Читать книгу The Adventures Of Tyler Tatlock, Private Detective - James Edward Muddock - Страница 4

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SOME years ago a series of remarkable house burglaries took place during the winter months in the neighbourhood of Edinburgh's most beautiful suburb, Queensferry. Several of the large houses there had been entered in a mysterious manner, and a great amount of valuable property, consisting principally of plate and jewellery, was carried off. As may be supposed, something like consternation spread through the district, and very strong complaints were made to the police, without producing material results, however. Of course, steps were at once taken to try and spot the gang, for it was believed to be a gang, who were working their 'trade' so successfully; but no arrest was made, and no explanations of the robberies were forthcoming. And more than that, notwithstanding these inquiries, watchings, and waitings, they did not even put a stop to the depredations. A Mr. M'Gowan, the occupant of 'The Rowans,' complained that his house had been entered and nearly a hundred pounds' worth of miscellaneous jewellery carried off; Mrs. Gorst, a widow lady, living at Islandview Lodge,' reported the loss of some very valuable old silver which had been in her family for generations; Mrs. Wilfred Read, of 'The Retreat,' was the poorer by a diamond necklet valued at a hundred and fifty pounds; while Mr. John Nairn, of 'The Rookery,' missed a presentation gold chronometer watch and a pearl and diamond scarfpin.

These are mere samples of the numerous reports that reached the police, and they serve to show how very serious the matter was. In some cases windows or doors were forced, but this was rather the exception than the rule, for things disappeared as if by magic, and there was often no trace of any forcible entry into the premises from whence the property had been taken.

Having regard to all the circumstances, it was perhaps in accordance with a natural police law that the culprits, it was expected, would be found among the ranks of the domestics in the various houses; but though the usual methods adopted by the police when servants are suspected were put into force, they failed to obtain even the shadow of a clue.

At last a crisis was reached when a Mrs. Bertha Wylie made a great outcry about the loss of a very valuable gold bracelet set with diamonds and rubies—present from her father on the morning of her marriage. It appeared that Mrs. Wylie had been attending an 'At Home' at the house of a neighbour, where her bracelet was the admiration of all. When she left she drove in a cab to her own residence, and immediately went upstairs to her bedroom, where she took off her bracelet and laid it on the dressing-table while she washed her hands preparatory to joining her husband at dinner. She was rather late, and he being a-hungered was not in the best of tempers at having to wait, particularly as he had brought a friend home to dine with him, so having hastily arranged her hair and performed other little toilet details dear to the heart of every woman she rushed downstairs to the dining-room, forgetting all about the bracelet. Nor did she remember it until the following morning when she rose. But a search on the toilet table, on the floor, in her jewel case, and in possible and impossible places did not bring the missing trinket to light. It had gone, disappeared, vanished completely. Full of a great grief, and with heavy heart, the lady made known her loss, and in discussing the matter with a friend she said—

'You know, dear, valuable as the bracelet is, it is not so much the mere value that affects me as the fact that dear papa gave it to me the morning I married Tom.'

Mrs. Wylie was loud in her lamentations, and through the medium of the newspapers, as well as by handbills exhibited in the shop windows, she offered a reward of twenty pounds for the recovery of the missing article.

This last robbery, so mysterious and audacious, aroused the whole community, and the male representatives met together in the house of a Mr. Scott, an Edinburgh lawyer, to discuss the situation and see if something couldn't be done to bring the guilt home to someone. The police had been baffled entirely, and the law-abiding subjects felt that the time had come when they should take the matter into their own hands. But notwithstanding that a good many of Mr. Scott's cigars were smoked and a fair quantity of his excellent whisky drunk, nothing practically was arrived at until the host himself, who had remained unusually silent during the discussion, on the principle, probably, that 'he who speaks last speaks well,' put a suggestion before the meeting.

'Some time ago,' he said, 'I had to do with a very peculiar will case, in which I was associated with the well-known London legal firm of Fleming, Steel, & Griffin, of Chancery Lane, and it became necessary for us to engage the services of Tyler Tatlock.'

'Who is Tyler Tatlock?' asked somebody.

'Well, he is a very remarkable man who carries on a private detective agency in London, and I was informed that he was considered to be without a rival.'

