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« on: March 29, 2024, 03:35:59 am » |
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MR. ATHERTON came hurrying in---to pull himself up short at the sight of the surprised and expectant group awaiting him. A smile of high gratification stole over his spectacled face as he looked from one to the other.
“Well, well, well!” he exclaimed. “Chaney---Camberwell---Jalvane! Well, now I guess that there are no other three men in the world whose presence is so desirable at this present moment as yours is, all three! Talk of coincidence!---but, then, I don’t believe in what people call coincidence. I believe that all these things are the result of some unknown law which works----”
“What’s the trouble, Mr. Atherton?” interrupted Chaney. “Something wrong?”
Mr. Atherton took off his spectacles, polished them, put them on again, and dropped into a chair. He looked from one face to another, finally winding up with the Inspector.
“Guess you’re the officer in charge here?” he said. “Well, I came along to see you, to find out if you could get in immediate touch with friend Jalvane there, at headquarters in London, or with these two other gentlemen at their office. There are people who would assure you that this is a direct intervention of Providence! I refer to the fact that they are here at the very moment they’re wanted. Marvellous!”
“What are we wanted for, Mr. Atherton?” I asked.
“I’m going to tell you,” replied Mr. Atherton. He glanced at Chippendale and at Miss Pratt. “One may speak freely?”
“This young lady is our assistant, Mr. Atherton,” I said. “This is our clerk, Chippendale, whom I think you’ve met before. Say anything you please.”
“Very good,” he continued. “Well, now, I am at the Lord Warden Hotel in this town.”
“Yes, Mr. Atherton?”
“That man Stecke, the parson, is there also.”
“We’re aware of it, Mr. Atherton. That’s why we’re here.”
“I guessed that, five minutes ago. Well, now, I’m going to tell you. I arrived at the Lord Warden Hotel yesterday, from Paris, on my way to London. But never having seen Dover, except in coming and going across the Channel, I concluded to stay a day or two here and take a look round. Well, now, this afternoon there came into the hotel, from the Calais boat, a man whom I know very well indeed by sight, though I am happy to say he doesn’t know me by even as much as that. He is a man I used to see in New York, a man named Moskievitch, though he isn’t registered at the hotel in that name---he’s registered as Moscus, Mr. Alfred Moscus. Now I’ll tell you what I know of this man. As far as I am aware, he has not shown his face in New York for some six or seven years, and probably will never dare to do so again; I am not sure that the New York police wouldn’t be pleased to see him. When he was over there, he represented himself as an agent---an agent for buying and selling antiques, curiosities, pictures, old books, all that sort of thing. But what he was in strict reality was what you call a fence---anyway, he was convicted, to my knowledge, of being in possession of and of disposing of stolen goods. He got a lightish sentence, somehow, and then made himself very scarce. Well, as I say, this afternoon he walks into the Lord Warden Hotel here---and there he is---probably fast asleep in his bed.”
Mr. Atherton paused for a second or two; no one asking any question, he resumed his story.
“Well, I tell you this fellow Moscus, to call him by what he now calls himself, came in, registered, was given a room---near my own---and went up there with his baggage; this I saw, for I was walking about the entrance hall when he arrived. I saw him again, writing letters in the lounge, a little later on; I saw him again at dinner. Let me impress upon you, now, that this man does not know me---that is to say, I never met him personally. And of course he knew nothing of who I was when he saw me this afternoon or evening. If he’d examined the hotel register, he would have known, for my name is well known to everybody of his sort who has anything to offer. But my name was on a page preceding his, and no doubt he never turned back to see who might be there. And so things went on quite smoothly. But after dinner they began to get interesting. This way---after dinner I was sitting in a quiet corner of the lounge, alone, of course, smoking my cigar. This man Moscus, also smoking, sat in the centre of the lounge, in a position from which he could look right along the entrance hall. I, too, could see the length of that hall. And about half past eight I saw enter a man whom I perceived from his attire and collar to be a clergyman, and who had a quantity of luggage, light and heavy. I saw him busy at the reception office for a few minutes; then, after handing over his overcoat and hat to the hall-porter, he came along towards the lounge. And as he drew nearer, I recognized the Reverend Mr. Stecke!”
Mr. Atherton paused, to give this announcement its due effect. Everybody showing rapt attention, he proceeded.
