The blue scarab
“I see,” said he. “You want clear evidence that the bars were in the
case when it left here. Well, I think we can satisfy you on that
point. Bullion is not a customable commodity, but it has to be
examined and reported. If it is consigned to the Bank of England or
the Mint, the case is passed through with the seals unbroken, but as
this was a private consignment, the seals will have been broken and
the contents of the case examined. Jeffson, show these gentlemen the
report on the case of gold bars from the _Labadi_.”
“Would it be possible,” Thorndyke asked, “for us to have a few words
with the officer who opened the case? You know the legal partiality
for personal testimony.”
“Of course it would. Jeffson, when these gentlemen have seen the
report, find the officer who signed it and let them have a talk with
him.”
We followed Mr. Jeffson into an adjoining office where he produced the
report and handed it to Thorndyke. The particulars that it gave were
in effect those that would be furnished by the ship’s manifest and the
bill of lading. The case was thirteen inches long by twelve wide and
nine inches deep, outside measurement; and its gross weight was one
hundred and seventeen pounds three ounces, and it contained four bars
of the aggregate weight of one hundred and thirteen pounds two ounces.
“Thank you,” said Thorndyke, handing back the report. “And now can we
see the officer--Mr. Byrne, I think--just to fill in the details?”
“If you will come with me,” replied Mr. Jeffson, “I’ll find him for
you. I expect he is on the wharf.”
We followed our conductor out on to the quay among a litter of cases,
crates and barrels, and eventually, amidst a battalion of Madeira wine
casks, found the officer deep in problems of “content and ullage,” and
other customs mysteries. As Jeffson introduced us, and then discreetly
retired, Mr. Byrne confronted us with a mahogany face and a truculent
blue eye.
“With reference to this bullion,” said Thorndyke, “I understand that
you weighed the bars separately from the case?”
“Oi did,” replied Mr. Byrne.
“Did you weigh each bar separately?”
“Oi did not,” was the concise reply.
“What was the appearance of the bars--I mean as to shape and size?
Were they of the usual type?”
“Oi’ve not had a great deal to do with bullion,” said Mr. Byrne, “but
Oi should say that they were just ordinary gold bars, about nine
inches long by four wide and about two inches deep.”
“Was there much packing material in the case?”
“Very little. The bars were wrapped in thick canvas and jammed into
the case. There wouldn’t be more than about half an inch clearance all
round to allow for the canvas. The case was inch and a half stuff
strengthened with iron bands.”
“Did you seal the case after you had closed it up?”
“Oi did. ’Twas all shipshape when it was passed back to the mate. And
Oi saw him hand it over to the consignees’ agents; so ’twas all in
order when it left the wharf.”
“That was what I wanted to make sure of,” said Thorndyke; and, having
pocketed his notebook and thanked the officer, he turned away among
the wilderness of merchandise.
“So much for the Customs,” said he. “I am glad we went there first. As
you have no doubt observed, we have picked up some useful
information.”
“We have ascertained,” I replied, “that the case was intact when it
was handed over to the consignees’ agents, so that our investigations
at Garbridge will start from a solid basis. And that, I take it, is
all you wanted to know.”
“Not quite all,” he rejoined. “There are one or two little details
that I should like to fill in. I think we will look in on the shipping
agents and present Halethorpe’s note. We may as well learn all we can
before we make our start from the scene of the robbery.”
“Well,” I said. “I don’t see what more there is to learn here. But
apparently you do. That seems to be the office, past those sheds.”
The manager of the shipping agent’s office looked us up and down as he
sat at his littered desk with Halethorpe’s letter in his hand.
“You’ve come about that bullion that was stolen,” he said brusquely.
“Well, it wasn’t stolen here. Hadn’t you better inquire at Garbridge,
where it was?”
“Undoubtedly,” replied Thorndyke. “But I am making certain preliminary
inquiries. Now, first, as to the bill of lading. Who has that--the
original, I mean?”
“The captain has it at present, but I have a copy.”
“Could I see it?” Thorndyke asked.
The manager raised his eyebrows protestingly, but produced the
document from a file and handed it to Thorndyke, watching him
inquisitively as he copied the particulars of the package into his
notebook.
“I suppose,” said Thorndyke as he returned the document, “you have a
copy of the ship’s manifest?”
“Yes,” replied the manager, “but the entry in the manifest is merely a
copy of the particulars given in the bill of lading.”
“I should like to see the manifest, if it is not troubling you too
much.”
“But,” the other protested impatiently, “the manifest contains no
information respecting this parcel of bullion excepting the one entry,
which, as I have told you, has been copied from the bill of lading.”
“I realize that,” said Thorndyke; “but I should like to look over it,
all the same.”
Our friend bounced into an inner office and presently returned with a
voluminous document, which he slapped down on a side-table.
“There, sir,” he said. “That is the manifest. This is the entry
relating to the bullion that you are enquiring about. The rest of the
document is concerned with the cargo, in which I presume you are not
interested.”
In this, however, he was mistaken; for Thorndyke, having verified the
bullion entry, turned the leaves over and began systematically, though
rapidly, to run his eye over the long list from the beginning, a
proceeding that the manager viewed with frenzied impatience.
