Though the information French sent to the Yard was negative, he obtained some news in return which so filled his mind that his disappointment was forgotten and his revitalised energies were started off in a new channel.
It appeared that Lyde had also left Town. He had booked to Folkestone by the 3 p.m. from Charing Cross, and Willis and his helpers had travelled by the same train. Sheen, moreover was apparently contemplating a similar bolt. He had had a telephone call at the office to say that his wife had been run over by a car and was seriously hurt and asking him to go home at once. Tanner had shadowed him home, and incidentally had found out that Mrs Sheen, though out, was in perfect health. Sheen had now left his house, but no information as to his destination had as yet been received.
French found himself immediately confronted by a pressing problem. If the plan agreed on at the Yard were carried out, Willis would arrest Lyde if he attempted to go on board the boat at Folkestone. This had seemed the obvious thing to do when the affair was being discussed. But now the circumstances were altered. Additional information was available. One of the three men had already been arrested, and no jewels had been found on him. If so, was it not likely that the same would obtain in the cases of the other two?
French thought so. If they were going to take the stones out of the country on their persons, they would surely have divided them into three lots and each would have taken one. It now looked as if some other method of disposing of the booty had been adopted. Could the men still not be made to reveal it?
The immediate question then was whether Lyde and Sheen should be allowed to leave the country if they attempted to do so, being shadowed to their several destinations? The objection, of course, was that if they were once out of England, French’s powers of arrest would be invalid. He would have to depend on the police of the country in which he found himself, and owing to unavoidable formal delays, the men might succeed in giving him the slip.
French tried to get through to Sir Mortimer Ellison, but unfortunately the A.C. was not in his office. And there was no one else in authority who understood the circumstances. French, therefore, decided to act on his own initiative. He thought he was justified, as he had been given practically a free hand.
A hurried dip into a timetable showed that the 3 p.m. train from Charing Cross was due at Folkestone Central at 5.03. It was now after half-past four, so that by taking a car there would be plenty of time to meet it. French rang up for a taxi, and he and his two men had already taken their places, when a furiously waving constable caused his driver to stop. French was once again wanted on the telephone.
It was another message from the Yard. Sheen, followed by Tanner and his men, had left Victoria by the 4.20 for Folkestone Harbour, having booked to Boulogne.
French found that Sir Mortimer had just returned to his office, and he consumed five of his precious remaining minutes in explaining what he proposed. To his great satisfaction he at once received the hierarchic blessing.
‘I’ll take over Sheen from Tanner at Folkestone, then,’ he concluded. ‘Would you be so good, sir, as to arrange for some help for me at Boulogne?’ Sir Mortimer agreed to this also and rang off.
French urged his driver to speed, with the result that they arrived at Folkestone Central at a minute before five. There from behind a convenient pile of luggage French watched the train come in. Almost at once he saw Lyde, walking smartly from his compartment with a small suitcase in his hand. Then Willis hove in sight in a pullover and plus fours with a bag of golf clubs over his shoulder, the sporting Briton to the life. French edged up beside him.
‘We pulled in Sloley and found nothing on him,’ he murmured. ‘You’d better follow Lyde to wherever he’s going on the Continent. Keep in touch with me through the Yard.’
Willis nodded and passed on with the others, while French, after seeing that the coast was clear, followed discreetly to the Harbour Station. There he watched hare and hounds go on board the Boulogne boat, as he had expected they would.
When the 4.20 boat-train from Victoria arrived, French had once more found a suitable cover from which to observe the descending passengers. Sheen got out of one of the first compartments, and passport in hand, moved off with the other travellers. Tanner was not far behind him, and in a moment French was beside him.
‘The A.C. has ’phoned me to take over,’ he said, and in a few words explained the situation. Tanner nodded and dropped behind, while French, also with his papers, followed Sheen to the passport officer. A moment later they were on board the boat.
Sheen had engaged a private cabin, and into this he immediately disappeared. French obtained another, from the slightly open door of which he could watch Sheen’s, while himself remaining hidden from possible discovery by Lyde.
