and he looked the type of man who could enjoy a good dinner and a good smoke-room story to follow.
‘Ah, Superintendent, how are you?’ he exclaimed, holding out his hand cordially. ‘It’s some time since we met. Not since that little episode in the Lime-house hairdresser’s. That was a nasty business. And now you’ve some other scheme for keeping a poor man from his hard-earned rest, eh?’
The superintendent seemed to find the other’s easy familiarity out of place.
‘Good-evening, Inspector,’ he answered with official abruptness. ‘You know Dr Jordan?—Inspector French of the C.I.D. And this is Mr Orchard, a clerk in this office, who discovered the crime.’
Inspector French greeted them genially. Behind his back at the Yard they called him ‘Soapy Joe’ because of the reliance he placed on the suavity of his manners. ‘I know your name, of course, Doctor, but I don’t think we have ever met. Pleased to make your acquaintance, Mr Orchard.’ He subsided into a chair and went on: ‘Perhaps, Superintendent, you would just give me a hint of what this is all about before we go any further.’
The facts already learned were soon recited. French listened carefully, and annexing the constable’s notebook, complimented that worthy on his industry. ‘Well,’ he beamed on them, ‘I suppose we’d better have a look round inside before Mr Duke turns up.’
The party moved to the inner room, where French, his hands in his pockets, stood motionless for some minutes, surveying the scene.
‘Nothing has been touched, of course?’ he asked.
‘Nothing. From what they tell me, both Mr Orchard and Constable Alcorn have been most circumspect.’
‘Excellent; then we may go ahead. Get your camera rigged, Giles, and take the usual photos. I think, gentlemen, we may wait in the other room until the photographs are taken. It won’t be long.’
Though French had tactfully bowed his companions out, he did not himself follow them, but kept prowling about the inner office, closely inspecting its contents, though touching nothing. In a few minutes the camera was ready, and a number of flashlight photographs were taken of the body, the safe, every part of both offices, and even the stairs and hall. In the amazing way in which tales of disaster travel, news of the crime had already leaked out, and a small crowd of the curious hung, open-mouthed, about the door.
Scarcely had the camera been put away, when the proceedings were interrupted by a fresh arrival. Hurried steps were heard ascending the stairs, and a tall, thin, extremely well-dressed old gentleman entered the room. Though evidently on the wrong side of sixty, he was still a handsome man, with strong, well-formed features, white hair, and a good carriage. Under normal circumstances he would have presented a dignified and kindly appearance, but now his face was drawn into an expression of horror and distress, and his hasty movements also betokened his anxiety. On seeing so many strangers, he hesitated. The inspector stepped forward.
‘Mr Duke, sir? I am Inspector French of the Criminal Investigation Department of New Scotland Yard. I very much regret to confirm the news which you have already heard, that your head clerk, Mr Gething, has been murdered, and I fear also that your safe may have been burgled.’
It was evident that the old gentleman was experiencing strong emotion, but he controlled it and spoke quietly enough.
‘This is terrible news, Inspector. I can hardly believe that poor old Gething is gone. I came at once when I heard. Tell me the details. Where did it happen?’
French pointed to the open door.
‘In here, sir, in your private office. Everything is still exactly as it was found.’
Mr Duke moved forward, then on seeing the body, stopped and gave a low cry of horror.
‘Oh, poor old fellow!’ he exclaimed. ‘It’s awful to see him lying, there. Awful! I tell you, Inspector, I’ve lost a real friend, loyal and true and dependable. Can’t he be lifted up? I can’t bear to see him like that.’ His gaze passed on to the safe. ‘And the safe! Merciful heavens, Inspector! Is anything gone? Tell me at once, I must know! It seems heartless to think of such a thing with that good old fellow lying there, but after all I’m only human.’
‘I haven’t touched the safe, but we’ll do so directly,’ the inspector answered. ‘Was there much in it?’
‘About three-and-thirty thousand pounds’ worth of diamonds were in that lower drawer, as well as a thousand in notes,’ groaned the other. ‘Get the body moved, will you, and let us look.’
French whistled, then he turned to his men.
‘Get that table cleared outside there, and lift the body on to it,’ he ordered; then to the doctor he added, ‘Perhaps, Doctor, you could make your examination now?’
The remains were lifted reverently and carried from the room. Mr Duke turned impatiently to the safe, but the inspector stopped him.
‘A moment, sir, if you please. I am sorry to ask you to stretch your patience a little longer, but before you touch the safe I must test it for finger prints. You see the obvious necessity?’
‘I would wait all night if it would help you to get on the track of the scoundrels who have done this,’ the old gentleman answered grimly. ‘Go on in your own way. I can restrain myself.’
With a word of approval, Inspector French fetched one of the cases brought by his assistants, and producing little boxes of French chalk and of lampblack, he proceeded to dust over the smooth portions of the safe, using white powder on a dark background and vice versa. On blowing off the surplus powder, he pointed triumphantly to a number of finger prints, explaining that the moisture deposited from the skin held the powder, which otherwise dropped off. Most of the marks were blurred and useless, but a few showed clearly the little loops and whorls and ridges of thumbs and fingers.
‘Of course,’ French went on, ‘these may all be quite useless. They may be those of persons who had a perfect right to open the safe—your own, for instance. But if they belong to the thief, if there was one, their importance may be incalculable. See here now, I can open this drawer without touching any of them.’
Mr Duke was clearly at the end of his patience, and he kept fidgeting about, clasping and unclasping his hands, and showing every sign of extreme impatience and uneasiness. As the drawer opened, he stepped forward and plunged in his hand.
‘Gone!’ he cried hoarsely. ‘They’re all gone! Thirty-three thousand pounds’ worth! Oh, my God! It means ruin.’ He covered his face with his hands, then went on unsteadily. ‘I feared it, of course. I thought it must be the diamonds when the officer rang me up. I have been trying to face it ever since. I shouldn’t care for myself. It’s my daughter. To think of her exposed to want! But there. It is wicked of me to speak so who have only lost money, while poor old Gething has lost his life. Don’t mind me, Inspector. Carry on. What I want most now is to hear of the arrest of the murderer and thief. If there is anything I can do to help in that, command me.’
He stood, a little stooped and with haggard face, but dignified even in his grief. French in his pleasant, kindly way tried to reassure him.
‘Now, you don’t need to give up heart, sir,’ he advised. ‘Diamonds are not the easiest things to dispose of, and we’re right on to the loss at once. Before the thief can pass them on we shall have all the channels under observation. With any ordinary luck, you’ll get
