Christopher Quarles Part 35

From the strong-rooms we went to the top of the building and examined the window and the roof. The window was at the end of a pa.s.sage.

"Where do you suppose the thieves came from to get to this window?"

Quarles asked, after he had examined it and the roof outside.

"The window yonder belongs to the adjoining block of offices," I said, pointing across the roofs. "It is quite easy to reach."

We started to go to it, but had only gone a little way when Quarles stopped.

"You may find it easy, Wigan, but my legs are not so young as they were, and climbing a roof is outside their business."

"At any rate, you can see that it is an easy journey," I said.

"Oh, yes, for young legs; and it is not likely this gang is composed of old crooks. By the way, I think they must have got out of this window as well as in at it. Look at this scratch on the sill--a boot heel, I should say, and the position would mean that the man was getting out. It is not certain that the stuff was not carried across the roof, Wigan. I wonder whether Mr. Bowman has returned to his office yet?"

"I have a man watching for him," I answered.

"It's a curious case," said Quarles as we went downstairs. "I suppose you have inquired among the staff whether anyone knew Frederick Ewing intimately, visited him at Hammersmith, knew his private friends, hobbies, and so forth."

"Yes. n.o.body appears to have known anything about him outside the office."

"I should like to have a look at the desk he occupied. I suppose that can be managed."

Permission was given us. The man who used it now got up to allow us to examine it, and Quarles again used his lens, going over the desk without and within.

"Was Mr. Ewing rather an untidy person?" he asked, turning to the clerk.

"No, I don't think so. I hardly knew him."

"Kept himself to himself a good deal, eh?"

"Yes; I believe that was the general impression."

"A bit of a dreamer, Wigan, I should say."

And then the professor thanked the clerk, and we left the bank.

"We've got to find Frederick Ewing," said Quarles decidedly. "He is the keystone to the mystery. Without definite knowledge concerning him we are powerless, I fancy. Even if we make an arrest, even if we arrest a gang of men, we could prove nothing. They are not likely to be found carrying any of the missing jewels, and there is precious little evidence to be got out of a sovereign. Months must elapse before the jewels, one or two at a time, filter into the market, and no banknotes or bonds which might further us with a clew have been taken. Ewing must be found."

In this direction I was up against a blank wall. I gave instruction for every shop, every public-house in the neighborhood of Ewing's lodgings, to be visited, and practically there was no result. A tobacconist fancied he recognized a customer from the description given of him, but that was all. Ewing had once belonged to a rowing club at Hammersmith, but had gone in for little serious practice. And the day after Quarles and I had visited the bank I drew another blank.

Bowman, the mortgage broker, returned to his office. Not only was it quite certain that none of the gold was hidden there, but he explained his absence so thoroughly that it was impossible to suppose he had anything to do with the affair.

Two or three days slipped by, days of strenuous work, which seemed absolutely useless, and then I got a wire from Quarles asking me to meet him at Chiswick Station that evening, which I did.

"I must apologize, Wigan," was his greeting. "It's my temperament, I suppose, but I cannot help keeping a line of argument to myself until I find that it really leads somewhere. This was my theory with regard to Ewing. Since he did not make friends, either in the bank or out of it, he was likely to be something of a dreamer. Such men usually are, unless they have some definite hobby to employ them. We heard of no such hobby in Ewing's case, and the fact that his rise in the bank had been rapid suggested a competent and conscientious worker. But he was a dreamer, all the same--a man looking forward to the future, and a man who dreams in this way usually looks forward to some definite point. In the case of a young man--and Ewing is not old--that point may be a woman. So I examined Ewing's desk. He was given to scribbling on it and smearing out the writing. There were a quant.i.ty of ink smudges, but some pen marks remained, figures for the most part, and I found a name--Ursula. That rejoiced me; it might have been Mary, and for one Ursula there are--well, a great many Marys in the world. I looked for a second name, dreading to find Smith. I found Ursula Ewing, that was his dream, Wigan; but I also found Ursula Yerbury. If he were in love with Ursula Yerbury, which seemed probable, and she with him, which of course was not certain, then I argued that she must live in easy distance from Hammersmith. If not, he would have constantly received letters from her, and we know that he received very few letters. Also, if they were in love, he might have deceived her regarding his dismissal, or she would keep his secret and s.h.i.+eld him. Inquiry for her must therefore be made carefully, and I set Zena to work--a girl looking for a girl friend she had lost sight of. It proved easier than it might have been. We found there was a man named Yerbury living in Fulham; he was the third of the name Zena had tried, and he had a niece, Ursula, living in lodgings here in Chiswick. She is a typist, and should be home by this time in the evening. She is expecting an old school friend--that was the vague message Zena left with her landlady--she will see us."

"I congratulate you, professor; it looks as if you had got on Ewing's track."

"We shall know better in an hour's time," he answered. "No. 10 Old Cedar Lane is the address. Pleasant flavor in some of these Chiswick names."

There was nothing particularly striking about Ursula Yerbury, but her personality grew upon one. The moment we entered her small but comfortable sitting-room it was apparent to me that she was on her guard. She had expected some old school friend, and had been tricked.

Quarles came to the point at once. To clear up the mystery of the sensational robbery in the city, he wanted to find Frederick Ewing.

Miss Yerbury knew him, of course, and could no doubt supply the information.

"You have had your journey in vain," she answered.

"That is a pity," Quarles said, and in short, terse sentences he told her the history of the robbery, so far as we knew it, speaking of Ewing's dishonesty in a cold, matter-of-fact way, and giving reasons why Ewing should be suspected of helping a gang.

"Now, my dear young lady, I'm an eccentric," he went on. "One petty theft does not make a criminal, and I do not believe Frederick Ewing is a criminal. But do not mistake me; if he cannot be found he will certainly be branded as one."

"I do not know where he is," she answered firmly, though her lips quivered.

"Still, you may know enough to help me to clear his name," said Quarles.

"You mean--but he told me himself."

"Ah, that is what I mean," said Quarles. "You can tell me something.

Take my word for it, you will be doing Ewing a service by telling me what you know."

The professor looked exceedingly benevolent, and his tone was persuasive. It was so necessary to obtain information that the means were justified--one cannot be sentimental in detective work--yet I pitied the woman.

"You know that Mr. Ewing was dismissed from the bank--and why?" she said.

Quarles nodded.

"He did not tell me at first. He wrote to me, saying he had been sent out of town on business. I had no suspicion that anything was wrong.

Some days later I received a telegram asking me to meet him near Victoria. It was then he told me of his dismissal. He had supposed that he would not be prosecuted, but the bank had, after all, decided to make an example of him. He had gone away to hide himself. A friend was helping him to get out of the country, and----"

"Who was the friend?" asked Quarles.

"Frederick would not say. He had promised not to tell anyone who he was; indeed, he had promised not to hold any communication with anyone. The latter promise he had broken by meeting me. We were--we are engaged. I would not take back my freedom. He will write to me presently, and then I shall join him wherever he is."

"That was before the great robbery of the bank," said Quarles.

"Days before," she answered.

"And you do not know where he is now?"

"No."

I had pitied her, now I could not help admiring her. Of course, the story was a fabrication. She had met Quarles on his own ground, and beaten him. She had seen through his persuasive manner, and in a few words had entirely dissociated her lover from the robbery, and shown the futility of attempting to find him. The professor did not let her see his disappointment.

"Most useful information, Miss Yerbury," he said. "I am sure you will not regret having told me the truth."

He was silent for a little while, as we went back to the station, and then he said suddenly:

"A queer story, Wigan."

"Clever!" I answered.