Crime at Guildford Read online

  Tapping at the door, French went into the anteroom. Norne was seated in an armchair, dictating to Miss Barber.

  ‘I wonder, sir, if you could come round with me to the banks now? By the time that you’re back my fellows will be finished and you can have your room.’

  ‘Of course, chief-inspector; I’ll come at once.’

  French signalled a taxi and they were driven to the head office of the London and Northern Bank, in Threadneedle Street. There Norne’s name proved an immediate passport to the manager’s office. Mr Suffolk gave one glance at his client’s face and his own lengthened. However, he simply wished Norne good morning and waited for what was coming.

  ‘I’ve got some pretty bad news for you, Suffolk,’ Norne began, ‘but first let me introduce Chief-Inspector French of Scotland Yard.’

  The manager was polite, but this opening did not make him look any more cheerful. Having greeted French, he again sat waiting.

  ‘We’ve had a robbery,’ and Norne, without attempting to soften the news, went on to describe what had happened.

  Mr Suffolk was appalled. It appeared, what French had not known, that the Norne account was somewhat overdrawn, and in the face of this news the manager did not see his bank getting back its money. Eagerly he inquired from French as to the prospects of recovering the missing stuff.

  ‘It’s in connection with that we want your help, sir,’ French answered. ‘Mr Norne tells me you hold a duplicate of one of the keys of his safe. I should like to know if you have this in your possession at the present time, and if so, whether it has recently been taken out.’

  Suffolk looked at Norne. ‘I didn’t know we had that, Norne?’ he questioned.

  ‘You wouldn’t,’ Norne answered. ‘It was with some other things in a locked box. The chief-inspector would like the box turned up, and I have the key and will open it here.’

  The manager with a slightly aggrieved expression gave the necessary instructions and in a few moments the box was produced. Norne opened it.

  ‘There’s the key,’ he said, pointing into the box.

  ‘That’s all right,’ French returned. ‘Now, sir,’ he went on to Suffolk, ‘I want to know how long it is since that box has been taken out, and who took it out?’

  A clerk was appealed to. His book, he declared, bore a record of every time it had been asked for. The last occasion was over two years previously.

  ‘That’s probably correct,’ Norne put in. ‘Only stuff that is seldom required is kept in that box.’

  ‘I should like to ask this young gentleman a question,’ French said. ‘Suppose the owner of that box were to come and say, “I want to open the box for a moment—not to take it away,” is there no chance that the usual formalities might be omitted?’

  ‘None,’ answered the youth after a glance at his chief. ‘You see, the box is not allowed out of the strong room without the necessary authority, and the client is never taken to the strong room. If it is taken out and opened and returned, it goes back on a new receipt.’

  ‘That’s quite correct,’ Suffolk added. ‘Personally I believe our system is quite watertight.’

  ‘I’m sure it is, sir,’ French said smoothly, ‘but as you know, rules are not always kept as completely as they should. How, for example, about getting it by a forged order?’

  Both men declared that their precautions would entirely prevent such a thing. They pointed out further that in the present instance the question would not arise, as the box had not been taken out at all—order or no order.

  ‘That seems pretty conclusive evidence, Mr Norne,’ French said as they left the bank. ‘Now, I’d like you to come to the second bank and inquire about the other key.’

  They went on to Norne’s bank, Lloyd’s, in Grace-church Street. Here their interview followed much the same lines as that they had just completed, and French left satisfied that as far as human testimony could be relied upon, this key had not been used either.

  Having got rid of Norne with polite thanks for his help, French turned into a restaurant for a cup of coffee, the best substitute for a belated lunch for which he could afford time. As he sat munching rolls and butter with his gaze fixed firmly on the blank wall which bounded his forward vision, he tried to sum up what he had already learnt.

  The safe had not been damaged, but had been opened in the normal way by means of its two keys.

  Of these keys there were only two sets in existence: one held by Norne and his accountant, the other in the strong-rooms of the banks. That in the banks had not been used. Therefore it looked as if Norne’s and the accountant’s must have been.

  Norne, however, had declared most positively that he had not allowed his key out of his possession on any single occasion whatever. Was Norne lying, or was he honest but mistaken, or was his statement correct?

  French saw that in a way it scarcely mattered what Minter had done with his key, provided he got the truth about Norne’s. The safe could not be opened without Norne’s. The first question then was: Was Norne reliable?

  French felt that he couldn’t say. The man had seemed straightforward, but he, French, had not seen enough of him to come to a definite conclusion. But on the face of it, it was unlikely that Norne should be lying. If he were, so far as French could see, it could only be for one of two reasons. Either the man was himself guilty of the theft—a rather far-fetched theory—or he was not going to admit to a negligence which would have been not far removed from criminal. In this latter case, however, he would have known the person who had the handling of the key, and to keep back this evidence would have been to take a very serious responsibility. On the whole, it seemed to French that, provisionally at all events, he must accept Norne’s statement.

  If so, could his key have been ‘borrowed’ without his knowledge?

  At the moment French did not see how, but the matter was obviously one for investigation. So far as he had gone, it certainly looked as if none of the known keys had been used.

