SOME years ago I enjoyed the unique experience of pursuing a man
for one crime, and getting evidence against him of another. He was
innocent of the misdemeanor, the proof of which I sought, but was
guilty of another most serious offense, yet he and his confederates
escaped scot-free in circumstances which I now purpose to relate.
You may remember that in Rudyard Kipling's story, "Bedalia
Herodsfoot," the unfortunate woman's husband ran the risk of being
arrested as a simple drunkard, at a moment when the blood of murder
was upon his boots. The case of Ralph Summertrees was rather the
reverse of this. The English authorities were trying to fasten upon
him a crime almost as important as murder, while I was collecting
evidence which proved him guilty of an action much more momentous than
that of drunkenness.
The English authorities have always been good enough, when they
recognize my existence at all, to look down upon me with amused
condescension. If to-day you ask Spenser Hale, of Scotland Yard, what
he thinks of Eugene Valmont, that complacent man will put on the
superior smile which so well becomes him, and if you are a very
intimate friend of his, he may draw down the lid of his right eye as
he replies: "Oh, yes; a very decent fellow, Valmont, but he's a
Frenchman!" as if, that said, there was no need of further inquiry.
Myself, I like the English detective very much, and if I were to
be in a melee to-morrow, there is no man I would rather find beside me
than Spenser Hale. In any situation where a fist that can fell an ox
is desirable, my friend Hale is a useful companion, but for
intellectuality, mental acumen, finesse—ah, well! I am the most
modest of men, and will say nothing.
It would amuse you to see this giant come into my room during an
evening, on the bluff pretense that he wishes to smoke a pipe with me.
There is the same difference between this good-natured giant and
myself as exists between that strong black pipe of his and my
delicate cigarette, which I smoke feverishly, when he is present, to
protect myself from the fumes of his terrible tobacco. I look with
delight upon the huge man, who, with an air of the utmost good humor,
and a twinkle in his eye as he thinks he is twisting me about his
finger, vainly endeavors to obtain a hint regarding whatever case is
perplexing him at that moment. I baffle him with the ease that an
active greyhound eludes the pursuit of a heavy mastiff, then at last
I say to him, with a laugh: "Come, mon ami Hale, tell me all about
it, and I will help you if I can."
Once or twice at the beginning he shook his massive head, and
replied the secret was not his. The last time he did this I assured
him that what he said was quite correct, and then I related full
particulars of the situation in which he found himself, excepting the
names, for these he had not mentioned. I had pieced together his
perplexity from scraps of conversation in his half-hour's fishing for
my advice, which, of course, he could have had for the plain asking.
Since that time he has not come to me except with cases he feels at
liberty to reveal, and one or two complications I have happily been
enabled to unravel for him.
But, stanch as Spenser Hale holds the belief that no detective
service on earth can excel that centering in Scotland Yard, there is
one department of activity in which even he confesses that Frenchmen
are his masters, although he somewhat grudgingly qualifies his
admission, by adding that we in France are constantly allowed to do
what is prohibited in England. I refer to the minute search of a
house during the owner's absence. If you read that excellent story
entitled "The Purloined Letter," by Edgar Allan Poe, you will find a
record of the kind of thing I mean, which is better than any
description I, who have so often taken part in such a search, can set
Now, these people among whom I live are proud of their phrase,
"The Englishman's house is his castle," and into that castle even a
policeman cannot penetrate without a legal warrant. This may be all
very well in theory, but if you are compelled to march up to a man's
house, blowing a trumpet and rattling a snare drum, you need not be
disappointed if you fail to find what you are in search of when all
the legal restrictions are complied with. Of course, the English are
a very excellent people, a fact to which I am always proud to bear
testimony, but it must be admitted that for cold common sense the
French are very much their superiors. In Paris, if I wish to obtain
an incriminating document, I do not send the possessor a carte
postale to inform him of my desire, and in this procedure the French
people sanely acquiesce. I have known men who, when they go out to
send an evening on the boulevards, toss their bunch of keys to the
concierge, saying: "If you hear the police rummaging about while I'm
away, pray assist them, with an expression of my distinguished
I remember, while I was chief detective in the service of the
French Government, being requested to call at a certain hour at the
private hotel of the Minister for Foreign Affairs. It was during the
time that Bismarck meditated a second attack upon my country, and I am
happy to say that I was instrumental in supplying the Secret Bureau
with documents which mollified that iron man's purpose, a fact which
I think entitled me to my country's gratitude, not that I ever even
hinted such a claim when a succeeding ministry forgot my services.
The memory of a republic, as has been said by a greater man than I,
is short. However, all that has nothing to do with the incident I am
about to relate. I merely mention the crisis to excuse a momentary
forgetfulness on my part which in any country might have been followed
by serious results to myself. But in France—ah, we understand those
things, and nothing happened.
I am the last person in the world to give myself away, as they say
in the great West. I am usually the calm, collected Eugene Valmont
whom nothing can perturb, but this was a time of great tension, and I
had become absorbed. I was alone with the minister in his private
house, and one of the papers he wished was in his bureau at the
Ministry for Foreign Affairs; at least, he thought so, and said:
"Ah! it is in my desk a the bureau. How annoying! I must send for
"No, Excellency," I cried, springing up in a self-oblivion the
most complete; "it is here." Touching the spring of a secret drawer, I
opened it, and taking out the document he wished, handed it to him.
It was not until I met his searching look, and saw the faint smile
on his lips, that I realized what I had done.
"Valmont," he said quietly, "on whose behalf did you search my
"Excellency," I replied in tones no less agreeable than his own,
"to-night at your orders I pay a domiciliary visit to the mansion of
Baron Dumoulaine, who stands high in the estimation of the President
of the French Republic. If either of those distinguished gentlemen
should learn of my informal call, and should ask me in whose interests
I made the domiciliary visit, what is it you wish that I should
"You should reply, Valmont, that you did it in the interests of
the Secret Service."
"I shall not fail to do so, Excellency, and in answer to your
question just now, I had the honor of searching this mansion in the
interests of the Secret Service of France."
The Minister for Foreign Affairs laughed; a hearty laugh that
expressed no resentment.
"I merely wished to compliment you, Valmont, on the efficiency of
your search and the excellence of your memory. This is indeed the
document which I thought was left in my office."
I wonder what Lord Lansdowne would say if Spenser Hale showed an
equal familiarity with his private papers! But now that we have
returned to our good friend Hale, we must not keep him waiting any
I WELL remember the November day when I first heard of the
Summertrees case, because there hung over London a fog so thick that
two or three times I lost my way, and no cab was to be had at any
price. The few cabmen then in the streets were leading their animals
slowly along, making for their stables. It was one of those
depressing London days which filled me with ennui and a yearning for
my own clear city of Paris, where, if we are ever visited by a slight
mist, it is at least clean, white vapor, and not this horrible London
mixture saturated with suffocating carbon. The fog was too thick for
any passer to read the contents bills of the newspapers plastered on
the pavement, and as there were probably no races that day the
newsboys were shouting what they considered the next most important
event—the election of an American President. I bought a paper and
thrust it into my pocket. It was late when I reached my flat, and,
after dining there, which was an unusual thing for me to do, I put on
my slippers, took an easy-chair before the fire, and began to read my
evening journal. I was distressed to learn that the eloquent Mr.
Bryan had been defeated. I knew little about the silver question, but
the man's oratorical powers had appealed to me, and my sympathy was
aroused because he owned many silver mines, and yet the price of the
metal was so low that apparently he could not make a living through
the operation of them. But, of course, the cry that he was a
plutocrat, and a reputed millionaire over and over again, was bound to
defeat him in a democracy where the average voter is exceedingly poor
and not comfortably well-to-do, as is the case with our peasants in
France. I always took great interest in the affairs of the huge
republic to the west, having been at some pains to inform myself
accurately regarding its politics; and although, as my readers know, I
seldom quote anything complimentary that is said of me, nevertheless,
an American client of mine once admitted that he never knew the true
inwardness—I think that was the phrase he used—of American politics
until he heard me discourse upon them. But then, he added, he had been
a very busy man all his life.