At Boulogne things worked out better than he could have hoped. From his porthole French could see Lyde among the first of those to pass down the gangway. Close behind him moved Willis’ tall form and bag of golf clubs. Not until almost everyone else had gone ashore did Sheen appear, and he was clear of the immediate surroundings before French ventured to follow. Thanks to Sir Mortimer’s use of the telephone, French found a plain-clothes member of the Boulogne police force awaiting him. With uncanny precision this man, who had lounged near the gangway while the passengers were disembarking, picked out French the moment he set foot on the quay. French pleased him by congratulating him on his skill, then rapidly explained what was wanted.
‘Your man knows your appearance?’ the Frenchman queried.
‘Unfortunately he does.’
‘Then, monsieur, if you will keep out of sight, I will find out where he goes and let you know.’
Nothing could have pleased French better. And in the end nothing could have proved more valuable. Indeed, had it not been for the Frenchman, it was not unlikely that the trail would have been lost altogether.
Sheen did not go forward by the boat-train. Instead, as soon as he was through the customs, he took a taxi and drove off. Neither French nor his helpers could have found out where the vehicle was bound, but the plain-clothes man ambling lazily past as the direction was given, heard all that passed. He ambled on till the taxi was out of sight, then hurried back to French.
‘Your man has chartered a taxi for Etaples,’ he explained. ‘If you take another you’ll be able to keep him in sight all the way.’
‘Etaples?’ French returned in surprise. ‘What on earth is he going there for?’
The Frenchman shrugged politely. He supposed the chief-inspector had no idea of where his man might be heading?
‘One of the trio booked to Brussels,’ French suggested.
Again the other shrugged, shaking his head. He could make no suggestion, save that Brussels was a blind and that the reunion was to take place in Etaples. Here, however, was another taxi, and if French didn’t want to lose his quarry, he advised that he should start at once.
French thanked him and jumped with his satellites into the vehicle, but before it could start, Willis appeared with hand upraised.
‘Lyde’s booked to Paris and has got into the front of the train,’ he murmured and vanished. Five seconds later, sitting well back in the taxi, French was driving quickly towards the town.
After passing through Boulogne their driver put on a spurt. The road led inland, though they could see at intervals the sand dunes of the coast. Soon they noticed ahead another taxi and the driver slackened speed so as just to keep it in sight. It was not travelling fast, about thirty miles an hour or more.
From Boulogne to Etaples is only some eighteen miles, and in a little over half an hour they reached the outskirts of the latter town. Here the driver accelerated sharply, closing up on the quarry. Presently they reached the railway station, where they watched Sheen pay off his vehicle and disappear into the building. While French was settling with his driver, Shaw jumped out and followed Sheen.
French and Carter took cover behind a convenient lorry to await events. Presently they saw Sheen emerge from the station, cross the street, and disappear into an hotel. A moment later Shaw joined them.
‘Went in to check up some trains that he had in a notebook,’ said Shaw. ‘He didn’t see me.’
‘You don’t know what trains?’
‘The local sheet: Calais to Paris.’
French nodded. ‘Good cover in that station?’
‘Not too bad.’
‘We’ll wait there.’
It was now half-past eight and growing very cold. The station was draughty and unattractive. French was a little doubtful as to his proper course. Sheen might well be going to spend the night in his hotel, and if so, there was no use in the others hanging about. Fortunately, they had had a meal. French had wisely had some supper sent to their cabin, on the boat.
‘I don’t want to go into that hotel,’ French explained. ‘If Sheen saw me it would be good-bye to getting the stones. And I don’t want either of you to go either. So I’ll ask the local police to send a man to make inquiries. You both wait where you are.’
This plan worked satisfactorily. A gendarme at once saw the manager of the hotel and reported to French. Sheen was not staying the night. He had explained that he was going to Calais by the eleven o’clock train.
There seemed then to be no need to wait at the station, and French and his party went to another hotel to kill time. But well before eleven they returned to the station, booked to Calais, and took cover.
French’s anxieties were soon dispelled. Sheen entered the station about five minutes to eleven and booked. The train came in and he climbed on board. The others followed, taking the next coach.
At each stopping place they looked out guardedly, but till they reached Calais Sheen made no move. There he went quickly out of the station, and disappeared into the nearest hotel.
At such an hour—it was quarter past twelve—French didn’t like applying for help to the local police. But there seemed nothing else to be done. He therefore found the police station and made his inquiries. From there a telephone to the manager of the hotel produced the needed information. Sheen had asked to be called early, as he was taking the 5.37 train to Lille.
