TUB £l0,000 CHEQUE.

Lyttelton Times, Volume CV, Issue 12536, 25 June 1901, Page 2

TUB £lo,ooo CHEQUE.

. A BANK MANAGER’S STORY. ' Forgery is not a common danger to be feared by bankers, but, when it is committed, you may be'sure that the amount involved. is something respectable. Only an immense profit can compensate for the grave hazard of the experiment. The public has, perhaps, forgotten that only a few years ago an ingenious gang of swindlers actually robbed the Bank of England of nearly a million sterling by forged bills. The most. extraordinary case I ever had to deal with involved a sufficiently large sum .to give mo the-most uncomfortable fortnight 1 have ever spent in my life. It is not pleasant to meet your directors with the information that a deficit of £IO,OOO in the bank’s accounts has been caused by the payment of'a forged cheque. The ' circumstances attending this incident are, I should in&gine, almost unique in the annals of crime, and there is no norm, at this distance of time, in relating them. The : events took place twenty-five years •go- r ■

Amongst the largest depositors at the bank at that time was a prosperous stockbroker named Furnivall, a fine, frank, goodhumoured fellow, whose clear-cut and: impressive features, unconcealed by beard or whiskers, argued much for him. His account at the period of which I speak was only six months old, but even m this short i time I had learnt not only to value him as a client,;*but to regard torn highly as an acquaintance. I have rarely met a more gifted man, and the similarity of our tastes m“certain directions was the means of creating a warm attachment. In my idle moments I take an interest in Egyptology, ancl it was delightful to come across a man who held similarly novel views on the Great Pyramid, an 3 had already made progress in the mastery of the ancient Demotic tongue. Many a warm discussion on this common theme enlivened my midday hour in the bank-parolur. I knew little of Mr Furnivall otherwise. He-lived at the Grand Hotel and had an office in, the city, but a little distance away \ from the brnk. His transactions were large, involving the payment in and out of many thousands of pounds at a time. It was no uncommon thing for us to honour his cheques to the. extent of five figures, ■but his account always stood high above all demands. 1 These cheques were always open and payable to himself, and were banded-over the counter by his olerk, a queer sort of fellow, who went by the name of Stukely. He was the only assistant Furnivall kept, and his responsibilities were comepbndingly heavy. • I have said Stukely was a queer sort of ho was;a consumptive. Disease had prematurely aged and bent him, and his hectic cheeks tod dark-rimmed eyes made him far from prepossessing. This effect was heightened by his thin, stunted beard and , draggling whiskers, such as we see on the faces of those in a condition of bodily decay. He spoke rarely, coughed a good deal, and his i only merit, as far as I could eee, lay in the fact-that he performed his business with unfailing accuracy and despatch. Sometimes I remonstrated with Furnivall about the trust he reposed in- his clerk. “He may*be honest enough,” I used ,to say; “but how many poor,men are there who could for ever go about with thousands of pounds in their pockets without the temptation to approprisft© it?” ■ Furnivall invariably smiled dt my protest.

“I have known poor Stukely for many years,” lie would reply. “He is not pretty to look at, but he la as honest, as the day. I would trust him with my life. Wo have known-our ups and downs together, and there' is no fear of either of us ever wanting to be free of the other. Never refuse him money of mine.” It was a queer and unequal comradeship, this union of the lettered gentleman, and the silent, ugly, and deformed deck, and it occurred to me at times that there must have been some curious or romantic incident in the past that had of necessity'linked them together, How close and startling the link really was I did not learn till after. - However, the day caine when the bolt fell. Shortly before twelve midday, Stukely entered the bank and passed' an open cheque, signed by Furnivall,, over the counter. It was a common thing for the stockbroker to do; he had need occasionally of very large sums of money in ready cash, and no surprise was felt when it was found that the cheque was for £IO,OOO. Stukely took the notes, placed them in.a small leather bag which he carried, and, in his usual rapid and silent way, left the bank.

