what did you do?’
‘Do? I did what anyone else would have done in the same circumstances. I looked to see if Mr Gething was dead, and when I saw he was I didn’t touch the body, but ran for help. You were the first person I saw.’
‘Mr Gething?’ the constable repeated sharply. ‘Then you know the dead man?’
‘Yes. It is Mr Gething, our head clerk.’
‘What about the safe? Is there anything missing from that?’
‘I don’t know,’ the young man answered. ‘I believe there were a lot of diamonds in it, but I don’t know what amount, and I’ve not looked what’s there now.’
‘Who would know about it?’
‘I don’t suppose anyone but Mr Duke, now Mr Gething’s dead. He’s the chief, the only partner I’ve ever seen.’
Constable Alcorn paused, evidently at a loss as to his next move. Finally, following precedent, he took a somewhat dog’s-eared notebook from his pocket, and with a stumpy pencil began to note the particulars he had gleaned.
‘Gething, you say the dead man’s name was? What was his first name?’
‘Charles.’
‘Charles Gething, deceased,’ the constable repeated presently, evidently reading his entry. ‘Yes. And his address?’
‘12 Monkton Street, Fulham.’
‘Twelve—Monkton—Street—Fulham. Yes. And your name is William Orchard?’
Slowly the tedious catechism proceeded. The two men formed a contrast. Alcorn calm and matter of fact, though breathing heavily from the effort of writing, was concerned only with making a satisfactory statement for his superior. His informant, on the other hand, was quivering with suppressed excitement, and acutely conscious of the silent and motionless form on the floor. Poor old Gething! A kindly old fellow, if ever there was one! It seemed a shame to let his body lie there in that shapeless heap, without showing even the respect of covering the injured head with a handkerchief. But the matter was out of his hands. The police would follow their own methods, and he, Orchard, could not interfere.
Some ten minutes passed of question, answer, and laborious calligraphy, then voices and steps were heard on the stairs, and four men entered the room.
‘What’s all this, Alcorn?’ cried the first, a stout, cleanshaven man with the obvious stamp of authority, in the same phrase that his subordinate had used to the clerk, Orchard. He had stopped just inside the door, and stood looking sharply round the room, his glance passing from the constable to the body, to the open safe, with inimical interest to the young clerk, and back again to Alcorn.
The constable stiffened to attention, and replied in a stolid, unemotional tone, as if reciting formal evidence in court.
‘I was on my beat, sir, and at about ten-fifteen was just turning the corner from Charles Street into Hatton Garden, when I observed this young man,’ he indicated Orchard with a gesture, ‘run out of the door of this house. He called me that there was something wrong up here, and I came up to see, and found that body lying as you see it. Nothing has been touched, but I have got some information here for you.’ He held up the notebook.
The newcomer nodded and turned to one of his companions, a tall man with the unmistakable stamp of the medical practitioner.
‘If you can satisfy yourself the man’s dead, Doctor, I don’t think we shall disturb the body in the meantime. It’ll probably be a case for the Yard, and if so we’ll leave everything for whoever they send.’
The doctor crossed the room and knelt by the remains.
‘He’s dead all right,’ he announced, ‘and not so long ago either. If I could turn the body over I could tell you more about that. But I’ll leave it if you like.’
‘Yes, leave it for the moment, if you please. Now, Alcorn, what else do you know?’
A few seconds sufficed to put the constable’s information at his superior’s disposal. The latter turned to the doctor.
‘There’s more than murder here, Dr Jordan, I’ll be bound. That safe is the key to the affair. Thank the Lord, it’ll be a job for the Yard. I shall ’phone them now, and there should be a man here in half an hour. Sorry, Doctor, but I’m afraid you’ll have to wait.’ He turned to Orchard. ‘You’ll have to wait, too, young man, but the Yard inspector probably won’t keep you long. Now, what about this old man’s family? Was he married?’
‘Yes, but his wife is an invalid, bedridden. He has two daughters. One lives at home and keeps house, the other is married and lives somewhere in town.’
‘We shall have to send round word. You go, Carson.’ He turned to one of the two other members of his quartet, constables in uniform. ‘Don’t tell the old lady. If the daughter’s not there, wait until she comes in. And put yourself at her disposal. If she wants her sister sent for, you go. You, Jackson, go down to the front door and let the Yard man up. Alcorn, remain here.’ These dispositions made, he rang up the Yard and delivered his message, then turned once more to the young clerk.
‘You say, Mr Orchard, that no one could tell what, if anything, is missing from the safe, except Mr Duke, the sole active partner. We ought to have Mr Duke here at once. Is he on the ’phone?’
‘Gerard, 1417B,’ Orchard answered promptly. The young man’s agitation had somewhat subsided, and he was following with interest the actions of the police, and admiring the confident, competent way in which they had taken charge.
The official once again took down the receiver from the top of the desk, and put through the call. ‘Is Mr Duke there? … Yes, say a superintendent of police.’ There was a short silence, and then the man went on. ‘Is that Mr Duke? … I’m speaking from your office in Hatton Garden. I’m sorry, sir, to tell you that a tragedy has taken place here. Your chief clerk, Mr Gething, is dead … Yes, sir. He’s lying in your private office here, and the circumstances point to murder. The safe is standing open, and—Yes, sir, I’m afraid so—I don’t know, of course, about the contents … No, but you couldn’t tell from that … I was going to suggest that you come down at once. I’ve ’phoned Scotland Yard for a man … Very good, sir, we shall be here when you come.’ He replaced the receiver and turned to the others.
‘Mr Duke is coming down at once. There is no use in our standing here. Come to the outer office and we’ll find ourselves chairs.’
It was cold in the general office, the fire evidently having been out for some time, but they sat down there to wait, the superintendent pointing out that the furniture in the other room must not be touched. Of the four, only the superintendent seemed at ease and self-satisfied. Orchard was visibly nervous and apprehensive and fidgeted restlessly, Constable Alcorn, slightly embarrassed by the society in which he found himself, sat rigidly on the edge of his chair staring straight in front of him, while the doctor was frankly bored and anxious to get home. Conversation languished, though spasmodic attempts were made by the superintendent to keep it going, and none of the quartet was sorry when the sound of footsteps on the stairs created a diversion.
Of the three men who entered the room, two, carrying black leather cases, were obviously police constables in plain clothes. The third was a stout man in tweeds, rather under