Once again French repeated his manœuvre of the early evening. Choosing another hotel, he arranged with his men to keep watch in turn during the night, so as to ensure being at the railway in time in the morning. There they booked to Lille, took cover till Sheen had entered the train, and followed into the next coach. At each station—places many of them whose names are burnt into the heart of every Englishman: Hazebrouck, Bailleul, Armentières—they looked out and made sure that Sheen did not leave the train.
They reached Lille without incident, but here they were confronted by an unexpected difficulty. Sheen remained in his compartment. Fortunately there was a stop of eight minutes and French rushed to the booking-office and in a somewhat halting mixture of French and English, took the clerk into his confidence. Where was the train going on to?
The clerk quickly grasped the difficulty. The train went to Orchies, Valenciennes, Aulnoye for Paris and Brussels, and Hirson.
Brussels! Sloley had booked to Brussels! Could Brussels be the rendezvous?
To be on the safe side, French took three singles to Hirson, and sprinting for all he was worth, caught the train just as it was beginning to move.
The three men resumed their tactics of looking out at each stop, but it was not till they reached Aulnoye that they saw Sheen. There he alighted, and made his way to the north-bound platform.
There was some forty minutes to wait, and then at 11.29 the Paris-Brussels express thundered into the station. It stopped for seven minutes, so there was time to see what Sheen did before booking. But he acted as they expected. He climbed into the train and the others followed in due course.
It seemed evident, then, that Brussels really was the meeting-place. Sheen’s trip to Etaples and Lyde’s to Paris were doubtless undertaken to cover any scent that might have been laid.
On reaching Brussels Midi slightly different tactics were employed. Shaw was sent forward to reconnoitre, while French and Carter kept in the background.
At a distance the last two followed Shaw. They were interested to see that the quarry didn’t leave the station. Sheen headed to the booking-office, and they watched Shaw take his place behind him in the queue. Sheen booked and moved off, and French, fearful that while himself booking Shaw might lose the trail, hastened after Sheen. But in a couple of minutes Shaw overtook him, and French dropped back into his former obscurity.
Sheen appeared at ease and completely unconscious that he was being shadowed. He walked to the station restaurant and disappeared within. Shaw stopped at the door, and French hastened up to him.
‘What about a second door?’ he asked rapidly.
‘He’s booked to Amsterdam by the two-fifty,’ Shaw answered in the same way. ‘I think he’s safe enough.’
‘He might be on to us and it might be a trick,’ French insisted. ‘Better have a squint in and see that all’s well.’
Shaw disappeared, but returned in a few seconds. Sheen was seated at a table and was discussing the menu with the waiter.
‘I’m sure, sir,’ Shaw declared, ‘he’s not on to us. He didn’t see me at the booking window. I let a girl get in between us. He booked a second single to Amsterdam and asked if the train was fourteen-fifty. The clerk said yes, that it was the “Northern Star” pullman express, and that there was a supplement.’
‘Did they talk English?’
Shaw grinned. ‘I know enough French for that, sir.’
‘Good for you. Did you book?’
‘No, sir. I slipped out of the queue to follow him. I knew there’d be plenty of time.’
This news seemed extraordinarily satisfactory to French. Amsterdam! A name almost synonymous with precious stones! If these three had intended to meet in Amsterdam, the end was surely in sight.
There was a couple of hours till the train left. ‘You book three singles,’ he said to Carter, ‘while I go to police headquarters and get a message through to the Yard.’
He left the station and took a taxi. At the police station he met a polite and helpful officer who gave him some news in excellent English.
‘Ah, monsieur, we have heard already of your chase. One of your men sent us a letter, it is not yet half an hour—’ He took a paper from a file and glanced at it. ‘Ouilli? Is it not?’
‘That’s right, monsieur,’ French answered, ‘Willis.’
‘Ah, you call it Ouillize. Your English names!’ He shrugged good-humouredly. ‘This Ouillize, he has just left from the Gare du Midi by the 12.51 for Amsterdam. He has come this morning from Paris. He sent the letter by one of our men, and he asked us to inform your Scotland Yard of his movements. We did so immediately.’
‘That’s the best news you could have given me,’ French declared heartily. ‘It shows me I’m on the right track with my own inquiry. Will you do me the same favour you’ve already done my colleague—ring up Scotland Yard and ask them to advise Willis that I have traced Sheen here, that he has booked to Amsterdam by the two-fifty, and that I’m going on by the same train. Also will you ask them to advise the Amsterdam men to give me the help I’ll want. They know in London what that is.’