I had allowed my paper to slip to the floor, for in very truth the
fog was penetrating even into my flat, and it was becoming difficult
to read, notwithstanding the electric light. My man came in, and
announced that Mr. Spenser Hale wished to see me, and, indeed, any
night, but especially when there is rain or fog outside, I am more
pleased to talk with a friend than to read a newspaper.
"Mon Dieu, my dear Monsieur Hale, it is a brave man you are to
venture out in such a fog as is abroad to-night."
"Ah, Monsieur Valmont," said Hale with pride, "you cannot raise a
fog like this in Paris!"
"No. There you are supreme," I admitted, rising and saluting my
visitor, then offering him a chair.
"I see you are reading the latest news," he said, indicating my
newspaper. "I am very glad that man Bryan is defeated. Now we shall
have better times."
I waved my hand as I took my chair again. I will discuss many
things with Spenser Hale, but not American politics; he does not
understand them. It is a common defect of the English to suffer
complete ignorance regarding the internal affairs of other countries.
"It is surely an important thing that brought you out on such a
night as this. The fog must be very thick in Scotland Yard."
This delicate shaft of fancy completely missed him, and he
answered stolidly: "It's thick all over London, and, indeed,
throughout most of England."
"Yes, it is," I agreed, but he did not see that either.
Still, a moment later, he made a remark which, if it had come from
some people I know, might have indicated a glimmer of comprehension.
"You are a very, very clever man, Monsieur Valmont, so all I need
say is that the question which brought me here is the same as that on
which the American election was fought. Now, to a countryman, I
should be compelled to give further explanation, but to you, monsieur,
that will not be necessary."
There are times when I dislike the crafty smile and partial
closing of the eyes which always distinguishes Spenser Hale when he
places on the table a problem which he expects will baffle me. If I
said he never did baffle me, I would be wrong, of course, for
sometimes the utter simplicity of the puzzles which trouble him leads
me into an intricate involution entirely unnecessary in the
I pressed my finger tips together, and gazed for a few moments at
the ceiling. Hale had lit his black pipe, and my silent servant
placed at his elbow the whisky and soda, then tiptoed out of the
room. As the door closed my eyes came from the ceiling to the level
of Hale's expansive countenance.
"Have they eluded you?" I asked quietly.
Hale's pipe dropped from his jaw, but he managed to catch it
before it reached the floor. Then he took a gulp from the tumbler.
"That was just a lucky shot," he said.
"Parfaitement," I replied carelessly.
"Now, own up, Valmont, wasn't it?"
I shrugged my shoulders. A man cannot contradict a guest in his
"Oh, stow that!" cried Hale impolitely. He is a trifle prone to
strong and even slangy expressions when puzzled. "Tell me how you
"It is very simple, mon ami. The question on which the American
election was fought is the price of silver, which is so low that it
has ruined Mr. Bryan, and threatens to ruin all the farmers of the
West who possess silver mines on their farms. Silver troubled
America, ergo silver troubles Scotland Yard.
"Very well; the natural inference is that some one has stolen bars
of silver. But such a theft happened three months ago, when the metal
was being unloaded from a German steamer at Southampton, and my dear
friend Spenser Hale ran down the thieves very cleverly as they were
trying to dissolve the marks off the bars with acid. Now crimes do
not run in series, like the numbers in roulette at Monte Carlo. The
thieves are men of brains. They say to themselves, What chance is
there successfully to steal bars of silver while Mr. Hale is at
Scotland Yard?' Eh, my good friend?"
"Really, Valmont," said Hale, taking another sip, "sometimes you
almost persuade me that you have reasoning powers."
"Thanks, comrade. Then it is not a theft of silver we have now to
deal with. But the American election was fought on the price of
silver. If silver had been high in cost, there would have been no
silver question. So the crime that is bothering you arises through
the low price of silver, and this suggests that it must be a case of
illicit coinage, for there the low price of the metal comes in. You
have, perhaps, found a more subtle illegitimate act going forward than
heretofore. Some one is making your shillings and your half crowns
from real silver, instead of from baser metal, and yet there is a
large profit which has not hitherto been possible through the high
price of silver. With the old conditions you were familiar, but this
new element sets at naught all your previous formulas. That is how I
reasoned the matter out."
"Well, Valmont, you have hit it, I'll say that for you; you have
hit it. There is a gang of expert coiners who are putting out real
silver money, and making a clear shilling on the half crown. We can
find no trace of the coiners, but we know the man who is shoving the
"That ought to be sufficient," I suggested.
"Yes, it should, but it hasn't proved so up to date. Now I came
to-night to see if you would do one of your French tricks for us,
right on the quiet."
"What French trick, Monsieur Spenser Hale?" I inquired with some
asperity, forgetting for the moment that the man invariably became
impolite when he grew excited.
"No offense intended," said this blundering officer, who really is
a good-natured fellow, but always puts his foot in it, and then
apologizes. "I want some one to go through a man's house without a
search warrant, spot the evidence, let me know, and then we'll rush
the place before he has time to hide his tracks."
"Who is this man, and where does he live?"
"His name is Ralph Summertrees, and he lives in a very natty
little bijou residence, as the advertisements call it, situated in no
less a fashionable street than Park Lane."
"I see. What has aroused your suspicions against him?"
"Well, you know, that's an expensive district to live in; it takes
a bit of money to do the trick. This Summertrees has no ostensible
business, yet every Friday he goes to the United Capital Bank in
Piccadilly, and deposits a bag of swag, usually all silver coin."
"Yes; and this money?"
"This money, so far as we can learn, contains a good many of these
new pieces which never saw the British Mint."
"It's not all the new coinage, then?"
"Oh, no, he's a bit too artful for that! You see, a man can go
round London, his pockets filled with new-coined five-shilling pieces,
buy this, that, and the other, and come home with his change in
legitimate coins of the realm—half crowns, florins, shillings,
sixpences, and all that."
"I see. Then why don't you nab him one day when his pockets are
stuffed with illegitimate five-shilling pieces?"
"That could be done, of course, and I've thought of it, but, you
see, we want to land the whole gang. Once we arrested him without
knowing where the money came from, the real coiners would take
"How do you know he is not the real coiner himself?"
Now poor Hale is as easy to read as a book. He hesitated before
answering this question, and looked confused as a culprit caught in
some dishonest act.
"You need not be afraid to tell me," I said soothingly, after a
pause. "You have had one of your men in Mr. Summertrees's house, and
so learned that he is not the coiner. But your man has not succeeded
in getting you evidence to incriminate other people."
"You've about hit it again, Monsieur Valmont. One of my men has
been Summertrees's butler for two weeks, but, as you say, he has found
"Is he still butler?"
"Now tell me how far you have got. You know that Summertrees
deposits a bag of coin every Friday in the Piccadilly Bank, and I
suppose the bank has allowed you to examine one or two of the bags."
"Yes, sir, they have, but, you see, banks are very difficult to
treat with. They don't like detectives bothering round, and while
they do not stand out against the law, still they never answer any
more questions than they're asked, and Mr. Summertrees has been a good
customer at the United Capital for many years."
"Haven't you found out where the money comes from?"
"Yes, we have; it is brought there night after night by a man who
looks like a respectable city clerk, and he puts it into a large safe,
of which he holds the key, this safe being on the ground floor, in
the dining room."
"Haven't you followed the clerk?"
"Yes. He sleeps in the Park Lane house every night and goes up in
the morning to an old curiosity shop in Tottenham Court Road, where he
stays all day, returning with his bag of money in the evening."
"Why don't you arrest and question him?"
"Well, Monsieur Valmont, there is just the same objection to his
arrest as to that of Summertrees himself. We could easily arrest
both, but we have not the slightest evidence against either of them,
and then, although we put the go-betweens in clink, the worst
criminals of the lot would escape."
"Nothing suspicious about the old curiosity shop?"
"No. It appears to be perfectly regular."
"This game has been going on under your noses for how long?"
"For about six weeks."
"Is Summertrees a married man?"
"Are there any women servants in the house?"
"No, except that three charwomen come in every morning to do up
"Of what is his household comprised?"
"There is the butler, then the valet, and last the French cook."
