All business London, and a good many other people besides, must remember the famous United Empire Bank Fraud. Bonds had been stolen and negotiated, vast sums of money were discovered to be missing, and the manager and one of the directors were absent also. So cleverly had the affair been worked, and so flaring were the defalcations, that had it not been for the public-spirited behaviour and generosity of two of the directors, the position of the bank would have been most seriously compromised, if not shattered altogether. How the culprits had managed to slip through the fingers of the law in the first place no one could say, but the fact remains that they were able to get out of England, without, apparently, leaving a trace of their intentions or their whereabouts behind them. Scotland Yard took the matter up with its usual promptness, and at first were confident of success. They set their cleverest detectives to work upon it, and it was not until more than a month had elapsed that the men engaged were compelled most reluctantly to admit their defeat. They had done their best: it was the system under which they worked that was to blame. In the detection of crime, or in the tracing of a criminal, it is best, as in every other walk of life, to be original.
One morning on arriving at my office I found a letter awaiting me from the remaining directors of the bank, in which they inquired if I could make it convenient to call upon them at the head-office that day. To tell the truth I had been expecting this summons for nearly a week, and was far from being displeased when it came. The work I had expected them to offer me was after my own heart, and if they would only trust the business to me and give me a free hand, I was prepared on my part to bring the missing gentlemen to justice.
Needless to say I called upon them at the hour specified, and after a brief wait was conducted to the board room where the directors sat in solemn conclave.
The chairman, Sir Walter Bracebridge, received me on behalf of his colleagues.
“We wrote to you, Mr. Fairfax,” he said, “in order to find out whether you could help us concerning the difficulty in which we find ourselves placed. You of course are aware of the serious trouble the bank has experienced, and of the terrible consequences which have resulted therefrom?”
I admitted that I was quite conversant with it, and waited to hear what he would have to say next.
“As a matter of fact,” he continued, “we have sent for you to know whether you can offer us any assistance in our hour of difficulty? Pray take a chair, and let us talk the matter over and see what conclusion we can arrive at.”
I seated myself, and we discussed the affair to such good purpose that, when I left the Boardroom, it was on the understanding that I was to take up the case at once, and that my expenses and a very large sum of money should be paid me, provided I could manage to bring the affair to a successful termination. I spent the remainder of that day at the Bank, carefully studying the various memoranda. A great deal of what I had read and heard had been mere hearsay, and this it was necessary to discard in order that the real facts of the case might be taken up, and the proper conclusions drawn therefrom. For three days I weighed the case carefully in my mind, and at the end of that time was in a position to give the Board a definite answer to their inquiries. Thereupon I left England, with the result that exactly twelve weeks later the two men, so much wanted, were at Bow Street, and I had the proud knowledge of knowing that I had succeeded where the men who had tried before me had so distinctly failed.
As will be remembered, it was a case that interested every class of society, and Press and Public were alike united in the interest they showed in it. It is not, however, to the trial itself as much as another curious circumstance connected with it, that has induced me to refer to it here. The case had passed from the Magistrate’s Court to the Old Bailey, and was hourly increasing in interest. Day after day the Court was crowded to overflowing, and, when the time came for me to take my place in the witness-box and describe the manner in which I had led up to and effected the capture of the offenders, the excitement rose to fever-heat. I can see the whole scene now as plainly as if it had occurred but yesterday; the learned Judge upon the Bench, the jury in their box, the rows of Counsels, and the benches full of interested spectators. I gave my evidence and was examined by the Counsels for the prosecution and for the defence. I described how I had traced the men from England to their hiding-place abroad, and the various attempts that had been made to prevent their extradition, and had just referred to a certain statement one of the prisoners had made to me soon after his arrest, when an interruption caused me to look behind at the rows of spectators. At the further end of the bench, nearest me, were two men; one was evidently tall, the other very short. The taller was the possessor of silvery white hair and a long and venerable beard. He was a handsome looking man of about forty, and my first glance at him told me that he was blind. As I have said, his companion was a much smaller man, with a smooth, almost boyish face, a pair of twinkling eyes, but a mouth rather hard set. Both were evidently following the case closely, and when on the next day I saw that they were in the same place, I took an even greater interest in them than before. It was not however until the trial had finished and the pair of miserable men had been sent to penal servitude for a lengthy term of years, that I made the acquaintance of the men I have just described. I remember the circumstance quite distinctly. I had left the Court and was proceeding down the Old Bailey in the direction of Ludgate Hill, when I heard my name pronounced.