“The Reverend Mr. Stecke!” he continued. “Well known to me, of course, through his association with the Linwood Church affair. Came along, I say, towards the lounge, large as life, hands in pockets, very self-assured. And a moment later I knew two things. Reverend Mr. Stecke had come there to meet Mr. Alfred Moscus; Mr. Alfred Moscus had come there to meet Reverend Mr. Stecke. Another half-minute and they were clasping hands like brethren.”
“Knew each other, sir, eh?” asked the local inspector.
“I should say, not until that particular moment,” replied Mr. Atherton. “But it needed but an inquiring glance and a shake of the hand, and they were as thick as thieves---a saying of yours, I believe, and probably particularly appropriate in this instance. Well, they sat down. Fortunately Reverend Mr. Stecke sat with his back to me. Mr. Moscus produced his cigar case; Mr. Stecke summoned a waiter. They smoked. They drank. And---they talked. Long and earnestly. And at last, rising together, they vanished in the direction of the elevator.”
“Went upstairs, eh?” asked Chaney.
“So I concluded,” assented Mr. Atherton. “However, before very long I had assurance of that. And now I am coming to possibly the most important point of my story. After these two had left the lounge perhaps a quarter of an hour, and it being then just on ten o’clock, I decided to go to bed; I am given to early hours, both for retiring and for rising. Now I mentioned that Moscus had been given a room very near my own; I had to pass his door. That door was very slightly open. And as I passed, I heard Stecke’s voice speaking certain words which made me think. Those words were these: Absolutely pre-Reformation work; probably fifteenth century.”
“Ah!” exclaimed Chaney. “Just that?”
“Just that,” assented Mr. Atherton. “And no more; I heard no remark from Moscus. I passed on, wondering. What was pre-Reformation work? What was probably fifteenth century? Then I had an illumination. Looking back, I remembered that the Linwood Church chalice, stolen with the rest of the valuables, was still unrecovered, untraced. Was it possible---you see what I mean?”
“We see!” said Chaney. “Possible that it had come into the hands of Stecke, and that he was trying to sell it to----”
“That, gentlemen, is precisely what I thought,” said Mr. Atherton, “and the more I thought, the more I felt convinced that it might be so. I recalled all the events of the theft. The two old books I myself restored to Canon Effingham; the paten, found in Seward’s bag when he was killed, was handed back to the Canon, too---am I right?”
“Quite right, sir,” said Chaney. “It was.”
“But of the chalice nothing had ever been heard,” continued Mr. Atherton. “Well, it didn’t seem an improbable thing that it should have come into Stecke’s hands. And, after worrying a lot, I left my room again, went down, asked my way, and came here to see the authorities and to consult with them about phoning you three. And---here you are! And now what’s to be done?”
Jalvane and the local Inspector looked at each other with a meaning smile; the Inspector pulled out his watch.
“Ten minutes to eleven,” he remarked. “I suggest we go along.”
“Yes!” said Jalvane. “Better take one or two of your men, though. Not necessarily to go inside. But to be---handy.”
The local Inspector left the room; Jalvane turned to Mr. Atherton.
“I suppose you left those two upstairs?” he said. “Didn’t see anything of them when you came down?”
“I heard them still talking in Moscus’s room as I passed on my way out,” replied Mr. Atherton, “but by that time the door was closed. Oh, I guess they’re quite safely housed for the night. They never saw me at all, upstairs or downstairs.”
The Inspector came back with two men in plain clothes.
“Ready!” he announced. “Who else?” He turned and looked at Miss Pratt. “This young lady?” he continued, questioningly. “She ought to be in bed. There’s a quiet hotel close by----”
But Miss Pratt was on her feet and buttoning her coat.
“Thank you,” she said. “But after all I’ve done, I’m going to be in at the end. Don’t you bother about me---I’ll see to myself when we’ve finished the job. Chip and I are going on there, to see what happens.”
“We can’t all crowd into the hotel,” said the Inspector. “You’ll have to wait outside---if you must go.”
“That’ll do,” said Miss Pratt. “We’ll hang around and see what you bring out.”
So there was something like a procession along the deserted streets and wharves to the Lord Warden Hotel. But before we reached its portals, Jalvane and the Inspector had formed a plan of campaign. They, Atherton, Chaney, and I were to enter and go to Stecke’s room; the two plain-clothes men, with Chippendale and Miss Pratt, were to remain outside, close to the hotel, in case they were wanted. And here Chaney put in a word of warning.
“Don’t be surprised if Stecke puts up a fight!” he said. “From what I’ve seen of him, he’s the sort of fellow that may turn ugly. Not only that, but he may be armed.”
