22: Trapped

THE building in which Crench had his office stood at the corner of Chancery Lane and Cursitor Street, having an entrance in both thoroughfares. Liversedge remembered that important fact, and was bearing it well in mind when he and Pryke turned out of Fleet Street: he had no desire to let Crench---if he did happen to be there---slip out of his hands through back doors for the second time in one evening. Having more than once been in that particular block of offices on business, he knew exactly where Crench’s two rooms lay, high up on the fourth floor; he knew, too, from what angle of the street corner he could get a view of their windows. To that angle he repaired, and craning his neck looked up---to turn on Pryke with an exclamation of delight.

“Hit it!” he said. “He’s in!---anyway, somebody’s in! See those two lighted windows, away up? Those are Crench’s. And now, what’s the best thing to be done?”

Pryke pointed to the Cursitor Street entrance.

“Light there,” he said. “The door’s evidently open.”

“Oh, I’ve no doubt we can get in, easy enough,” replied Liversedge. “The only thing is---ought we to have some additional help?”

“I’m all right!” declared Pryke. “And, as I told you---if it comes to it, armed.”

“Just so!” agreed Liversedge. “But there are two doors to this place, and, I believe, two lots of stairs. While we’re going up one, Crench may be coming down the other---the wrong staircase.” He paused, listening. “I hear somebody coming,” he continued. “If it’s a constable----”

A policeman came along Cursitor Street, leisurely, trying the doors and basement windows in his progress; simultaneously, another came down Chancery Lane. Liversedge waited until they came up: then he introduced himself and Pryke and explained matters. And eventually, having posted one man at one door and the other round the corner, he and his fellow-detective walked into the Chancery Lane entrance and made for the staircase, only to be stopped by a big man who suddenly appeared out of a sort of hall-porter’s box, and who regarded them with suspicion.

“Hullo!” he exclaimed gruffly. “What may your business be?”

Liversedge motioned this man into the light at the foot of the stair, and without preface thrust his professional card under his nose.

“See?” he said laconically. “Business upstairs! with Mr. Crench. He’s in---eh?”

“Came in some ten minutes since,” replied the janitor, obviously surprised. He looked round at the open doorway and caught sight of the policeman standing in front. “Something up?” he inquired.

“Bit of business that concerns Mr. Crench,” answered Liversedge. “Do you know if he’s alone?”

“A gentleman came in with him,” said the man. “Unknown to me. You know your way up?”

“All right!” answered Liversedge. He began to climb the stairs, closely followed by Pryke. “If, as I suspect, it’s Simpson that’s with Crench,” he remarked as they drew near the fourth landing, “don’t be surprised if he shows fight! Crench won’t---if I’ve read him right, he’s the sort to collapse. But Simpson’s a determined fellow---quiet and dangerous. Watch him! However, we’ll let ’em know at once that we’ve plenty of assistance close by.”

Crench’s offices lay at the extreme end of a long corridor and down a side passage which opened from it. Half-way along the corridor, the two detectives suddenly heard a door bang; following on that came the sound of advancing feet. “They’re coming away!” whispered Liversedge. “Look out!”

Crench and Simpson came sharply round the corner; Simpson carried a small suit-case; Crench, an old-fashioned hand-bag. The electric light was full on just there, and each man was quick to recognise Liversedge. Their eyes turned questioningly from him to Pryke, and they came to an abrupt halt.

“If Simpson downs that suit-case, go for him!” muttered Liversedge. “Watch him close!” He strode on and up to the two surprised men. “Now, Crench, now, Simpson!” he said. “Show us back to the office you’ve come from! No use refusing or resisting!---we’ve plenty of help at hand---the police are downstairs. And listen here---Garner’s dead, and we’ve found on him certain matters about which I want an explanation from you. Come on, now---back to that office you’ve just left!”

Crench was beginning to tremble; in the light of the electric lamp above him, his face turned a sickly green. He drew back, easily responsive to Liversedge’s orders. But Simpson faced the detective boldly.