'Never heard of him,' remarked two or three persons together.

'Possibly not, but he has earned a reputation. At any rate, in the will case I instance he rendered invaluable service, and he made a very deep impression upon me.

'What sort of a man is he?' asked some one.

'Do you mean mentally, physically, or what?'

'Generally.'

'Well, physically he is below medium height, but lithe as a snake and tough as nails. He doesn't impress you at first sight. He has a clean-shaven face. His features are rather small, and his eyes are so small and deep-set that sometimes when he frowns you would think he had no eyes at all. But I have never met a man yet who saw so much with his eyes as Tatlock. He would discern a microbe on the end of your nose.'

'I suppose what you are driving at, Scott,' said one of his guests, 'is that we should get this marvel down here?'

'Precisely.'

'At whose cost?'

'Our own. I propose that we should make a whip round for his fee, whatever it is. Those who have lost things will surely not begrudge to give it. There is a chance of their property being restored to them.'

'Well, I shall be willing to do my bit,' said one gentleman.

'And so will I.'

'And I.'

So the proposal was agreed to, it being understood that the matter should be kept secret.

About a week later there entered Mr. Scott's office in Edinburgh a little, somewhat sallow-faced man, with small black beady eyes, somewhat scant black hair, a clean-shaven face that seemed to wear an habitual expression of good humour, and a smooth, dulcet voice that might have been taken for a woman's. He was neatly, but not ostentatiously, dressed. This person was Tyler Tatlock, who would have passed unnoticed in a crowd by the casual observer. But no man who had the power to penetrate a little beneath the surface of the human mask could have been in Tatlock's presence very long before discovering that he was dealing with no ordinary person. The mobility of the face, to begin with, was simply marvellous; and then there was a strange, absolutely inexplicable magnetic influence about him that, in spite of yourself, made you feel you could at once take the little man into your confidence and tell him the innermost secrets of your heart. He was so quiet, his voice was so soft and insinuating, his manner so pleasant that he drew you out against your will.

Tatlock had originally intended to become an analytical chemist, and spent many years studying the science, when suddenly the true bent of his mind was developed by some analytical work he was doing in connection with a case of murder by poison. He thereupon abandoned chemistry as a profession and became a detective, but not without much study and preparation. He visited every capital in Europe, made himself thoroughly conversant with the various police systems; travelled extensively through India, China, Japan, and other countries, including Brazil. During his wanderings he acquired a wonderful knowledge of poisons, and at last returned home fully equipped for the walk in life he elected to follow.

Mr. Scott, with lawyer-like precision, gave Tatlock a full account of the Queensferry robberies. Tatlock listened attentively, his small eyes seemingly hidden by a frown, the index finger of his right hand on his temple, the elbow supported by the left hand; a favourite attitude when he was absorbed.

'Of course,' said Mr. Scott, when he had finished his recital, 'no one save a few gentlemen in the Ferry knows that you are here.'

'I am glad of that. A man has a much better chance of getting at the bottom of an apparent mystery if no one suspects that he is prowling about.'

A little later Tyler Tatlock went down to Queensferry to study the lay of the land, and spent some hours in wandering about. He strolled into a spirit merchant's shop for a dram in the course of the afternoon, and had a chat with the man who served the drink, and incidentally touched on the burning question of the hour in that neighbourhood—the robberies.

'I suppose you've heard a' aboot the thefts,' remarked the publican.

'Well, I've heard something, but one never knows what to believe.'

'Well, I'm of opinion that the servants in the different hooses are at the bottom of the whole business.'

'I can't think that.'

'Weel noo' tak' the case o' Mistress Wylie, a bonnie young woman but newly marrit. She pits her bracelet on her dressing-table after making a call on some friends. She forgets a' aboot it when she gangs tae her dinner, and the next day there's nae signs o' it.'

'But was the house not broken into?'

'Na, na.'

'Well, on the face of it it does look as though the servants had had something to do with that robbery. How many does she keep?'

'Twa, I think.'

'Has she lived here long?'

'Na, aboot sax months.'

'Where does she come from?'

