Graham Greene (14 page)

“Very well; we will get to Chancery Lane now, if you please, and you can tell me more as we go.”

“I have a cab waiting. What else can I tell you?”

“I understand the position to be succinctly this; the drawings were in the office when you arrived. Nobody came out, and nobody went in; and
yet
they vanished. Is that so?”

“That is so. When I say that absolutely nobody came in, of
course I except the postman. He brought a couple of letters during the morning. I mean that absolutely nobody came past the barrier in the outer office—the usual thing, you know, like a counter, with a frame of ground glass over it.”

“I quite understand that. But I think you said that the drawings were in a drawer in your
own
room—not the outer office, where the draughtsmen are, I presume?”

“That is the case. It is an inner room, or, rather, a room parallel with the other, and communicating with it; just as your own room is, which we have just left.”

“But then you say you never left your office, and yet the drawings vanished—apparently by some unseen agency—while you were there, in the room?”

“Let me explain more clearly. I fear that I am a little confused in my explanation—I am naturally rather agitated. As you will see presently, my offices consist of three rooms, two at one side of a corridor, and the other opposite.

“In the outer office my men usually work. In the inner office I work myself. These rooms communicate by a door. Our ordinary way in and out of the place is by the door of the outer office leading into the corridor, and we first pass through the usual lifting flap in the barrier. The door leading from the
inner
office to the corridor is always kept locked on the inside, and I don't suppose I unlock it once in three months. It has not been unlocked all the morning. The drawer in which the missing drawings were kept, and in which I saw them at ten o'clock this morning, is a large chest of shallow drawers, in which the plans lie flat.”

“I quite understand. Then there is the private room opposite. What of that?”

“That is a sort of private sitting-room that I rarely use, except for business interviews of a very private nature. When I said I never left my office I did not mean that I never stirred out of the
inner office. I was about in one room and another, both the outer and the inner offices, and once I went into the private room for five minutes, but nobody came either in or out of any of the rooms at that time, for the door of the private room was wide open and I was standing at the bookcase (I had gone to consult a book), just inside the door, with a full view of the doors opposite. Indeed, Worsfold was at the door of the outer office most of the short time. He came to ask me a question.”

“Well,” Hewitt replied, “it all comes to the simple first statement. You know that nobody left the place or arrived, except the postman, who couldn't get near the drawings, and yet the drawings went. Is this your office?”

The cab had stopped before a large stone building. Mr Dixon alighted and led the way to the first floor. Hewitt took a casual glance round each of the three rooms. There was a sort of door in the frame of ground glass over the barrier, to admit of speech with visitors. This door Hewitt pushed wide open and left so.

He and the engineer went into the inner office. “Would you like to ask Worsfold and Ritter any questions?” Mr Dixon enquired.

“Presently. Those are their coats, I take it, hanging just to the right of the outer office door, over the umbrella stand?”

“Yes, those are all their things—coats, hats, stick, and umbrella.”

“And those coats were searched, you say?”

“Yes.”

“And this is the drawer—thoroughly searched, of course?”

“Oh, certainly, every drawer was taken out and turned over.”

“Well, of course, I must assume you made no mistake in your hunt. Now tell me, did anybody know where these plans were, beyond yourself and your two men?”

“As far as I can tell, not a soul.”

“You don't keep an office-boy?”

“No. There would be nothing for him to do, except to post a letter now and again, which Ritter does quite well for.”

“As you are quite sure that the drawings were there at ten o'clock, perhaps the thing scarcely matters. But I may as well know if your men have keys of the office?”

“Neither. I have patent locks to each door, and I keep all the keys myself. If Worsfold or Ritter arrive before me in the morning, they have to wait to be let in; and I am always present myself when the rooms are cleaned. I have not neglected precautions, you see.”

“No. I suppose the object of the theft—assuming it is a theft—is pretty plain; the thief would offer the drawings for sale to some foreign government?”