Jalvane and the Inspector whispered together for a moment. Then Jalvane touched the side-pocket of his overcoat---a garment which I had never seen him without, and from the pockets of which he produced all sorts of things---and I heard a faint, metallic click.
“All right---as long as you’re prepared,” said the Inspector. “Well, let’s get in. The night-porter knows me well enough.”
All the same, the night-porter, opening the door for us, showed his surprise, and it deepened when, glancing beyond us, he saw the four reserves hanging about on the pavement.
“Something afoot, Inspector?” he asked. “Want somebody?”
The Inspector motioned him to precede us into the inner hall. Everything was very quiet there; everybody, staff and guests, appeared to have gone to bed.
“We do want somebody!” whispered the Inspector. “And with as little noise and fuss as possible. You’ve got a parson here---youngish man?”
“Reverend Mr. Simpson, from London,” said the night-porter. “Number 271.”
“And a man named Moscus----”
“From Paris,” assented the night-porter. “Number 269.”
“We want to see them both,” continued the Inspector. “Mr. Simpson first. Now take us up there. We’ll avoid all the disturbance we can; whether there’s any noise, fuss, or bother depends on---him. The two rooms are close together, eh?”
“Close,” said the night-porter. “This gentleman,” pointing to Mr. Atherton, “has one near by. Well, keep things as quiet as you can, Inspector. This way.”
He led us round a corner to the lift; we all crowded into it. Presently we were all out of it and in a softly carpeted corridor. Everything was as quiet as could be; the only sound I heard was that of the sea in the harbour outside. The night-porter went a little way along the corridor and, pausing, pointed to a number.
“Here you are!” he whispered. “271.”
“Knock---and wait a minute,” said the Inspector.
The night-porter knocked---once, twice, again. At the third knock we heard Stecke’s voice.
“Who’s that?”
“Tell him you want to speak to him---say who you are,” ordered the Inspector.
“Night-porter, sir. Can I have a word with you?”
We heard a key turned, a bolt drawn back. Jalvane and the Inspector edged as close as they could get to the door. It opened—an inch—two inches. The next instant they were inside and we after them. And there was Stecke, in his pyjamas. . . .
At the first glimpse of his visitors Stecke made an acrobatic leap sideways and backwards towards the bed he had just left. But, quick as he was, Jalvane was quicker. Before I could realize what he was after, he had both arms round his man, and the next I saw was Stecke rolled on to the side of the bed with his wrists secured in a pair of shining handcuffs. He lay back, panting, glaring.
“This---this is an outrage!” he burst out. “You shall----”
Jalvane tossed a pillow aside and picked up a revolver. Holding it up for a second before the rest of us, he calmly dropped it into a pocket of his overcoat. Then he motioned me to shut the door. But, a sudden thought occurring to him, he opened it again and called to the night-porter, who until the door had been closed had watched our proceedings.
“Go down and outside,” he said. “Tell these two men---not the youngster nor the girl---to come in. Bring them up here quietly and post them outside Number 269 and bid them wait there.”
Then Jalvane closed the door again and took a silent look round. We were all silent---for a moment. Stecke lay where Jalvane had thrown him, glaring like a trapped beast; the rest of us watched him. We were waiting for Jalvane; Jalvane, somehow, had assumed command of the entire situation. Even Chaney kept silence, waiting, watching.
Jalvane turned from his inspection of the room to Stecke. There was a new note in his voice when he spoke; his tones were those of a man who is not going to be trifled with.
“Now, Stecke,” he said, “where is the Linwood chalice?”
I saw a look of surprise come into Stecke’s angry eyes; a second, and it changed to one of fear. But Stecke made no answer.
Jalvane pointed to two cabin-trunks and two suit-cases, piled up at one end of the room. “We don’t want the bother of opening and searching those,” he said. “So you’d better speak. Where is that chalice? It’s hopeless to keep things back, Stecke. You took it from Mrs. Effingham, and it’s been in your keeping ever since. Where is it now?”
Stecke’s lips opened slightly, but no reply came. He was still panting for breath after his short struggle with Jalvane.