I've heard say she was born here in the Ferry, but went south with her parents when she was a wee lassie. Her husband's an Edinburgh man, but I understand he has been living in France or somewhere on the Continent.'

'What does he do?'

'I'm no sure that lie has any trade. Any way I've not heard that he does anything. I'm perfectly sure he doesna gang to Edinburgh every day like most of the folk hereabouts.'

At this point the loquacious publican was called off to serve and pass the time of day with some other customer. So Tatlock finished his liquor and went out, and returned to Edinburgh.

Two or three days later a curious-looking little old country woman called at Mrs. Wylie's house at Queensferry, and asked to see Mrs. Wylie herself. She was requested to state her business, but declined, simply saying she wished to see the mistress on a very important matter. Presently she was invited to enter the breakfast-room, and having been kept waiting nearly half-an-hour Mrs. Wylie put in an appearance.

A very pretty little blonde woman with golden hair, blue eyes, and a sweet, baby face, but somewhat fussy manner.

'What do you want with me, my good woman?'

I've heard tell that you're offering a reward of twenty pounds for the recovery of a bracelet that was stolen from you.

'Yes, that is right.'

'I suppose there is no fear but the money would be paid if you got information?'

'Why, of course it would be paid.'

'Is the master in?'

'Yes.'

'Could I see him?'

'No, I don't think you can. He's not up yet. He didn't go to bed till very late. But what do you want to see him for?'

'Well, mistress, you see I'm a woman, and—don't be angry with me—but I've no great faith in my own sex when it comes to a matter of business.'

'You are certainly not complimentary,' remarked Mrs. Wylie sharply.

'I hope I haven't offended you, Mistress Wylie,' said the woman apologetically.

'But you have.'

'I'm sorry for it, but I thought it would be more satisfaction to me if your husband would just give me a bit paper promising to pay the twenty pounds if the bracelet is found.'

'Oh, you can trust me,' said the lady haughtily, 'but I don't believe you know anything about the bracelet.'

'What makes you think that?'

'Two or three things. Can you describe it now?'

'The funny little old woman fumbled about her clothes, and at last produced from an inner pocket one of the hand-bills offering the reward and describing the article.

'I get my description from that,' she said.

'Oh, that's all right; but where have you seen the bracelet?'

'I didn't say I had seen it.'

'But you evidently know something about it.'

'No, I've only heard some folk talking.'

Mrs. Wylie laughed heartily as she said:

'Well, you are a comical sort of person, upon my word. What's the use of you coining here unless you can help me to recover my property?'

'You see, m'm, I'm a poor body, and twenty pounds would be a fortune to me; so I thought I would come and tell you what I've heard.'

'What have you heard?'

'I heard a neighbour of mine say she was in a pawn-shop on Saturday night getting out her man's duds for the Sabbath, when a man came in and offered a bracelet in pawn, and my neighbour vows from what she could see of it it was your bracelet.'

'And was it pawned?' asked the lady quickly.

'Oh, ay.'

'Well, you see, it could hardly be mine, because every pawnbroker in Scotland has had a description of the bracelet, so no one would be likely to lend money on it.'

The country woman looked rather chapfallen as she remarked:

'Ma certes! I didn't think of that. Ah, well, just forgive me for calling on you. I was keen to get that twenty pounds, and I thought I'd give you the information.'

The old woman took herself off, and in the course of the day Mrs. Bertha Wylie, elegantly dressed, wearing a real sealskin jacket and carrying a sealskin muff, called on a lady friend, a Mrs. Smith, who resided in the Ferry, and over the tea and cakes she told her about the old woman calling on her.

'Well, to be sure, what a stupid creature!' exclaimed Mrs. Smith. 'Whatever could have been her object!'

'I suppose she thought I should give her something; but I wasn't quite such a fool as she fancied I was.'

'I wonder,' remarked Mrs. Smith thoughtfully, 'if she is connected in any way with the mysterious thieves who have been committing all these robberies?'

'I wonder,' echoed the pretty little blonde lady, arranging the dainty mass of flimsy tulle that encircled her white throat as she stood before the mirror over the drawing-room mantelpiece.

'I shouldn't think you are ever likely to get the bracelet back,' pursued Mrs. Smith.