The officer promised he would do so at once.
‘Fine,’ said French heartily. ‘I can’t say how grateful I am. It’s that case of the safe burglary in Kingsway, London. I think we’ve got the men.’
‘I have read of the case. Congratulations, monsieur, on your success up to the present.’
French thanked the polite officer, then excusing himself on the ground that it was getting near his train time, he returned to the station.
Carter was waiting for him.
‘He’s in the train,’ he said. ‘Shaw’s at the barrier. Here are the tickets.’
The train, with a single stop at Antwerp Est, ran express to Rosendaal, where they crossed the frontier. The journey across Dutch territory was equally quickly carried out, and at 6.50 to the minute they drew into the Central Station at Amsterdam.
Once again the burden of the chase fell on Shaw. He kept reasonably close to Sheen, while French and Carter followed far to the rear.
One of the first persons they saw on the platform was Willis.
‘Just got word from the Yard you were coming in on this train,’ he said. ‘My bird’s gone to roost in the Hotel des Pays Bas.’
‘Fine,’ French answered hurriedly. ‘I wish you’d relieve Shaw. He’s following Sheen, and he’s done it so long that he might be recognised any time.’
Willis nodded. ‘My room is 75 at the Pays Bas,’ he breathed, and slipped away. In a moment Shaw returned to the others.
‘Inspector Willis has taken over?’ he said interrogatively to French.
‘That’s right. Sheen has never seen him, while you’ve been on to him for about thirty hours. Let’s go to this Hotel des Pays Bas.’
The omnibus hadn’t left and they got on board. At the hotel Shaw was sent in to reconnoitre, and it was not till he reported all clear that the others followed. French showed his card to the reception clerk, and they were taken upstairs to wait in Willis’s room.
Presently the telephone rang. French picked up the receiver.
It was Willis. Sheen, it appeared, had gone to the Hotel Amstel, booked a room, asked for letters and gone upstairs. What would French like Willis to do?
‘Where did you leave Lyde?’ French asked in return.
‘In the smoking room of the des Pays Bas.’
‘I’ll put Shaw on to him and then I’ll come round and see you. Where are you now?’
‘At the Amstel. I’ll meet you outside the door.’
‘Right.’
Some careful reconnaisance on French’s part revealed the fact that Lyde was still in the smoking room. Having pointed him out to Shaw, French set off for the Amstel, leaving Carter to assist Shaw, should his help be required. Willis, his hat pulled down and his collar up round his ears, was waiting in a convenient doorway.
‘I expect they’ll meet presently,’ French began. ‘Any trouble following Lyde?’
‘None. He didn’t suspect we were on to him.’
‘Nor did Sheen. Extraordinary, but all the better for us. Go ahead with your story.’
‘It was pretty plain sailing,’ Willis declared. ‘We got to Paris last night at 11.00. Lyde put up at the Terminus Hotel opposite the Gare de l’Est. We all left this morning at 7.00. A deuced slow train, but I suppose it was to avoid travelling with Sheen in the express. We had three-quarters of an hour in Brussels and came on here.’
‘Much the same with us,’ said French, and rapidly sketched the Etaples-Calais journey. ‘The question now is what we’re going to do? Better get the Dutch police on to them, I think, and shadow them till we see if they don’t lift the stones or the equivalent money.’
‘I’ve seen the police,’ Willis answered. ‘They’ve heard from the Yard and they’re out to be helpful.’
‘I expect so. Foreign police usually are.’
Willis slowly filled his pipe. ‘There’s one thing I’ve been thinking over, chief,’ he went on, but French interrupted him.
‘None of that here, old man,’ he said. ‘That’s all right for the Yard, but when we’re alone I’m French as before.’
Willis grinned. ‘Right-o. I’ll remember. But about what I was going to tell you. I wonder if you think there’s anything in it. It’s this. The first thing Lyde did when he got to the des Pays Bas was to ask if there were any letters. There weren’t, but there was a parcel. It was a fairly large book, a bit larger than the ordinary-sized novel, but not so large as the usual encyclopædia; you know, about the size of those novels they sell for eight-and-six or ten shillings.’
French nodded.
