The Red Triangle E-Book

Arthur Morrison

• Herausgeber: Ktoczyta.pl
• Kategorie: Krimi
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2018

Beschreibung

Fourth and last collection of detective fiction featuring Martin Hewitt, a famous private detective whose methods closely resemble those of Sherlock Holmes. The plot lines of all six linked sensation stories in this collection center on the mystery of the Red Triangle, a group of villains known only from the Red Triangle left stamped on the heads of their victims, and the actions of Martin Hewitt and his narrator, esteemed journalist Mr. Brett, in bringing the members of that group to justice. This work includes the following stories: „The affair of Samuel’s diamonds”, „The case of Mr. Jacob Mason”, „The case of the Lever Key”, „The case of the burnt barn”, „The case of the Admiralty code” and „The adventure of Channel Marsh”.

Leseprobe

Contents

I. THE AFFAIR OF SAMUEL’S DIAMONDS

II. THE CASE OF MR. JACOB MASON

III. THE CASE OF THE LEVER KEY

IV. THE CASE OF THE BURNT BARN

V. THE CASE OF THE ADMIRALTY CODE

VI. THE ADVENTURE OF CHANNEL MARSH

I. THE AFFAIR OF SAMUEL’S DIAMONDS

I

I have already recorded many of the adventures of my friend Martin Hewitt, but among them there have been more of a certain few which were discovered to be related together in a very extraordinary manner; and it is to these that I am now at liberty to address myself. There may have been others–cases which gave no indication of their connection with these; some of them indeed I may have told without a suspicion of their connection with the Red Triangle; but the first in which that singular accompaniment became apparent was the matter of Samuel’s diamonds. The case exhibited many interesting features, and I was very anxious to report it, with perhaps even less delay than I had thought judicious in other cases; but Hewitt restrained me.

“No, Brett,” he said, “there is more to come of this. This particular case is over, it is true, but there is much behind. I’ve an idea that I shall see that Red Triangle again. I may, or, of course, I may not; but there is deep work going on–very deep work, and whether we see more of it or not, I must keep prepared. I can’t afford to throw a single card upon the table. So, as many notes as you please, Brett, for future reference; but no publication yet–none of your journalism!”

Hewitt was right. It was not so long before we heard more of the Red Triangle, and after that more, though the true connection of some of the cases with the mysterious symbol and the meaning of the symbol itself remained for a time undiscovered. But at last Hewitt was able to unmask the hideous secret, and for ever put an end to the evil influence that gathered about the sign; and now there remains no reason why the full story should not be told.

I have told elsewhere of my first acquaintance with Martin Hewitt, of his pleasant and companionable nature, his ordinary height, his stoutness, his round, smiling face–those characteristics that aided him so well in his business of investigator, so unlike was his appearance and manner to that of the private detective of the ordinary person’s imagination. Therefore I need only remind my readers that my bachelor chambers were, during most of my acquaintance with Hewitt, in the old building near the Strand, in which Hewitt’s office stood at the top of the first flight of stairs; where the plain ground-glass of the door bore as inscription the single word “Hewitt,” and the sharp lad, Kerrett, first received visitors in the outer office.

Next door to this old house, at the time I am to speak of, a much newer building stood, especially built for letting out in offices. It happened that one day as Hewitt left his office for a late lunch, he became aware of a pallid and agitated Jew who was pervading the front door of this adjoining building. The man exhibited every sign of nervous expectancy, staring this way and that up and down the busy street, and once or twice rushing aimlessly half-way up the inner stairs, and as often returning to the door. Apprehension was plain on his pale face, and he was clearly in a state that blinded his attention to the ordinary matters about him, just as happens when a man is in momentary and nervous expectation of some serious event.

Noting these things as he passed, with no more than the observation that was his professional habit, Hewitt proceeded to his lunch. This done with, he returned to his office, perceiving, as he passed the next-door building, that the distracted Jew was no longer visible. It seemed plain that the person or the event he had awaited with such obvious nervousness had arrived and passed; one more of the problems, anxieties or crises that join and unravel moment by moment in the human ant-hill of London, had perhaps closed for good or ill within the past half-hour; perhaps it had only begun.

