“I called, sir, at the address you gave me,” he reported. “Miss Gething was there, and I told her what had occurred. She was considerably upset, and asked me if I could get a message to her sister and brother-in-law at 12 Deeley Terrace, Hawkins Street, in Battersea. I said I would fetch them for her. The brother-in-law, name of Gamage, was from home in Leeds, being a traveller for a firm of fur dealers, but Mrs. Gamage was there and I took her across. It seemed the old lady had wanted to know what was up, and Miss Gething had told her, and she had got some kind of stroke. They asked me to call a doctor, which I did. The two daughters say they can’t get across here on account of being occupied with the mother.”
“So much the better,” French commented, and having added the names and addresses of Mr. and Mrs. Gamage to his list, he turned to the doctor.
“Well, Doctor,” he said pleasantly, “how do you get on?”
The doctor straightened himself up from his position over the corpse.
“I’ve done all I can here,” he answered. “I don’t think there’s any doubt the man was killed instantaneously by the blow on the head. The skull is fractured, apparently by some heavy, blunt weapon. I should think it was done from behind while the old fellow was stooping, possibly working at the safe, though that, perhaps, is your province.”
“I’m glad of the hint anyway. Now, gentlemen, I think that’s all we can do tonight. Can your men remove the body, Superintendent? I want to stay for a moment to take a few measurements. You’ll let me know tomorrow about the inquest? Mr. Orchard, you might stay a moment also; there is a question or two I want to ask you.”
The Superintendent had sent one of his men for a stretcher, and the remains were lifted on and carried slowly down to the waiting taxi. With an exchange of good nights, the local men withdrew, leaving Inspector French, Mr. Duke, Orchard, and the two plain-clothes men from the Yard in charge of the premises.
II
The Firm of Duke and Peabody
When Inspector French ushered the clerk, Orchard, into the inner office, they found Mr. Duke pacing the floor with an expression of utter mystification imprinted on his features.
“I say, Inspector, here’s a puzzle,” he cried. “I happened to look behind the safe door, and I find it has been opened with a key. I thought at first it had been broken or forced or the lock somehow picked. But I see it is unlocked.”
“Yes, I noticed that, sir,” French answered. “But I don’t follow you. What is the mystery about that?”
“Why, the key, of course. To my certain knowledge there were only two keys in existence. One I keep on my ring, which is chained to my belt and never leaves me day nor night. There it is. The other is lodged with my bankers, where no one could possibly get at it. Now, where did the thief get the key that is now in the lock?”
“That is one of the things we have to find out,” French replied. “You may perhaps think it strange, but a point of that kind, which at first seems to deepen the mystery, often proves a blessing in disguise. It provides another point of attack, you understand, and frequently it narrows down the area of inquiry. You haven’t touched the key, I hope?”
“No. I remembered what you said about finger prints.”
“Good. Now, gentlemen, if you will please sit down, I want to ask you a few questions. I’ll take you first, Mr. Orchard. I have your name, and your address is Bloomsbury Square. Now tell me, is that your home?”
The young fellow answered the questions without hesitation, and French noted approvingly his direct glance and the evident candour with which he spoke. The Bloomsbury Square address, it appeared, was that of a boarding house, the clerk’s home being in Somerset. He had left the office at about half-past five that afternoon, Mr. Gething being then almost ready to follow. Mr. Gething was usually the last out of the office. Orchard had noticed nothing unusual in his manner that day, though for the last two or three weeks he had seemed somewhat moody and depressed. Orchard had gone from the office to Liverpool Street, where he had caught the 5:52 to Ilford. There he had had supper with a friend, a man called Forrest, a clerk in a shipping office in Fenchurch Street. He had left about 9:30, getting back to town a little before 10:00. The rain had stopped, and as he did not get as much exercise as he could have wished, he resolved to walk home from the station. Hatton Garden was but little out of his way, and as he approached it he remembered that he had left in his desk a book he had changed at the library at lunch time. He had decided to call in and get it, so as to read for a while before going to sleep. He had done so, and had found Mr. Gething’s body, as he had already explained. The outer street door had been closed, and he had opened it with his latch key. Both the office doors were open, that between the landing and the outer office and that of Mr. Duke’s room. The lights were on everywhere, except that in the outer office only the single central bulb was burning, the desk lamps being off. He had seen no one about the offices.
French, having complimented the young fellow on his clear statement, bade him good night and sent him home. But as he passed out of the room he whispered to one of his men, who promptly nodded and also disappeared. French turned to Mr. Duke.
“That seems a straightforward young fellow,” he observed. “What is your opinion of him?”
“Absolutely