"Ah," cried I, "the French cook! This case interests me. So
Summertrees has succeeded in completely disconcerting your man? Has
he prevented him going from top to bottom of the house?"
"Oh, no! He has rather assisted him than otherwise. On one
occasion he went to the safe, took out the money, had Podgers—that's
my chap's name—help him to count it, and then actually sent Podgers
to the bank with the bag of coin."
"And Podgers has been all over the place?"
Saw no signs of a coining establishment?"
"No. It is absolutely impossible that any coining can be done
there. Besides, as I tell you, that respectable clerk brings him the
"I suppose you want me to take Podgers's position?"
"Well, Monsieur Valmont, to tell you the truth, I would rather you
didn't. Podgers has done everything a man can do, but I thought if
you got into the house, Podgers assisting, you might go through it
night after night at your leisure."
"I see. That's just a little dangerous in England. I think I
should prefer to assure myself the legitimate standing of being
amiable Podgers's successor. You say that Summertrees has no
"Well, sir, not what you might call a business. He is by way of
being an author, but I don't count that any business."
"Oh, an author, is he? When does he do his writing?"
"He locks himself up most of the day in his study."
"Does he come out for lunch?"
"No; he lights a little spirit lamp inside, Podgers tells me, and
makes himself a cup of coffee, which he takes with a sandwich or two."
"That's rather frugal fare for Park Lane."
"Yes, Monsieur Valmont, it is, but he makes it up in the evening,
when he has a long dinner, with all them foreign kickshaws you people
like, done by his French cook."
"Sensible man! Well, Hale, I see I shall look forward with
pleasure to making the acquaintance of Mr. Summertrees. Is there any
restriction on the going and coming of your man Podgers? "
"None in the least. He can get away either night or day."
"Very good, friend Hale; bring him here to-morrow, as soon as our
author locks himself up in his study, or rather, I should say, as soon
as the respectable clerk leaves for Tottenham Court Road, which I
should guess, as you put it, is about half an hour after his master
turns the key of the room in which he writes."
"You are quite right in that guess, Valmont. How did you hit it?"
"Merely a surmise, Hale. There is a good deal of oddity about
that Park Lane house, so it doesn't surprise me in the least that the
master gets to work earlier in the morning than the man. I have also
a suspicion that Ralph Summertrees knows perfectly well what the
estimable Podgers is there for."
"What makes you think that?"
"I can give no reason except that my opinion of the acuteness of
Summertrees has been gradually rising all the while you were speaking,
and at the same time my estimate of Podgers's craft has been as
steadily declining. However, bring the man here to-morrow, that I may
ask him a few questions."
NEXT day, about eleven o'clock, the ponderous Podgers, hat in
hand, followed his chief into my room. His broad, impassive,
immobile, smooth face gave him rather more the air of a genuine butler
than I had expected, and this appearance, of course, was enhanced by
his livery. His replies to my questions were those of a well-trained
servant who will not say too much unless it is made worth his while.
All in all, Podgers exceeded my expectations, and really my friend
Hale had some justification for regarding him, as he evidently did, a
triumph in his line.
"Sit down, Mr. Hale, and you, Podgers."
The man disregarded my invitation, standing like a statue until
his chief made a motion; then he dropped into a chair. The English
are great on discipline.
"Now, Mr. Hale, I must first congratulate you on the make-up of
Podgers. It is excellent. You depend less on artificial assistance
than we do in France, and in that I think you are right."
"Oh, we know a bit over here, Monsieur Valmont!" said Hale, with
"Now then, Podgers, I want to ask you about this clerk. What time
does he arrive in the evening?"
"At prompt six, sir."
"Does he ring, or let himself in with a latchkey?"
"With a latchkey, sir."
"How does he carry the money?"
"In a little locked leather satchel, sir, flung over his
"Does he go direct to the dining room?"
"Have you seen him unlock the safe, and put in the money?"
"Does the safe unlock with a word or a key?"
"With a key, sir. It s one of the old-fashioned kind."
"Then the clerk unlocks his leather money bag?"
"That's three keys used within as many minutes. Are they separate
or in a bunch?"
"In a bunch, sir."
"Did you ever see your master with this bunch of keys?"
"You saw him open the safe once, I am told?"
"Did he use a separate key, or one of a bunch?"
Podgers slowly scratched his head, then said: "I don't just
"Ah, Podgers, you are neglecting the big things in that house!
Sure you can't remember?"
"Once the money is in and the safe locked up, what does the clerk
"Goes to his room, sir."
"Where is this room?"
"On the third floor, sir."
"Where do you sleep?"
"On the fourth floor with the rest of the servants, sir."
"Where does the master sleep?"
"On the second floor, adjoining his study."
"The house consists of four stories and a basement, does it?"
"I have somehow arrived at the suspicion that it is a very narrow
house. Is that true?"
"Does the clerk ever dine with your master?"
"No, sir. The clerk don't eat in the house at all, sir."
"Does he go away before breakfast?"
"No one takes breakfast to his room?"
"What time does he leave the house?"
"At ten o'clock, sir."
"When is breakfast served?"
"At pine o'clock, sir."
"At what hour does your master retire to his study?"
"At half past nine, sir."
"Locks the door on the inside?"
"Never rings for anything during the day?"
"Not that I know of, sir."
"What sort of a man is he?"
Here Podgers was on familiar ground, and he rattled off a
description minute in every particular.
"What I meant was, Podgers, is he silent, or talkative, or does he
get angry? Does he seem furtive, suspicious, anxious, terrorized,
calm, excitable, or what?"
"Well, sir, he is by way of being very quiet, never has much to
say for hisself; never saw him angry or excited."
"Now, Podgers, you've been at Park Lane for a fortnight or more.
You are a sharp, alert, observant man. What happens there that
strikes you as unusual?"
"Well, I can't exactly say, sir," replied Podgers, looking rather
helplessly from his chief to myself, and back again.
"Your professional duties have often compelled you to enact the
part of butler before, otherwise you wouldn't do it so well. Isn't
that the case?"
Podgers did not reply, but glanced at his chief. This was
evidently a question pertaining to the service, which a subordinate
was not allowed to answer. However, Hale said at once: "Certainly.
Podgers has been in dozens of places."
"Well, Podgers, just call to mind some of the other households
where you have been employed, and tell me any particulars in which Mr.
Summertree's establishment differs from them."
Podgers pondered a long time.
"Well, sir, he do stick to writing pretty close."
"Ah, that's his profession, you see, Podgers. Hard at it from half
past nine till toward seven, I imagine?"
"Anything else, Podgers? No matter how trivial."
"Well, sir, he's fond of reading, too; leastways, he's fond of
"When does he read?"
"I never seen him read 'em, sir; indeed, so far as I can tell, I
never knew the papers to be opened, but he takes them all in, sir."
"What, all the morning papers?"
"Yes, sir, and all the evening papers, too."
"Where are the morning papers placed?"
"On the table in his study, sir."
"And the evening papers?"
"Well, sir, when the evening papers come, the study is locked.
They are put on a side table in the dining room, and he takes them
upstairs with him to his study."
"This has happened every day since you've been there?"
"You reported that very striking fact to your chief, of course?"
"No, sir,. I don't think I did," said Podgers confused.
"You should have done so. Mr. Hale would have known how to make
the most of a point so vital."
"Oh, come now, Valmont," interrupted Hale, "you're chaffing us!
Plenty of people take in all the papers!"
"I think not. Even clubs and hotels subscribe to the leading
journals only. You said all, I think, Podgers?"
"Well, nearly all, sir."
"But which is it? There's a vast difference."
"He takes a good many, sir."
"I don't just know, sir."
"That's easily found out, Valmont," cried Hale, with some
impatience, "if you think it really important."
"I think it so important that I'm going back with Podgers myself.
You can take me into the house, I suppose, when you return?"
"Oh, yes, sir!"
"Coming back to these newspapers for a moment, Podgers. What is
done with them?"
"They are sold to the ragman, sir, once a week."
"Who takes them from the study?"
"I do sir."
"Do they appear to have been read very carefully?"
"Well, no, sir; leastways, some of them seem never to have been
opened, or else folded up very carefully again."