“Of course. They would probably command a great sum. I have been looking, as I need hardly tell you, to that invention to secure me a very large fortune, and I shall be ruined, indeed, if the design is taken abroad. I am under the strictest engagements to secrecy with the Admiralty, and not only should I lose all my labour, but I should lose all the confidence reposed in me at headquarters—should, in fact, be subject to penalties for breach of contract, and my career stopped forever. I cannot tell you what a serious business this is for me. If you cannot help me, the consequences will be terrible. Bad for the service of the country, too, of course.”

“Of course. Now tell me this. It would, I take it, be necessary for the thief to
exhibit
these drawings to anybody anxious to buy the secret—I mean, he couldn't describe the invention by word of mouth?”

“Oh, no, that would be impossible. The drawings are of the most complicated description, and full of figures upon which the whole thing depends. Indeed, one would have to be a skilled expert properly to appreciate the design at all. Various principles of hydrostatics, chemistry, electricity, and pneumatics are
most delicately manipulated and adjusted, and the smallest error or omission in any part would upset the whole. No, the drawings are necessary to the thing, and they are gone.”

At this moment the door of the outer office was heard to open, and somebody entered. The door between the two offices was ajar, and Hewitt could see right through to the glass door left open over the barrier, and into the space beyond. A well-dressed, dark, bushy-bearded man stood there carrying a handbag, which he placed on the ledge before him. Hewitt raised his hand to enjoin silence. The man spoke in a rather high-pitched voice and with a slight accent. “Is Mr Dixon now within?” he asked.

“He is engaged,” answered one of the draughtsmen; “very particularly engaged. I'm afraid you won't be able to see him this afternoon. Can I give him any message?”

“This is two—the second time I have come today. Not two hours ago Mr Dixon himself tells me to call again. I have a very important—very excellent steam-packing to show him, that is very cheap and the best of the market.” The man tapped his bag. “I have just taken orders from the largest railway companies. Cannot I see him, for one second only? I will not detain him.”

“Really, I'm sure you can't this afternoon—he isn't seeing anybody. But if you'll leave your name——”

“My name is Hunter; but what the good of that? He ask me to call a little later and I come, and now he is engaged. It is a very great pity.” And the man snatched up his bag and walking-stick and stalked off indignantly.

Hewitt stood still, gazing through the small aperture in the doorway.

“You'd scarcely expect a man with such a name as Hunter to talk with that accent, would you?” he observed musingly. “It
isn't a French accent, nor a German; but it seems foreign. You don't happen to know him, I suppose?”

“No, I don't. He called here about half-past twelve, just while we were in the middle of our search, and I was frantic over the loss of the drawings. I was in the outer office myself, and told him to call later. I have lots of such agents here, anxious to sell all sorts of engineering appliances. But what will you do now? Shall you see my men?”

“I think,” said Hewitt, rising, “I think I'll get you to question them yourself.”

“Myself?”

“Yes, I have a reason. Will you trust me with the key of the private room opposite? I will go over there for a little, while you talk to your men in this room. Bring them in here and shut the door—I can look after the office from across the corridor, you know. Ask them each to detail his exact movements about the office this morning, and get them to recall each visitor who has been here from the beginning of the week. I'll let you know the reason of this later. Come across to me in a few minutes.”

Hewitt took the key and passed through the outer office into the corridor.

Ten minutes later, Mr Dixon, having questioned his draughtsmen, followed him. He found Hewitt standing before the table in the private room, on which lay several drawings on tracing-paper.

“See here, Mr Dixon,” said Hewitt; “I think these are the drawings you are anxious about?”

The engineer sprang towards them with a cry of delight. “Why, yes, yes,” he exclaimed, turning them over, “every one of them. But where—how—they must have been in the place after all, then? What a fool I have been!”

Hewitt shook his head. “I'm afraid you're not quite so lucky
as you think, Mr Dixon,” he said. “These drawings have most certainly been out of the house for a little while. Never mind how—we'll talk of that after. There is no time to lose. Tell me, how long would it take a good draughtsman to copy them?”