'No, I don't think there's the slightest chance; but there's no use crying over spilt milk. Tom must buy me another bracelet; that's all.'

'You are more philosophical than I should be,' remarked Mrs. Smith with considerable emphasis.

'It's a good thing to be philosophical, dear.'

'Perhaps it is, but I hope I shan't be called upon to exercise my philosophy for the same cause as you.'

'I hope not, but one never knows. It may be your turn next. The thieves—whoever they are—seem to be pretty impartial, and apparently all's fish that comes to their net.'

The subject having been exhausted, the ladies turned to a more agreeable one, and discussed dress. Mrs. Smith admired her friend's sealskin jacket, and, with a woman's privilege, inquired what was the cost of it.

'Oh, not very much,' answered the wearer. 'About a hundred and fifty pounds I think Tom gave for it.'

Mrs. Smith sighed as she confessed sadly that her lord and master was not likely to indulge her in such a piece of extravagance. The pleasant little interview having terminated, the ladies kissed each other lovingly and parted, as Mrs. Wylie had another social call to make previous to returning home.

About a week from that date Mr. and Mrs. Smith went up to Edinburgh to the theatre, leaving their two children, their nurse, a cook, and housemaid at home, though the cook had permission to go out for a couple of hours. Mr. Smith was a jeweller in Edinburgh, and carried on a large business. He had three shops, the principal one being in Princes Street. He and his wife gave orders to the servants to see that all the doors were locked and everything safe before they went to bed.

The cook left the house a little before eight, soon after her master and mistress had gone, and she was to be back not later than ten, the housemaid and nurse undertaking to sit up for her. During her absence the two young women, having seen all the doors secured below, went upstairs to the nursery, where a cheerful fire blazed, and it was only when they heard the bell ring, announcing the cook's return, that they descended together—brave women as they were—and let her in. The three of them partook of supper in the kitchen, and retired to bed almost on the stroke of eleven. An hour later Mr. and Mrs. Smith returned home, had a hasty supper, and retired also, the lady glancing in at the nursery to see that her pets were snug and comfortable in bed.

The following morning Mr. Smith went off, as usual, to his business at half-past eight, and later in the forenoon Mrs. Smith made the alarming discovery that nearly all her jewellery had disappeared, together with about fifty silver spoons, forks, and two small silver dishes. Without making her loss known to the household, she hastily attired herself, and rushed off to Edinburgh to inform her husband. Now, it chanced that Mr. Smith was one of the gentlemen who had on a recent occasion assembled at Mr. Scott's when it was decided to secure the services of Tyler Tatlock; but, in accordance with the arrangement then come to, he had not told his wife, nor did he do so now. He merely requested her to make out a list, and give information at the Central Police Station, and ask them to send one of their men down to investigate the matter. He said he was not able to get away himself then, as he was very busy, but he would be home as soon as possible. An hour after his wife had left him Mr. Smith made his way to Mr. Scott's office.

'I say, what's that man of yours about?' he asked in a tone that indicated he was by no means pleased.

'What man?'

'Why, the brilliant detective who was to do such wonders for us.'

'I really don't know. I haven't seen him for some days.'

'Well, shunt him.'

'Why, what's wrong?'

'Everything.'

'You don't mean to say you've been robbed?'

'I do.'

'When?'

'Last night. Mrs. Smith and I came up to the theatre, and during our absence there's been a fine haul made.' Here Mr. Smith laid a list of the missing articles before his legal friend. 'Now look at that. What do you think of it? A nice state of matters, isn't it?'

'It's most remarkable,' said the lawyer, musingly.

'Yes, but what I want to say is that that fellow Tatlock is no good.'

'I shouldn't be too hasty in condemning him. Let's put him on his defence first,' suggested Mr. Scott.

'But he condemns himself. The fellow's been here getting on for a fortnight, and has done nothing. What is more, the mysterious thief has committed a robbery under his very nose, so to speak, and yet he can't see him. Why, I'd do better myself as a detective.'

Soon after Mr. Smith had taken his departure Mr. Scott sent a note over to Philp's Cockburn Hotel, asking Tatlock to come across and see him; but word was brought back that Mr. Tatlock had been absent for two days, and when he went off did not leave word when he would be back.