Turning round I discovered to my astonishment the two men I had seen in the Court, and who had seemed to take such an interest in the case. The smaller was guiding his friend along the crowded pavement with a dexterity that was plainly the outcome of a long practice. When I stopped, they stopped also, and the blind man addressed me. His voice was deep and had a note of pathos in it impossible to describe. It may have been that I was a little sad that afternoon, for both the men who had been condemned to penal servitude had wives and children, to whose pitiful condition the learned Judge had referred when passing sentence.
“You are Mr. Fairfax, are you not?” inquired the taller of the men.
“That is my name,” I admitted. “What can I do for you?”
“If we could persuade you to vouchsafe us an hour of your valuable time we should be more grateful than we could say,” the man replied. “We have an important piece of business which it might possibly be to your advantage to take up. At any rate it would be worthy of your consideration.”
“But why have you not come to me before?” I inquired. “You have seen me in Court every day. Why do you wait until the case is at an end?”
“Because we wanted to be quite sure of you,” he answered. “Our case is so large and of such vital importance to us, that we did not desire to run any risk of losing you. We thought we would wait and familiarize ourselves with all that you have done in this affair before coming to you. Now we are satisfied that we could not place our case in better hands, and what we are anxious to do is to induce you to interest yourself in it and take it up.”
“You pay me a very high compliment,” I said, “but I cannot give you a decision at once. I must hear what it is that you want me to do and have time to think it over, before I can answer you. That is my invariable rule, and I never depart from it. Do you know my office?”
“We know it perfectly,” returned the blind man. “It would be strange if we did not, seeing that we have stood outside it repeatedly, trying to summon up courage to enter. Would it be possible for you to grant us an interview to-night?”
“I fear not,” I said. “I am tired, and stand in need of rest. If you care to come to-morrow morning, I shall be very pleased to see you. But you must bear in mind the fact that my time is valuable, and that it is only a certain class of case that I care to take up personally.”
“We are not afraid of our case,” the man replied. “I doubt if there has ever been another like it. I fancy you yourself will say so when you hear the evidence I have to offer. It is not as if we are destitute. We are prepared to pay you well for your services, but we must have the very best that England can supply.”
My readers must remember that this conversation was being carried on at the corner of Ludgate Hill and the Old Bailey. Curious glances were being thrown at my companions by passers-by, and so vehement were the taller man’s utterances becoming, that a small crowd was gradually collecting in our neighbourhood.
“Very well,” I said, “if you are really desirous of consulting me, I shall be very glad to see you at my office at ten o’clock to-morrow morning. I must ask you, however, not to be late, as I have several other appointments.”
“We shall not be late,” the man answered, “you may rely upon that. We have too much at stake to run any risks of losing your assistance. We will be with you to-morrow morning at ten o’clock punctually.”
He thereupon bade me good-bye and raising his hat politely was led along the street by his companion in an opposite direction to that I was taking. They seemed delighted that I had given them an appointment, but for my part I am afraid I was too absorbed by the memories of the day, and the punishment that had been allotted to the two principal members in the swindle, to think very much of them and their business. Indeed, although I made a note of the appointment, it was not until I had arrived at the office on the following morning that I recollected their promised visit. I had just finished my correspondence, and had dictated a few letters to my managing clerk, when a junior entered with two cards, which he placed before me. The first I took up bore the name of Mr. Septimus Codd, that of the second, Mr. George Kitwater. When I had finished the letter I was in the act of dictating, I bade the clerk admit them, and a moment later the blind man and his companion whom I had seen on Ludgate Hill the previous evening, were ushered into my presence. I cannot remember a more venerable appearance than that presented by the taller man. His was a personality that would have appealed forcibly to any student of humanity. It was decidedly an open countenance, to which the long white beard that descended almost to his waist gave an added reverence. His head was well shaped and well set upon his shoulders, his height was six feet two if an inch, and he carried himself with the erectness of a man accustomed to an outdoor life. He was well dressed, and for this reason I surmised that he was the possessor of good manners. His companion was as much below the middle height as he was above it. His was a peculiar countenance resembling that of a boy when seen at a distance, and that of an old man when one was close to him. His eyes, as I have already said, were small, and they were set deep in his head. This, in itself, was calculated to add to his peculiar appearance. He steered his blind companion into the room and placed him in a seat. Then he perched himself on a chair beside him and waited for me to open the debate.
