The Missing Bank Manager

Sun (Auckland), Volume I, Issue 141, 5 September 1927, Page 14

The Missing Bank Manager

j SERIAL | a—g

Icumomh I STORY

By

J. S. FLETCHER

CHAPTER VI. (Continued) Nealt* and Betty looked up the face of the rocks, and said nothing. And Creasy presently went on, speaking in a low voice. “If he met with foul play—if, for instance, he was thrown over here in a struggle—or if, taking a look from the top here, he got too near the edge ond something gave way,” he said, *'there’ 3 about as good means of getting rid of a dead man in this Ellersdeane Hollow as in any place in England! That’s a fact!” “You mean the lead mines?” murmured Neale. “Right, sir! Do you know how many of them old workings there is?” asked Creasy. “There’s between fifty and sixty within a square mile of this tower. Some’s fenced in—most isn’t. Some of their mouths are grown with bramble and bracken. And all of ’em are of tremendous depth. A man could be thrown down one of those mines, sir, and it ’ud be a long job finding his body! But all that’s very frightening to the lady, and we’ll hope nothing of it happened. Still ’ “It has to be faced,” said Betty. “Listen —I am Mr. Horbury’s niece, and I’m offering a reward for news of him. Will you keep your eyes and ears open while you’re in the neighbourhood?” The tinker promised that he would do his best, and presently he went back to his fire, while Neale and Betty turned away toward the town. Neither spoke until they were half-way through the wood; then Betty uttered her fears in a question. “Do you think the finding of that pipe shows he was there?” she asked. "I’m sure of it,” replied Neale. ‘‘l wish I wasn’t. But I saw him with his pipe in his lips at two o’clock on Saturday! I recognised it at once.” “Let’s hurry on and see the police,” said Betty. “We know something now, at any rate.” Polke, they were told at the police station, was in his private house, close by; a polite constable conducted them thither. And presently they were shown into the superintendent’s din-ing-room, where Polke, hospitably intent, was mixing a drink for a stranger. The stranger, evidently just in from a journey, rose and bowed, and Polke waved his hand at him with a smile as he looked at the two young people. “Here’s your man, miss!” said Polke, cheerily. “Allow me—Detective-Ser-geant Starmidge, of the Criminal Investigation Department.” CHAPTER VIII. THE SATURDAY NIGHT STRANGER Neale, who had never seen a real live detective in the flesh, but who cherished something of a passion for reading sensational fiction and the reports of criminal cases in the weekly newspapers, looked at the man from New Scotland Yard with a feeling of surprise. He knew Detective-Sergeant Starmidge well enough by name and reputation. He was the man who had unravelled the mysteries of the Primrose Hill murder —a particularly exciting and underground affair. It was he who had been intimately associated with the bringing to justice of the Camden Town gang—a group of daring and successful criminals which had battled the London police for two years. Neale had read all about Starmidg' activities in both cases, and of the hairbreadth escape he had gone through in connection with the second. And he had formed an idea of him —which he now saw to be a totally erroneous one. For Starmidge did not look at all like a detective —in Neale’s opinion. Instead of being elderly, and sinister, and close of eye and mouth, he was a somewhat shylooking. open-faced. fresh-coloured young man, still under thirty, modest of demeanour, given to smiling, who might from his general appearance have been, say, a professional cricketer, or a young commercial traveller, or anything but an expert criminal catcher.

“Only just got here, and a bit tired, Miss,” continued Polke, waving his hand again at the detective. “So I’m just giving him a refresher to liven his brains up. He’ll want ’em —before we’ve done.”

Betty took the chair which Polke offered her and looked at the stranger with interest. She knew nothing about Starmidge, and she thought him quite different to any pre-conceived notion which she had eyer had of men of his calling. “I hope you’ll be able to help us.” she said quietly, as Starmidge, murmuring something about his best respects to his host, took a whisky and soda from Polke’s hand. “Do you think you will—and has Mr. Polke told you all about it?”

“Given him a mere outline, miss,” remarked Polke. “I’ll prime him before he goes to bed. Yes—he knows the main facts.”

“And what do you propose to do—first?” demanded Betty. Starmidge smiled and set down his glass.

"Why, first,” he answered, “I think I should like to see a photograph of Mr. Horbury.” Polke moved to a bureau in the corner of his dining-room. “I can fit you up.” he said. “I’ve a portrait here that Mr. Horbury gave me not so long ago. There you are!”

He produced a cabinet photograph and handed it to Starmidge, who looked at it and laid it down on the table without comment.