On the following day I, had a visit from Mr Purnivall. , He brought ■with, him a photograph of some remarkable . remains which had just been discovered near the •ite of Memphis. I need not say we were «oon in deep discussion upon the probable importance of the discovery. After a while the talk changed to busiless. The. tone was' quite jocose. “ I am afraid you squander fortunes,” | observed at length, with a smile. “That DIO,OOO you drew yesterday . would have been much safer in our hands.” fen thousand pounds! Yesterday!” fee exclaimed. “What do you mean?” . It was my turn to look surprised. Your clerk handed, us your cheque for that amount,” I said, “ and we paid it.” * “Great heavens!” he cried. “I know nothing of it. I never wrote such a cheque. i never sent my clerk. You sanely are Jwting?” \ I ' w i a i 3 far from jesting. Ringing ■ay bell, I dispatched one of my assistants for the cheque, which I placed in Mr Purnivall’s hands. He glanced at the signa-' ture rapidly, and his hand shook as he returned the slip. “That is not my : signature, Denny,” he •aid, slowly. “It is a forgery.” own feelings I can dll describe. All nope of a hideous mistake being cleared up vanished when I cent for the depositors’ book and compared the two signatures. It was then easy to see that there was a clear, .. though • not very pronounced, difference. Thar® were a few twists and turns in the forged signature which, whilst not destroying the general resemblance, quite separated it in,detail. It was obvious that the cheque had been hastily examined l and accepted by reason of the man who presented it.. No one could have doubted Stukeiy, and habit ■Bade it so much the easier. AH I could do for the present was to •end a wire to Cleary, of Scotland Yard. Ha the meantime, anxious to mako a start of some sort, I persuaded Purnivall to accompany me to his office. Ho walked ns one dazed. As the forgery could make no difference to his pocket I could only conclude that his agitation was caused by the discovery of his trusted henchman’s crime. But X could not induce him to say much about Stukeiy. It almost seemed as if he avoided the theme, though ha consented to every proposal I made to track down the forger, Pumivall's offices were very bare, and there was little furniture in the two small rooms. Our search was futile, as we expected. Nor could the caretaker throw much light on the affair. She had seen Stukeiy leave the place the day before and return hall an hour later. Shortly after his tnartear feadi gone out, leaving the clerk behind, An hour later the caretaker, who had been engaged the whole time in washing the hall and the door-steps, went in, but found that Stukeiy had disappeared. She was surprised, as she did not sea him go out. The window, she noticed, was wide open, but she naturally did not connect this fact with the clerk’s departure. Stukeiy bad simply disappeared, and there was not ihe least trace of him left behind. Singularly enough, the stockbroker did not know where he lodged. Delicacy, he explained, had prevented his asking him. It was obvious we could do no more. Purnivall and I parted on our several ways. When I reached the bank Cleary was awaiting me. Very few words put him in Esesiom of the story, and he shook his gravely when he heard it. “ The rogue has twenty-four hours’ start,” he observed. “Our only hope lies in the Cff-«ih«nce that he is afflicted with feebleness • «{ intellect.” do.you.meaa7' 1 asked.