“If you are going to read it right through, sir,” the latter observed,
“I shall ask you to excuse me. Art is long but life is short,” he
added with a sour smile.
Nevertheless he hovered about uneasily, and when Thorndyke proceeded
to copy some of the entries into his notebook, he craned over and read
them without the least disguise, though not without comment.
“Good God, sir!” he exclaimed. “What possible bearing on this robbery
can that parcel of scrivelloes have? And do you realize that they are
still in the ship’s hold?”
“I inferred that they were, as they are consigned to London,”
Thorndyke replied, drawing his finger down the “description” column
and rapidly scanning the entries in it. The manager watched that
finger, and as it stopped successively at a bag of gum copal, a case
of quartz specimens, a case of six-inch brass screw-bolts, a bag of
beni-seed and a package of kola nuts, he breathed hard and muttered
like an angry parrot. But Thorndyke was quite unmoved. With calm
deliberation he copied out each entry, conscientiously noting the
marks, descriptions of packages and contents, gross and net weight,
dimensions, names of consignors and consignees, ports of shipment and
discharge, and, in fact, the entire particulars. It was certainly an
amazing proceeding, and I could make no more of it than could our
impatient friend.
At last Thorndyke closed and pocketed his note-book, and the manager
heaved a slightly obtrusive sigh. “Is there nothing more, sir?” he
asked. “You don’t want to examine the ship, for instance?” The next
moment, I think, he regretted his sarcasm, for Thorndyke inquired with
evident interest: “Is the ship still here?”
“Yes,” was the unwilling admission. “She finishes unloading here at
midday to-day and will probably haul into the London Docks to-morrow
morning.”
“I don’t think I need go on board,” said Thorndyke, “but you might
give me a card in case I find that I want to.”
The card was somewhat grudgingly produced, and when Thorndyke had
thanked our entertainer for his help, we took our leave and made our
way towards the station.
“Well,” I said, “you have collected a vast amount of curious
information, but I am hanged if I can see that any of it has the
slightest bearing on our inquiry.”
Thorndyke cast on me a look of deep reproach. “Jervis!” he exclaimed,
“you astonish me; you do, indeed. Why, my dear fellow, it stares you
in the face!”
“When you say ‘it,’” I said a little irritably, “you mean----?”
“I mean the leading fact from which we may deduce the _modus operandi_
of this robbery. You shall look over my notes in the train and sort
out the data that we have collected. I think you will find them
extremely illuminating.”
“I doubt it,” said I. “But, meanwhile, aren’t we wasting a good deal
of time? Halethorpe wants to get the gold back; he doesn’t want to
know how the thieves contrived to steal it.”
“That is a very just remark,” answered Thorndyke. “My learned friend
displays his customary robust common sense. Nevertheless, I think that
a clear understanding of the mechanism of this robbery will prove very
helpful to us, though I agree with you that we have spent enough time
on securing our preliminary data. The important thing now is to pick
up a trail from Garbridge. But I see our train is signalled. We had
better hurry.”
As the train rumbled into the station, we looked out for an empty
smoking compartment, and having been fortunate enough to secure one,
we settled ourselves in opposite corners and lighted our pipes. Then
Thorndyke handed me his notebook and as I studied, with wrinkled
brows, the apparently disconnected entries, he sat and observed me
thoughtfully and with the faintest suspicion of a smile. Again and
again I read through those notes with ever-dwindling hopes of
extracting the meaning that “stared me in the face.” Vainly did I
endeavour to connect gum copal, scrivelloes or beni-seed with the
methods of the unknown robbers. The entries in the notebook persisted
obstinately in remaining totally disconnected and hopelessly
irrelevant. At last I shut the book with a savage snap and handed it
back to its owner.
“It’s no use, Thorndyke,” I said. “I can’t see the faintest glimmer of
light.”
“Well,” said he, “it isn’t of much consequence. The practical part of
our task is before us, and it may turn out a pretty difficult part.
But we have got to recover those bars if it is humanly possible. And
here we are at our jumping-off place. This is Garbridge Station--and
I see an old acquaintance of ours on the platform.”
I looked out, as the train slowed down, and there, sure enough, was no
less a person than Inspector Badger of the Criminal Investigation
Department.
“We could have done very well without Badger,” I remarked.
“Yes,” Thorndyke agreed, “but we shall have to take him into
partnership, I expect. After all, we are on his territory and on the
same errand. How do you do, Inspector?” he continued, as the officer,
having observed our descent from the carriage, hurried forward with
unwonted cordiality.
“I rather expected to see you here, sir,” said he. “We heard that Mr.
Halethorpe had consulted you. But this isn’t the London train.”
“No,” said Thorndyke. “We’ve been to Bellhaven, just to make sure that
the bullion was in the case when it started.”
“I could have told you that two days ago,” said Badger. “We got on to
the Customs people at once. That was all plain sailing; but the rest
of it isn’t.”
“No clue as to how the case was taken away?”
“Oh, yes; that is pretty clear. It was hoisted out, and the dummy
hoisted in, through the window of the station-master’s office. And the
same night, two men were seen carrying a heavy package, about the size
of the bullion-case, towards the marshes. But there the clue ends. The
stuff seems to have vanished into thin air. Of course our people are