"Did you notice that extracts have been clipped from any of them?"
"Does Mr. Summertrees keep a scrapbook?"
"Not that I know of, sir."
"Oh, the case is perfectly plain!" said I, leaning back in my
chair, and regarding the puzzled Hale with that cherubic expression of
self-satisfaction which I know is so annoying to him.
"What's perfectly plain?" he demanded, more gruffly perhaps than
etiquette would have sanctioned.
"Summertrees is no coiner, nor is he linked with any band of
"What is he, then?"
"Ah, that opens another avenue of inquiry! For all I know to the
contrary, he may be the most honest of men. On the surface it would
appear that he is a reasonably industrious tradesman in Tottenham
Court Road, who is anxious that there should be no visible connection
between a plebeian employment and so aristocratic a residence as that
in Park Lane."
At this point Spenser Hale gave expression to one of those rare
flashes of reason which are always an astonishment to his friends.
"That is nonsense, Monsieur Valmont," he said; "the man who is
ashamed of the connection between his business and his house is one
who is trying to get into society, or else the women of his family
are trying it, as is usually the case. Now Summertrees has no
family. He himself goes nowhere, gives no entertainments, and accepts
no invitations. He belongs to no club; therefore, to say that he is
ashamed of his connection with the Tottenham Court Road shop is
absurd. He is concealing the connection for some other reason that
will bear looking into."
"My dear Hale, the Goddess of Wisdom herself could not have made a
more sensible series of remarks. Now, mon ami, do you want my
assistance, or have you enough to go on with?"
"Enough to go on with? We have nothing more than we had when I
called on you last night."
"Last night, my dear Hale, you supposed this man was in league
with coiners. To-day you know he is not."
"I know you say he is not."
I shrugged my shoulders, and raised my eyebrows, smiling at him.
"It is the same thing, Monsieur Hale."
"Well, of all the conceited—" and the good Hale could get no
"If you wish my assistance, it is yours."
"Very good. Not to put too fine a point upon it, I do."
"In that case, my dear Podgers, you will return to the residence
of our friend Summertrees, and get together for me in a bundle all of
yesterday's morning and evening papers that were delivered to the
house. Can you do that, or are they mixed up in a heap in the coal
"I can do it, sir. I have instructions to place each day's papers
in a pile by itself in case they should be wanted again. There is
always one week's supply in the cellar, and we sell the papers of the
week before to the ragman."
"Excellent. Well, take the risk of abstracting one day's
journals, and have them ready for me. I will call upon you at half
past three o'clock exactly, and then I want you to take me upstairs to
the clerk's bedroom in the third story, which I suppose is not locked
during the daytime?"
"No, sir, it is not."
With this the patient Podgers took his departure. Spenser Hale
rose when his assistant left.
"Anything further I can do?" he asked.
"Yes; give me the address of the shop in Tottenham Court Road. Do
you happen to have about you one of those new five-shilling pieces
which you believe to be illegally coined?"
He opened his pocketbook, took out the bit of white metal, and
handed it to me.
"I'm going to pass this off before evening," I said, putting it in
my pocket, "and I hope none of your men will arrest me."
"That's all right," laughed Hale as he took his leave.
At half past three Podgers was waiting for me, and opened the
front door as I came up the steps, thus saving me the necessity of
ringing. The house seemed strangely quiet. The French cook was
evidently down in the basement, and we had probably all the upper
part to ourselves, unless Summertrees was in his study, which I
doubted. Podgers led me directly upstairs to the clerk's room on the
third floor, walking on tiptoe, with an elephantine air of silence
and secrecy combined, which struck me as unnecessary.
"I will make an examination of this room," I said. "Kindly wait
for me down by the door of the study."
The bedroom proved to be of respectable size when one considers
the smallness of the house. The bed was all nicely made up, and there
were two chairs in the room, but the usual washstand and swing mirror
were not visible. However, seeing a curtain at the farther end of the
room, I drew it aside, and found, as I expected, a fixed lavatory in
an alcove of perhaps four feet deep by five in width. As the room was
about fifteen feet wide, this left two-thirds of the space unaccounted
for. A moment later I opened a door which exhibited a closet filled
with clothes hanging on hooks. This left a space of five feet between
the clothes closet and the lavatory. I thought at first that the
entrance to the secret stairway must have issued from the lavatory,
but examining the boards closely, although they sounded hollow to the
knuckles, they were quite evidently plain match boarding, and not a
concealed door. The entrance to the stairway, therefore, must issue
from the clothes closet. The right-hand wall proved similar to the
match boarding of the lavatory, so far as the casual eye or touch was
concerned, but I saw at once it was a door. The latch turned out to
be somewhat ingeniously operated by one of the hooks which held a
pair of old trousers. I found that the hook, if pressed upward,
allowed the door to swing outward, over the stairhead. Descending to
the second floor, a similar latch let me into a similar clothes
closet in the room beneath. The two rooms were identical in size, one
directly above the other, the only difference being that the
lower-room door gave into the study, instead of into the hall, as was
the case with the upper chamber.
The study was extremely neat, either not much used, or the abode
of a very methodical man. There was nothing on the table except a
pile of that morning's papers. I walked to the farther end, turned
the key in the lock, and came out upon the astonished Podgers.
"Well, I'm blowed!" exclaimed he.
"Quite so," I rejoined; "you've been tiptoeing past an empty room
for the last two weeks. Now, if you'll come with me, Podgers, I'll
show you how the trick is done."
When he entered the study I locked the door once more, and led the
assumed butler, still tiptoeing through force of habit, up the stair
into the top bedroom, and so out again, leaving everything exactly as
we found it. We went down the main stair to the front hall, and there
Podgers had my parcel of papers all neatly wrapped up. This bundle I
carried to my flat, gave one of my assistants some instructions, and
left him at work on the papers.
I TOOK a cab to the foot of Tottenham Court Road, and walked up
that street till I came to J. Simpson's old curiosity shop. After
gazing at the well-filled windows for some time, I stepped inside,
having selected a little iron crucifix displayed behind the pane; the
work of some ancient craftsman.
I knew at once from Podgers's description that I was waited upon
by the veritable respectable clerk who brought the bag of money each
night to Park Lane, and who, I was certain, was no other than Ralph
There was nothing in his manner differing from that of any other
quiet salesman. The price of the crucifix proved to be seven-and-six,
and I threw down a sovereign to pay for it.
"Do you mind the change all I silver, sir?" he asked, and I
answered without any eagerness, although the question aroused a
suspicion that had begun to be allayed: "Not in the least."
He gave me half a crown, three two-shilling pieces, and four
separate shillings, all coins being well-worn silver of the realm, the
undoubted inartistic product of the reputable British Mint. This
seemed to dispose of the theory that he was palming off illegitimate
money. He asked me if I were interested in any particular branch of
antiquity, and I replied that my curiosity was merely general, and
exceedingly amateurish, whereupon he invited me to look around. This
I proceeded to do, while he resumed the addressing and stamping of
some wrapped-up pamphlets which I surmised to be copies of his
He made no attempt either to watch me or to press his wares upon
me. I selected at random a little inkstand, and asked its price. It
was two shillings, he said, whereupon I produced my fraudulent
five-shilling piece. He took it, gave me the change without comment,
and the last doubt about his connection with coiners flickered from my
At this moment a young man came in who, I saw at once, was not a
customer. He walked briskly to the farther end of the shop, and
disappeared behind a partition which had one pane of glass in it that
gave an outlook toward the front door.
"Excuse me a moment," said the shopkeeper, and he followed the
young man into the private office.
As I examined the curious heterogeneous collection of things for
sale, I heard the clink of coins being poured out on the lid of a desk
or an uncovered table and the murmur of voices floated out to me. I
was now near the entrance of the shop, and by a sleight-of-hand trick,
keeping the corner of my eye on the glass pane of the private office,
I removed the key of the front door without a sound, and took an
impression of it in wax, returning the key to its place unobserved.
At this moment another young man came in, and walked straight past
me into the private office. I heard him say: "Oh, I beg pardon, Mr.
Simpson! How are you, Rogers?"
