XIV
The Forged Cheque
Sir Clinton had yet another surprise in store for his host. Just before dinner, he apparently made up his mind to ring up Whistlefield; and to Wendover’s astonishment he suggested that the Squire should accompany him to the telephone.
“You’ll hear only one side of the conversation,” he said, with a rather grim expression, “but I think it may interest you. And perhaps it will be just as well to have a witness to testify about my end of the wire. I wish we had two receivers, for then you would have heard the whole thing.”
He got the connection in a moment or two and then astounded Wendover by asking for Ernest Shandon instead of Ardsley. After a few minutes, Wendover heard the beginning of the conversation.
“Sir Clinton Driffield speaking. Mr. Shandon, you must treat this as absolutely confidential. … Absolutely for yourself. Not a breath of it to anyone else, you understand? … I want you to keep an eye on your secretary … Yes, Stenness. I want him kept under observation. If you see him leave the house, ring me up immediately … Yes, at once … It won’t be for long. I’m coming across very shortly … I didn’t catch that … Yes, you weren’t far out in your suspicions. Most fortunate you mentioned the matter of the cheque … Anything further? Do you mean about the murderer? … Oh, I think I’ll have him tomorrow, quite possibly—if he doesn’t bolt. If he doesn’t bolt, I said. That’s the only thing I’m afraid of. … Yes, I’m sure that would interest you. After all, one’s skin is one’s dearest possession. Good night. We shall be across shortly after dinner.”
Wendover had been able to gather the gist of the conversation from the side which he had heard.
“You’re afraid of Stenness doing a bolt? And you think he’s the man you’re after?”
“Really, Squire, you must take a reef in your questions,” Sir Clinton said, reproachfully. “I stretched a point to let you hear that talk; and I certainly didn’t intend to stand a cross-examination about it. You must make what you can out of it for yourself. And that reminds me, I’m afraid you can’t be present when I interview Master Stenness. You’ll just have to be a private caller this evening and wait for results till later.”
Wendover was not particularly pleased with this last news. He had evidently counted on hearing what Sir Clinton had to say to the secretary. However, he realised that he was in the hands of the Chief Constable and must do as he was told; so when they arrived at Whistlefield, he asked for Ernest Shandon while Sir Clinton went into the study to interview Stenness.
The secretary arrived in a few moments. He was still looking very anxious, perhaps even more anxious than in the morning. Sir Clinton wasted no time but came to grips with the subject at once.
“Now, Mr. Stenness, I’ve one or two questions to put to you. I may as well caution you that anything you say may be used against you if you are put on your trial.”
Stenness’s face betrayed less surprise than might have been expected.
“You say ‘if,’ but perhaps you mean ‘when’?”
“I’m picking my words with some care,” Sir Clinton assured him. “I mean ‘if.’ The point’s still in doubt; but I want to play the game with you and take no improper advantage.”
The imperturbable face of the secretary showed neither relief nor depression.
“It’s very good of you,” he said in a colourless voice. Sir Clinton considered for a moment. Stenness moved over to a chair and sat down.
“I think I can put my cards on the table in your case, Stenness,” the Chief Constable said at length. “Nothing I’m going to tell you will be news to you; and there seems no reason why I shouldn’t say it.”
Stenness looked up indifferently. His mind seemed to be occupied with something quite apart from the affair in hand.
“Go on,” he said, apathetically.
“Here are the facts, then,” Sir Clinton began. “You were employed here as Roger Shandon’s secretary. In that capacity, you seem to have had access to his chequebooks. It’s not a usual thing; but I have sound reasons for supposing that it was so in your case.”
Stenness nodded his assent.
“I don’t deny that,” he admitted.
“You have the key of the safe, haven’t you? Would you mind seeing if you can find the chequebook that Roger Shandon used last?”
Stenness walked over to the safe, opened it, and after a few moments’ search he unearthed the chequebook.
“Now,” Sir Clinton went on, “would you mind turning up the counterfoil numbered 60073?”
Stenness looked up without showing any emotion on his features.
“There’s no such counterfoil in the book,” he admitted.
“But you find 60072 and 60074 there?”
“Yes.”
“Rather a peculiar state of affairs, isn’t it?”
“It is.”
Sir Clinton turned to another subject.
“There’s a bundle of returned cheques in that drawer of the writing-desk, isn’t there?”
“There is. Do you want it?”
Sir Clinton seemed to disregard the question.
“Would it surprise you, Stenness, if you learned that one of these cheques has been abstracted and that it can’t be found? The bank returned it in due course for all that.”
Stenness gazed stonily at his interlocutor.
“It wouldn’t surprise me in the slightest.”
Sir Clinton paused for a moment before continuing. When he spoke again it was in a different vein.
“These are all plain facts. Now we come to hypothesis; and of course the ground’s not quite so firm. I think, if you don’t mind, we might put it in the form of one of these John Doe and Richard Roe cases, lest you should think …”
He left the sentence incomplete.
“Now,” he began briskly, “let’s suppose that John Doe is a rich man who has made his money in rather peculiar ways—like the late Roger Shandon, for example. He employs a secretary. I think one may reasonably suppose that a secretary in that case would need to be somebody who could shut his eyes when necessary, and who wouldn’t be apt to judge things too rigidly. In fact, Stenness, he would need to be a fairly unscrupulous fellow himself.”
Stenness nodded indifferently.
“Go on.”
