Trent Intervenes. E. C. BentleyЧитать онлайн книгу.
Trent inquired with a ghost of a smile.
‘No, sir; the canon had an arrangement with Mr Giles, the vicar of Cotmore, about that. The canon never knew that Mr Verey was a clergyman. He never saw him. You see, it was Mrs Verey who came to see over the place and settled everything; and it seems she never mentioned it. When we told the canon, after they had gone, he was quite took aback. “I can’t make it out at all,” he says. “Why should he conceal it?” he says. “Well, sir,” I says, “they was very nice people, anyhow, and the friends they had to see them here was very nice, and their chauffeur was a perfectly respectable man,” I says.’
Trent nodded. ‘Ah! They had friends to see them.’
The girl was thoroughly enjoying this gossip. ‘Oh yes, sir. The gentleman as brought you down, sir’—she turned to Langley—‘he brought down several others before that. They was Americans too, I think.’
‘You mean they didn’t have an English accent, I suppose,’ Langley suggested drily.
‘Yes, sir; and they had such nice manners, like yourself,’ the girl said, quite unconscious of Langley’s confusion, and of the grins covertly exchanged between Trent and the superintendent, who now took up the running.
‘This respectable chauffeur of theirs—was he a small, thin man with a long nose, partly bald, always smoking cigarettes?’
‘Oh yes, sir; just like that. You must know him.’
‘I do,’ Superintendent Owen said grimly.
‘So do I!’ Langley exclaimed. ‘He was the man we spoke to in the churchyard.’
‘Did Mr and Mrs Verey have any—er—ornaments of their own with them?’ the superintendent asked.
Ellen’s eyes rounded with enthusiasm. ‘Oh yes, sir—some lovely things they had. But they was only put out when they had friends coming. Other times they was kept somewhere in Mr Verey’s bedroom, I think. Cook and me thought perhaps they was afraid of burglars.’
The superintendent pressed a hand over his stubby moustache. ‘Yes, I expect that was it,’ he said gravely. ‘But what kind of lovely things do you mean? Silver—china—that sort of thing?’
‘No, sir; nothing ordinary, as you might say. One day they had out a beautiful goblet, like, all gold, with little figures and patterns worked on it in colours, and precious stones, blue and green and white, stuck all round it—regular dazzled me to look at, it did.’
‘The Debenham Chalice!’ exclaimed the superintendent.
‘Is it a well-known thing, then, sir?’ the girl asked.
‘No, not at all,’ Mr Owen said. ‘It is an heirloom—a private-family possession. Only we happen to have heard of it.’
‘Fancy taking such things about with them,’ Ellen remarked. ‘Then there was a big book they had out once, lying open on that table in the window. It was all done in funny gold letters on yellow paper, with lovely little pictures all round the edges, gold and silver and all colours.’
‘The Murrane Psalter!’ said Mr Owen. ‘Come, we’re getting on.’
‘And,’ the girl pursued, addressing herself to Langley, ‘there was that beautiful red coat with the arms on it, like you see on a half crown. You remember they got it out for you to look at, sir; and when I brought in the tea it was hanging up in front of the tallboy.’
Langley grimaced. ‘I believe I do remember it,’ he said, ‘now you remind me.’
‘There is the canon coming up the path now,’ Ellen said, with a glance through the window. ‘I will tell him you gentlemen are here.’
She hurried from the room, and soon there entered a tall, stooping, old man with a gentle face and the indescribable air of a scholar.
The superintendent went to meet him.
‘I am a police officer, Canon Maberley,’ he said. ‘I and my friends have called to see you in pursuit of an official inquiry in connection with the people to whom your house was let last month. I do not think I shall have to trouble you much, though, because your parlourmaid has given us already most of the information we are likely to get, I suspect.’
‘Ah! That girl,’ the canon said vaguely. ‘She has been talking to you, has she? She will go on talking for ever, if you let her. Please sit down, gentlemen. About the Vereys—ah yes! But surely there was nothing wrong about the Vereys? Mrs Verey was quite a nice, well-bred person, and they left the place in perfectly good order. They paid me in advance, too, because they live in New Zealand, as she explained, and know nobody in London. They were on a visit to England, and they wanted a temporary home in the heart of the country, because that is the real England, as she said. That was so sensible of them, I thought—instead of flying to the grime and turmoil of London, as most of our friends from overseas do. In a way, I was quite touched by it, and I was glad to let them have the vicarage.’
The superintendent shook his head. ‘People as clever as they are make things very difficult for us, sir. And the lady never mentioned that her husband was a clergyman, I understand.
‘No, and that puzzled me when I heard of it,’ the canon said. ‘But it didn’t matter, and no doubt there was a reason.’
‘The reason was, I think,’ Mr Owen said, ‘that if she had mentioned it, you might have been too much interested, and asked questions which would have been all right for a genuine parson’s wife, but which she couldn’t answer without putting her foot in it. Her husband could do a vicar well enough to pass with laymen, especially if they were not English laymen. I am sorry to say, Canon, that your tenants were impostors. Their name was certainly not Verey, to begin with. I don’t know who they are—I wish I did—they are new to us and they have invented a new method. But I can tell you what they are. They are thieves and swindlers.’
The canon fell back in his chair. ‘Thieves and swindlers!’ he gasped.
‘And very talented performers too,’ Trent assured him. ‘Why, they have had in this house of yours part of the loot of several country-house burglaries which took place last year, and which puzzled the police because it seemed impossible that some of the things taken could ever be turned into cash. One of them was a herald’s tabard, which Superintendent Owen tells me had been worn by the father of Sir Andrew Ritchie. He was Maltravers Herald in his day. It was taken when Sir Andrew’s place in Lincolnshire was broken into, and a lot of very valuable jewellery was stolen. It was dangerous to try to sell the tabard in the open market, and it was worth little, anyhow, apart from any associations it might have. What they did was to fake up a story about the tabard which might appeal to an American purchaser, and, having found a victim, to induce him to buy it. I believe he parted with quite a large sum.’
‘The poor simp!’ growled Langley.
Canon Maberley held up a shaking hand. ‘I fear I do not understand,’ he said. ‘What had their taking my house to do with all this?’
‘It was a vital part of the plan. We know exactly how they went to work about the tabard; and no doubt the other things were got rid of in very much the same way. There were four of them in the gang. Besides your tenants, there was an agreeable and cultured person—I should think a man with real knowledge of antiquities and objects of art—whose job was to make the acquaintance of wealthy people visiting London, gain their confidence, take them about to places of interest, exchange hospitality with them, and finally get them down to this vicarage. In this case it was made to appear as if the proposal to look over your church came from the visitors themselves. They could not suspect anything. They were attracted by the romantic name of the place on a signpost up there at the corner of the main road.’
The canon shook his head helplessly. ‘But there is no signpost at that corner.’
‘No, but there was one at the time when they were due to be passing that corner in the confederate’s car. It was a false signpost, you see, with a false name on it—so