‘I know it was a book, because I got the police representative to question the hall porter, and he knew London and had noticed Foyle’s label on it.’
French nodded again.
‘Well, there was nothing in that, but here’s what has made me think. When Sheen got here just now the first thing he asked for was letters. And here again there were none, but there was a book: come by post. This time I happened to see the man’s face, and I’ll swear the book was what he was after, and what’s more, that it was of tremendous importance to him. I could see that from his expression.’
French turned and stared at his companion. ‘Man alive!’ he exclaimed with an oath. ‘You tell me that as a sort of afterthought. Has nothing struck you about it?’
Willis laughed outright. ‘Well, something did strike me, I’ll admit,’ he answered. ‘But I didn’t think there was any immediate hurry. I wasn’t sure, of course. And I couldn’t act without your authority.’
‘We’ll be sure before we’re much older,’ French returned. ‘Valuable books, those two. We’ll have a look inside them before we sleep tonight.’
‘Just a minute, French: there’s not that hurry. I’ve been thinking while you were walking over. Suppose the diamonds are in the books, as we both seem to think. Well, has this occurred to you: each man will have about a third of the lot in his book.’
French stared again. ‘Well, suppose he has?’
‘Then we’ll only get two-thirds.’
‘Two-thirds would be better than none.’
‘Ah, but what about getting the other third as well?’
French’s stare became fixed. He remained motionless so long that Willis began to grin.
‘By heck, I see what you mean: and you’re right. You mean there’s another book lying here in some hotel awaiting Sloley’s call?’
‘I should guess that was about the size of it.’
‘And so would I. You’ve not been asleep, Willis, I will say.’ French considered for a moment, then went on: ‘That reminds me, Sloley called at a post office on his way to the station when he was starting. What price posting a book?’
Willis nodded. ‘That’s the ticket. There’s a big hotel near the Central Station, the Victoria. It looks the biggest and I should think the most likely. If you like to hare off there, I’ll watch the mousehole till you get back.’
‘Bless you, my son. I’ll have to go to police headquarters to get a man.’
‘You’ll find them all right,’ said Willis comfortingly, as French turned away.
French found it hard to control his excitement as he considered the possibilities which might lie in this new development. The sending of the stones through the post in the form of books was just what might be expected from men of the mentality of these three thieves. How the trader’s labels had been obtained—for if one bore a trader’s label, it was probable the others did too—was not, of course, clear, but men who had shown such ingenuity as Sloley, Sheen and Lyde would have had no difficulty in arranging it.
But this was a minor point. What really mattered was that there was now a chance of arresting Sheen and Lyde with the stones actually in their possession. If so, it would bring his case to the most triumphant conclusion that he could possibly wish. It would not only be an overwhelming proof of guilt, but it would recover the swag: the two essentials for which he had been striving.
Sternly repressing his feelings so that he could exhibit the detachment proper to so high an official of the British police, he presented himself at the Amsterdam headquarters. There he was received with politeness and asked, again in excellent English, what his Dutch confrères could have the pleasure of doing for him.
French was obliged for his courteous reception. If it would not be an inconvenience, he would like an officer to accompany him to the Victoria or other hotel, to try and find out if his third suspect had engaged a room there, and if so, to take over any correspondence which might be awaiting him. Would this be possible?
He was assured that nothing could be arranged more easily, and in a few minutes he left for the Victoria in company with a large, grave-faced and silent man named Slaats, who, he thought, but was not sure, occupied the position of an inspector. On the few occasions on which Slaats did speak, it was also in English.
French was too eager about his business to pay much attention to the streets through which they walked, but he could not fail to notice their distinctive and charming character. The outstanding features were, of course the ‘grachten’ or canals, whose waters shimmered peacefully, if somewhat coldly, under the electric lights, and the rows of well-grown elms, now unhappily bare of leaves, with behind them glimpses of the picturesque old seventeenth and eighteenth century houses for which the city is famous.
They soon reached the hotel and Slaats, having asked for the manager and explained to him the situation, suggested that French should be allowed to ask his questions. The manager, obviously anxious that whatever happened, it should be without scandal to the hotel, instantly agreed to give every possible facility.
‘Can you tell me,’ French began, ‘if an Englishman booked a room here for tonight, and if he has failed to turn up?’