“I suppose that conveys nothing to you?” asked Betty. “Well.” replied Starmidge. with another smile, “if a man’s missing, one naturally wants to know what he’s like. And if there’s any advertising of him to be done—by poster, I mean—it ought to have a recent portrait of him.”

“To be sure.” agreed Polke. “So far as I understand matters,” continued Starmidge. “this gentleman left his house on Saturday evening, hasn’t been seen since, and there’s an idea that he probably walked across country to a place called Ellersdeane. But up to now there’s no proof that he did. I think that's all. Mr. Polke?” "All!” assented Polke.

“No!” said Neale. “Miss Fosdyke and I have brought you some news. Mr. Horbury must have crossed Ellersdeane Hollow on Saturday night. Look at this! —and I’ll tell you all about it.” The superintendent and the detective listened silently to Neale’s account ••f the meeting with Creasy, and Betty, watching Starmidge’s face, saw that he was quietly taking in all the points of importance.

“Is this tinman to be depended upon?” he asked, when Neale had finished. “Is he known?” “I know him,” answered Polke. “He’s come to this enighbourhood for many years. Yes—an honest chap enough —but given to poaching, no doubt, but straight enough in all other ways—no complaint of him that I ever heard °f- I should believe all he says about

“Then, as that’s undoubtedly Mr. Horbury’s pipe, and as this gentleman saw him smoking it at two o’clock on Saturday, and as Creasy picked it up underneath Ellersdeane Tower on Sunday evening.” said Starmidge. “there seems no doubt that Mr. Horbury went that way, and dropped it where it was found. But—l can’t think he ? as carrying Lord Ellersdeane’s jewels home!”

“Why?” asked Neale “Is it likely?” suggested Starmidge. . » lwa y*—to consider probability. Is it probable that a bank 1 manager would put a hundred thou-

sand pounds’ worth of jewels in his pocket and walk across a lonely stretch of land at that time of night, just to hand them over to their owner? 1 think not —especially as he hadn’t been asked to do so. I think that if Mr. Horbury had been in a hurry to deliver up these jewels he’d have driven out to Lord Ellersdeane’s place.”

“Good!” muttered Polke. “That’s the more probable thing.” “Where are the jewels, then?” asked Neale.

Starmidge glanced at Polke with one expression, and at Betty and Neale with another.

“They haven’t been searched for. yet, have they?” he asked, quietly. “They may be—somewhere about, you know.”

“You mean to search for them?” exclaimed Betty. “I don’t know I intend to do,” replied Starmidge, smiling. ’“I haven’t even thought. I shall have thought a lot by morning. But —the country’s being searched, isn’t it, for news of Mr. Horbury?—perhaps we’ll hear something. It’s a difficult thing for a well-known man to get clear away from a little place like this. No! what I’d like to know—what I want to satisfy myself about is—did Mr. Horbury go away at all? Is there really anything missing from the bank? Are those jewels really missing? You see,” concluded Starmidge, looking round his circle of listeners, “there’s an awful lot to take into account.” At that moment Polke’s domestic servant tapped at the door and put her head inside the room. “If you please, Mr. Polke, there’s Mrs. Pratt, from the Station Hotel, would like a word with you,” she said. The superintendent hurried from the room—to return at once with a stout, middle-aged woman, who, as she entered, raised her veil and glanced half suspiciously at Polke’s other visit- “ All friends here, Mrs, Pratt,” said the superintendent, reassuringly. “You know young Mr. Neale well enough. This lady is Mr. Horbury’s niece—anxious to find him. That gentleman’s a friend of mine—you can say aught you like before him. Well, ma’am—you think you can tell me something about this affair. What might it be, now?”

Mrs. Pratt, taking the chair which Starmidge placed for her at the end of the table, nodded a general greeting to the company, and lifting her veil and untying her bonnet strings, revealed a good-natured countenance. “Well, Mr. Polke,” she said, turning to the superintendent, “taking your word for it that we’re all friends—me being pretty sure, all the same, that this gentleman’s one of your own profession. which I don’t object to—l’ll tell you what it is I’ve come up for, special, as it were, and me not waiting until after closing-time to do it. But that town-crier’s been down our way. and hearing him making his call between our house and the station, and learning what it was all about, thinks I to myself, ‘l’d best go up and see

the Super and tell him what I know.’ And,” concluded Mrs. Pratt, beaming around her, “here I am!”

“Aye—and what do you know, ma’am?” asked Polke. “Something, of course.”