  But there was another possibility—not perhaps a very likely one, but one which had been in his mind from the start.

  Suppose there was a third set of keys? French knew that extra keys were sometimes made for safes. It was a very old trick, occasionally practised by dishonest locksmiths in safe works. In fitting the keys they would have an opportunity of taking secret impressions. These could be smuggled home and extra keys could there be cut. An accomplice in the clerical side of the business would find out to whom the various safes in question were sold, and presently still another member of the gang would obtain access to the house where one of them had been installed, as a servant or a man from the gas works or the electricity station. He would not be watched, because the safe, being locked, would be considered secure, but with the extra keys he could make a fine haul. To guard against this form of robbery some careful people used two safes from different makers, placed one inside the other, on the grounds that no workman could get a key for more than one of them.

  It was with this possibility in mind that French had noted the makers of the safe in Norne’s office, and he decided that his next business would be to call on them.

  A few minutes later he was shown into the office of Mr Russell, Senr., a shrewd-looking man with pleasant manners.

  Mr Russell intimated that he would be glad to help the chief-inspector in any way in his power. But when he grasped the fact that French’s business involved a reflection on his firm and their way of doing business, he became less expansive.

  ‘But, my dear sir,’ he said shortly, ‘that trick is as old as the hills. You’re not very complimentary to assume that we don’t guard against it.’

  French was apologetic, and Russell, mollified, presently agreed to describe their practice. He thought the chief-inspector would agree that it was as efficient as any that could be devised. French tactfully said he was sure of it.

  It appeared that the firm were fully alive to the possiblity of fraud or theft on the part of their men. For this reason on
ly old hands who had been with them for many years, and of whose honesty they were completely satisfied, were entrusted with the fitting of the keys. These men, moreover, were paid a high rate of wages, so as to reduce temptation as far as possible.

  At the same time further precautions were used where possible. In the case of safes with two keys each was cut by a different man separately, and only the foreman handled both keys. In the case brought forward by the chief-inspector, therefore, both locksmiths would have to have conspired together to commit a crime, a not very likely assumption.

  The chief safeguard, however, was that Messrs Russell never sold a safe direct to a client. They dealt through agents, and it would have been almost impossible for the locksmiths to have learned the destination of any given safe. In the case in question that had been the procedure. The safe had been delivered to their agents in Victoria Street, who in turn had redirected it to Messrs Norne. No one at the Barking Works had known, or could have known, where it had gone.

  French, feeling he had learnt all he could learn from Messrs Russell, returned to the Norne offices. There the list of missing stones was just being completed, and in a few minutes he had received it and was driving in a taxi to the Yard.

  It happened that Sir Mortimer Ellison had not yet gone home, and French went to his room and gave him a concise report of the affair.

  ‘I agree with you, it looks like an inside job,’ the Assistant Commissioner declared when he had finished. ‘What sort are the crowd that you’ve met?’

  ‘They certainly seem all right, sir,’ French returned, ‘but, of course, you never know.’

  ‘You’ll have to find out if any of them are in low water, or anything of that sort. They told you the firm was not doing too well. How serious was that?’

  ‘I can’t answer that yet, sir,’ French admitted. ‘I have it in my notes as one of the first things to be gone into. I want tonight to get the list of missing stuff out. It’s rather a document,’ and French held up his sheaf of typewritten pages.

  ‘My word, yes. What about handling the case yourself?’

  ‘I was going to ask you about that, sir.’

  ‘I think you’d better. It’s a big case and we must get the stuff.’

  ‘Very good, sir,’ French said quietly. He was not unconscious of the implied compliment in the Assistant Commissioner’s words, but he recognised also the measure of responsibility involved. To fail to get both thieves and booty would be exceedingly unpleasant for himself.

  He took his sheets to the printer and drew up a list of those to whom the circulars were to be sent. These included not only the police generally in this country and Amsterdam and other places where precious stones were handled in large quantities, but also certain legitimate dealers, to whom it was hoped some of the stones might be offered.

  French had told Norne that when the reporters called he should allow them any reasonable information about the robbery that they asked for. As late that night he reached home and sat down for a few moments by the fire before going to bed, he saw that the papers had not lost their opportunity. Flare headlines described the affair as the biggest jewel robbery of the century, and the paragraphs following were written up with great skill. They did not convey much information, but they appeared to do so, and were exceedingly entertaining reading.

  French was pleased. The information given was just what the thief or thieves would expect to see, and nothing in the nature of a clue was hinted at.

  For some little time French sat on puffing gently at his pipe, while he considered his plan of campaign for the next day or for that day, for it was already past twelve o’clock. Then at last, his mind made up, he went upstairs and in a few minutes was sleeping the sleep of the weary.

  The first item on his programme for the following morning was a visit to the Yard finger-print department, and as soon as he had gone through his letters he went across.

  ‘Morning, Boyle,’ he said. ‘Have you got that print of the late accountant’s from Guildford?’

  ‘Yes, sir, I’ve just been going into it,’ the man answered. ‘It’s all over the place. Look here.’

