The Box Office Murders · Chapter 13 (1/2)

XIII

The Transport of Supplies

Inspector French continued his stroll along the Embankment until he reached the Yard. There, after an interview with his chief, he got a cheque for ten pounds, and going to the nearest bank, asked for the money to be paid in half crowns. With his pockets weighted down with the silver he went on to the Panopticon and asked for the manager. As a result of his conversation he was shown into a waiting room, where presently he was joined by Molly Moran.

“You here already, Mr. French?” she greeted him.

“Yes. I want to get hold of some of those coins. Here is ten pounds’ worth of half crowns. Just count me out eighty of Mr. Welland’s.”

“But there’s nothing remarkable about them at all. They’re just ordinary half crowns. I’ve shown them to a friend of mine in a bank, and he said so too.”

“Oh,” said French, “so a bank clerk has seen them, has he? But were you not afraid to tell him about them?”

“I didn’t tell him at all. What I thought was that maybe they weren’t good, that maybe Mr. Welland’s friends was making them⁠—counterfeit coining, don’t you call it? So I showed my friend four and said they’d been refused on the grounds that they weren’t good. He said they were perfectly all right.”

“Oh,” French repeated more dubiously. “Well, I’ll have the eighty all the same. You might let me see that bag now that we can’t be overlooked.”

It was just what Miss Moran had described, a plain but large vanity bag with a central compartment of normal appearance, and two side ones, each capable of carrying some hundred and fifty half crowns and fitted with an inside skin or bag which could be lifted out with the coins. When these side compartments were closed by their spring latches they were invisible to casual inspection, though if the bag were handled their existence became obvious. French was not surprised therefore to learn that Welland had given the strictest instructions that the bag was to be carried looped on the girl’s arm and never taken off except when she was actually working in the pay-box.

But his interest in the bag was but slight compared with that he felt in the coins which Miss Moran had received from Welland. There were 130 and he tumbled them out on a table and began to turn them over.

His first glance surprised him and increased that feeling of depression which the girl’s story of the bank clerk had aroused. That they were not new was undoubted; all had clearly been in circulation. Moreover the dates varied, and roughly speaking, the wear on any individual coin corresponded with its age.

Welland’s story was unlikely enough at the best, but here already was proof of its falsity. These coins had not been recalled from circulation because of age or wear. They were still perfectly good.

French swore internally as he realized the conclusion to which he was being forced. If these coins were of different dates and had been in circulation they were not forgeries. Dies were expensive and difficult to make and it was beyond belief that a series with different dates should have been obtained. Again, once the coins had been got into circulation the counterfeiters would have finished with them. They would not be trying to get rid of them now.

He set himself to reexamine the samples with greater care. And the more he did so, the more convinced of their genuineness he became. So far as his lens revealed the design, the detail seemed perfect, the colour, feel, and texture were normal, and every coin which he tested gave a satisfactory ring. He would of course have them examined by the experts at the Mint, but he had little doubt his own conclusion would be confirmed.

If so, it seemed to follow that the coins had been stolen. But he could not think of any source from which they might have been obtained. It was absurd to suppose they had been taken from the Mint. Coins of such an age and in such a condition would not be there. Nor did it seem likely that a bank had been robbed. Such an operation would be extremely difficult, and further, if it had been found possible, it was difficult to see why half crowns alone had been taken. The only explanation which French could devise was that some eccentrically minded miser had spent his life hoarding them. But if so, and Welland had stolen them, why should he hesitate to pay them out himself?

On this latter point, however, a little further thought supplied an explanation. The one feature of the affair which was clear beyond doubt was that it was being carried out on a very large scale. If Miss Moran changed eight hundred half crowns a week, it was to be presumed that each of the other girls did the same. Say, three thousand half crowns a week⁠—150,000 a year! Nearly £19,000 worth. No one man could do it. Without some such organization as had been devised, the thing would be out of the question.

And then French saw that he had made a mistake. This consideration did not answer his question. For every half crown Welland gave the girls, he received one in exchange. How did he get rid of these latter? How did he get rid of them?

He simply could not do it! He had been watched too carefully. French did not believe he could have passed even small things like packages of “snow.” How much less comparatively bulky bags of half crowns! Once again French swore, this time half aloud.

“Beg pardon, Mr. French?”

