“You are quite right; it is too large. I consider myself very much to blame, both for that and in the matter of the insurance. But I had not meant to keep the stones there long. Indeed, negotiations for the sale of the larger portion were actually in progress. On the other hand, it is due to myself to point out that the safe is of a very efficient modern pattern.”
“That is so, sir. Now can you tell me who, besides yourself, knew of the existence of those stones?”
“I’m afraid,” Mr. Duke admitted despondently, “there was no secret about it. Gething knew, of course. He was entirely in my confidence about such matters. Vanderkemp, my outdoor man, knew that I had made some heavy purchases recently, as he not only conducted the negotiations, but personally brought the stones to the office. Besides, there were letters about them, accessible to all the staff. I am afraid you may take it that everyone in the office knew there was a lot of stuff there, though probably not the exact amount.”
“And the staff may have talked to outsiders. Young people will brag, especially if they are ‘keeping company,’ as the Irish say.”
“I fear that is so,” Mr. Duke agreed, as if deprecating the singular habits of the young.
The Inspector changed his position uneasily, and his hand stole to his pipe. But he checked himself and resumed his questioning. He obtained from Mr. Duke a detailed list of the missing stones, then turned to a new point.
“About that thousand pounds in notes. I suppose you haven’t got the numbers?”
“No, unfortunately. But the bank might know them.”
“We shall inquire. Now, Mr. Duke, about the key. That is another singular thing.”
“It is an amazing thing. I absolutely cannot understand where it came from. As I said, this one never leaves, nor has left, my personal possession, and the other, the only other one, is equally inaccessible in my bank.”
“You always personally opened or closed the safe?”
“Always, or at least it was done by my instructions and in my presence.”
“Oh, well, that is not quite the same thing, you know. Who has ever opened or closed it for you?”
“Gething; and not once or twice, but scores, I suppose I might say hundreds of times. But always in my presence.”
“I understand that, sir. Anyone else besides Mr. Gething?”
Mr. Duke hesitated.
“No,” he said slowly, “no one else. He was the only one I trusted to that extent. And I had reason to trust him,” he added, with a touch of defiance.
“Of course, sir. I recognise that,” French answered smoothly. “I am only trying to get the facts clear in my mind. I take it, then, that the deceased gentleman was the only person, other than yourself, who ever handled your key? It was not within reach of anyone in your house; your servants, for example?”
“No, I never let it lie about. Even at night I kept it attached to me.”
The Inspector rose from his chair.
“Well, sir,” he said politely, “I’m sorry to have kept you so long. Just let me take your finger prints to compare with those in the safe, and I have done. Shall I ring up for a taxi for you?”
Mr. Duke looked at his watch.
“Why, it is nearly one,” he exclaimed. “Yes, a taxi by all means, please.”
Though Inspector French had said that everything possible had been done that night, he did not follow Mr. Duke from the building. Instead, he returned to the inner office and set himself unhurriedly to make a further and more thorough examination of its contents.
He began with the key of the safe. Removing it by the shank with a pair of special pincers, he tested the handle for finger prints, but without success. Looking then at the other end, a slight roughness on one of the wards attracted his attention, and on scrutinising it with his lens, a series of fine parallel scratches was revealed on all the surfaces. “So that’s it, is it?” he said to himself complacently. “Manufacturers don’t leave keys of valuable safes half finished. This one has been cut with a file, and probably,”—he again scrutinised the workmanship—“by an amateur at that. And according to this man Duke, old Gething was the only one that had the handling of the key—that could have taken a wax impression. Well, well; we shall see.”
He locked the safe, dropped the key into his pocket, and turned to the fireplace, soliloquising the while.
The fire had still been glowing red when the crime was discovered shortly after ten o’clock. That meant, of course, that it had been deliberately stoked up, because the fire in the outer office was cold and dead. Someone, therefore, had intended to spend a considerable time in the office. Who could it have been?
As far as French could see, no one but Gething. But if Gething were going to commit the robbery—a matter of perhaps ten minutes at the outside—he would not have required a fire. No, this looked as if there really was some business to be done, something that would take time to carry through. But then, if so, why had Gething not consulted Mr. Duke? French noted the point, to be considered further in the light of future discoveries.
But as to the identity of the person who had built up the fire there should be no doubt. Finger prints again! The coal shovel had a smooth, varnished wooden handle, admirably suited for records, and a short test with the white powder revealed thereon an excellent impression of a right thumb.
The poker next received attention, and here French made his second discovery. Picking it up with the pincers in the same careful way in which he had handled the key, he noticed on the handle a dark brown stain. Beside this stain, and sticking to the metal, was a single white hair.
That he held in his hand the instrument with which the crime was committed seemed certain, and he eagerly