“What do you mean by addressing us in that way and interfering with us?” he demanded. “Garner dead?---that’s nonsense! We saw Garner an hour or two----”

“Garner broke his neck, Simpson, trying to get away from us in Wapping,” retorted Liversedge. “We tracked you and Crench down there to his hotel, and saw you in conversation with him in the smoking-room. We lost you there---but we’ve got you here! Now are you both going quietly back to that office?---or shall I call up the policemen? It’s no use you showing fight!---we’re both armed.”

As if to corroborate his colleague’s declaration, Pryke made a quiet but insignificant movement of his right hand in the direction of a convenient pocket, and Simpson, after a sharp glance at him, showed signs of acquiescence in Liversedge’s orders. But it was a slow and grudging acquiescence, and Liversedge saw that he was endeavouring to gain time.

“I know of no right that you have to stop me,” he began, as he turned after Crench, “Where’s your warrant for----”

“It’s no use arguing, Simpson!” interrupted Liversedge. “I’m responsible for what I’m doing! Now look here,” he went on, as Crench unlocked a door and turned on a light in his office. “You may as well face it---I want to know what you have in those things---your suit-case, Simpson, and your bag, Crench. And I shall want to know, too, what you were doing with Garner down there in Wapping. I may as well tell you that we followed you from King’s Cross to Mark Lane, and from Mark Lane to Wapping High Street: I’ll tell you, too, that on searching Garner’s dead body we found, amongst other valuables, three of the five hundred pound notes which were stolen from Mr. Henry Marchmont’s office on the night of his murder. Now---are you going to give me any information, or----”

Simpson suddenly sat down in the nearest chair and put his hands in his pockets.

“I shall not say anything!” he answered. Then he glanced at Crench. “Don’t you say a word, either!” he added. “Let them do what they like---we’ve plenty of time. Do nothing!”

Crench had put his bag on the table by the side of Simpson’s suit-case. He was trembling more than ever: Liversedge saw that he was going to show himself the craven thing that he had always believed him to be.

“I---I---if you’d only let me explain!” he began. “You see, Liversedge----”

“Psha!” said Simpson contemptuously. “What is there to explain? I tell you---say nothing. Let Liversedge run his head against another brick wall. He’s already thinking we murdered Marchmont! Let him think so!”

Liversedge made no reply to these taunts. With a whispered word to Pryke to keep his eye on both men, he went out to the head of the stair and called to the surprised caretaker to tell the two policemen to come up. Reinforced by their presence he went back, and while the uniformed men watched their quarry, he and Pryke opened the suit-case and began to examine its contents. There were articles of clothing and toilet necessaries there, to be sure; just enough for a man who is going away for a week-end or desires to have a few things close at hand on a sea voyage, but there were also bundles of notes, bearer bonds, securities easily convertible into cash in any foreign capital or commercial centre: the whole represented a very considerable amount, and Liversedge secretly concluded that Simpson at the moment of arrest was actually beginning the first stage of a flight to some distant country and carrying his money with him. He came to the same conclusion as regards Crench, after examining his bag. But in that second examination he made an important discovery, for there in a pocket-book filled with other valuable paper he came across two more of the five Bank of England notes previously unaccounted for. Crench witnessed his unearthing of these, and grew more nervous than ever, but Simpson, who had begun to smoke a cigarette, showed nothing but what was meant to be cynical indifference.

Liversedge wasted little time over this examination, especially after his discovery of the missing bank-notes. He replaced the various things in bag and suit-case, locked each, and turned to their owners.

“You’ll have to come with us, both of you!” he announced in matter-of-fact tones. “It’s no use protesting or saying anything, after what I’ve seen; you can give what explanation you like elsewhere.”

“Wh---what are you going to charge us with?” asked Crench huskily. “Upon my soul, Liversedge, I know nothing about----”

“Hold your tongue, man!” broke in Simpson. “Don’t be a fool! He’s going to charge us with being in possession of our own property!”

“The charge can wait,” remarked Liversedge. Although he showed nothing of it, he was full of surprise at the events of the evening, for though he had suspected Simpson, and Crench, and in a lesser degree, Garner, his suspicions had never assumed any very clear or definite shape. But now he was wondering whether the charge that would inevitably be made wouldn’t resolve itself into one of murder---and he glanced at his two prisoners with a half-dreamy speculativeness, already seeing ropes about their necks. Then he suddenly picked up the suit-case and the bag, and nodded at Pryke and the policemen. “Bring them along!” he said quietly.