His attention was recalled to the girl, whom in his abstraction he had forgotten.

“Just a little habit of mine,” he said, the twinkle reappearing in his eyes. “I think that’s all I want. I’ll take eighty of these half crowns of Welland’s and give you eighty of mine in exchange. Then you carry on as usual.”

“Very good, Mr. French.” She paused, then went on hesitatingly. “I wish you would tell me something about it. I don’t suppose you could, of course, but I’m frightfully interested.”

French glanced at her keenly, then smiled.

“I only wish I could,” he answered pleasantly. “If I knew enough to answer your question I’d be a much happier man. But I’ll soon know all about it and I’ll tell you then. In any case, the less you know, the better for your own health.” Then an idea occurred to him and he went on: “Tell me, do you go about London much?”

“Me? No, Mr. French. What do you mean?”

“I mean I should imagine that a young lady in your position with a free forenoon should take some exercise in the form of walks. Do you not explore the streets?”

“Oh, I see. Well, yes, I do a little, but I’m not a great walker.”

“Very well. Avoid the neighbourhood of Waterloo Station and also Harrow.”

She looked interested.

“I’ll explain,” went on French. “Mr. Welland lives at Harrow and he garages his car in Tate’s Lane off York Road. York Road is close to Waterloo. Now it might be disastrous if he saw you near either place, as he might imagine you were spying on him. So keep away from both districts.”

French was in a thoughtful mood as he returned to the Yard. Seldom had he been up against so clear-cut a problem. Welland was getting hundreds of half crowns each day; he must be getting rid of them somehow or he must be storing them somewhere; how, or where? It seemed impossible that there could be a difficulty in finding the solution. French was therefore the more exasperated by his failure to do so.

In a kind of dream he took the eighty half crowns to the Mint. To a high official he told his story, with the result that immediate investigations and tests were put in hand. He had a long wait, but before he left he got his information. All the half crowns were genuine; no such coins had been recalled to the Mint; no disused cellar existed in which such coins might have been kept; no half crowns had been stolen.

This of course was final proof of the falsity of the tale Welland had told Molly, which so far as it went was to the good. But it made the entire operations of the gang even more inexplicable. If they were not getting rid of counterfeit coins, what under heaven were they doing? French’s brain reeled as he faced the problem.

He walked slowly back to the Yard, full of bewilderment and baffled rage. These people were changing one lot of perfectly good half crowns for another. In spite of the magnitude of the numbers dealt with, they were getting in no half crowns from outside nor were they disposing of any. At least, they certainly were not obtaining nor distributing anything like the number passed by the girls. What was it all for?

A sudden wild hooting of a motor horn and frenzied cries from passersby recalled French to his surroundings. He sprang practically from beneath the bonnet of a heavily laden bus⁠—only just in time. For quite a hundred yards he forgot about Welland and his half crowns as he meditated upon the undesirability of dreaming in the London streets. Then his thoughts swung back again to his problem.

Whether it was due to the start he had received or whether it arose in the normal processes of thought, he immediately found himself considering a new idea. Suppose all these apparently contradictory premises were true? Suppose Welland was neither obtaining half crowns nor disposing of them? Suppose he was changing one perfectly good lot of them for another? What if the half crowns he obtained from the girls on one day were handed back to them on the next? What if this elaborate machinery was simply a blind to cover some more sinister proceedings? Had Molly Moran lied and were the gang selling drugs after all?

Admittedly French did not see how such a scheme would facilitate the distribution of cocaine or heroin, but this problem seemed to him the lesser of the two. At all events there must be more in it than half crowns.

But lengthy pondering over it produced no light. Every solution that occurred to him seemed more improbable than the last.

In despair he returned to the idea that the disposal of the half crowns was the essential. Suppose a hoard of half crowns had been stolen, some of which were known to be marked? Most unlikely admittedly, but at least this theory covered the facts.

In his efforts to carry the thing a step further he tried a trick which had frequently helped him out of a similar tight place. If when following a trail of footsteps he came to hard ground on which they were not visible, he made a cast and went on to the next soft area in the hope of picking them up again. Now he made a mental cast. Assuming Welland were getting rid of these coins changed by the girls, and leaving out the means by which it was being done, what must be their eventual destination?

Long cogitation told him that the man’s only plan must be to pay them in to a bank. In no other way that French could see could he realize their value.