“Good-morning, gentlemen,” I said. “Allow me to congratulate you on your punctuality.”
“We were afraid of missing you,” observed Kitwater. “Our business is so particular that we did not want to run any risk of losing our appointment.”
“Perhaps you will now be good enough to tell me what that business is?” I replied, taking my note-book out of a drawer preparatory to writing down what they had to say.
“In the first place, sir,” the man began, “we of course understand that everything we have to tell you will be regarded by you as strictly private and confidential?”
“That goes without saying,” I replied. “If I were to divulge what my clients tell me, my business would not be worth a day’s purchase. You can rest assured that everything you may impart to me will be treated in strictest confidence.”
“We thank you,” said Kitwater. “The story I have to tell you is perhaps the strangest that has ever been told to mortal man. To begin with, you must understand that my companion and myself have but lately arrived in England. We have been for many years missionaries in China, sowing the good seed in the Western Provinces. I do not know whether you have ever visited that country, but even if you have not you must be aware to some extent of the dangers to which our calling is subjected. We carry our lives in our hands from the moment we leave civilization until we enter it again. There are times, however, that compensate one for all the trials that have to be undergone.”
“You must excuse me,” I said, “if I remind you that my time is valuable, and that, however interested I may be in the missionary work of China, I cannot allow it to interfere with my business. The sooner you tell me in what way you want me to help you, the sooner I shall be able to give you the answer you are seeking.”
“I must implore your pardon,” the man continued, humbly enough, “I am afraid our calling, however, is apt to make us a trifle verbose. If you will allow me, I will put what I have to say in as few words as possible.”
I bowed and signed to him to proceed.
“Our case is as follows,” he began. “As I have told you, we have been in China for several years, and during that time we have had the good fortune to enroll not a few well-known names among our converts. To make a long story short, we were so successful as to be able to persuade even the Mandarin of the Province to listen to our message. He was an enormously rich man, one of the richest perhaps in China, and was so impressed by the good news we brought to him that, on his death-bed, he left to us for the benefit of the mission all his wealth, in gold, silver, and precious stones. It was a princely legacy, and one that would have enabled us to carry on our mission with such success as we had never before dreamed of.”
“But if you were so lucky and so much in love with your profession, how does it come about that you are in England now?” I inquired.
“I will tell you why,” he answered, leaning towards me and tapping with his fingers upon the edge of my writing-table. “It is a sad story, and the mere telling of it causes me more pain than you would believe. You must understand that at the time of the Mandarin’s death an English traveller, who had been passing through the Western Provinces, reached our city and took up his abode with us. Needless to say we were overwhelmed with grief at the loss of our patron. The treasure he had presented us with we took to the mission and deposited it in a safe place. We had no suspicion of any sort of treachery. I fear my companion and I are not men of the world, that is to say we do not go about suspecting evil of our neighbours.”
“I think I understand,” I said. “You brought the treasure home, put it in what you considered a safe place, and one day awoke to find your estimable guest missing and the treasure gone with him. Have I guessed correctly?”