The next morning Tyler Tatlock put in an appearance at Mr. Scott's office soon after that gentleman arrived.

'I'm sorry I was away yesterday when you sent your note across.'

'You've been enjoying yourself,' suggested the lawyer with a smile.

'Yes, very much. A little recreation at times does no one any harm, does it?'

'No, certainly not. But to be serious now, have you got hold of any clue?'

'I would rather not answer that question at present.'

'Good. I am a lawyer and appreciate your caution. Probably you will not have heard yet of the robbery at the private residence of Mr. Smith, the jeweller, who lives at Queensferry?'

Tatlock smiled.

'Oh, yes, I have,' he said.

Mr. Scott smiled also. It was a smile of self-satisfaction. He felt absolutely convinced now that he was not mistaken in his estimate of Tatlock.

'I don't want to force your hand,' he remarked, 'but your smile is significant. It is a smile of meaning. You are not without some clue, I fancy.'

Tatlock smiled again, and turned the conversation.

'Now for a little announcement,' said he. 'I am leaving Edinburgh to-night. How long I shall be absent I really cannot tell, but I shall return, and when I do I shall probably be able to supply you with reliable and valuable information.'

'That satisfies me,' answered the lawyer; and on this the two men parted, and in the course of the evening he saw some of his neighbours who were in the secret about Tatlock, and to them he said, in order to reassure them:

'I think Tatlock's all right. He has left Edinburgh, but will be back again before very long, I expect, and when he again appears on the scene he may have something to tell you.'

That night a tall, handsome man, wearing a costly, fur-lined coat and dainty kid gloves, entered the refreshment room at the Waverley Station, Edinburgh, in company with a lady, young and pretty. They partook of some refreshment, then went on to the platform, which was swept by a fierce snow-laden wind, for it was a bitter night, with all the sting of winter in it. The gentleman kissed the lady affectionately, and they parted. She went one way, and he hurried to the Great Northern London train, which in another few minutes would be speeding on its way to the South. At the door of a first-class compartment stood an obsequious porter. He had already deposited two hand-bags belonging to the gentleman in the rack of the compartment, and, as he of the fur-lined coat appeared, the porter touched his cap.

'I've pit a' your things in, sir, and there's a guid hot footpan for ye.'

'Thank you,' answered the gentleman curtly, as he dropped a silver coin into the eager, outstretched palm, and entered the compartment, exchanged his highly polished silk hat for a travelling cap, ensconced himself comfortably in a corner, and enveloped the lower part of his body in a handsome rug, drew off his dainty gloves, selected a cigar from his case, and lit it—it was a smoking compartment. Then the guard's shrill whistle sounded, there was a snort, puff, and jerk, and the night mail began its journey.

There was only one other passenger in the compartment, a little old man, wearing a skull cap over his snow-white hair. He was warmly clad, and had a heavy rug across his knees.

'It's a bitter night,' he remarked to his fellow passenger.

'Yes, awful. Are you travelling far?'

'To London. And you?'

'To London also.'

'We had better give the guard a wink at the next stopping-place, and ask him to keep the compartment for us, and we shall be able to stretch out; not that I think there is much fear of being overcrowded on a night like this.'

'No, I fancy not. It's a pretty empty train as it is. Do you smoke?' asked the young man.

'Yes.'

'Allow me to offer you a cigar. I can recommend those. They're a favourite brand with the Rothschilds.'

'Thank you, they look good, and smell good. I have matches, thanks. Yes! your recommendation is justified. It's an excellent smoke. I suppose you've seen the papers?'

'Oh, yes.'

'Do you care to look at the 'Times'?'

'No, thank you. The light's not good enough.'

Thus these fellow-travellers on that winter night exchanged the commonplace civilities peculiar to the situation until the inevitable drowsiness which night travelling superinduces lulled them to silence, which lasted until Carlisle was reached.

'Well, I think we can settle down for the night now,' remarked the tall gentleman, as the train began to move out of the station on its long run to York.