This at least opened out an obvious line of research. With a sense of relief at renewed action he drafted a circular to the managers of the various banks in London. He was anxious to trace a man who, he believed, was paying in large numbers of half crowns to banks. He would be grateful to the manager if he would make inquiries as to whether such payments were being made at his bank, and if so, let him have some particulars on the matter.

For the remainder of that day the inquiry hung fire, but next morning French was called to the telephone. The manager of the Knightsbridge Branch of the London and County Bank believed that he had some information which might be useful to the inspector and would be glad if he would call round.

Half-an-hour later French was seated in the manager’s private room.

“I do not know,” said Mr. Elwood, “whether I have brought you on a wild goose chase, but for nearly a year a man has been paying in some four to six hundred half crowns each Wednesday afternoon. It is common enough to have a weekly payment of silver, but uncommon to have it restricted to coins of one denomination. When therefore I received your circular I thought that this might be the man you wanted.”

“Sounds hopeful,” French agreed cheerily. “Perhaps you would give me the details?”

The manager touched a bell. “Mr. Whitley,” he said, as a dark, keen-looking young man entered, “you might answer any questions that Mr. French here asks you about Mr. Welland, of Acacia Avenue, Harrow.”

“Welland?” exclaimed French in amazement. “Is he a well-built, prosperous looking man with the typical American businessman type of face?”

“No, sir,” returned the clerk. “Mr. Welland is slight, with a pale complexion and a small, fair moustache. He has peculiar eyes, light blue and with a queer sort of stare.”

A wave of excitement swept over French. “Style!” he thought, in high delight. Things were beginning to move at last!

“I think I recognize the man you mean, Mr. Whitley,” he said pleasantly, “though I knew him under another name. Now what about this Mr. Welland? When did you come across him first?”

“He came in one day about a year ago.” The clerk hesitated. “If I might get my books I could give you the exact date.”

The manager nodded and in a few moments the young man returned with a voluminous ledger.

“He first called on the seventeenth of August last and said he wished to open an account. You may remember, sir,” Mr. Whitley turned to the manager, “that I brought him in to you. He said that he carried on business as a bookmaker and that he dealt particularly in betting on dog races. He had worked out a scheme whereby his bets were limited to half crowns and multiples of a half crown, with the result that he found himself with large numbers of half crowns on his hands. His lodgments would therefore be made in coins of this denomination. On that day he lodged sixty pounds’ worth of half crowns. It was a Wednesday and every Wednesday since then he has come in with amounts varying from fifty to a hundred pounds all in half crowns.”

“I follow you,” said French. “I take it then that his account has been steadily growing?”

“No,” the young man returned, “for he draws cheques for comparatively large amounts at intervals. I do not think that his account has ever stood at more than five hundred pounds. When it amounts to from four to five hundred pounds he draws all out except a few pounds.”

“By cheque?”

“Yes, by cheque.”

“In whose favour?”

“In his own.”

“I suppose I need scarcely ask you, Mr. Whitley, if you were satisfied that this business was perfectly in order? Did it not strike you as strange that a man should lodge nothing but half crowns?”

“Well, you see,” the young man returned, “he explained that, otherwise I probably would have thought it odd.”

“Then it is not an uncommon thing for silver to be lodged in that way?”

“Oh, no, quite common. Small shopkeepers and persons of that class generally make a weekly lodgment in silver, but of course it is in coins of all denominations.”

“Quite. Does Mr. Welland call about the same time each Wednesday?”

“Yes, always about two o’clock.”

“Very good,” said French. “With your permission, sir,” he turned to the manager, “I shall be here at two o’clock next Wednesday, that is tomorrow, to meet Mr. Welland. I may say that I believe the information you have given me will prove highly important and I need scarcely impress on you both the absolute importance of saying nothing of my visit and of giving no warning to Mr. Welland.”

French’s mind was in a whirl as he left the bank. Then it was half crowns! But what was the object of it all? He swore impotently as he came up once more against the problem.

But one thing at least was altogether splendid! For some time past he believed he had had sufficient evidence against Style to convict him of murder, but his difficulty had been that Style had vanished. Now Style was found, or at least he would be on the next day. That was two of the known members of the gang. With luck the shadowing of Style would lead him to the third, Gwen Lestrange. This morning had marked a great forward step in the investigation.