Accordingly he drew a sheet of paper to him and wrote:—
“Strictly private and confidential,
“New Scotland Yard.
“Dear Dr. Philpot,—You will be surprised to hear from me, and particularly to learn that I believe I have got my hands on the man wanted for the affair I have been working on. I do not wish to give details in a letter, but it is a man whom you know well and whom we all thought to be dead. You can probably guess from this.
“We have found that under an alias he has been transferring his money abroad, and in the name of the stockbrokers concerned I have asked him to meet their junior partner at Waverley Station, Edinburgh, on Tuesday next at on the arrival of the from King’s Cross. The junior partner will not be there, but I shall, and I hope to make the arrest.
“My difficulty is that I cannot myself identify the wanted man. In this I want your kind help. Will you please meet me under Scott’s Monument at ? I shall then ask you to accompany me to the station and from some inconspicuous place keep a lookout for him. When you see him you will tell me and I shall do the rest.
“I ask you to assist me in this, and feel sure that when you consider all the circumstances of the case you will agree to do so.
“Will you please wire your decision on receipt of this letter.
For the next few hours French was like the proverbial hen on the hot griddle. Every time his telephone bell rang he snatched up the receiver hoping that the caller was the post office from which he had sent his message. Every time the door opened he looked up eagerly to see if it was not an orange coloured telegraph message that was being brought in. He found it hard to settle to work, so much depended on his plans succeeding.
When, therefore, about a wire was brought to him, he had to exercise real self-control not to snatch the paper from the messenger. And then he could have laughed with delight. The message had been handed in at the General Post Office in Edinburgh, and read:—
“To Dashwood and Munce,
“Dover House,
“Gracechurch Street,“Your wire. Will meet Munce as suggested.
So far, so very excellent! Here was the major difficulty overcome! On evening the public career of John Roper would come to a sudden stop. The end of the case was at last in sight.
Early the next morning a second telegram was handed to French, which gave him almost equally great satisfaction. It was from Philpot and read:—
“Will meet you place and time stated.”
There was now just one other point to be settled. Roper was coming to the station to meet Munce. But Munce was not going to Edinburgh. Someone must therefore take his place.
It would be better to have someone as like Munce in appearance as possible. In spite of the statement of the partners, Roper might have got a glimpse of Munce or at least have had his description. In view of this very summons he might make it his business to learn what the man was like. French considered his brother officers and he soon saw that Inspector Tanner, with a slight makeup, could present himself as a very passable imitation of the junior partner. The men were about the same build and colouring, and an alteration in the cut of Tanner’s hair, a pair of spectacles, different clothes and a change of manner would do all that was necessary.
French went to Tanner’s room and arranged the matter. Tanner was to call and see Munce on some matter of a prospective investment which would afterwards fall through, and while there observe his model. He would then make himself up and travel to Edinburgh by the from King’s Cross. On reaching Waverley he would cooperate with French as circumstances demanded.
To enable him to keep his appointment with Philpot, French found he must leave London on the Monday night. He therefore took the from Euston, and about reached Princess Street Station. He had not been to Edinburgh for years, and emerging from the station, he was struck afresh with the beauty of the gardens and the splendour of the Castle Rock. But Princess Street itself, which he had once thought so magnificent, seemed to have shrunk, and its buildings to have grown smaller and plainer. “Too much foreign travel,” he thought, vaguely regretful of his change of outlook; “the towns abroad certainly spoil one for ours.”
He spent most of the day in exploring the historic buildings of the old town, then as approached he entered the Princess Street Gardens, and strolling towards Scott’s Monument, took his stand in an inconspicuous place and looked around him.
Almost immediately he saw Philpot. The doctor was muffled in a heavy coat, a thick scarf high about his ears, and fur-lined gloves—a getup, French shrewdly suspected, intended more as a disguise from Roper than a protection from the cold. He was approaching from the Waverley Station direction, walking slowly, as if conscious that he was early. French moved to meet him.
“Well, doctor, this is very good of you. A surprising development, isn’t it?”
Philpot shook hands, and glancing round, said eagerly:
“Look here, I want to understand about it. I was quite thrilled by your letter. You tell me you know the Starvel murderer, and you seem to hint that it is Roper—at least, I don’t know whom else you can refer to. But surely, Inspector, you couldn’t mean that?”
“Why not?”
“Why not? Why, because—I don’t know, but the idea seems
