‘I say, Inspector, here’s a puzzle,’ he cried. ‘I happened to look behind the safe door, and I find it has been opened with a key. I thought at first it had been broken or forced or the lock somehow picked. But I see it is unlocked.’
‘Yes, I noticed that, sir,’ French answered. ‘But I don’t follow you. What is the mystery about that?’
‘Why, the key, of course. To my certain knowledge there were only two keys in existence. One I keep on my ring, which is chained to my belt and never leaves me day nor night. There it is. The other is lodged with my bankers, where no one could possibly get at it. Now, where did the thief get the key that is now in the lock?’
‘That is one of the things we have to find out,’ French replied. ‘You may perhaps think it strange, but a point of that kind, which at first seems to deepen the mystery, often proves a blessing in disguise. It provides another point of attack, you understand, and frequently it narrows down the area of inquiry. You haven’t touched the key, I hope?’
‘No. I remembered what you said about finger prints.’
‘Good. Now, gentlemen, if you will please sit down, I want to ask you a few questions. I’ll take you first, Mr Orchard. I have your name, and your address is Bloomsbury Square. Now tell me, is that your home?’
The young fellow answered the questions without hesitation, and French noted approvingly his direct glance and the evident candour with which he spoke. The Bloomsbury Square address, it appeared, was that of a boarding house, the clerk’s home being in Somerset. He had left the office at about half-past five that afternoon, Mr Gething being then almost ready to follow. Mr Gething was usually the last out of the office. Orchard had noticed nothing unusual in his manner that day, though for the last two or three weeks he had seemed somewhat moody and depressed. Orchard had gone from the office to Liverpool Street, where he had caught the 5.52 to Ilford. There he had had supper with a friend, a man called Forrest, a clerk in a shipping office in Fenchurch Street. He had left about 9.30, getting back to town a little before 10.00. The rain had stopped, and as he did not get as much exercise as he could have wished, he resolved to walk home from the station. Hatton Garden was but little out of his way, and as he approached it he remembered that he had left in his desk a book he had changed at the library at lunch time. He had decided to call in and get it, so as to read for a while before going to sleep. He had done so, and had found Mr Gething’s body, as he had already explained. The outer street door had been closed, and he had opened it with his latch key. Both the office doors were open, that between the landing and the outer office and that of Mr Duke’s room. The lights were on everywhere, except that in the outer office only the single central bulb was burning, the desk lamps being off. He had seen no one about the offices.
French, having complimented the young fellow on his clear statement, bade him good-night and sent him home. But as he passed out of the room he whispered to one of his men, who promptly nodded and also disappeared. French turned to Mr Duke.
‘That seems a straightforward young fellow,’ he observed. ‘What is your opinion of him?’
‘Absolutely straightforward.’ The acting partner spoke with decision. ‘He has been with me for over four years, and I have always found him most conscientious and satisfactory. Indeed, I have been very fortunate in my whole staff. I think I could say the same of them all.’
‘I congratulate you, Mr Duke. Perhaps now you would tell me something about your firm and your various employees.’
Mr Duke, though still extremely agitated, was controlling his emotion and answered in calm tones.
‘The business is not a large one, and at the present time is virtually controlled by myself. Peabody, though not so old as I am, has been troubled by bad health and has more or less gone to pieces. He seldom comes to the office, and never undertakes any work. The junior partner, Sinnamond, is travelling in the East, and has been for some months. We carry on the usual trade of diamond merchants, and have a small branch establishment in Amsterdam. Indeed, I divide my own time almost equally between London and Amsterdam. We occupy only these two rooms which you have seen. Our staff in the outer office consists, or rather consisted, of five, a chief and confidential clerk, the poor man who has just been killed, a young man called Harrington, who is qualifying for a partnership, Orchard, a girl typist, and an office boy. Besides them, we employ an outside man, a traveller, a Dutchman named Vanderkemp. He attends sales and so on, and when not on the road works in the Amsterdam branch.’
Inspector French noted all the information Mr Duke could give about each of the persons mentioned.
‘Now this Mr Gething,’ he resumed. ‘You say he has been with you for over twenty years, and that you had full confidence in him, but I must ask the question, Are you sure that your confidence was not misplaced? In other words, are you satisfied that he was not himself after your diamonds?’
Mr Duke shook his head decisively.
‘I am positive he was not,’ he declared warmly and with something of indignation showing in his manner. ‘I should as soon accuse my own son, if I had one. No, I’d stake my life on it, Gething was no thief.’
‘I’m glad to hear you say that, Mr Duke,’ the other returned smoothly. ‘Now, then, your office staff eliminated, tell me is there anyone that you suspect?’
‘Not a creature!’ Mr Duke was equally emphatic. ‘Not a single creature! I can’t imagine anyone who would have done such a thing. I wish I could.’
The inspector hesitated.
‘Of course, sir, you understand that if you were to mention a name it would not in any way bias me against that person. It would only mean that I should make inquiries. Don’t think you would be getting anyone into trouble.’
Mr Duke smiled grimly.
‘You needn’t be afraid. If I had any suspicion I should be only too glad to tell you, but I have none.’
‘When, sir, did you last see your late clerk?’
‘About half-past four this evening. I left the office at that time, about an hour earlier than usual, because I had a business appointment for a quarter to five with Mr Peters, of Lincoln’s Inn, my solicitor.’
‘And you did not return to the office?’
‘No. I sat with Mr Peters for about half an hour, then as my business was not finished and he wanted to square up for the night, we decided to dine together at my club in Gower Street. It was not worthwhile going back to my own office, so I want straight from Peters’ to the club.’
‘And you did not notice anything peculiar about Mr Gething?’
‘Not specially on that night. He seemed absolutely as usual.’
‘How do you mean, not specially on that night?’
‘He had been, I thought, a little depressed for two or three weeks previously, as if he had some trouble on his mind. I asked when first I noticed it if there was anything wrong, but he murmured something about home troubles, about his wife not being so well—she is a chronic invalid. He was not communicative, and I did not press the matter. But he was no worse this afternoon than during the last fortnight.’
‘I see. Now, what brought him back to the office tonight?’
Mr Duke made a gesture of bewilderment.
‘I have no idea,’ he declared. ‘There was nothing! Nothing, at least, that I know of or can imagine. We were not specially busy, and as far as I can think, he was well up to date with his work.’
‘Is there a postal delivery between half-past four and the time your office closes?’
‘There is, and of course there might have been a telegram or a caller or a note delivered by hand. But suppose there had been something important enough