“I’m putting a hypothetical case, remember,” Sir Clinton cautioned him. “This is what might be said—I don’t necessarily accept it myself. I’m only trying to show you how it could be made to look, you understand? Well, then, this secretary, Richard Roe, sooner or later sees the chance which Providence has thrown in his way. His employer is in the habit of drawing bearer cheques for large amounts—some thousands—from time to time. And, rather carelessly, he has dropped into the way of getting his secretary to cash them for him and bring him the money. So the bank is accustomed to paying over these things to the secretary, and no questions asked.”
Stenness gave no sign of special interest. His normal reserve was sufficient to veil his thoughts.
“The secretary, we may assume, is an acute fellow. I think we may take it that he may see a chance when it comes his way. But forgery requires a certain amount of manual skill if it is carried out in some ways; and possibly the secretary is sufficiently acute to distrust his powers as a forger. But it’s always possible to trace a signature.”
Sir Clinton pulled out his cigarette case and lit a cigarette before going on. He seemed determined to infuse informality into the proceedings.
“It’s always possible to trace a signature,” he continued. “But one needs a model signature for that—a signature from a cheque, of course, because sensible people don’t use their letter signature on their cheques. They have a special one with some specific trick in it—the position of a dot, or something of the sort. I hope I’m not boring you with these elementary things.”
“Not at all,” said Stenness, with a certain show of polite interest.
“The model, in the case of the secretary Richard Roe,” went on Sir Clinton, “could easily be chosen from one of the old cheques returned by the bank. He had access to these, we may suppose. But then comes in a point which is sure to strike his acute mind. A man never writes his signature twice in precisely the same way; there’s always a faint difference between any two signatures. Hence, if two cheques turn up with identical signatures, a sharp detective might suspect something wrong. You follow me?”
Stenness nodded in silence.
“The acute secretary, Richard Roe, therefore traces his employer’s signature from one of these old cheques. And to cover his trail, to make certain that the thing cannot be shown to be a traced signature, he then destroys the old cheque. Thus there are not two identical signatures in existence; and the only thing missing is a cancelled cheque—not a thing anyone is likely to make a fuss about at the worst, even if its disappearance is noted. I make myself clear?”
“Quite,” said Stenness, still with his air of formal interest.
“So far, then,” Sir Clinton went on, “all is plain sailing. But now comes a sticky bit. In fact, the sticky bit of the whole affair. Every cheque has its counterfoil; and Mr. John Doe, the employer, has had an awkward habit of always filling in his counterfoils. Hence when Mr. Richard Roe traces his employer’s signature on, let us say, cheque No. 60073, he has to do something about the counterfoil of that cheque. If he leaves it blank, it will catch the attention of the good Mr. Doe the next time he uses the chequebook. If the acute secretary fudges an entry on counterfoil No. 60073, then Mr. Doe, who is by no means a dull fellow, may spot the thing and cause trouble. What is to be done? The obvious thing is to remove counterfoil No. 60073 from the chequebook and trust that its absence will not be noticed. I think that is the course I’d have followed myself if I had got into that fix.”
Sir Clinton seemed for a moment to lose interest in his narrative. He sat for a time in silence, eyeing the secretary as though he hoped to surprise something. But Stenness showed no sign of either guilt or confusion.
“I congratulate you on your nerves, Stenness,” Sir Clinton began once more. “Now that’s an hypothesis which I should not be very loath to adopt as an explanation of this affair of the cheques. It seems to me to cover the ground neatly. In fact, I’m quite convinced that it’s a good hypothesis so far as it goes. But some people might be prepared to carry it a stage further. I’ll just sketch out what they would say.”
At this point Stenness seemed to find some interest in the matter. He sat up and looked across at the Chief Constable.
“Please go on,” he requested.
“We have assumed that Richard Roe is an acute person. Now an alert mind might quite conceivably see a further step which would bring him on to safer ground. If things took their course, the forgery would be spotted in a very short time. One can’t take thousands out of a man’s account without raising inquiry. So, normally, the reasonable thing to do would be to bolt and chance getting out of the country with the cash. That’s what would occur to most people at once. But there’s another way of making sure of things.”
Sir Clinton’s voice took on a graver tone.
“Let us suppose that immediately the cheque has been cashed, the employer happens to die. What evidence of forgery is left then? None whatever, if the tracing of the signature has been decently executed. The supposed writer is dead; and no one else can deny his signature. And the cheque, we assume, has been cashed before the death takes place. On that basis, there would be no need for any flight on the part of the forger. He would simply have to sit tight and behave normally.”
Sir Clinton surprised a fresh look on Stenness’s face. It was only a fleeting change; but it was quite unmistakable. But the secretary remained obstinately mute and waited for the rest of the argument.
“That’s assuming a natural death of the employer. But such coincidences are rather rare. An acute mind would not count on a chance like that. However, rare as such coincidences may be, they are not beyond possibility, if a human agent should happen to take a hand in the business. Suppose that the acute Richard Roe perceived this, and decided that it was worth his while to produce that coincidence by murdering his employer. …”
Sir Clinton swung round in his chair, surprised by the opening of the door. Ardsley stood on the threshold, and a glance at his face showed that something serious had happened.
“It’s all up, Sir Clinton. They can pull down the blinds.”
“Miss Hawkhurst?” was all Sir Clinton could say.
Ardsley made a gesture of despair.
“Some things are beyond us,” he said despondently.