"Hello, Macpherson," saluted Rogers, who then came out, bidding
good night to Mr. Simpson, and departed, whistling, down the street,
but not before he had repeated his phrase to another young man
entering, to whom he gave the name of Tyrrel.
I noted these three names in my mind. Two others came in
together, but I was compelled to content myself with memorizing their
features, for I did not learn their names. These men were evidently
collectors, for I heard the rattle of money in every case; yet here
was a small shop, doing apparently very little business, for I had
been within it for more than half an hour, and yet remained the only
customer. If credit were given, one collector would certainly have
been sufficient, yet five had come in, and had poured their
contributions into the pile Summertrees was to take home with him
I determined to secure one of the pamphlets which the man had been
addressing. They were piled on a shelf behind the counter, but I had
no difficulty in reaching across and taking the one on top, which I
slipped into my pocket. When the fifth young man went down the street
Summertrees himself emerged, and this time he carried in his hand the
well-filled locked leather satchel, with the straps dangling. It was
now approaching half past five, and I saw he was eager to close up and
"Anything else you fancy, sir?" he asked me.
"No, or, rather, yes and no. You have a very interesting
collection here, but it's getting so dark I can hardly see."
"I close at half past five, sir."
"Ah! in that case," I said, consulting my watch, "I shall be
pleased to call some other time."
"Thank you, sir," replied Summertrees quietly, and with that I
took my leave.
From the corner of an alley on the other side of the street I saw
him put up the shutters with his own hands, then he emerged with
overcoat on, and the money satchel slung across his shoulder. He
locked the door, tested it with his knuckles, and walked down the
street, carrying under one arm the pamphlets he had been addressing.
I followed him at some distance, saw him drop the pamphlets into the
box at the first post office he passed, and walk rapidly toward his
house in Park Lane.
When I returned to my flat and called in my assistant, he said:
"After putting to one side the regular advertisements of pills, soap,
and what not, here is the only one common to all the newspapers,
morning and evening alike. The advertisements are not identical,
sir, but they have two points of similarity, or perhaps I should say
three. They all profess to furnish a cure for absent-mindedness;
they all ask that the applicant's chief hobby shall be stated, and
they all bear the same address: Dr. Willoughby, in Tottenham Court
"Thank you," said I, as he placed the scissored advertisements
I read several of the announcements. They were all small, and
perhaps that is why I had never noticed one of them in the newspapers,
for certainly they were odd enough. Some asked for lists of
absent-minded men, with the hobbies of each, and for these lists,
prizes of from one shilling to six were offered. In other clippings
Dr. Willoughby professed to be able to cure absent-mindedness. There
were no fees and no treatment, but a pamphlet would be sent, which, if
it did not benefit the receiver, could do no harm. The doctor was
unable to meet patients personally, nor could he enter into
correspondence with them. The address was the same as that of the old
curiosity shop in Tottenham Court Road. At this juncture I pulled
the pamphlet from my pocket, and saw it was entitled, "Christian
Science and Absent-Mindedness," by Dr. Stamford Willoughby, and at
the end of the article was the statement contained in the
advertisements, that Dr. Willoughby would neither see patients nor
hold any correspondence with them.
I drew a sheet of paper toward me, wrote to Dr. Willoughby,
alleging that I was a very absent-minded man, and would be glad of his
pamphlet, adding that my special hobby was the collecting of first
editions. I then signed myself, "Alport Webster, Imperial Flats,
I may here explain that it is often necessary for me to see people
under some other name than the well-known appellation of Eugene
Valmont. There are two doors to my flat, and on one of these is
painted, "Eugene Valmont"; on the other there is a receptacle, into
which can be slipped a sliding panel bearing any nom de guerre I
choose. The same device is arranged on the ground floor, where the
names of all the occupants of the building appear on the right-hand
I sealed, addressed, and stamped my letter, then told my man to
put out the name of Alport Webster, and if I did not happen to be in
when anyone called upon that mythical person, he was to make an
appointment for me.
It was nearly six o'clock next afternoon when the card of Angus
Macpherson was brought in to Mr. Alport Webster. I recognized the
young man at once as the second who had entered the little shop,
carrying his tribute to Mr. Simpson the day before. He held three
volumes under his arm, and spoke in such a pleasant, insinuating sort
of way, that I knew at once he was an adept in his profession of
"Will you be seated, Mr. Macpherson? In what can I serve you?"
He placed the three volumes, backs upward, on my table.
"Are you interested at all in first editions, Mr. Webster?"
"It is the one thing I am interested in," I replied; "but
unfortunately they often run into a lot of money."
"That is true," said Macpherson sympathetically, "and I have here
three books, one of which is an exemplification of what you say. This
one costs a hundred pounds. The last copy that was sold by auction
in London brought a hundred and twenty-three pounds. This next one is
forty pounds, and the third ten pounds. At these prices I am certain
you could not duplicate three such treasures in any bookshop in
I examined them critically, and saw at once that what he said was
true. He was still standing on the opposite side of the table.
"Please take a chair, Mr. Macpherson. Do you mean to say you go
round London with a hundred and fifty pounds' worth of goods under
your arm in this careless way?"
The young man laughed.
"I run very little risk, Mr. Webster. I don't suppose anyone I
meet imagines for a moment there is more under my arm than perhaps a
trio of volumes I have picked up in the fourpenny box to take home
I lingered over the volume for which he asked a hundred pounds,
then said, looking across at him: "How came you to be possessed of
this book, for instance?"
He turned upon me a fine, open countenance, and answered without
hesitation in the frankest possible manner: "I am not in actual
possession of it, Mr. Webster. I am by way of being a connoisseur in
rare and valuable books myself, although, of course, I have little
money with which to indulge in the collection of them. I am
acquainted, however, with the lovers of desirable books in different
quarters of London. These three volumes, for instance, are from the
library of a private gentleman in the West End. I have sold many
books to him, and he knows I am trustworthy. He wishes to dispose of
them at something under their real value, and has kindly allowed me to
conduct the negotiations. I make it my business to find out those
who are interested in rare books, and by such trading I add
considerably to my income."
"How, for instance, did you learn that I was a bibliophile?"
Mr. Macpherson laughed genially.
"Well, Mr. Webster, I must confess that I chanced it. I do that
very often. I take a flat like this, and send in my card to the name
on the door. If I am invited in, I ask the occupant the question I
asked you just now: 'Are you interested in rare editions?' If he says
no, I simply beg pardon and retire. If he says yes, then I show my
"I see," said I, nodding. What a glib young liar he was, with
that innocent face of his, and yet my next question brought forth the
"As this is the first time you have called upon me, Mr.
Macpherson, you have no objection to my making some further inquiry, I
suppose. Would you mind telling me the name of the owner of these
books in the West End?"
"His name is Mr. Ralph Summertrees, of Park Lane."
"Of Park Lane? Ah, indeed!"
"I shall be glad to leave the books with you, Mr. Webster, and if
you care to make an appointment with Mr. Summertrees, I am sure he
will not object to say a word in my favor."
"Oh, I do not in the least doubt it, and should not think of
troubling the gentleman."
"I was going to tell you," went on the young man, "that I have a
friend, a capitalist, who, in a way, is my supporter; for, as I said,
I have little money of my own. I find it is often inconvenient for
people to pay down any considerable sum. When, however, I strike a
bargain, my capitalist buys the books, and I make an arrangement with
my customer to pay a certain amount each week, and so even a large
purchase is not felt, as I make the installments small enough to suit
"You are employed during the day, I take it?"
"Yes, I am a clerk in the City."
Again we were in the blissful realms of fiction!
"Suppose I take this book at ten pounds, what installments should
I have to pay each week?"
"Oh, what you like, sir. Would five shillings be too much?"
"I think not."
"Very well, sir; if you pay me five shillings now, I will leave
the book with you, and shall have pleasure in calling this day week
for the next installment."
I put my hand into my pocket, and drew out two half crowns, which
I passed over to him.
"Do I need to sign any form or undertaking to pay the rest?"
The young man laughed cordially.