“Well, then,” continued Jalvane, “if you won’t speak---” He suddenly tossed the remaining pillows aside, as if he had expected to find something under one of them. There was nothing. He turned to Stecke’s clothes, thrown over a chair, and, pointing Chaney to the trousers, picked up the coat. A moment later he turned to us with a pocket-book in his hand. There were papers in that pocket-book which, subsequently examined at leisure, were of importance and interest. Letters from Mrs. Effingham---cuttings from newspapers which showed how Stecke had kept himself informed about matters relating to the Linwood Church affair---notes made by himself which gave one the impression that after discovering Mrs. Effingham’s secret he had concocted some scheme of his own for benefiting by the discovery. But nothing was so interesting or important as a slip of paper which Jalvane unearthed from an inside pocket of the book and silently placed before Atherton, Chaney, and me---a cheque on the London house of a famous French bank for fifteen hundred pounds, drawn by Alfred Moscus in favour of Reverend H. Simpson.
Jalvane bundled cheque, papers, and cuttings back into the pocket-book and, opening the door, signed to the two plain-clothes men waiting in the corridor. They came in.
“Keep your eye on this man,” said Jalvane. “He’s to stay there until I want him further.”
Then, followed by the rest of us, he marched out of the room to the door of Number 269. This time he knocked with his own fingers. And when a voice from inside demanded to know who was there, Jalvane answered in one plain word:
“Police!”
I don’t know what the exact nationality of Mr. Moskievitch, alias Moscus, may have been---whether he was a Pole, or a Hungarian, or a Czecho-Slovakian, or a mixture of something stamped, for lack of particulars, American. But I do know that he was a very frightened man when Jalvane, Chaney, and I walked into his room without let or ceremony. (Mr. Atherton drew back from that job; there was the chance, he said, that Moskievitch might know him, and he did not wish to be regarded as deus ex machina in this matter.) He was a little, swarthy man, and his face turned a bluish white, and I believe his knees knocked together in his beautiful silk pyjamas. Certainly his teeth chattered.
“Wh-wh-what is this?” he stammered agitatedly. “Gentlemen, I----”
“Mr. Alfred Moscus, I believe, according to the register downstairs,” said Jalvane. “But otherwise Mr. Moskievitch, formerly of New York. Now, Mr. Moscus, I have just found a cheque of yours, made out on this date, in favour of the Reverend Henry Simpson, whom I have just arrested. What did you hand Simpson that cheque in exchange for? A plain answer, if you please.”
Mr. Moscus spread his hands.
“But, sir, I have purchased certain articles from Reverend Mr. Simpson!” he protested. “What I have bought I have bought in good faith. If I have been deceived----”
“What have you bought?” demanded Jalvane. “Show the goods!”
Moscus hesitated, wrung his hands, tried to speak; I am not sure that tears did not come into his eyes.
“No nonsense, now!” said Jalvane. “If you’re in possession of stolen goods----”
Moscus turned suddenly and, going over to a chest of drawers in a corner of the room, pulled one open and took out a package done up in much soft paper. He began to unwrap the paper and to protest all at the same time. No one took any notice; we were all watching. And the last wrappings fell away, and there, before us, on the dressing-table, stood the missing chalice---resting on the paten!
“Good Lord!” exclaimed Chaney. “There’s the---what d’ye call it?---the paten, too! The chalice we knew of, but the other thing----”
“I think I know how he got hold of it, Chaney,” said I. “After the death of Seward, and the discovery of the paten in his suit-case, it was given back by the City police to Canon Effingham. Well, we know that Stecke has been going to Linwood now and then since, and that he was there last night. Either he stole it from there or he forced Mrs. Effingham to hand it over to him. Anyhow, there they both are---chalice and paten. Better ask this man to give his account of the transaction between himself and Stecke.”
But that was not Jalvane’s way. Jalvane collared the stolen goods, bade the trembling Mr. Moscus hold himself at the disposal of the police in the morning, and, returning to Stecke’s room, sternly commanded him to dress. Stecke, relieved, for the time being, of his handcuffs, obeyed orders and made his toilet under the close supervision of the plain-clothes men. After which he was marched downstairs and out into the night, where, escorted by Jalvane, the local Inspector, and the two men in mufti, he disappeared in the direction of the police station.
So that was over, at last, and there, standing outside the Lord Warden Hotel at Dover, at nearly midnight, were Chaney, myself, Chippendale, and Miss Fanny Pratt. What next? Mr. Atherton solved that question with characteristic generosity.
“Well, now,” he said, as the echoes of the footsteps of guard and prisoner died away, “I reckon that we shall now be all the better, all of us, for a little refreshment and a little sleep, and I have already told the night-porter that you are all coming in with me as my guests, and that he is to give the young lady a particularly nice room. I do not know,” he added, as we trooped into the hotel at his heels, “if Mr. Stecke will sleep on a plank bed tonight, but I am sure that he will sleep with his own conscience!”
THE END
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