“You have hit the mark exactly,” Kitwater replied. “We woke one day not only to find the treasure gone, but also ourselves and our mission seriously compromised. The relations of the dead man not only accused us of having alienated him from the faith of his forefathers, but also of having robbed him of his ancestral treasure. We could not but admit that we had been presented with the wealth in question, and when it was demanded of us, we could only explain that we had lost it in our turn. You can imagine the position for yourself. At the best of times the foreigner is not popular in China, and our situation was particularly unpleasant. Situated as we were in one of the wildest portions of the empire, and accused of the basest sacrilege, that is to say of violating the home of a dead man, we could hope for but small mercy. The man who had robbed us had entirely disappeared and no trace of him could be discovered. To attempt to offer any explanation, or to incriminate him, was out of the question. We could only suffer in silence.”
He paused and heaved a heavy sigh.
“And what form did your punishment take?” I inquired, for I was beginning to be interested in their story.
“Can you not see for yourself?” the man answered. “Can you not see that I am blind, while my companion is dumb? That was what they condemned us to. By that man’s villainy I am destined never to look upon God’s earth again, while my companion will never be able to converse with his fellow-men, except by signs. We are in the world, yet out of it.”
I looked at them both in amazement. Their tale seemed too terrible to be true. And yet I had the best of evidence to show that it was correct.
“And why have you come to me? What do you want me to do? I cannot give you back your sight, nor your friend his power of speech.”
“But you can help us to find the man who brought this misery upon us,” Kitwater replied. “That is what we have come to ask of you. He must not be permitted to enjoy the wealth he stole from us. It is sacred to a special duty, and that duty it must perform. We are not overburdened with riches, in fact we are dependent upon the bounty of another, but if you can help us to recover the sum that was stolen from us, we will gladly pay whatever you may ask! We cannot say more than that.”
“But this is a most unheard-of request,” I said. “How do you know where the man may be at this moment?”
“We do not know, or we should scarcely have asked your assistance,” Kitwater replied with some show of reason. “It is because we have heard of your wonderful powers in tracing people that we have come to you. Our only cause for attending the trial at which you saw us was to hear the evidence you gave and to draw our own conclusions from it. That those conclusions were complimentary to you, our presence here is evidence of. We know that we could not put our case in better hands, and we will leave it with you to say whether or not you will help us. As I said just now, my companion is dumb, while I am blind; we cannot do much ourselves. Will you not take pity upon us and help us to find the man who betrayed and ruined us?”
“But he may be at the other end of the world at this moment?” I said.
“That does not matter,” he returned. “We know that wherever he may be, you will find him. All we ask you to do is to bring us face to face with him. We will manage the rest. It will be strange then if we are not able to get him to a proper way of thinking.”
This was the most unusual case I had had to do with, and for the moment I scarcely knew what to say. I turned to the blind man once more.
“Have you any idea where the man went after he robbed you?”
“He crossed the province of Yunnan into Burmah,” he replied. “After that he made his way through Mandalay to Rangoon, and shipped on board the steamer Jemadar for London.”
“When did the Jemadar reach London?”
“On the twenty-third of June,” he answered. “We have made inquiries upon that point.”
I made a note of this and then continued my inquiries.
“One other question,” I said. “While we are on the subject, what do you suppose would be the total value of the treasure of which he robbed you?”
“That is very difficult to say,” Kitwater replied, and then turned to his companion and held out his hand. The other took it and tapped upon the palm with the tips of his fingers in a sort of dot-and-telegraph fashion that I had never seen used before.
“My friend says that there were ninety-three stones, all rubies and sapphires; they were of exquisite lustre and extraordinary size. Possibly they might have been worth anything from a hundred and seventy thousand pounds to a quarter of a million.”
I opened my eyes on hearing this. Were the men telling me the truth? I asked myself, or were they trying to interest me in the case by exaggerating the value of the treasure?
“What you say is almost incomprehensible,” I continued. “I trust you will forgive me, but can you substantiate what you say?”
“When we say that we are willing to pay your expenses in advance if you will try to find the man, I think we are giving you very good proof of our bona fides,“ he remarked. “I am afraid we cannot give you any other, seeing as I have said, that we are both poor men. If you are prepared to take up our case, we shall be under a life-long gratitude to you, but if you cannot, we must endeavour to find some one else who will undertake the task.”