The manager could not, but he rang for a clerk, and presently it was found the suggestion of the visitor was correct. A Mr Johnson, of London, had made the reservation, but had not arrived to claim his room.
This looked well, but French was dashed by the answer to his next question. Asked if this Mr Johnson was a stranger, the clerk said not, that he had stayed in the hotel on one previous occasion, about a month earlier. He was, the clerk, understood, an engineer, and was interested in land reclamation; at least he had asked how he might get in touch with the engineers of the great works on the Zuider Zee.
This would seem to rule out Sloley, but French was taking no risks. He handed the clerk his bundle of photographs and asked if Mr Johnson was represented.
Then delight once more surged up in his mind. The clerk, without the slightest hesitation, picked out a photograph. ‘Mr Johnson, sir,’ he declared. It was Sloley’s.
Crushing down unprofessional expressions of satisfaction, French nodded gravely and said that that was the man in whom he was interested. He would like to ask one other question. Had a parcel, a book in all probability, arrived for Mr Johnson? If so, might he see it?
The clerk returned to his office, but almost immediately reappeared with a parcel. French found himself utterly unable to hide his delight when he saw it was a book, wrapped up with the two ends left open, and bearing the label of Messrs Bumpus. It was addressed to Mr A. J. Johnson, Hotel Victoria, Amsterdam, and had not been opened by the Customs.
‘That’s what I was hoping to find,’ said French. ‘There were no other letters, I suppose?’
The clerk shook his head; this was the only thing. ‘But,’ he went on, looking at his manager, ‘I don’t know whether the gentleman would be interested, but I remember that on Mr Johnson’s last visit he received an exactly similar package, a book from the same firm. I try to improve my English by reading, and I have bought books from Messrs Bumpus: that’s how I know their name.’
‘Interested?’ French answered. ‘I should think I am. I’m exceedingly obliged to you for telling me. I think it will help me quite a lot. Now,’ he went on to the manager, ‘I want to take charge of this book. I’ll give you a receipt for it, of course.’
The manager was perfectly agreeable. Once again all he wanted was for French and everything connected with him to leave the hotel and vanish into oblivion. French gravely wrote his receipt, handed it over, and expressed his thanks.
‘I want you to be witness that I take this parcel to headquarters,’ he went on to Slaats, as they left the hotel. ‘I think it may turn out to be valuable.’
At police headquarters French saw again the official with whom he had already dealt. ‘I want one other favour of you, if you will be kind enough,’ he asked, ‘it won’t take long. I want to open this parcel in your presence and the presence of Mynheer Slaats. Can that be arranged?’
Nothing, it appeared, would give the officer more pleasure than to assist his distinguished visitor. The parcel could be opened then and there. They would not be interrupted.
The three men sat round a table. French was almost, but not quite, trembling with excitement. Slowly, controlling himself, he took out his knife and cut the string. Then, equally slowly and carefully, he unwrapped the paper and took out the book.
It was Cripps’ work on Old English Plate, a book measuring something like 9 inches by 6 inches by 2; a book, as French presently discovered, of over 500 pages, and weighing pretty heavily. He attempted to open it, and with a further thrill of pure joy found he could not do so. Pages and covers were stuck tightly together.
On seeing this, Slaats and his superior officer, who had seemed politely bored, waked up suddenly and began to take notice. French continued his operations. Placing the book flat on the table, he inserted his knife between the pages about quarter of the way from the upper cover, and began to cut between the leaves. He carried his cut right round the book except for the spine. then he lifted. This time the cover came up at his cut.
The inside of the book was hollow, and there packed in cotton wool lay a gleaming mass of gems! Diamonds, sapphires, emeralds, rubies: scintillating as if giving off flames of lambent fire. The two Dutchmen gazed with goggling eyes. Apart from the glory before them, here was a demonstration of the methods of the world-famed Scotland Yard which had more than fulfilled their highest expectations. Then at last they swore; at least it sounded like oaths. French beamed effusively. Under the circumstances he could permit himself a somewhat relaxed attitude.
‘This,’ he said, waving his hand over the cache, ‘represents, if I’m correct, one-third of what was stolen. Those other two men about whom you’ve heard, each received books on arrival at their hotels. I suspected what they contained, but wasn’t sure till this moment. It now remains for me to arrest those men before they can get rid of the swag. And there I am in your hands and must ask for your help.’