A message awaited Hewitt at his office–an urgent message. The housekeeper had come in from next door, Kerrett reported, with an urgent request that Mr. Martin Hewitt would go immediately to the offices of Mr. Denson, on the third floor. The housekeeper seemed to know little or nothing of the business, except that a Mr. Samuel was alone in Mr. Denson’s office, and had sent the message.

With no delay Hewitt transferred himself to the next-door offices. There the housekeeper, who inhabited a uniform and a glass box opposite the foot of the first flight of stairs, directed Hewitt, with the remark that the gentleman was very impatient and very much upset. “Third floor, sir, second door on the right; name Denson on the door. There’s no lift.”

“W.F. Denson” was the complete name, followed by the line “Foreign and Commission Agent.” This Hewitt read with some little difficulty, for the door was open, and on the threshold stood that same agitated Jew whom Hewitt had seen at the front door.

A little less actively perturbed now, he was nevertheless still nervously pale. “Mr. Martin Hewitt?” he cried, while Hewitt was still only at the head of the stairs. “Is it Mr. Martin Hewitt?”

Hewitt came quietly along the corridor, using eyes and ears as he came. The Jew was a man of middle height, very obviously Jewish, and with a slight accent that hinted a Continental origin.

“I have just received your message,” Hewitt said, “and, as you see, I am here with no delay. Is Mr. Denson in?”

“No–good heafens no–I would gif anything if he was, Mr. Hewitt. Come in, do! I haf been robbed–robbed by Denson himself, wit’out a wort of doubt. It is terrible–terrible! Fifteen t’ousant pounds! It ruins me, Mr. Hewitt, ruins me! Unless you can recover it! If you recover it, I will pay–pay–oh, I will pay fery well indeed!”

There was a characteristically sudden moderation of the client’s emphasis when he came to the engagement to pay. Hewitt had observed it in other clients, but it did not disturb him.

“First,” he said, “you must tell me your difficulty. You say you have been robbed of fifteen thousand pounds––”

“Tiamonts, Mr. Hewitt–tiamonts! All from the case–here is the case, empty––”

“Let us be methodical. We will shut the door and sit down.” Hewitt pressed his client into a chair and produced his note-book. “It will be better to begin at the beginning. First, I should like to know your name, and a few such particulars as that.”

“Lewis Samuel, Hatton Garden–150, Hatton Garden–tiamont merchant.”

“Yes. And what is your connection with Mr. Denson?”

“Business–just business,” Samuel responded. He pronounced it “pishness,” and it seemed his favourite word. “Like this; I will tell you. I haf known him some time, and did at first small pishness. He bought a little tiamont and haf it set in pracelet, and he pay–straightforward pishness. Then he bought some very good paste stones, all set in gold, and he pay–quite straightforward pishness. At the same time he says, ‘I am pishness man myself, Mr. Samuel,’ he says, ‘and I like to make a little moneys as well as pay out sometimes. Don’t you want any little agencies done? I do all foreign commissions, and I can forwart and receive and clear at dock and custom house. If you send any tiamonts I can consign and insure–very cheapest rates to you, special. If you want brokerage or buy and sell for you, confidential, I can do it with lowest commission. Especially I haf good connection with America. I haf many rich Americans, principals and customers,’ he says, ‘and often I could do pishness for you when they come over.’”

“By which he meant he might sell them diamonds?” Hewitt queried.

“Just so, Mr. Hewitt–reg’lar pishness. And after that two or three little parcels of tiamonts he bought–for American customers, he says. But he says he can do bigger pishness soon. Ay, so he has–goot heavens, he has! But I tell you. I do also one or two small pishnesses with him, and that is all right–he treat me very well and I pay when it suits. Then he says, ‘Samuel,’ he says, very friendly now inteet, ‘Samuel, could you get a nice large lot of tiamonts for an American customer I expect here soon?’ And I say, ‘Of course I can.’ ‘Enough,’ he says, ‘to fit out a rich man’s wife–that is, to pegin. He is not long rich, and he will want more soon–ah, she will make him pay! But to pegin–a good fit-out of tiamonts, eh?’

“I tell him yes, and I offer usual commission. But no, says Denson, he wants no commission; he will make his own profit. That I don’t mind so long as I get mine; so I agree to put the tiamonts in at a price. The American, he says, is to come over about a big company deal, and when it is through he will pay well. So last week I pring a peautiful collection all cut but unset, and I wait out in that room while Denson shows them to his customer.”