Setting down his burdens in the corridor, Liversedge asked for and got the key of the office door from Crench and locked it himself. Downstairs, the caretaker stared widely at the significant procession; Crench looked away from him. Liversedge drew the man aside.

“Mr. Crench’s office is locked up, and the key’s in my pocket,” he said. “Have you a master key for it?”

“Why, there is such a thing,” answered the surprised caretaker, “but it’s never used. Mr. Crench, you see, he’s liked his cleaning done when he was in the office.”

“No one’s to enter that office---you understand!” ordered Liversedge. “I shall be back here in the morning.”

The caretaker nodded at the retreating figures of the two captives, now disappearing down the steps into Chancery Lane, carefully shepherded by Pryke and the two constables.

“What ha’ they been up to?” he asked. “I see you’ve took ’em! But Mr. Crench---he’s a peaceable, law-abidin’ sort---pays his rent reg’lar, and all that. That other feller, now---can’t abide him at no price! I reckon he’s been gettin’ poor Mr. Crench into trouble---what?”

Liversedge had been for hurrying on after issuing his monition about the key, but the caretaker’s last words gave him an idea.

“You’ll hear all about it, in due course,” he said. “These things will happen, you know. But the other man?---you’ve seen him here before?”

“Only now and then, and only of late,” replied the caretaker. “And it’s always been of a night---late, like this. He’s come in with Mr. Crench now and then, and once or twice by himself. I never saw him in my life before about a fortnight ago, but since then he’s been here at intervals, as you might say.”

“Alone?” asked Liversedge.

“Well, yes---but last night he came in with Mr. Garner. Him and Garner they come in at ten o’clock---uncommon late.”

“Was Crench here, then?”

“He was here---yes. He came in about ten minutes before they did---the three of ’em was upstairs till, well, getting on to eleven, it would be.”

“Bit unusual, isn’t it, for people to come here as late as that?” suggested Liversedge.

“Well, as a rule. But there are tenants that stops late---very late, sometimes. And there are others that lives here---two or three gentlemen has residential chambers, as they call ’em. Anyway, I’m always on duty down here till eleven---otherwise I shouldn’t ha’ seen that chap as I don’t like the look on. Reckon he’s been up to no good with poor Mr. Crench!”

Wondering what it was in Crench that had appealed to the caretaker, Liversedge hurried after his prisoners and their convoy. He was wondering, too, as to what charge to bring against the two men when he handed them over; eventually he decided to charge them with being in possession of the notes stolen from Henry Marchmont’s office, and to leave any grave charge until later. But when, after consultation with the officials, he did so charge them, Simpson objected sharply.

“You found no such notes on me, Liversedge, nor in my suit-case!” he said. “That’s pure nonsense! What you found is my property!”

“Not everything!” replied Liversedge. “You may have overlooked them, but there are two or three securities in there which were obviously the late Mr. Marchmont’s property and I believe them to have been stolen. Look at that---and that----”

He held up two documents, at sight of which Simpson started; their presence evidently took him by surprise. “Sandwiched in between a lot of bearer bonds,” remarked Liversedge in an undertone to the inspector. “I dare say he didn’t know they were there.”

Simpson said no more; he became doggedly silent and allowed himself to be locked up without further protest. But Crench, about to be removed, suddenly became eloquent and gave signs of supplementing his eloquence with tears.

“If you’re thinking that we---or I---or either or both of us were responsible for---for that affair of Henry Marchmont’s, you’re mistaken!” he burst out. “Absolutely, entirely mistaken! Before Heaven, Liversedge, I’d nothing to do with it---and he hadn’t---I know he hadn’t. About the money, I could explain. But I don’t mind the money---it’s the other thing---the murder! For God’s sake, don’t charge me with the murder!---I couldn’t bear to think that I was charged with that. And---and---will you send, now, just now, for Mr. Richard Marchmont? Send for him---for Mr. Richard!”