Help was soon forthcoming. The necessary formalities were quickly undertaken, and about two in the morning both the other hotels were visited, and Sheen and Lyde were taken into custody. Their books were also found to be hollow, and when the contents of the three were checked up, practically the whole of the loot was discovered.
A telephone to the Yard next morning soon obtained the information that Messrs Bumpus and the other firms concerned had sent their books to Amsterdam a month previously, and not within the last day or two. It was easy from that to see what had been done. The trio had severally ordered books, and had gone out to Amsterdam to receive them—all three under assumed names. They had carefully removed the firms’ addressed labels from the wrapping paper, and after hollowing out the leaves and packing the stones, had used them again on the new wrapping. Fortunately for them, the cancelling stamps had passed over the wrapping paper only, and so had left the labels clean. The packed books the trio had kept ready addressed, so that if a sudden flight became desirable, all they would have to do would be to post them. This unquestionably accounted for Sloley’s dive into the post office on his way to Victoria.
Taken red-handed with the loot in their possession, the men found it impossible to deny the theft, and when French described to them with minute accuracy the details of Minter’s death, mentioning the finger-print on the dead man’s collar and the helping of Minter from the office to the car after the theatre, they broke down and admitted the murder also.
The case, as French had put it together, proved to be substantially correct. Sloley and Sheen, foreseeing ruin if the firm closed down, decided to effect their own safety at the expense of the others concerned. They could, however, think of no method of getting at the stones. But, in a casual conversation Lyde happened to boast to Sheen, that given certain conditions, he could open any safe anywhere. Through ridiculing the statement, Sheen now got his brother-in-law to divulge his method. Sheen was impressed, and presently Lyde was introduced to Sloley and tentatively sounded. Lyde thereupon indicated his willingness to assist in any matters that might be going forward, for an adequate consideration. After discussion a firm partnership was entered into between the three and details were worked out. They intended photographically to copy both keys and to rob the safe at their leisure. The contents was to be divided equally between the three. All swore that at this time no thought of murder had entered their minds, and French believed them.
They obtained the camera without difficulty, Lyde making up as Minter as a safeguard in the event of suspicion being aroused. But the remainder of the photographic scheme they found much more difficult than they had anticipated. They had first intended to fix the camera in position, operating it electrically from outside the room while Norne and Minter were opening the safe. This, for several reasons, they had found impracticable, the chief being that they could find no place to put it which would be at once near enough the keyhole and out of sight—and therefore possible suspicion—of Norne and Minter. Then Sloley had tried shooting the keys by hand. He had carried the camera, hidden in various wrappings, and had attempted to direct the lens as one fires a gun from the hip. Four times he had tried this plan, and on each occasion he had missed his objective. The trio had then decided the camera must be properly focused, and this had led to the placing of the despatch case on the letter file. Four pins projecting from the bottom of the case formed a jig to enable Sloley to re-fit it to the file in exactly the right place, the pins being pushed in flush when out of use. The fixing of the camera in the case gave them more trouble than any other single detail of the plan. They dared not cut a hole in the side opposite the lens lest it should be noticed, so they had to arrange that springs would push the camera up into a frame when the lid was raised, thus bringing the lens above the level of the side. A woollen muffler carefully fixed to the camera rose with it and completely hid it, and they hoped that if the muffler were seen, its rising would be put down to the natural springiness of the wool. These fitments were made by Sheen, who was a skilful worker in metals.
When first they used this apparatus they thought that success had crowned their efforts. But a hideous disappointment awaited them. On developing their film, they found that Norne’s key had come out splendidly, but that just as Minter was putting his forward, Norne had grasped the handle to be ready to open the safe when the second key was turned. Norne’s hand had come in front of the key, completely obscuring it! And the very same thing happened during the withdrawal of the key: Norne had kept hold of the handle while Minter was locking up.
The conspirators were now in an awkward position. Either they would have to repeat their photographic effort, or they must try something else. Sloley, however declared that further photography was impossible. He had been chipped already by Norne for always turning up with a parcel or despatch case when the safe was being opened, as if he wanted to carry off the contents, and he felt that if he did this again, suspicion would inevitably be aroused when the theft was discovered. This suspicion would be increased by the fact, so far not appreciated, that on each of these occasions he, Sloley, had himself arranged for the safe to be opened.
