“No, he went to London nearly a fortnight ago. He has not returned yet. But I’m expecting him every day, as I have instructions from Mr. Duke to send him to Florence.”
French looked interested.
“He went to London?” he repeated. “But I can assure you he never arrived there, or at least never reached Mr. Duke’s office. I have asked Mr. Duke on several occasions about his staff, and he distinctly told me that he had not seen this Mr. Vanderkemp since two or three weeks before the murder.”
“But that’s most extraordinary,” Schoofs exclaimed. “He certainly left here to go to London on—what day was it?—it was the very day poor Gething was murdered. He left by the day service via Rotterdam and Queenborough. At least, he was to do so, for I only saw him on the previous evening.”
“Well, he never arrived. Was it on business he was going?”
“Yes, Mr. Duke wrote for him.”
“Mr. Duke wrote for him?” French echoed, at last genuinely surprised. “What? To cross that day?”
“To see him in the office on the following morning. I can show you the letter.” He touched a bell and gave the necessary instructions. “There it is,” he continued, handing over the paper which the clerk brought in.
It was an octavo sheet of memorandum paper with the firm’s name printed on the top, and bore the following typewritten letter:
“20th November.
“H. A. Schoofs, Esq.
“I should be obliged if you would please ask Mr. Vanderkemp to come over and see me here at 10:00 a.m. on Wednesday, 26th inst., as I wish him to undertake negotiations for a fresh purchase. He may have to go to Stockholm at short notice.”
The note was signed “R. A. Duke,” with the attendant flourish with which French had grown familiar.
He sat staring at the sheet of paper, trying to fit this new discovery into the scheme of things. But it seemed to him an insoluble puzzle. Was Mr. Duke not really the innocent, kindly old gentleman he had fancied, but rather a member, if not the author, of some deep-seated conspiracy? If he had written this note, why had he not mentioned the fact when Vanderkemp was being discussed? Why had he shown surprise when he received Schoofs’ letter saying that the traveller had crossed to London? What was at the bottom of the whole affair?
An idea struck him, and he examined the letter more closely.
“Are you sure this is really Mr. Duke’s signature?” he asked slowly.
Mr. Schoofs looked at him curiously.
“Why, yes,” he answered. “At least, it never occurred to me to doubt it.”
“You might let me see some of his other letters.”
In a few seconds half a dozen were produced, and French began whistling below his breath as he sat comparing the signatures, using a lens which he took from his pocket. After he had examined each systematically, he laid them down on the table and sat back in his chair.
“That was stupid of me,” he announced. “I should have learnt all I wanted without asking for these other letters. That signature is forged. See here, look at it for yourself.”
He passed the lens to Schoofs, who in his turn examined the name.
“You see, the lines of that writing are not smooth; they are a mass of tiny shakes and quivers. That means that they have not been written quickly and boldly; they have been slowly drawn or traced over pencil. Compare one of these other notes and you will see that while at a distance the signatures look identical, in reality they are quite different. No, Mr. Duke never wrote that. I am afraid Mr. Vanderkemp has been the victim of some trick.”
Schoofs was visibly excited. He hung on the other’s words and nodded emphatically at his conclusions. Then he swore comprehensively in Dutch. “Good heavens, Inspector!” he cried. “You see the significance of all that?”
French glanced at him keenly.
“In what way?” he demanded.
“Why, here we have a murder and a robbery, and then we have this, occurring at the very same time. … Well, does it not look suggestive?”
“You mean the two things are connected?”
“Well, what do you think?” Mr. Schoofs replied with some impatience.
“It certainly does look like it,” French admitted slowly. Already his active brain was building up a theory, but he wanted to get the other’s views. “You are suggesting, I take it, that Vanderkemp may have been concerned in the crime?”
Schoofs shook his head decidedly.
“I am suggesting nothing of the kind,” he retorted. “That’s not my job. The thing merely struck me as peculiar.”
“No, no,” French answered smoothly, “I have not expressed myself clearly. Neither of us is making any accusation. We are simply consulting together in a private, and, I hope, a friendly way, each anxious only to find out the truth. Any suggestion may be helpful. If I make the suggestion that Mr. Vanderkemp is the guilty man in order to enable us to discuss the possibility, it does not follow that either of us believes it to be true, still less that I should act on it.”
“I am aware of that, but I don’t make any such suggestion.”
“Then I do,” French declared, “simply as a basis for discussion. Let us suppose then, purely for argument’s sake, that Mr. Vanderkemp decides to make some of the firm’s wealth his own. He is present when the stones are being put into the safe, and in some way when Mr. Duke’s back is turned, he takes an impression of the key. He crosses to London, either finds Gething in the office or is interrupted by him, murders the old man, takes the diamonds, and clears out. What do you think of that?”
“What about the letter?”
“Well, that surely fits in? Mr. Vanderkemp must leave this office in some way which won’t arouse your suspicion or cause you to ask questions of the London office. What better way than by forging the letter?”
Mr. Schoofs swore for the second time. “If he has