The old man agreed with this, and each prepared a comfortable bed with rugs and wraps on the seats, and then stretched himself out for sleep, the shade over the lamp and the curtains at the windows having been drawn. The compartment was cosy and warm, outside snow was falling heavily. The train thundered on through the night. The travellers slept. Nearly an hour passed. The train was flying through the darkness at the rate of fifty miles an hour. Presently the little old man raised his head very cautiously, and glanced towards his fellow-passenger, who was lying on his back, his lips slightly apart, and testifying by nasal evidence that he slept. The little old man gradually and silently sat bolt upright, and drew from his pocket a tiny metal flask, with about three inches of india-rubber tubing and hollow ball attached. He advanced the flask close to the sleeper's mouth and nostrils, gently squeezed the ball, and, without the slightest hissing or noise of any kind, there issued from the tiny nozzle a thin, bluish vapour. With the first inhalation of this vapour the sleeper gave a start and a gasp, then he became perfectly still, and lay rigid like a marble statue. Having assured himself that his fellow-traveller was fully under the influence of the vapour, the old man lifted the traveller's bags from the rack, and deliberately proceeded to open them with keys he drew from his pocket. He carefully examined the contents of the bags, but took nothing out. Having satisfied his curiosity, he closed the bags again, and restored them to the rack. He next felt the pulse of the sleeper, and, being apparently satisfied that all was well, he rolled himself in his rugs again, and went to sleep.

The tall gentleman awoke just as the train reached York. He seemed all right, and exactly like a man who awakens from a sound, refreshing, and health-giving sleep. He glanced at his fellow-traveller, who was buried in his rugs and motionless. He really was asleep. The gentleman rose and stretched himself as the guard opened the door, and announced there were twenty minutes allowed at York. Snow was falling heavily. The temperature was low enough to freeze one's marrow. The gentleman, who was suffering from a vacuum, buttoned up his fur coat, hurried to the refreshment-room, and made a substantial meal of cold ham and chicken and hot coffee. He returned to his carriage refreshed and strengthened, and lit up another of his excellent cigars.

The little old man still slept.

The rest of the journey passed without incident.

London was reached in gloom, fog, and snow. Our two travellers began to gather up their traps a few minutes before the train drew up in King's Cross Station.

'May I inquire if you are going to stay at an hotel? asked the little old man in the blandest possible manner, as he exchanged his skull-cap for a silk hat, and wound a muffler about his throat.

'Yes; at the Holborn Viaduct.'

'Can you recommend it?'

'Most thoroughly. I always stay there, as I generally have business in Paris, and it's so handy for the Chatham and Dover train, you know.'

'Are you going to Paris to-night?'

No; to-morrow night.'

'I don't know that I envy you your journey this weather.'

'Oh, I'm used to it.'

'Well, we may meet again, as on your recommendation I shall put up at the Viaduct. Good-morning.'

The following day the tall, handsome gentleman who had travelled up from Edinburgh on the previous night sat at breakfast in the well-lighted, well-warmed breakfast-room of his hotel. He had the appearance of one who had no care on his mind, and was at peace with all the world. His fair moustache was daintily trimmed, his hair well brushed, his hands were white and beringed, his nails polished and faultless. He finished his breakfast, tossed aside the 'Times' with which he had beguiled himself during the meal, glanced admiringly at himself in the mirror, and went out. When he reached the lobby two men were standing there. One touched him on the shoulder, and spoke something in his ear which caused him to start and turn deadly pale. As he seemed disposed to try conclusions with the two men, the other seized him and very adroitly and dexterously clapped a pair of handcuffs on his wrists.

'This outrage will cost you dear,' he said between his set, gleaming teeth.

The two men did not seem to be disturbed by the menace. One said You had better not make a scene, Mr. Jordon.'

'Remove these signs of infamy, then,' said the gentleman addressed as Jordon, and indicating the handcuffs.

'No. We can't do that. We know your desperate character.'

Mr. Jordon smiled bitterly, but made no answer. In obedience to the request of his captors he walked quietly down the stairs, a man on either side of him. A waiter was ordered to go to the gentleman's room and bring his hat for him. While that was being done a four-wheeler was summoned, and a few minutes later Mr. Jordon, white-faced and savage-looking, was being driven to Bow Street.