Then Sheen came forward with an idea. Minter had the other key. If they could get Minter’s key, clear out the safe, return the key to Minter, and then have Minter commit suicide, it would be assumed that Minter had stolen the stones, passed them on to someone else, and then, repenting of what he had done, had taken his life.
This meant murder, and at first Sloley and Lyde objected. But two considerations forced them on. The first was the offer for the stock which Norne had received. They feared the other directors would close with it. If this happened before the three had carried out their plan, it would mean their ruin. The second consideration was the fact that they had already overcome the major difficulty, the getting of Norne’s key: and having done so much and seeing salvation from ruin so near them, they could not face losing their advantage.
Their new scheme was built on the visit to Guildford. Sloley had not consciously worked to get this visit arranged, being perfectly genuine in his arguments on the subject. But when it was arranged, the trio used it as the basis of their scheme.
In essentials it followed French’s reconstruction. Sloley opened the ball at three o’clock by ringing up Minter. He gave Norne’s name and mimicked Norne’s voice, and said that he, Norne, had unexpectedly to come to Town that afternoon and therefore couldn’t receive the party at Guildford; but would Minter join himself and the others at the office at 7.50, when they could dine together in Town and go down to Guildford later? Minter agreed, and ringing up his garage, altered the time of his taxi. Because of this message, also, he had not dined before starting.
At 4.30 Sheen took the next step. He had already got out his list of shareholders—purely in the interests of the robbery—and he now rang up Minter, told him of the list, and asked him if he would discuss it when they met in the evening. This was partly to make certain that there should be no hitch about Minter’s turning up at the office, but it was principally to get him to the telephone at 4.30. For at that hour Lyde, mimicking Minter’s voice, rang up Norne’s house to say that he, Minter, was ill and couldn’t go down till the 8.15 train. Inquiries, if such were made, would therefore show that Minter had been telephoning at the time his presumed message had reached Norne’s. No doubt the criminals believed that the apparent checking of this message at each end would prevent inquiries at the telephone exchange, which might have shown that this call was received, not sent, by Minter—in which they were partly justified.
The meeting at the office took place as French had imagined. While Sloley and Sheen were robbing the safe, Lyde—already made up to resemble Minter—was dressing in the accountant’s clothes. Minter was dressed in Lyde’s clothes and given the dope with the assurance that this was just to enable an escape to be made, and that no further harm was intended him. Lyde then went off to Guildford. After the theatre Minter was asleep, but he was aroused sufficiently for him to walk with assistance and in a state of semi-coma to the car. There while Sloley drove, Sheen gagged him, then tied him up, and finally suffocated him. Lyde had arranged the light in his window at Norne’s and lowered his rope, and the body was arranged in bed, all as French had supposed.
One precaution Lyde suggested, on which the other two were not very keen. Lyde, however, had insisted on it. That was the matter of the glass. He had cleaned the glass and then got Norne to carry it to his bed. Breathing on it had brought up Norne’s resulting prints, and he had skilfully wiped the glass so as to leave untouched an essential portion of one of these. His last act before leaving the room was to get Minter’s prints on to it also, but he deliberately twisted the glass so that the thumb-print would not register with the others. He then left Norne’s, walked to Woking, and caught an early train to Town, going on later to Paris.
An investigation by the Amsterdam police on another matter incidentally revealed the fact that the trio had arranged a sale of their gems to a firm of bad reputation in the city. The money was to have been paid the next day, and tickets and forged passports to South America were to have been part of the price.
After a three-day trial Sloley and Sheen were sentenced to death and Lyde to fifteen years penal servitude. Lyde’s counsel ingeniously argued—and Lyde swore—that his client had not intended murder: that he had taken Minter’s place on the understanding that Minter was only to be dosed with a drug which would destroy his memory of the period, and that he was to be taken down alive to Guildford and left in the room at Norne’s to recover. This introduced a sufficient element of doubt to evade the death sentence, though few really believed it.
For French there remained a certain amount of kudos—not referred to by anyone at the Yard—and a strong determination that his next holidays should be spent in Holland, with Amsterdam as a centre for his excursions. And till that happy time should arrive, he settled down with a half-sigh to carry out Sir Mortimer Ellison’s desire that he should ‘look into that poisoning affair down at Chelmsford.’ At all events, if it didn’t get him to Holland, it would get him into the country. Half a loaf, he thought, was better than no bread.