“You mean you let them out of your sight?”

“Yes–that is not so uncommon; reg’lar pishness. You see I was out here–this is the only way out. Denson was in the inner office with the stones and the American. Neither could get out without passing here. And I had done pishness with him alretty.”

“Well?”

“You see I wait downstairs with my case–this case–till Denson sends down. He doesn’t want me to show–fery natural, you see, in pishness. When I sell to make a profit, perhaps for somebody else, I don’t want that somebody to know my customer, else he sells direct and I lose my profit–fery natural. See?”

“Of course, I understand. It’s a point of business among you gentlemen to keep your own customers to yourselves. And often, no doubt, diamonds pass through several hands before reaching the eventual customer, leaving a profit in each.”

“Always, Mr. Hewitt–always, you might say. Well, you see, Denson sends down that his customer is in, and I come up. Denson comes out from the inner office, takes my case, and I wait in there.”

The case which Samuel showed Hewitt was of black leather, perhaps eighteen inches long by a foot wide. The arrangement of the office was simple. In this, the outer room, a small space was partitioned off by means of a ground glass screen, and it was in there that Samuel meant that he had waited.

“Well, he took the case in, and I could hear some sound of talking–but not much, you see, the door being shut. After a time the door opens and I hear Denson say: ‘Very well, think over it; but don’t be long or you’ll lose the chance. Excuse me while I put them back in the safe.’ Then he shuts the door and brings the case to me and goes back. But of course I stay till I haf looked very carefully through all the tiamonts, in the different compartments of the case, in case one might haf dropped on the floor, or got changed, you know. That is pishness.”

“Just so. And they were all right?”

“All right and same as the list–I know well a tiamont that I haf seen once. So I go away, and afterwards Denson tells me that the American liked much the stones but wouldn’t quite come up to price. That, of course, is fery usual pishness. ‘But he will rise, Samuel,’ Denson says. ‘I know him quite well, and them tiamonts is as good as sold with a good profit for me; and a good one for you, too, I bet,’ he says. I was putting the lot to him for fifteen t’ousant pounds, and it would have been a nice profit in that for me. And then Denson he chaffs me and he says, ‘Ah! Samuel,’ he says, ‘wasn’t you afraid my customer and me would hook it out o’ the window with all your stones?’ I don’t like that sort o’ joke in pishness, you see, but I say, ‘All right–I wasn’t afraid o’ that. The window was a mile too high, and besides I could see it from where I was a-sitting.’ And so I could, you see, plain enough to see if it was opened.”

The ground-glass partition, in fact, cut off a part of the window of the outer office, which, being at an angle with the inner room, gave a side view of the window that lighted that apartment.

“Denson laughed at that,” Samuel went on. “‘Ha-ha!’ says he, ‘I never thought of that. Then you could see the American’s hat hanging up just by the window–rum hat, ain’t it?’ And that was quite true, for I had noticed it–a big, grey wideawake, almost white.”

Hewitt nodded approvingly. “You are quite right,” he said, “to tell me everything you recollect, even of the most trivial sort; the smallest thing may be very valuable. So you took your diamonds away the first time, last week. What next?”

“Well, I came again, just the same, to-day, by appointment. Just the same I sat in that place, and just the same Denson took the case into the inner room. ‘He’s come to buy this time, I can see,’ Denson whispers, and winks. ‘But he’ll fight hard over the price. We’ll see!’ and off he goes into the other room. Well, I waited. I waited and I waited a long time. I looked out sideways at the window, and there I see the American’s big wideawake hat hanging up just inside the other window, same as last time. So I think they are a long time settling the price, and I wait some more. But it is such a very long time, and I begin to feel uneasy. Of course, I know you cannot sell fifteen t’ousant wort’ of tiamonts in five minutes–that is not reasonable pishness. But I could hear nothing at all now–not a sound. And the boy–the boy that came down to call me up–he wasn’t come back. But there I could see the big wideawake hat still hanging inside the window, and of course I knew there was only one door out of the inner room, right before me, so it seemed foolish to be uneasy. So I waited longer still, but now it was so late, I thought they should have come out to lunch before this, and then I was fery uneasy–fery uneasy inteet. So I thought I would pretend to be a new caller, and I opened the outer office door and banged it, and walked in very loud and knocked on the boy’s table. I thought Denson would come when he heard that, but no–there was not a sound. So I got more uneasy, and I opened the window and leaned out as far as I could, to look in at the other window. There I could see nothing but the big hat and the back of a chair and a bit of the room–empty. So I went and banged the outer door again, and called out, ‘Hi! Mr. Denson, you’re wanted! Hi! d’y’ear?’ and knocked with my umbrella on the inner door; and, Mr. Hewitt–you might have knocked me down with half a feather when I got no answer at all–not a sound! I opened the door, Mr. Hewitt, and there was nobody there–nobody! There was my leather case on the table, open–and empty! Fifteen t’ousant pounds in tiamonts, Mr. Hewitt–it ruins me!”