"Oh, no, sir, there is no formality necessary. You see, sir, this
is largely a labor of love with me, although I don't deny I have my
eye on the future. I am getting together what I hope will be a very
valuable connection with gentlemen like yourself who are fond of
books, and I trust some day that I may be able to resign my place with
the insurance company and set up a choice little business of my own,
where my knowledge of values in literature will prove useful."
And then, after making a note in a little book he took from his
pocket, he bade me a most graceful good-by and departed, leaving me
cogitating over what it all meant.
Next morning two articles were handed to me. The first came by
post and was a pamphlet on "Christian Science and Absent-Mindedness,"
exactly similar to the one I had taken away from the old curiosity
shop; the second was a small key made from my wax impression that
would fit the front door of the same shop—a key fashioned by an
excellent anarchist friend of mine in an obscure street near Holborn.
That night at ten o'clock I was inside the old curiosity shop,
with a small storage battery in my pocket, and a little electric
glowlamp at my buttonhole, a most useful instrument for either
burglar or detective.
I had expected to find the books of the establishment in a safe,
which, if it was similar to the one in Park Lane, I was prepared to
open with the false keys in my possession, or to take an impression
of the keyhole and trust to my anarchist friend for the rest. But to
my amazement I discovered all the papers pertaining to the concern in
a desk which was not even locked. The books, three in number, were
the ordinary daybook, journal, and ledger referring to the shop;
bookkeeping of the older fashion; but in a portfolio lay half a dozen
foolscap sheets, headed, "Mr. Rogers's List," "Mr. Macpherson's," "Mr.
Tyrrel's," the names I had already learned, and three others. These
lists contained in the first column, names; in the second column,
addresses; in the third, sums of money; and then in the small, square
places following were amounts ranging from two-and-sixpence to a
pound. At the bottom of Mr. Macpherson's list was the name Alport
Webster, Imperial Flats, 10 pounds; then in the small, square place,
five shillings. These six sheets each headed by a canvasser's name,
were evidently the record of current collections, and the innocence
of the whole thing was so apparent that, if it were not for my fixed
rule never to believe that I am at the bottom of any case until I
have come on something suspicious, I would have gone out empty-handed
as I came in.
The six sheets were loose in a thin portfolio, but standing on a
shelf above the desk were a number of fat volumes, one of which I took
down, and saw that it contained similar lists running back several
years. I noticed on Mr. Macpherson's current list the name of Lord
Semptam, an eccentric old nobleman whom I knew slightly. Then turning
to the list immediately before the current one the name was still
there; I traced it back through list after list until I found the
first entry, which was no less than three years previous, and there
Lord Semptam was down for a piece of furniture costing fifty pounds,
and on that account he had paid a pound a week for more than three
years, totaling a hundred and seventy pounds at the least, and
instantly the glorious simplicity of the scheme dawned upon me, and I
became so interested in the swindle that I lit the gas, fearing my
little lamp would be exhausted before my investigation ended, for it
promised to be a long one.
In several instances the intended victim proved shrewder than old
Simpson had counted upon, and the word "Settled" had been written on
the line carrying the name when the exact number of installments was
paid. But as these shrewd persons dropped out, others took their
places, and Simpson's dependence on their absent-mindedness seemed to
be justified in nine cases out of ten. His collectors were collecting
long after the debt had been paid. In Lord Semptam's case, the
payment had evidently become chronic, and the old man was giving away
his pound a week to the suave Macpherson two years after his debt had
From the big volume I detached the loose leaf, dated 1893, which
recorded Lord Semptam's purchase of a carved table for fifty pounds,
and on which he had been paying a pound a week from that time to the
date of which I am writing, which was November, 1896. This single
document, taken from the file of three years previous, was not likely
to be missed, as would have been the case if I had selected a current
sheet, I nevertheless made a copy of the names and addresses of
Macpherson's present clients; then, carefully placing everything
exactly as I had found it, I extinguished the gas, and went out of
the shop, locking the door behind me. With the 1893 sheet in my
pocket I resolved to prepare a pleasant little surprise for my suave
friend Macpherson when he called to get his next installment of five
Late as was the hour when I reached Trafalgar Square, I could not
deprive myself of the felicity of calling on Mr. Spenser Hale, who I
knew was then on duty. He never appeared at his best during office
hours, because officialism stiffened his stalwart frame. Mentally he
was impressed with the importance of his position, and added to this
he was not then allowed to smoke his big black pipe and terrible
tobacco. He received me with the curtness I had been taught to expect
when I inflicted myself upon him at his office. He greeted me
abruptly with: "I say, Valmont, how long do you expect to be on this
"What job?" I asked mildly.
"Oh, you know what I mean: the Summertrees affair?"
"Oh, that!" I exclaimed, with surprise. "The Summertrees case is
already completed, of course. If I had known you were in a hurry, I
should have finished up everything yesterday, but as you and Podgers,
and I don't know how many more, have been at it sixteen or seventeen
days, if not longer, I thought I might venture to take as many hours,
as I am working entirely alone. You said nothing about haste, you
"Oh, come now, Valmont, that's a bit thick. Do you mean to say
you have already got evidence against the man?"
"Evidence absolute and complete."
"Then who are the coiners?"
"My most estimable friend, how often have I told you not to jump
at conclusions? I informed you when you first spoke to me about the
matter that Summertrees was neither a coiner nor a confederate of
coiners. I secured evidence sufficient to convict him of quite
another offense, which is probably unique in the annals of crime. I
have penetrated the mystery of the shop, and discovered the reason
for all those suspicious actions which quite properly set you on his
trail. Now I wish you to come to my flat next Wednesday night at a
quarter to six, prepared to make an arrest."
"I must know whom I am to arrest and on what counts."
"Quite so, mon ami Hale; I did not say you were to make an arrest,
but merely warned you to be prepared. If you have time now to listen
to the disclosures, I am quite at your service. I promise you there
are some original features in the case. If, however, the present
moment is inopportune, drop in on me at your convenience, previously
telephoning so that you may know whether I am there or not, and thus
your valuable time will not be expended purposelessly."
With this I presented to him my most courteous bow, and although
his mystified expression hinted a suspicion that he thought I was
chaffing him, as he would call it, official dignity dissolved
somewhat, and he intimated his desire to hear all about it then and
there. I had succeeded in arousing my friend Hale's curiosity. He
listened to the evidence with perplexed brow, and at last ejaculated
he would be blessed.
"This young man," I said, in conclusion, "will call upon me at six
on Wednesday afternoon, to receive his second five shillings. I
propose that you, in your uniform, shall be seated there with me to
receive him, and I am anxious to study Mr. Macpherson's countenance
when he realizes he has walked in to confront a policeman. If you
will then allow me to cross-examine him for a few moments, not after
the manner of Scotland Yard, with a warning lest he incriminate
himself, but in the free and easy fashion we adopt in Paris, I shall
afterwards turn the case over to you to be dealt with at your
"You have a wonderful flow of language, Monsieur Valmont, was the
officer's tribute to me. "I shall be on hand at a quarter to six on
"Meanwhile," said I, "kindly say nothing of this to anyone. We
must arrange a complete surprise for Macpherson. That is essential.
Please make no move in the matter at all until Wednesday night."
Spenser Hale, much impressed, nodded acquiescence, and I took a
polite leave of him.
THE question of lighting is an important one in a room such as
mine, and electricity offers a good deal of scope to the ingenious.
Of this fact I have taken full advantage. I can manipulate the
lighting of my room so that any particular spot is bathed in
brilliancy, while the rest of the space remains in comparative gloom,
and I arranged the lamps so that the full force of their rays impinged
against the door that Wednesday evening, while I sat on one side of
the table in semidarkness and Hale sat on the other, with a light
beating down on him from above which gave him the odd, sculptured
look of a living statue of Justice, stern and triumphant. Anyone
entering the room would first be dazzled by the light, and next would
see the gigantic form of Hale in the full uniform of his order.
When Angus Macpherson was shown into this room, he was quite
visibly taken aback, and paused abruptly on the threshold, his gaze
riveted on the huge policeman. I think his first purpose was to turn
and run, but the door closed behind him, and he doubtless heard, as we
all did, the sound of the bolt being thrust in its place, thus locking
"I—I beg your pardon," he stammered, "I expected to meet Mr.
