up at the Eastern Consolidated Bank at about a quarter-past one. So far there was nothing whatever. But I had started two or three men meanwhile making inquiries at the railway stations, and so on. I had scarcely left the Eastern Consolidated when one of them came after me with news. He had tried Palmer’s Tourist Office, although that seemed an unlikely place, and there struck the track.’

      ‘Had he been there?’

      ‘Not only had he been there, but he had taken a tourist ticket for France. It was quite a smart move, in a way. You see it was the sort of ticket that lets you do pretty well what you like; you have the choice of two or three different routes to begin with, and you can break your journey where you please, and make all sorts of variations. So that a man with a ticket like that, and a few hours’ start, could twist about on some remote branch route, and strike off in another direction altogether, with a new ticket, from some out-of-the-way place, while we were carefully sorting out and inquiring along the different routes he might have taken. Not half a bad move for a new hand; but he made one bad mistake, as new hands always do — as old hands do, in fact, very often. He was fool enough to give his own name, C. Laker! Although that didn’t matter much, as the description was enough to fix him.

      There he was, wallet and all, just as he had come from the Eastern Consolidated Bank. He went straight from there to Palmer’s, by the bye, and probably in a cab. We judge that by the time. He left the Eastern Consolidated at a quarter-past one, and was at Palmer’s by twenty-five-past — ten minutes. The clerk at Palmer’s remembered the time because he was anxious to get out to his lunch, and kept looking at the clock, expecting another clerk in to relieve him. Laker didn’t take much in the way of luggage, I fancy. We inquired carefully at the stations, and got the porters to remember the passengers for whom they had been carrying luggage, but none appeared to have had any dealings with our man. That, of course, is as one would expect. He’d take as little as possible with him, and buy what he wanted on the way, or when he’d reached his hiding-place. Of course, I wired to Calais (it was a Dover to Calais route ticket) and sent a couple of smart men off by the 8.15 mail from Charing Cross. I expect we shall hear from them in the course of the day. I am being kept in London in view of something expected at headquarters, or I should have been off myself.’

      ‘That is all, then, up to the present? Have you anything else in view?’

      ‘That’, all I’ve absolutely ascertained at present. As for what I’m going to do’— a slight smile curled Plummer’s lip —’ well, I shall see. I’ve a thing or two in my mind.’

      Hewitt smiled slightly himself; he recognized Plummer’s touch of professional jealousy. ‘Very well,’ he said, rising, ‘I’ll make an inquiry or two for myself at once. Perhaps, Mr Neal, you’ll allow one of your clerks to show me the banks, in their regular order, at which Laker called yesterday. I think I’ll begin at the beginning.’

      Mr Neal offered to place at Hewitt’s disposal anything or anybody the bank contained, and the conference broke up. As Hewitt, with the clerk, came through the rooms separating Mr Neal’s sanctum from the outer office, lie fancied he saw the two veiled women leaving by a side door.

      The first bank was quite close to Liddle, Neal & Liddle’s. There the cashier who had dealt with Laker the day before remembered nothing in particular about the interview. Many other walk-clerks had called during the morning, as they did every morning, and the only circumstances of the visit that he could say anything definite about were those recorded in figures in the books. He did not know Laker’s name till Plummer had mentioned it in making inquiries on the previous afternoon. As far as he could remember, Laker behaved much as usual, though really he did not notice much; he looked chiefly at the bills. He described Laker in a way that corresponded with the photograph that Hewitt had borrowed from the bank; a young man with a brown moustache and ordinary-looking fairly regular face, dressing much as other clerks dressed — tall hat, black cutaway coat, and so on. The numbers of the notes handed over had already been given to Inspector Plummer, and these Hewitt did not trouble about.

      The next bank was in Cornhill, and here the cashier was a personal friend of Laker’s — at any rate, an acquaintance — and he remembered a little more. Laker’s manner had been quite as usual, he said; certainly he did not seem preoccupied or excited in his manner. He spoke for a moment or two — of being on the river on Sunday, and so on — and left in his usual way.

      ‘Can you remember everything he said?’ Hewitt asked. ‘If you can tell me, I should like to know exactly what he did and said to the smallest particular.’

      ‘Well, he saw me a little distance off — I was behind there, at one of the desks — and raised his hand to me, and said, “How d’ye do?” I came across and took his bills, and dealt with them in the usual way. He had a new umbrella lying on the counter — rather a handsome umbrella — and I made a remark about the handle. He took it up to show me, and told me it was a present he had just received from a friend. It was a gorse-root handle, with two silver bands, one with his monogram, C.W.L. I said it was a very nice handle, and asked him whether it was fine in his district on Sunday. He said he had been up the river, and it was very fine there. And I think that was all.’

      ‘Thank you. Now about this umbrella. Did he carry it rolled? Can you describe it in detail?’

      ‘Well, I’ve told you about the handle, and the rest was much as usual, I think; it wasn’t rolled — just napping loosely, you know. It was rather an odd-shaped handle, though. I’ll try and sketch it, if you like, as well as I can remember.’ He did so, and Hewitt saw in the result rough indications of a gnarled crook, with one silver band near the end, and another, with the monogram, a few inches down the handle. Hewitt put the sketch in his pocket, and bade the cashier good-day.

      At the next bank the story was the same as at the first — there was nothing remembered but the usual routine. Hewitt and the clerk turned down a narrow paved court, and through into Lombard Street for the next visit. The bank — that of Buller, Clayton, Ladds & Co. — was just at the corner at the end of the court, and the imposing stone entrance-porch was being made larger and more imposing still, the way being almost blocked by ladders and scaffold-poles. Here there was only the usual tale, and so on through the whole walk. The cashiers knew Laker only by sight, and that not always very distinctly. The calls of walk-clerks were such matters of routine that little note was taken of the persons of the clerks themselves, who were called by the names of their firms, if they were called by any names at all. Laker had behaved much as usual, so far as the cashiers could remember,