Hewitt rose, and flung wide the inner office door. “This is certainly the only door,” he said, “and that is the only window–quite well in view from where you sat. There is the wideawake hat still hanging there–see, it is quite new; obviously brought for you to look at, it would seem. The door and the window were not used, and the chimney is impossible–register grate. But there was one other way–there.”

The inner wall of each of the rooms was the wall of the corridor into which all the offices opened, and this corridor was lighted–and the offices partly ventilated–by a sort of hinged casement or fanlight close up by the ceiling, oblong, and extending the most of the length of each room. Plainly an active man, not too stout, might mount a chair-back, and climb very quietly through the opening. “That’s the only way,” said Hewitt, pointing.

“Yes,” answered Samuel, nodding and rubbing his knuckles together nervously. “I saw it–saw it when it was too late. But who’d have thought o’ such a thing beforehand? And the American–either there wasn’t an American at all, or he got out the same way. But, anyway, here I am, and the tiamonts are gone, and there is nothing here but the furniture–not worth twenty pound!”

“Well,” Hewitt said, “so far, I think I understand, though I may have questions to ask presently. But go on.”

“Go on? But there is no more, Mr. Hewitt! Quite enough, don’t you think? There is no more–I am robbed!”

“But when you found the empty room, and the case, what did you do? Send for the police?”

The Jew’s face clouded slightly. “No, Mr. Hewitt,” he said, “not for the police, but for you. Reason plain enough. The police make a great fuss, and they want to arrest the criminal. Quite right–I want to arrest him, and punish him too, plenty. But most I want the tiamonts back, because if not it ruins me. If it was to make choice between two things for me, whether to punish Denson or get my tiamonts, then of course I take the tiamonts, and let Denson go–I cannot be ruined. But with the police, if it is their choice, they catch the thief first, and hold him tight, whether it loses the property or not; the property is only second with them–with me it is first and second, and all. So I take no more risks than I can help, Mr. Hewitt. I have sent for you to get first the stones–afterwards the thief if you can. But first my property; you can perhaps find Denson and make him give it up rather than go to prison. That would be better than having him taken and imprisoned, and perhaps the stones put away safe all the time ready for him when he came out.”

“Still, the police can do things that I can’t,” Hewitt interposed; “stop people leaving or landing at ports, and the like. I think we should see them.”

Samuel was anxiously emphatic. “No, Mr. Hewitt,” he said, “certainly not the police. There are reasons–no, not the police, Mr. Hewitt, at any rate, not till you have tried. I cannot haf the police–just yet.”

Martin Hewitt shrugged his shoulders. “Very well,” he said, “if those are your instructions, I’ll do my best. And so you sent for me at once, as soon as you discovered the loss?”

“Yes, at once.”

“Without telling anybody else?”

“I haf tolt nobody.”

“Did you look about anywhere for Denson–in the street, or what not?”

“No–what was the good? He was gone; there was time for him to go miles.”

“Very good. And speaking of time, let me judge how far he may have gone. How long were you kept waiting?”

“Two hours and a quarter, very near–within five minutes.”

“By your watch?”

“Yes–I looked often, to see if it was so long waiting as it seemed.”

“Very good. Do you happen to have a piece of Denson’s writing about you?”

Samuel looked round him. “There’s nothing about here,” he said, “but perhaps we can find–oh here–here’s a post-card.” He took the card from his pocket, and gave it to Hewitt.