As he said this, I pressed the button under my table, and was
instantly enshrouded with light. A sickly smile overspread the
countenance of Macpherson as he caught sight of me, and he made a
very creditable attempt to carry off the situation with nonchalance.
"Oh, there you are, Mr. Webster; I did not notice you at first."
It was a tense moment. I spoke slowly and, impressively.
"Sir, perhaps you are not unacquainted with the name of Eugene
He replied brazenly: "I am sorry to say, sir, I never heard of the
At this came a most inopportune "Haw-haw" that blockhead Spenser
Hale, completely spoiling the dramatic situation I had elaborated with
such thought and care. It is little wonder the English possess no
drama, for they show scant appreciation of the sensational moments in
life; they are not quickly alive to the lights and shadows of events.
"Haw-haw," brayed Spenser Hale, and at once reduced the emotional
atmosphere to a fog of commonplace. However, what is a man to do? He
must handle the tools with which it pleases Providence to provide
him. I ignored Hale's untimely laughter.
"Sit down, sir," I said to Macpherson, and he obeyed.
"You have called on Lord Semptam this week," I continued sternly.
"And collected a pound from him?"
"In October, 1893, you sold Lord Semptam a carved antique table
for fifty pounds?"
"Quite right, sir."
"When you were here last week you gave me Ralph Summertrees as the
name of a gentleman living in Park Lane. You knew at the time that
this man was your employer?"
Macpherson was now looking fixedly at me, and on this occasion
made no reply. I went on calmly: "You also knew that Summertrees, of
Park Lane, was identical with Simpson, of Tottenham Court Road?"
"Well, sir," said Macpherson, "I don't exactly see what you're
driving at, but it's quite usual for a man to carry on a business
under an assumed name. There is nothing illegal about that."
"We will come to the illegality in a moment, Mr. Macpherson. You
and Rogers and Tyrrel and three others are confederates of this man
Simpson." "We are in his employ; yes, sir, but no more confederates
than clerks usually are." "I think, Mr. Macpherson, I have said enough
to show you that the game is what you call up. You are now in the
presence of Mr. Spenser Hale, from Scotland Yard, who is waiting to
hear your confession." Here the stupid Hale broke in with his: "And
remember, sir, that anything you be——"
"Excuse me, Mr. Hale," I interrupted hastily, "I shall turn over
the case to you in a very few moments, but I ask you to remember our
compact, and to leave it for the present entirely in my hands. Now,
Mr. Macpherson, I want your confession, and I want it at once."
"Confession? Confederates?" protested Macpherson, with admirably
simulated surprise. "I must say you use extraordinary terms,
Mr.—Mr.— What did you say the name was?"
"Haw-haw," roared Hale. "His name is Monsieur Valmont."
"I implore you, Mr. Hale, to leave this man to me for a very few
moments. Now, Macpherson, what have you to say in your defense?"
"There nothing criminal has been alleged, Monsieur Valmont, I see
no necessity for defense. If you wish me to admit that somehow you
have acquired a number of details regarding our business, I am
perfectly willing to do so, and to subscribe to their accuracy. If
you will be good enough to let me know of what you complain, I shall
endeavor to make the point clear to you, if I can. There has
evidently been some misapprehension, but for the life of me, without
further explanation, I am as much in a fog as I was on my way coming
here, for it is getting a little thick outside."
Macpherson certainly was conducting himself with great discretion,
and presented, quite unconsciously, a much more diplomatic figure than
my friend Spenser Hale, sitting stiffly opposite me. His tone was one
mild expostulation, mitigated by the intimation that misunderstanding
speedily would be cleared away. To outward view he offered a perfect
picture of innocence neither protesting too much nor too little. I
had, however, another surprise in store for him, a trump card, as it
were, and I played it down on the table.
"There!" I cried with vim, "have you ever seen that sheet before?"
He glanced at it without offering to take it in his hand.
"Oh, yes," he said, "that has been abstracted from our file. It
is what I call my visiting list."
"Come, come, sir," I cried sternly, "you refuse to confess, but I
warn you we know all about it. You never heard of Dr. Willoughby, I
"Yes, he is the author of the silly pamphlet on Christian
"You are in the right, Mr. Macpherson; on Christian Science and
"Possibly. I haven't read it for a long while."
"Have you ever met this learned doctor, Mr. Macpherson?"
"Oh, yes. Dr. Willoughby is the pen name of Mr. Summertrees. He
believes in Christian Science and that sort of thing, and writes about
it." "Ah, really. We are getting your confession bit by bit, Mr.
Macpherson. I think it would be better to be quite frank with us."
"I was just going to make the same suggestion to you. Monsieur
Valmont. If you will tell me in a few words exactly what is your
charge against either Mr. Summertrees or myself, I will know then
what to say."
"We charge you, sir, with obtaining money under false pretenses,
which is a crime that has landed more than one distinguished financier
Spenser Hale shook his fat forefinger at me, and said: "Tut, tut,
Valmont; we mustn't threaten, we mustn't threaten, you know"; but I
went on without heeding him.
"Take, for instance, Lord Semptam. You sold a table for fifty
pounds, on the installment plan. He was to pay a pound a week, and in
less than a year the debt was liquidated. But he is an absent-minded
man, as all your clients are. That is why you came to me. I had
answered the bogus Willoughby's advertisement. And so you kept on
collecting and collecting for something more than three years. Now
do you understand the charge?"
Mr. Macpherson's head, during this accusation, was held slightly
inclined to one side. At first his face was clouded by the most
clever imitation of anxious concentration of mind I had ever seen,
and this was gradually cleared away by the dawn of awakening
perception. When I had finished, an ingratiating smile hovered about
"Really, you know," he said, "that is rather a capital scheme.
The absent-minded league, as one might call them. Most ingenious.
Summertrees, if he had any sense of humor, which he hasn't, would be
rather taken by the idea that his innocent fad for Christian Science
had led him to be suspected of obtaining money under false pretenses.
But, really, there are no pretensions about the matter at all. As I
understand it, I simply call and receive the money through the
forgetfulness of the persons on my list, but where I think you would
have both Summertrees and myself, if there was anything in your
audacious theory, would be an indictment for conspiracy. Still, I
quite see how the mistake arises. You have jumped to the conclusion
that we sold nothing to Lord Semptam except that carved table three
years ago. I have pleasure in pointing out to you that his lordship
is a frequent customer of ours, and has had many things from us at one
time or another. Sometimes he is in our debt; sometimes we are in
his. We keep a sort of running contract with him by which he pays us
a pound a week. He and several other customers deal on the same plan,
and in return, for an income that we can count upon, they get the
first offer of anything in which they are supposed to be interested.
As I have told you, we call these sheets in the office our visiting
lists, but to make the visiting lists complete you need what we term
our encyclopedia. We call it that because it is in so many volumes ;
a volume for each year, running back I don't know how long. You will
notice little figures here from time to time above the amount stated
on this visiting list. These figures refer to the page of the
encyclopedia for the current year, and on that page is noted the next
sale and the amount as it might be set down, say, in a ledger." "That
is a very entertaining explanation, Mr. Macpherson. I suppose this
encyclopedia, as you call it, is in the shop at Tottenham Court Road?"
"Oh, no, sir. Each volume of the encyclopedia is self-locking.
These books contain the real secret of our business, and they are
kept in the safe at Mr. Summertrees's house in Park Lane. Take Lord
Semptam's account, for instance. You will find in faint figures
under a certain date, 102. If you turn to page 102 of the
encyclopedia for that year, you will then see a list of what Lord
Semptam has bought, and the prices he was charged for them. It is
really a very simple matter. If you will allow me to use your
telephone for a moment I will ask Mr. Summertrees, who has not yet
begun dinner, to bring with him here the volume for 1893, and within
a quarter of an hour you will he perfectly satisfied that everything
is quite legitimate."
I confess that the young man's naturalness and confidence
staggered me, the more so as I saw by the sarcastic smile on Hale's
lips that he did not believe a single word spoken. A portable
telephone stood on the table, and as Macpherson finished his
explanation, he reached over and drew it toward him. Then Spenser
"Excuse me," he said, "I'll do the telephoning. What is the call
number of Mr. Summertrees?"
