The Lady Sleuths MEGAPACK TM(226)
“A scare—a vulgar scare, nothing more,” said the inspector as Loveday laid aside the paper. “Now, Miss Brooke, I ask you seriously, supposing you get to the bottom of such a stupid, commonplace fraud as that, will you in any way add to your reputation?”
“And supposing I get to the bottom of such a stupid, commonplace fraud as a stolen cheque, how much, I should like to know, do I add to my reputation?”
“Well, put it on other grounds and allow Christian charity to have some claims. Think of the misery in that gentleman’s house unless suspicion can be lifted from the young wife and directed to the proper quarter.”
“Think of the misery of the landlord of the Fountain Lane houses if all his tenants decamp in a body, as they no doubt will, unless the ghost mystery is solved.”
The inspector sighed. “Well, I suppose I must take it for granted that you will have nothing to do with the case,” he said. “I brought the cheque with me, thinking you might like to see it.”
“I suppose it’s very much like other cheques?” said Loveday indifferently, and turning over her memoranda as if she meant to go back to her ghost again.
“Ye—es,” said Mr. Clampe, taking the cheque from his pocket-book and glancing down at it. “I suppose the cheque is very much like other cheques. This little scribble of figures in pencil at the back—144,000—can scarcely be called a distinguishing mark.”
“What’s that, Mr. Clampe?” asked Loveday, pushing her memoranda on one side. “144,000 did you say?”
Her whole manner had suddenly changed from apathy to that of keenest interest.
Mr. Clampe, delighted, rose and spread the cheque before her on the table.
“The writing of the words “six hundred pounds,” he said, “bears so close a resemblance to Mr. Turner’s signature, that the gentleman himself told me he would have thought it was his own writing if he had not known that he had not drawn a cheque for that amount on the given date. You see it is that round, school-boy’s hand, so easy to imitate, I could write it myself with half-an-hour’s practice; no flourishes, nothing distinctive about it.”
Loveday made no reply. She had turned the cheque, and was now closely scrutinizing the pencilled figures at the back.
“Of course,” continued the inspector, “those figures were not written by the person who wrote the figures on the face of the cheque. That, however, matters but little. I really do not think they are of the slightest importance in the case. They might have been scribbled by some one making a calculation as to the number of pennies in six hundred pounds—there are, as no doubt you know, exactly 144,000.”
“Who has engaged your services in this case, the Bank or Mr. Turner?”
“Mr. Turner. When the loss of the cheque was first discovered, he was very excited and irate, and when he came to me the day before yesterday, I had much difficulty in persuading him that there was no need to telegraph to London for half-a-dozen detectives, as we could do the work quite as well as the London men. When, however, I went over to East Downes yesterday to look round and ask a few questions; I found things had altogether changed. He was exceedingly reluctant to answer any questions, lost his temper when I pressed them, and as good as told me that he wished he had not moved in the matter at all. It was this sudden change of demeanour that turned my thoughts in the direction of Mrs. Turner. A man must have a very strong reason for wishing to sit idle under a loss of six hundred pounds, for, of course, under the circumstances, the Bank will not bear the brunt of it.”