“Or I shouldn’t be here,” agreed Mrs. Pratt, smoothing out a fold of her gown. “Well—Saturday afternoon, the time being not so many minutes after the 5.30 got in, and therefore you might say at the outside twenty minutes to six, a strange gentleman walked across from the station to our hotel, which is, as you’re well aware, exactly opposite. I happened to be in the bar-parlour window at the time, and I saw him coming—saw likewise, from the way he looked about him, and up at the town above us, that he’d never been in Scarnliam before. And happen I’d best tell you what like he was, while the recollection’s fresh in my mind —a little gentleman he was, very well dressed, in what you might call the professional style, dark clothes and so forth, and a silk top-hat; I should say about fifty years of age, with a fresh complexion and a biggish grey moustache and a neatly-rolled umbrella—quite the little swell he was. He made for our door, and I went to the bar-window to attend him. He wanted to know if he could get some food, and I said of course he could—we’d some uncommon nice chops in the house. So he ordered these chops and setterers—and then he asked if we’d a telephone in the house, and could he use it. And, of course, I told him we had, and showed him where it was—after which he wanted a local directory, and I give him Scammond’s Guide. He turned that over a bit, and then, when he’d found what he wanted, he went to our telephone box—which, as you’re well aware, Mr. Polke, is in our front hall. And into it he popped.”

Mrs. Pratt paused a moment, and gave her listeners a knowing look, as if she was now about to narrate the most important part of her story. “But what you mayn’t be aware of, Mr. Polke,” she continued, “is that our telephone box, which has glass panels in its upper parts, has, at this present time, one of them panels broken—our pot-man did it, carrying a plank through the hall. So that anyone passing to and fro, as it were, when anybody’s using the telephone, can’t help hearing a word or two of what’s being said inside. Now, of course, I was passing in and out, giving orders for this gentleman’s chops, when he was in the box. And I heard a bit of what he said, though I didn’t, naturally, hear aught of what was said to him, nor who by. But it’s in consequence of what I did hear, and of what Tolson, the town-crier. has ' been shouting down our way to-night, that I come up here to see you.”

“Much obliged to you, Mrs. Pratt,” said Polke. “Very glad to hear anything that may have to do with Mr. Horbury’s disappearance. Now, what did you hear?” “What I heard,” replied the landlady, “was this here—disjointed, as you would term it. First of all. I hear the gentleman ask for ‘Town 23.’ Now, of course, you know whose number that there is, Mr. Polke.” “Chestermarke’s Bank,” said Neale, turning to Betty. “Chestermarke’s Bank it is, sir.” assented Mrs. Pratt. “Which you know very well, as also do I, having oft called it up. Very well —I didjrt hear no more just then, me going into the dining-room to see that our maid laid the table proper. But when I was going back to the bar I heard more: ‘Along the riverside?’ says the gentleman. ‘Straight on from where I am—all right.’ Then after a minute. ‘At seven-thirty, then?’ he says. ‘All right—lll meet you.’ And after that he rings off—and he went, into the dining-room, and in due course he had his chops, and some tart and cheese, and a pint of our bitter ale, and took his time, and perhaps about a quar-ter-past seven he came to the bar and paid, and he took a drop of Scotch whisky. After which he says ‘lt’s verv possible, landlady, that I may have to stop in the town all night—have you a nice room that you can let me?’ ‘Certainly, sir,’ says I. ‘We’ve very good rooms, and bathrooms, and every convenience—shall I show you one?’ ‘No,’ says he, ‘this seems a goodhou.se, and I’ll take your word for it —keep your best room for me, then.’ And after that he lighted a cigar and went out, saying he’d be back later, and he crossed the road and went down on the river bank, and walked slowly along toward the bottom of the town. And Mr. Polke and company,” concluded Mrs. Pratt, solemnly turning from one listener to another, “that was the last I saw of him. For —he'never came back!” “Never came back!” echoed Polke.

“Not even the ghost of him!” said Mrs. Pratt. “I waited up myself till twelve—and then I decided that he’d changed his mind and was stopping with somebody he knew—which person, Mr. Polke, I took to be Mr. Horbury. Why? ’Cause he’d rung up Chestermarke’s Bank, and who should he want at Chestermarke’s Bank at six o’clock of a Saturday evening but Mr. Horbury? There wouldn’t be nobody else there —as Mr. Neale’ll agree.” “You never heard of this gentleman being in the town on Sunday or today?” asked Mr. Polke. “Not a word,” replied Mrs. Pratt. “And never saw him go to the station, neither, to leave the town. Now, as you know, Mr. Polke, we’ve only two trains go away from here on Sundays, and there’s only four on any week-day, us being naught but a branch line, and as our bar-parlour window is exactly opposite the station, I see everybody that goes and comes—l always was one for looking out of windows! And I’m sure that little gentleman didn’t go away neither yesterday nor to-day. And that’s all I know,” concluded Mrs. Pratt, rising, “and if it’s any use to you, you’re welcome —and hopeful I am that your poor uncle’ll be found, miss, for a nicer gentleman I could never wish to meet!”