Three days after that peculiarly dramatic little scene at the Holborn Viaduct Hotel a scene scarcely less dramatic was being enacted in Edinburgh. A cab drew up at the door of Mr. Wylie's house at Queensferry. There were two men in the cab. One alighted, knocked at the door, and was admitted by a servant, the other man remaining in the cab. Fully three-quarters of an hour passed before the man who had entered the house reappeared. He was accompanied by pretty little Mrs. Wylie, who wore a thick veil over her face. She entered the cab, followed by the man, and the cab at once drove off to Edinburgh, where the two men—plain-clothes policemen—delivered their capture, pretty, blonde-haired, blue-eyed Mrs. Wylie, to the police authorities.

That afternoon Tyler Tatlock entered Mr. Scott's office. 'Well,' he said carelessly, as he toyed with a cigar he was smoking, 'there'll be no more robberies at the Ferry—at least, for some time.'

'Oh! What, have you made a capture?'

'Two.'

'Who are they?'

'One is Mr. Joseph Jordon, ex-convict, alias Samuel Turner, alias Richard Graham, alias Tom Wylie, and his charming little fair-haired wife.'

Mr. Scott fell back in his chair with amazement.

'What! Tom Wylie and his wife the thieves?'

'Yes; funny, isn't it?'

'How did you ferret the business out?'

'By instinct. Inquiry led me to suspect Mrs. Wylie as the jackal. I visited her to inquire about the reward she had offered for the bracelet she averred she had lost. Of course, she never lost it. She made the announcement to throw people off the scent. My interview with her convinced me she was guilty. I watched her husband. When I disappeared for a few days, to the annoyance of your friends, I had followed him to Glasgow, where he had put up at the St. Enoch's Hotel, and met a man from London, whom I happened to know was one of the cleverest forgers in London, and an expert swell-mobsman. I found out—never mind how—that is my affair—that the two were in partnership of some kind, and had an agency in Paris for the disposal of stolen property. The swell was going north on business, but, as I was not concerned with him, I gave the police a hint, returned to Edinburgh with Wylie, and a day or two later travelled with him to London, opened his bags, and found them stuffed with the proceeds of the Ferry robberies, which he was conveying to Paris. Of course, I stopped his little game.'

'Well—you—do amaze me!' exclaimed Mr. Scott. 'But how on earth were the robberies managed?'

'On a very simple plan. Mrs. Wylie, charming little woman she is, but as dangerous as they make 'em, won the confidence of her victims—studied their houses, ascertained where the valuables were kept, knew when the heads of the household were likely to be absent; and, having performed all this scouting work with skill and adroitness, carried the information to her husband. There is hardly a door or window that man cannot open without leaving any trace behind. This, of course, at once threw suspicion on servants. Artful, wasn't it?'

'But who is this Wylie?'

'Joseph Jordon, only son of the late Joseph John Jordon, colliery proprietor and iron master, of Stockton-on-Tees. He left his son, who had been highly educated, a fortune. The son made ducks and drakes of it on the Turf. Then he associated himself with swell-mobsmen and blacklegs. He was arrested in connection with a forgery, and put in five years at Dartmoor. On his release he married a Miss Jennie Gramont, who had been keeping body and soul together by teaching. Jordon is one of the most plausible and polished scoundrels in the business, and he soon educated his wife up to his own business. However, we have them by the heels. Funny little story, isn't it? Very human, though. The police-court proceedings will be interesting. Jordon, of course, will be brought north. It is to be hoped your judges won't err on the side of leniency. Well, ta-ta; look me up when you are in London. I must leave Edinburgh to-night, as I have pressing business demanding my attention.'

NOTE.—Any chemist reading the foregoing story will know the nature of the vapour used by Mr. Tatlock in the railway carriage to ensure Jordon sleeping long enough to enable the bags to be examined, This vapour produces a sort of stupor which may last from fifteen minutes to an hour. Its administration is not unattended with risk, though when the sleeper awakes he feels refreshed and lively, but some time afterwards violent headache is apt to ensue, though it speedily passes off under ordinary circumstances. It must be remembered that Mr. Tatlock was a chemist, and thoroughly understood the use and nature of drugs.