“It is impossible for me to decide now whether I can take it up or not,” I said, leaning back in my chair and looking at them both as I spoke. “I must have time to think it over; there are a hundred and one things to be considered before I can give you a direct reply.”
There was silence for a few moments, and then Kitwater, who had been holding his usual mysterious communications with his friend, said —
“When do you think you will be able to let us have an answer?”
“That depends upon a variety of circumstances,” I replied. “It is a matter difficult to average. In the first place there is no knowing where the man is at present: he may be in London; he may be in America; he may be in any other portion of the globe. It might cost five hundred pounds to find him, it might cost five thousand. You must see for yourselves how uncertain it all is.”
“In that case we should be prepared to give security for the first-named amount, or pay you half in advance,” Kitwater replied. “I hope you do not think, Mr. Fairfax, that we are endeavouring to play you false? You can see for yourself that our injuries are permanent, and, as far as they go, are at least evidence concerning the truth of our story. You can also see for yourself how this man has behaved towards us. He has robbed us of all we hold valuable, and to his act of treachery we owe the mutilations we have suffered. Can you wonder that we are anxious to find him?”
“I do not wonder at that at all,” I said. “My only feeling is that I must regard it as an entirely business matter.”
“We cannot blame you,” Kitwater replied. “Yet you must surely understand our anxiety for a definite and immediate answer. The man has had a considerable start of us already, and he has doubtless disposed of the jewels ere this. At whatever price he sold them, he must now be in possession of a considerable fortune, which rightly belongs to us. We are not vindictive men; all we ask is for our own.”
“I quite agree with you there,” I replied. “The only question in my mind is, who shall get it for you? Let me explain matters a little more clearly. In the first place I have no desire to offend you, but how am I to know that the story you tell me is a true one?”
“I have already told you that you will have to take our word for that,” he said. “It will be a great disappointment to us if you cannot take the matter up, but we must bear it as we have borne our other misfortunes. When we realized the way you managed those bank people we said to each other —‘That’s the man for us! If any one can catch Hayle he’s that person.’ It naturally comes to us as a disappointment to find that you are not willing to take up the case.”
“I have not said that I am not willing,” I answered; “I only said that I am not going to commit myself until I have given the matter due consideration. If you will call here at four o’clock to-morrow afternoon, I shall be able to give you a definite answer.”
“I suppose we must be content with that,” said Kitwater lugubriously.
They thereupon thanked me and rose to go.
“By the way,” I said, “does this man Hayle know that you are in England?”
The blind man shook his head.
“He thinks we are lying dead in the jungle,” he said, “and it is not his fault that we are not. Did he suspect for a moment that we were alive and in the same country as himself, he’d be out of it like a rat driven by a ferret from his hole. But if you will give us your assistance, sir, we will make him aware of our presence before very long.”
Though he tried to speak unconcernedly, there was an expression upon the man’s face that startled me. I felt that, blind though he was, I should not care to be in Mr. Hayle’s place when they should meet.
After they had left me I lit a cigar and began to think the matter over. I had had a number of strange cases presented to me in my time, but never one that had opened in such a fashion as this. A man robs his friends in the centre of China; the latter are tortured and maimed for life, and come to me in London to seek out their betrayer for them, in whatever part of the globe he might be. The whole thing seemed so preposterous as to be scarcely worth consideration, and yet, try how I would to put it out of my mind, I found myself thinking of it continually. The recollection of the blind man’s face and that of his dumb companion haunted me awake and asleep. More than once I determined to have nothing to do with them, only later to change my mind, and vow that I would see the matter through at any cost to myself.
Next morning, however, saner counsels prevailed. An exceedingly remunerative offer was made me by a prominent Trust Company, which, at any other time I should have had no hesitation in immediately accepting. Fate, however, which is generally more responsible for these matters than most folk imagine, had still a card to play upon Messrs. Kitwater and Codd’s behalf, and it was destined to overthrow all my scruples, and what was more to ultimately revolutionize the conduct of my whole life.