“They couldn't possibly be traced over properly in less than two or two and a half long days of very hard work,” Dixon replied, with eagerness.

“Ah! then, it is as I feared. These tracings have been photographed, Mr Dixon, and our task is one of every possible difficulty. If they had been copied in the ordinary way, one might hope to get hold of the copy. But photography upsets everything. Copies can be multiplied with such amazing facility that, once the thief gets a decent start, it is almost hopeless to checkmate him. The only chance is to get at the negatives before copies are taken. I must act at once; and I fear, between ourselves, it may be necessary for me to step very distinctly over the line of the law in the matter. You see, to get at those negatives may involve something very like housebreaking. There must be no delay—no waiting for legal procedure—or the mischief is done. Indeed, I very much question whether you have any legal remedy, strictly speaking.”

“Mr Hewitt, I implore you, do what you can. I need not say that all I have is at your disposal. I will guarantee to hold you harmless for anything that may happen. But do, I entreat you, do everything possible. Think of what the consequences may be!”

“Well, yes, so I do,” Hewitt remarked, with a smile. “The consequences to me, if I were charged with housebreaking, might be something that no amount of guarantee could mitigate. However, I will do what I can, if only from patriotic motives. Now, I must see your tracer, Ritter. He is the traitor in the camp.”

“Ritter? But how?”

“Never mind that now. You are upset and agitated, and had
better not know more than necessary for a little while, in case you say or do something unguarded. With Ritter I must take a deep course; what I don't know I must appear to know, and that will seem more likely to him if I disclaim acquaintance with what I do know. But first put these tracings safely away out of sight.”

Dixon slipped them behind his bookcase.

“Now,” Hewitt pursued, “call Mr Worsfold and give him something to do that will keep him in the inner office across the way, and tell him to send Ritter here.”

Mr Dixon called his chief draughtsman and requested him to put in order the drawings in the drawers of the inner room that had been disarranged by the search, and to send Ritter, as Hewitt had suggested.

Ritter walked into the private room with an air of respectful attention. He was a puffy-faced, unhealthy-looking young man, with very small eyes and a loose, mobile mouth.

“Sit down, Mr Ritter,” Hewitt said, in a stern voice. “Your recent transactions with your friend, Mr Hunter, are well known both to Mr Dixon and myself.”

Ritter, who had at first leaned easily back in his chair, started forward at this, and paled.

“You are surprised, I observe; but you should be more careful in your movements out of doors if you do not wish your acquaintances to be known. Mr Hunter, I believe, has the drawings which Mr Dixon has lost, and, if so, I am certain that you have given them to him. That, you know, is theft, for which the law provides a severe penalty.”

Ritter broke down completely, and turned appealingly to Mr Dixon:

“Oh, sir,” he pleaded, “it isn't so bad, I assure you. I was tempted, I confess, and hid the drawings; but they are still in the office, and I can give them to you—really I can.”

“Indeed!” Hewitt went on. “Then, in that case, perhaps you'd better get them at once. Just go and fetch them in—we won't trouble to observe your hiding-place. I'll only keep this door open, to be sure you don't lose your way, you know—down the stairs, for instance.”

The wretched Ritter, with hanging head, slunk into the office opposite. Presently he reappeared, looking, if possible, ghastlier than before. He looked irresolutely down the corridor, as if meditating a run for it, but Hewitt stepped towards him and motioned him back to the private room.

“You mustn't try any more of that sort of humbug,” Hewitt said, with increased severity. “The drawings are gone, and you have stolen them—you know that well enough. Now attend to me. If you received your deserts, Mr Dixon would send for a policeman this moment, and have you hauled off to the gaol that is your proper place. But, unfortunately, your accomplice, who calls himself Hunter—but who has other names besides that, as I happen to know—has the drawings, and it is absolutely necessary that these should be recovered. I am afraid that it will be necessary, therefore, to come to some arrangement with this scoundrel—to square him, in fact. Now, just take that pen and paper, and write to your confederate as I dictate. You know the alternative if you cause any difficulty.”