“There is nothing else to tell me, then?” queried Hewitt. “Are you sure that you have forgotten nothing that has happened since you first arrived–nothing at all?” There was meaning in the emphasis, and a sharp look in Hewitt’s eyes.

“No, Mr. Hewitt,” Samuel answered, hastily; “there is nothing else I can tell you.”

“Then I will think it over at once. You had better go back quietly to your office, and think it over yourself, in case you have forgotten something; and I need hardly warn you to keep quiet as to what has passed between us–unless you tell the police. I think I shall take the liberty of a glance over Mr. Denson’s office, and since his office boy still stays away, I will lend him my clerk for a little. He will keep his eyes open if any callers come, and his ears too. Wait while I fetch him.”

II

It was at this point that my humble part in the case began, for Hewitt hurried first to my rooms.

“Brett,” he exclaimed, “are you engaged this afternoon?”

“No–nothing important.”

“Will you do me a small favour? I have a rather interesting case. I want a man watched for an hour or so, and I haven’t a soul to do it. Kerrett may be known, and I am known. Besides, there is another job for Kerrett.”

Of course, I expressed myself willing to do what I could.

“Capital,” replied Hewitt. “Come along–you like these adventures, I know, or I wouldn’t have asked you; and you know the dodges in this sort of observation. The man is one Samuel, a Jew, of 150 Hatton Garden, diamond dealer. I’ll tell you more afterwards. Kerrett and I are going into the offices next door, and I want you to wait thereabout. Presently I will come downstairs with him and he will go away. An hour or so will be enough, probably.”

I followed Hewitt downstairs. He took Kerrett with him and locked his office door. I saw them both disappear within the large new building, and I waited near a convenient postal pillar-box, prepared to seem very busy with a few old letters from my pocket until my man’s back was turned.

In a very few minutes Hewitt reappeared, this time with a man–a Jew, obviously–whom I remembered having seen already at the door of that office more than an hour before, as I had passed on the way from the bookseller’s at the corner. The man walked briskly up the street, and I, on the opposite side, did the same, a little in the rear.

He turned the corner, and at once slackened his pace and looked about him. He took a peep back along the street he had left, and then hailed a cab.

For a hundred yards or more I was obliged to trot, till I saw another cab drop its fare just ahead, and managed to secure it and give the cabman instructions to follow the cab in front, before it turned a corner. The chase was difficult, for the horse that drew me was a poor one, and half a dozen times I thought I had lost sight of the other cab altogether; but my cabman was better than his animal, and from his high perch he kept the chase in view, turning corners and picking out the cab ahead among a dozen others with surprising certainty. We went across Charing Cross Road by way of Cranborne Street, past Leicester Square, through Coventry Street and up the Quadrant and Regent Street. At Oxford Circus the Jew’s cab led us to the left, and along Oxford Street we chased it past Bond Street end. Suddenly my cab pulled up with a jerk, and the driver spoke through the trapdoor. “That fare’s getting down, sir,” he said, “at the corner o’ Duke Street.”

I thrust a half-crown up through the hole and sprang out. “‘E’s crossing the road, sir,” the cabman finally reported, and I hurried across the street accordingly.

The man I was watching was strikingly Jewish enough, and easy to distinguish in a crowd. I had almost overtaken him before he had gone a dozen yards up the northern end of Duke Street. He walked on into Manchester Square. There a small, neat brougham, with blinds drawn, was being driven slowly round the central garden. I saw Samuel walk hurriedly up to this brougham, which stopped as he approached. He stepped quickly into the carriage and shut the door behind him. The brougham resumed its slow progress, and I loitered, keeping it in view, though the blinds were drawn so close that it was impossible to guess who might be Samuel’s companion, if he had one. I think I have said that when the Jew came to the office door with Hewitt I perceived that he was a man I had seen before that day. I was now convinced that I had also seen that same brougham, at the same time; but of this presently.

The carriage made one slow circuit, and then Samuel got out and shut the door quickly again. I took the precaution of turning my back and letting him overtake and pass me on his way back through Duke Street. At the end of the street he mounted an omnibus going east, and I took another seat in the same vehicle. The rest was uninteresting. He went direct to No. 150 Hatton Garden, and there remained. I read his name on the door-post among a score of others, and after a twenty-minutes’ wait I returned to my rooms. I had no doubt that it was the meeting in the brougham that Hewitt wished reported, and I remembered his rule was never to watch a man a moment after the main object was secured.