“Well,” he answered, “does it not strike you. as curious that a man playing for so high a stake should be so careless over the means? This signature is a very poor imitation. Why did he not practise till he was perfect?” I admitted it looked odd. “Very odd,” Cleary went on. “Either he is a fool or he had a deliberate purpose, and is a very crafty scoundrel. On the whole, I hope he is the latter.” “Why?” “ Because clever rascals make more mistakes. They are too brilliant. Art creeps in, and with art failure. But let me Usk you. The caretaker went in to see Stukely an hour after his master left. Why did she do so?” “I didn’t ask her,” “Of course not!” exclaimed Cleary, rubbing his hands. “Of such manner is. the amateur detective!” I must admit Oleary occasionally took liberties and had a penchant for aphorisms ; but his excessive ability brought him indulgence. I dismissed him with the earnest request to lose no time and spare no expense in getting hold of the forger. Two days passed by and no news cams. Such inquiries as I fijads and such conversations as I had with Furnivall lod to nothing. It was amazing that a man, however insignificant, could live in London and yet be so absolutely unknown.. No one had spoken to Stukely, no one had met him anywhere, no one' knew where he slept, or how he passed his time. The relations between master and man were of the most formal kind. Furnivall himself said he only saw hit clerk in business hours, and only business affair’s were ever discussed. His faith in this man, he admitted, was singular to one who was ignorant of its cause; but he assured me that, whatever, it was that ha'd occurred in. the. past, it could not throw the smallest light on the present problem. *On the third day Cleary called in. He came to ask me to invite Furnivall to the bank at three the next day, giving a trivial but'sufficient reason. v “I’m afraid Mr Furnivall has little more to say on the matter," I said, doubtfully. • “ You are right,” was the reply. “ I confess this case is one of the most extraordinary I ever, took up. Its conclusion, if I am not mistaken, will be dramatic in the extreme.” ' I knew better than to ask the detective where his hints were leading. He had all the vanity of the artist who will reveal nothing until he has arrived at the denouement. “ You have discovered something ?” I suggested. “A little; but it leads to much. In the first place, did yon look out of the window which you found open at the office?” >No,” I replied. “ It’s a pity. You would then have asked yourself why any sans man would have jumped thirty feet into a; stone area at the risk of his neck, scaled a ten feet wall, landed in the area of a private house, with no meanfi of exit, when he could have simply opened his own door and walked calmly into the street.”

* “ That’s singular!” I exclaimed. “ But how else did he escape? The caretaker tells us he did not leave by the door.” “ Of course, that is tho difficulty. There’s something beneath it. But let us look at two facts together. Here is a clerk who forces a signature carelessly; when he has succeeded in cashing the cheques he tries to make ns believe he got away through areas and over walls, when he. didn’t. Is there no conclusion to be drawn from these remarkable facts?” “I cam see none,” I said.

Oleary leant over the table and,> emphasising his words with the aid of his finger, observed impressively : “ Supposing that he actually wanted to convince you, and not only you, but the experts, beyond doubt, that the signature was a forgery! And. supposing that he desired to attract all attention to himself, divert attention from others, and create the impression that he had made a hurried bolt!”

“My good fellow!” I cried. “Do yon see what you are hinting at? Do you mean to suggest that Stukely must have had an accomplice?” Cleary rose and put on his hat. ‘“I will say no more. Think calmly over the matter. Bo sure of two things, that Stukely is in London, and that I shall catch him in a week.” And he went away, as he loved to go, leaving a feeling of mystery behind him. I was racked that evening with anxious thoughts which sarcely formed themselves into suspicions. Reluctance kept them in the region' of shadowy uncertainties. Could Cleary’s idea be true? Had Stukely an accomplice ; or rather was he ope? Was this the explanation of his loneliness, of his unwillingness to make acquaintances? Was this wLy, his master permitted him to come in and out when bo liked, and stay away when he liked? Was it passible that nbt a past but a future crime bound the two together? I could scarcely credit it. Furnivali had a frank, manly face. His manners were irreproachable; and he was an excellent Egpytologist. Could a man link so mild an intellectual recreation with a crime so daring? These confusing thoughts still troubled me when next day at half-past two o’clock, Oleary presented himself in my room. His look was a grave one. Knowing his moods, I felt certain he was nearing the conclusion of ids task. • i “ Is there news?” I asked.