Mrs. Pratt departed amid expressions of gratitude and police admonitions to keep her news to herself for a while, and Betty and Neale turned eagerly to the famous detective. But Starmidge appeared to have entered upon a period

of silence, and made no further observation than that he would wait upon Miss Fosdyke in the morning, and presently the two young people followed Mrs. Pratt into the street and turned into the Market Place. The last of the evening revellers were just coming out of the closing taverns, and to a group of them Tolson, the towncrier, was dismally calling forth his announcement that one hundred pounds’ reward would be paid to any person who first gave news of having seen Mr. Horbury on the previous Saturday evening or since. The clanging of the bell, and the strident notes of his cracked voice, sounded in the distance as Betty said good-night to Neale and turned sadly into the Scarnham Arms. CHAPTER IX. NO FURTHER INFORMATION. Chestermarke’s clerks found no difficulty in obtaining access to the bank when they presented themselves at its doors at nine o’clock next morning. Both partners were already there, and appeared to have been there for time. And Joseph at once called Neale into the private parlour, and drew his attention to a large poster which lay on a side table, its ink still wet from the printing press. “Let Patten put that up in one of the front windows, Neale,” he said. It s just come in—l gave the copy for it last night. Read it over—l think it’s satisfactory, eh?” Neale bent over the big, bold letters and silently read the announcement. Messrs. Chestermarkes, in view of certain unauthorised rumours, now circulating in the town and neighbourhood. respecting the disappearance of their late manager, Mr. John Horbury, take the earliest opportunitv of announcing that all customers’ securities and deposits in their hands are safe, and that business will be conducted in the usual way. “That makes things clear?” asked Joseph, closely watching his clerk. “To our clients, I mean?”

“Quite clear, I should say,” replied Neale.

"Then put it up at once, before opening hours, and save all the bother of questions,” commanded Joseph. “And if people do some asking questions—as some of them will!—tell them not to bother themselves—nor us. We don’t want to waste our time interviewing fools all the morning.” Neale took the poster and went out, with no further remark. And presently, the junior clerk, with the aid of a few wafers, fixed the announcement in the window which looked out on the Market Place, and people began to gather round and to read it, and, after the usual fashion of country-town

folk, they went away to talk about it. In half an hour it was known in every shop and tavern parlour in Scarnham Market Place that, despite the towncrier's announcement, and the wild

rumours of the night before, Chestermarke’s Bank was all right, and Chestermarkes were already speaking of Horbury in the past tense—he was (wherever he might be) no longer the manager of that ancient concern; he was the late manager.

At ten o’clock Superintendent Polke, bluff and cheery as usual, and Detec-tive-Sergeant Starmidge, eyeing - his new surroundings with appreciative curiosity, strolled round the corner from the police station and approached the bank. Half a dozen loungers were gathered before the window reading the poster; the two police officials joined them and also read —in silence. Then, with a look at each other, they turned into the door, which Patten had just opened. Neale hurried to the counter to meet them.

“Well, Mr. Neale,” said Polke, as if he had called on the most ordinary business, “we’ll just have a word with your principals, if they please. A mere interchange of news, you know —we shan’t keep ’em.” “They don’t want bothering,” whispered Neale, bending over the counter. “Shan’t I do instead?”

“No, sir!” answered Polke. “Nothing but principals will do! —Starmidge, give Mr. Neale one of your official cards.”

Neale took the card and disappeared into the parlour, where he laid it before Gabriel.

“Mr. Polke is with him, sir,” he said. They say they won’t detain you.”

Gabriel tossed the card over to his nephew with a look of inquiry; Joseph sneered at it, and threw it into a waste-paper basket.

“Tell them we don’t wish to see ;hem,” he answered. “We ”

“Stop a bit!” interrupted Gabriel. “I think perhaps we’d better see them. We may as well see them—and have done with it. Bring them in, Neale.” Polke and Starmidge, presently entering, found themselves coldly greeted. Gabriel made the slightest inclination of his head, in response to Polke’s salutation and the detective’s bow; Joseph pointedly gave no heed to either. “Well?” demanded the senior partner.