Hewitt was out, and he did not return till after dusk. Then he came straightway to my rooms.

“Well, Brett,” he said, “what’s the report? As a matter of fact, Samuel is my client, as I shall explain presently. I don’t like spying on a client, as a rule, but I was convinced that he was keeping something back from me, and there was something odd about his whole story. But what did you see?”

I told Hewitt the tale of my pursuit as I have told it here. “I came away,” I concluded, “after it seemed that he was settled in his office for a bit. But there is another thing you should know. When he first came out with you I recognised him at once as a man I had seen at that same door a little after two o’clock–say a quarter past.”

“Yes?” answered Hewitt. “I saw him there myself a little sooner–something like two, I should say. What was he doing?”

“Well,” I replied, “he was doing pretty well what he did in Manchester Square. For as a matter of fact the brougham also was here then–just outside the next-door office. I think I might swear to that same brougham–though of course I didn’t notice it so particularly that first time.”

Hewitt whistled. “Oh!” he said. “Tell me about this. Did he get into the brougham this time?”

“Yes. He came out of the office door with a black leather case in his hand and a very scared look on his face. And he popped into the brougham, leather case, scared look and all.”

“Ho–ho!” said Hewitt, thoughtfully, and whistled again. “A black leather case, eh! Come, come, the plot thickens. And what happened? Did the carriage go off?”

“No; I saw nothing more–shouldn’t have noticed so much, in fact, if the whole thing hadn’t looked a trifle curious. Nervous, pallid Jew with a black case–as though he thought it was dynamite and might go off at any moment–closed brougham, blinds drawn, Jew skipped in and banged the door, but brougham didn’t move; and I fancied–perhaps only fancied–that I saw a woman’s black veil inside. But then I turned in here and saw no more.”

Hewitt sat thoughtfully silent for a few moments. Then he rose and said, “Come next door, and I’ll tell you how we stand. The housekeeper will let us in, and we’ll see if you can identify that black case anywhere.”

It seemed that Hewitt had by this established a good understanding with the housekeeper next door. “Nobody’s been, sir,” the man said, as he admitted us and closed the heavy doors. “Office boy not come back, nor nothing.”

We went up to Denson’s office on the third floor, the door of which the housekeeper opened; and having turned on the electric light, he left us.

“Now, is that anything like the case?” Hewitt asked, when the housekeeper was gone; and he lifted from under the table the very black case I had seen Samuel take into the brougham.

I said that I felt as sure of the case as of the brougham. And then Hewitt told me the whole tale of Samuel and his loss of fifteen thousand pounds’ worth of diamonds, just as it appears earlier in this narrative.

“Now, see here,” said Hewitt, when he had made me acquainted with his client’s tale, “there is something odd about all this. See this post-card which Samuel gave me. It is from Denson, and it makes this morning’s appointment. See! ‘Be down below at eleven sharp’ is the message. He came and he waited just two hours and a quarter, as he tells me, being certain to the time within five minutes. That brings, us to a quarter-past one–the time when he finds he is robbed; and he came downstairs in a very agitated state at a quarter-past one, as I have since ascertained. At two I pass and see him still dancing distractedly on the front steps–certainly very much like a man who has had a serious misfortune, or expects one. At a quarter-past two–that was about it, I think?” (I nodded) “At a quarter-past two you see him, still agitated, diving into the brougham with this black case in his hand; and a little afterward–after all this, mind–he tells me this story of a robbery of diamonds from that very case, and assures me that he sent for me the moment he discovered the loss–that is to say, at a quarter-past one, a positive lie–and has told nobody else. He further assures me that he has told me everything that has happened up to the moment he meets me. Then he goes away–to his office, as he tells me. But you find him posting to Manchester Square in a cab, and there once more plunging into that same mysterious closed brougham. Now why should he do that? He has seen the person in that brougham, presumably, an hour before, and there can be nothing more to communicate, except the result of his interview with me–a thing I warned him to keep to himself. It’s odd, isn’t it?”

“It is. What can be his motive?”