"One forty Hyde Park."
Hale at once called up Central, and presently was answered from
Park Lane. We heard him say: "Is this the residence of Mr.
Summertrees? Oh, is that you, Podgers? Is Mr. Summertrees in? Very
well. This is Hale. I am in Valmont's flat— Imperial Flats—you
know. Yes, where you went with me the other day. Very well, go to
Mr. Summertrees, and say to him that Mr. Macpherson wants the
encyclopedia for 1893. Do you get that? Yes, encyclopedia. Oh,
don't understand what it is. Mr. Macpherson. No, don't mention my
name at all. Just say Mr. Macpherson wants the encyclopedia for the
year 1893, and that you are to bring it. Yes, you may tell him that
Mr. Macpherson is at Imperial Flats, but don't mention my name at all.
Exactly. As soon as he gives you the book, get into a cab, and come
here as quickly as possible with it. If Summertrees doesn't want to
let the book go, then tell him to come with you. If he won't do that,
place him under arrest, and bring both him and the book here. All
right. Be as quick as you can; we're waiting."
Macpherson made no protest against Hale's use of the telephone; he
merely sat back in his chair with a resigned expression on his face
which, if painted on canvas, might have been entitled, "The Falsely
Accused." When Hale rang off, Macpherson said: "Of course you know
your own business best, but if your man arrests Summertrees, he will
make you the laughingstock of London. There is such a thing as
unjustifiable arrest, as well as getting money under false pretenses,
and Mr. Summertrees is not the man to forgive an insult. And then, if
you will allow me to say so, the more I think over your absent-minded
theory, the more absolutely grotesque it seems, and, if the case ever
gets into the newspapers, I am sure, Mr. Hale, you'll experience an
uncomfortable half hour with your chiefs at Scotland Yard."
"I'll take the risk of that, thank you," said Hale stubbornly.
"Am I to consider myself under arrest?" inquired the young man.
"Then, if you will pardon me, I shall withdraw. Mr. Summertrees
will show you everything you wish to see in his books, and can explain
his business more capably than I, because he knows more about it;
therefore, gentlemen, I bid you good night."
"No you don't. Not just yet awhile," exclaimed Hale, rising to
his feet simultaneously with the young man.
"Then I am under arrest," protested Macpherson.
"You're not going to leave this room until Podgers brings that
"Oh, very well, and he sat down again.
And now, as talking is dry work, I set out something to drink, a
box of cigars, and a box of cigarettes. Hale mixed his favorite brew,
but Macpherson, shunning the wine of his country, contented himself
with a glass of plain mineral water, and lit a cigarette. Then he
awoke my high regard by saying pleasantly, as if nothing had
happened: "While we are waiting, Monsieur Valmont, may I remind you
that you owe me five shillings?"
I laughed, took the coin from my pocket, and paid him, whereupon
he thanked me.
"Are you connected with Scotland Yard, Monsieur Valmont?" asked
Macpherson, with the air of a man trying to make conversation to
bridge over a tedious interval; but before I could reply Hale blurted
out: "Not likely!"
"You have no official standing as a detective, then, Monsieur
"None whatever," I replied quickly, thus getting in my oar ahead
"That is a loss to our country," pursued this admirable young man,
with evident sincerity.
I began to see I could make a good deal of so clever a fellow if
he came under my tuition.
"The blunders of our police," he went on, "are something
deplorable. If they would but take lessons in strategy, say, from
France, their unpleasant duties would be so much more acceptably
performed, with much less discomfort to their victims."
"France," snorted Hale in derision, "why, they call a man guilty
there until he's proven innocent."
"Yes, Mr. Hale, and the same seems to be the case in Imperial
Flats. You have quite made up your mind that Mr. Summertrees is
guilty, and will not be content until he proves his innocence. I
venture to predict that, you will hear from him before long in a
manner that may astonish you."
Hale grunted and looked at his watch. The time passed very slowly
as we sat there smoking and at last even I began to get uneasy.
Macpherson, seeing our anxiety, said that when he came in the fog
was almost as thick as it had been the week before, and that there
might be some difficulty in getting a cab. Just as he was speaking the
door was unlocked from the outside, and Podgers entered, bearing a
thick volume in his hand. This he gave to his superior, who turned
over its pages in amazement, and then looked at the back, crying:
"Encyclopedia of Sport, 1893! What sort of a joke is this,
There was a pained look on Mr. Macpherson's face as he reached
forward and took the book. He said with a sigh: "If you had allowed
me to telephone, Mr. Hale, I should have made it perfectly plain to
Summertrees what was wanted. I might have known this mistake was
liable to occur. There is an increasing demand for out-of-date books
of sport, and no doubt Mr. Summertrees thought this was what I meant.
There is nothing for it but to send your man back to Park Lane and
tell Mr. Summertrees that what we want is the locked volume of
accounts for 1893, which we call the encyclopedia. Allow me to write
an order that will bring it. Oh, I'll show you what I have written
before your man takes it," he said, as Hale stood ready to look over
On my note paper he dashed off a request such as he had outlined;
and handed it to Hale, who read it and gave it to Podgers.
"Take that to Summertrees, and get back as quickly as possible.
Have you a cab at the door?"
"Is it foggy outside?"
"Not so much, sir, as it was an hour ago. No difficulty about the
traffic now, sir."
"Very well, get back as soon as you can."
Podgers saluted, and left with the book under his arm. Again the
door was locked, and again we sat smoking in silence until the
stillness was broken by the tinkle of the telephone. Hale put the
receiver to his ear.
"Yes, this is the Imperial Flats. Yes. Valmont. Oh, yes;
Macpherson is here. What? Out of what? Can't hear you. Out of
print. What, the encyclopedia's out of print? Who is that speaking?
Dr. Willoughby; thanks."
Macpherson rose as if he would go to the telephone, but instead
(and he acted so quietly that I did not notice what he was doing until
the thing was done) he picked up the sheet which he called his
visiting list, and walking quite without haste, held it in the
glowing coals of the fireplace until it disappeared in a flash of
flame up the chimney. I sprang to my feet indignant, but too late to
make even a motion toward saving the sheet. Macpherson regarded us
both with that self-depreciatory smile which had several times
lighted up his face.
"How dared you burn that sheet?" I demanded.
"Because, Monsieur Valmont, it did not belong to you; because you
do not belong to Scotland Yard; because you stole it; because you had
no right to it; and because you have no official standing in this
country. If it had been in Mr. Hale's possession I should not have
dared, as you put it, to destroy the sheet, but as this sheet was
abstracted from my master's premises by you, an entirely unauthorized
person, whom he would have been justified in shooting dead if he had
found you housebreaking; and you had resisted him on his discovery, I
took the liberty of destroying the document. I have always held that
these sheets should not have been kept, for, as has been the case, if
they fell under the scrutiny of so intelligent a person as Eugene
Valmont, improper inferences might have been drawn. Mr. Summertrees,
however, persisted in keeping them, but made this concession, that if
I ever telegraphed him or telephoned him the word 'Encyclopedia,' he
would at once burn these records, and he, on his part, was to
telegraph or telephone to me 'The encyclopedia is out of print,'
whereupon I would know that he had succeeded.
"Now, gentlemen, open this door, which will save me the trouble of
forcing it. Either put me formally under arrest, or cease to restrict
my liberty. I am very much obliged to Mr. Hale for telephoning, and
I have made no protest to so gallant a host as Monsieur Valmont is,
because of the locked door. However, the farce is now terminated.
The proceedings I have sat through were entirely illegal, and if you
will pardon me, Mr. Hale, they have been a little too French to go
down here in old England, or to make a report in the newspapers that
would be quite satisfactory to your chiefs. I demand either my formal
arrest or the unlocking of that door."
In silence I pressed a button, and my man threw. Open the door.
Macpherson walked to the threshold, paused, and looked back at
Spenser Hale, who sat there silent as a sphinx.
"Good evening, Mr. Hale."
There being no reply, he turned to me with the same ingratiating
"Good evening, Monsieur Eugene Valmont," he said. "I shall give
myself the pleasure of calling next Wednesday at six for my five