“We’ve just called, Mr. Chestermarke, to hear if you’ve anything to say to us about this matter of Mr. Horbury’s,” said Polke. “Of course, you know it’s been put in our hands.” “Not by us!” snapped Gabriel.

“Quite so, sir—by Lord Ellersdeane and by Mr. Horbury’s niece, Miss Fosdyke,” asserted Polke. “The young lady, of course, is naturally anxious about her uncle’s safety, and Lord Ellersdeane is anxious about the Countess’s jewels. And- we hear .that securities of yours are missing.” “We haven’t told you so,” retorted Gabriel. “We haven’t even approached you,” remarked Joseph. “Just so!” agreed Polke. “But, under the circumstances ” “We have nothing to say to you, superintendent,” interrupted Gabriel. “We can’t help anything that Lord Ellersdeane has done nor anything that Miss Fosdyke likes to do. Lord Ellersdeane is not, and never lias been, a customer of ours. Miss Fosdyke acts indepedently. If they call you in, as they seem to have done, very thoroughly—it’s their- look-out. We haven’t! When we want your assistance, we’ll let you know. At present—we don’t.”

He waved one of the white hands toward the door as he spoke, as if to command withdrawal. But Polke lingered. “You don’t propose to give the police any information, then, Mr. Chestermarke?” he asked quietly. . c “At present we don’t propose to give any information to anybody whom it doesn’t concern,” replied Gabriel. “As regards the mere surface facts of Mr. John Horbury’s disappearance, you know as much as we do.”

“You don’t propose to join in any search for him or any attempt to discover his whereabouts, sir?” inquired Starmidge, speaking for the first time.

Gabriel looked up from his papers, and slowly eyed his questioner. “What we propose to do is a matter for ourselves,” he answered, coldly. “For no one else.”

Starmidge bowed and turned away, and Polke, after hesitating a moment, said good morning and followed him from the room. The two men nodded to Neale and went out into the Market Place.

“Well,” said Polke. “Queer couple!” remarked Starmidge. Polke jerked his thumb at the poster in the bank window.

“Of course!” he said. “So long as they can satisfy their customers that all’s right so far as they’re concerned, we can’t get at what is missing that belongs to Chestermarkes.” “There are ways of finding that out,” replied Starmidge, quietly. “What ways, now?” asked Polke. “We can’t make -’em tell us their private affairs. Supposing Horbury has robbed them, they aren’t forced to tell us how much or how little he’s robbed ’em of!” “All in good time,” remarked the detective. “We’re only beginning. Let’s go and talk to this Miss Fosdyke a bit. She doesn’t mind what money she spends on this business, you say?” , “Not if it costs her her last penny! answered Polke.

“All right,” said Starmidge. “Fosdyko’s Entire represents a lot of pennies. We’ll just have a word or two with her.”

Betty, looking out of her window on the Market Place, had seen the two men leave Chestermarke’s Bank, and was waiting eagerly for their coming. She listened intently to Polke’s account of the interview with the partners, and her cheeks glowed indignantly as he brought it to an end. “Shameful!” she exclaimed. “To make accusations against my uncle, and then to refuse to say what they are! But—can’t you make them say?” “We’ll try—in good time,” answered Starmidge. “Slow and steady’s the game here. For —whatever it is, it s a deep game.” “Nothing has been heard —since I saw you last night?” asked Betty anxiously. “No one has brought you any “No news of any sort, miss,” replied Polke.

“What’s to be done, then, next?” she inquired, looking from one to the other. “Do let us do something!” “Oh! we’ll do a lot, Miss Fosdyke, before the day’s out,” said Starmidge. reassuringly. I’m going to work just now. Now, the first thing is —publicity!

We must have all this in the newspapers at once.” He turned to the superintendent. I suppose there’s some journalist here in the town who sends news to the London Press, isn’t there?” he asked.

“Parkinson, editor of the ‘Scarnham Advertiser’ —he does,” replied Polke, with promptitude. “He’s a sort of re-porter-editor, you understand—and jolly glad of a bit of extra stuff.”

“That’s the first thing,” said Starmidge. "The next, we must have a reward bill printed immediately, and circulated broadcast. It must have a portrait on it—l’ll take that photograph you showed me last night. And —we’ll have to offer a specific reward, in cash. How much is it to be. Miss Fosdyke? For you’ll have to pay it, you know.” (To be Continued.)