  He pointed to a sheaf of photographic enlargements, upon which he had been working. ‘Here,’ he picked up one, ‘is the Guildford print. And here,’ he pointed to the others, ‘are prints from the inside of the safe. There’s no doubt they’re the same.’

  French nodded.

  ‘That applies to Norne’s also,’ went on Boyle, producing more photographs. ‘Those two men have been pretty well over the whole safe, inside and out, though there are more of Norne’s prints than of Minter’s.’

  ‘Any others inside?’ French asked, going at once to the essential point.

  ‘Some of Miles’s and these.’ Boyle produced still more photographs.

  ‘These’ were smudges of the shape and size of finger-prints which appeared in several places, sometimes cutting across and wiping out the other prints, same as had been found on the outside of the safe.

  ‘Gloves?’ said French.

  ‘Yes, sir: gloves. Thin gloves.’

  ‘Indicating a fourth party?’

  Though French put the question, he was really only thinking aloud. Did the fact that there were gloves necessarily prove that a fourth party was involved? Boyle evidently thought so, as was shown by his ready ‘Quite so, sir.’ But French was not so sure. If Norne and Minter were the culprits, they would probably have worn gloves as a blind: to produce this very suggestion that someone else had been there. No, unless there were further details he could not build up a theory.

  ‘Very well, that’s the safe. What about the rest of the room?’

  ‘I’ve got several prints that I’ve not yet checked up,’ Boyle returned. ‘But, sir, I wondered if it was necessary to check them all up? There would be callers going in and out all day, and in any case, even if we found someone’s print, it wouldn’t prove he was the thief.’

  To French this seemed sound. Besides, if the thief had worn gloves while working at the safe, he had probably done so during the entire visit.

  ‘Right,’ he agreed, ‘keep them for a last resource. You can’t get anything from the glove marks?’

  ‘Only a suggestion that the man had large hands. This photograph is actual size; see the spread between the thumb and the first two fingers. Of course, I know that’s not very reliable.’

  French fitted his own hand over the prints. To cover them he had to keep his fingers and thumb well spread out. It was true what Boyle had said, that deductions from such facts were apt to mislead; at the same time French thought that in this case the suggestion was probably sound.

  ‘I’ll bear it in mind,’ he admitted. ‘That all?’

  ‘That’s all, I’m afraid, sir.’

  French walked slowly back to his room. Though the value of finger-prints had become almost negligible since criminals had become aware of the dangers which lurked in them, he was still disappointed that this line of inquiry had not yielded more. As the matter stood, it looked as if the thief must be a biggish man, but this was by no means certain. Not much help so far, though better than nothing.

  Sitting down in his chair, French looked once again at his notes. ‘Finger-prints’ seemed to be worked out for the moment. His next item was ‘General interviews with staff,’ and to that he now turned.

  It represented, he knew, a mass of uninteresting and tedious work, pushed forward probably against unwillingness and obstruction, and probably ninety-nine per cent of it leading nowhere. Everyone in the Norne firm, with perhaps a few minor exceptions, would have to be interviewed. There was just the chance that someone might have seen an unknown person in the building, or a known person at an unusual hour or performing some unusual action. Even so remote a possibility could not be neglected.

  It was much too big a job for him to tackle single-handed. He therefore took half a dozen men with him to the Norne building and set them to work. Certain members of the staff he had noted as important, and
these he undertook himself. The first was Miss Barber, Norne’s secretary. With Carter in attendance he presently knocked at her door.

  She was a decidedly good-looking young woman and was very conscious of the fact. Her manner was supercilious, and French felt that only his chief-inspectorship saved him from actual scorn. He could not, however, complain of her answers to his questions, which were full enough and concisely given. She had been, she said with some sense of grievance, in the office on Saturday up till close on two o’clock. Mr Norne had gone as usual about twelve, but he had left some urgent work which she had stayed to finish. Yes, she thought she was the last to leave the building. No, so far as she knew, the cleaning staff had not turned up when she left. She had noticed nothing unusual at any time, nor had she seen anyone other than the people she always saw. On Monday morning nothing appeared to have been moved in her office or in Mr Norne’s. In fact, she could give no information of any kind about the affair. Had she been able to do so, she would have done it before that.

  French then gently pumped her as to her impressions of her fellow workers. Norne she evidently respected and, French thought, feared slightly. She liked in a condescending way Sir Ralph and Ricardo, evidently disliked Sloley and thought Sheen a fool. On Sloley she was particularly severe. French’s shrewd suspicions were confirmed by an admission that he ‘would be a bit too fresh if you’d let him,’ and the fact that once she had seen him, not drunk, but ‘happy’.

  ‘How did he show it?’ French asked with amused curiosity.

  ‘Singing in the chief’s room,’ she answered shortly.

  French mildly suggested that a man might sing without deserving the stigma of ‘happiness’. But she said pertly that everyone had his own opinion about decent conduct, and French let it go at that.

  But though Miss Barber was superior about most of those she met, there was one exception. Minter she had evidently admired. Not only did she consider him ‘a bit of a genius in his own line,’ but she had obviously liked him personally, and appeared genuinely sorry for his death.