“ Much,” he answered. “ First read tins,” and he handed me an advertisement cut from a newspaper. Thus it ran:— r\ REWARD.—Lost, on the 18th, inat„ Si'JLU in Queen Victoria Street or Cornhill, a Key. Anyone bringing same to K.T., 260, Cannon Street, will receive the above reward. I looked up inquiringly. “Well?” I asked. “Here is the key,’.’ and, not without a dramatic movement, Cleary handed me a key of a singular pattern, and apparently one that belonged to an elaborate safe. “ How do you know it is the same, and where on earth did you find it?” I demanded. “Rather let me ask you why any man should give £lO reward for the discovery of a key; and also why ho should be mad enough—or shall I say desperate enough? —to fancy it would be picked up in the most crowded streets of London and restored to him.” “H’m,” I replied. “That is very true; but it is mere conjecture. How do you connect the two?” “That is simple,” Cleary answered. “You remember I asked-you why it was that the caretaker went in to see our friend Stukeiy on that memorable day? It was to give him this. It fell out of his pocket somehow as he entered the outer door, and, failing on the mat, made no noise. The caretaker picked it up, bub as she was busy did not hasten to restore it. A singular key is it not? It explains much. 'What did*the forger do with his £10,000? He could not bank it. He could not carry it about.” “ Then what was his method s”’ “ This.” replied Cleary, “is a key such as is supplied by the Safe Deposit Company. Your £IO,OOO is intact in one of their vaults.” “Really?” I exclaimed, delighted. “Yet, tell me, how do you connect this with the advertisement ?”

“I watched' the papers and the advertisement came,” he answered. "I knew.that upon this key the whole mystery depended. So long as we have, the key the forger cannot obtain his booty. No one but he would be allowed to open the safe. He must present himself in person, and consequently he must secure the key. For, consider, he dare not apply to the company for another even if they would grant , one, which I doubt. That would be to court publicity and inquiry. He could not risk such chances of detection. His only hope would be to choose his time and slip in noticed only by the attendants, who probably knew him well, secure the notes, and depart- Hence, the necessity for the key and for the advertisement. You will see that the one alludes to the other. The date is the same, and by the names of the streets you will perceive the exact route separating Pumivall’s

office from the Central Safe Deposit, Of course, the thief does not know his treasure was found upon his own premises, or he would not have darsd to venture this.” It was true enough.

“Then he has accomplices?” I asked. “Of course. But an accomplice so extraordinary that-jt is scarcely to be credited. That will come cut later, when we have completed our case. The history of the crime* is clear. Stukely went to the Safe Deposit from the bank and there stored his notes. Thence he walked to the office, where he unluckily lost his key. After that he proceeded to disappear; and now he is anxious to get, his key restored. Well, I will do. it, but only to him self personally. I am going to try a bold experiment to-day.” I was about to inquire what it was when the door opened and the stockbroker entered. Having explained the trivial makebelieve business I had invented, I turned the conversation into other channels. He asked for news of the forger. , Cleary explained that there was none. “In my belief,” he went ’on, to my astonishment, “ Stukely has got clear to Spain and South America. He hasn’t left a track behind him, cither, or at least only one of no consequence.” “What is that?” asked Furnivall, rather anxiously, I thought. Cleary laughed gaily. “ Only a miserable key,” he said, but looked-keenly at the other, I observed. Furnivall started- “A key!” he exclaimed. “Where is it? I should like to see it.” “Impossible, my dear sir,” said Cleary, and laughed again. “It is guarded by a dragon.' The plump caretaker picked it up, and will not yield it, I fear I have quarrelled with her; she refuses my prayers. She swears she will only restore it to its owner.” “To Stuckely. But he will never claim it.” “That seems certain enoqgh. But don’t take me too seriously. The key is of no importance, I have seen it: when I need it I will, of course, make the dragon surrender it. Meanwhile it is well to humour an obstinate lady who may still have useful information to be mined for. It seems she had a sort of motherly compassion for Stukely on account of his consumptiveness. She objects to his being hunted down. Such is woman, Mr Furnivall.” And Cleary rattled on a good deal more in this light way till the stockbroker took his departure. I was full of amazement. The detective openly grinned at me. “ Don’t'fear,” he said. “Everything is going well; and take it'from me that the buxom lady knows her part. I promise you a solution of the puzzle you never dreamt of. No!” he exclaimed, as I rapidly put' a question. “You have made a guess, but it is a wrong one. So much I will tell you. I shall pounce on Stukely, and yet not arrest him. He both is and is not guilty, and he both had and did not have an accomplice. In short—wait; you could never understand me.” “But the daring experiment?” I asked. “I have just made it!” retorted Cleary, and he sauntered out of the office. Three days passed with nothing new but a line from Cleary saying that all was going well. But on the, afternoon of the fourth—a dreary day, I remember, with drizzling rain—a hurried scrawl was brought to me bearing the words: "Come over to Furnivall’s office at six if you care to see a dramatic ending.—C.” . What man with ,a.n atom of romance ,in him could have refused such an invitation ?

I found Cleary installed on the premises. He had been living there for three days. _ • “I feel certain our friend will make his appearance to-night,” he explained. “He has twice sent emissaries to bribe the caretaker, but she will not budge. This is the first dark evening we have had, and I’ll eat my hat if Stukely doesn’t risk it. He must be getting desperate.” As the evening drew on we ensconced ourselves in the caretaker’s kitchen in the basement. Cleary had arranged a rough screen behind which we sat. The light was kept moderately low, and we waited what seemed to me hours upon hours, listening for a footstep and excited at every sound. He did not speak, save now and then in a whisper, and the poor lady herself seemed overwhelmed at her prospective part in the drama. Shortly before nine .o’clock, however, there came a sound on the stone stairs without, followed by a gentle tap upon the door. Cleary and I exchanged one rapid glance and wanted. , The caretaker, not without nervousness, open the door. Immediately a figure entered rapidly/ and closed it behind, and advanced to the centre of the room. I could scarce conceal a cry of surprise when I saw the familiar stoop, the draggled whiskers, the wild hair, the red muffler. It was Stukely, beyond a doubt. Cleary grasped my hand to warn me, putting his finger upon his lips. There was but a short colloquy between the forger and the caretaker. She left the room, as we had arranged, presumably for the purpose of getting the key. No sooner had she done so, than Cleary suddenly sprang ijom his hiding-place, threw himself upon his victim, and bore him to the ground. Stukely gave a frightened shriek, and struck wildly out, but his struggles were vain indeed; and soon I heard the familiar click of the handcuffs as the detective secured him. “ Come here, come here!” exclaimed Cleary, excitedly. “ Now you shall understand the mystery. Look!” And as I bent over he took hold of the prisoned man’s heard and tore it off. Then followed whiskers and. hair. “ Look at him!” urged Cleary again. I stooped: and did so, then started back in amazement. It was a fine, clear-cut, mobile face, one that I knew well. In fact, it was the face of Furnivall! “There!” said Cleary. “Now you understand. There is no accomplice. That man is at once master and cleric, forger and forged. Have you ever known so ingenious a trick, and, by Jove, so nearly successful?”

Everything was now plain. . Purnivall and Stukeiy were one man. For months he had lived a double life under a wonderful disguise. The whole relationship between Purnivall and the bank was a deliberate stratagem. It was easy for him by placing a great sum of money with us, to get our confidence. It was easy to familiarise us with the payment of large amounts over the counter to his clerk—• which was himself. Nor was it difficult to see how Cleary had found out the identity. “It was the careless character of the forged signature that first put me on the scent,” he explained. “Who could possibly want to make the forgery appear certain under examination except the man Whose name was forged? Purnivall dreaded lest the likeness should be too perfect. The bank might then dispute the forgerv. Then what a.re| you to say of, a etockbroker’s clerk who is always going into his office and never coming out, or coming out when he has never gone in? I discovered that not a single soul had* ever seen the two men together. The caretaker’s rambling statements" proved to me that Stukeiy’* entrance into office ways followed by Purhlvall’s ’departure; On every occasion that I could eolhe across there waa always just. sufficient time to effect a change of costume. And on the day itself, did not you note how Stukeiy comes in with a bag—which had contained the notes—and then Furnivall goes out with a bag, containing the disguise? The whole • affair became clear on inquiry. Everything fitted in. However, • let me congratulate you. Your £IO,OOO will come back.”

And more! For FurnivaH’s account of £15,000 —the result, no doubt, of many big swindles ; rogues need capital — remained with us, and was never claimed. We cannot take it ourselves, it is true, but we do not object to use it.