THE SILVER SHAMROCK.

Otago Witness, Issue 3276, 27 December 1916, Page 62

THE SILVER SHAMROCK.

By Gladys Watebeb,

• (Copyright.) "Anyone would think we had been having ft wedding," she muttered. "There's the second of those I've found." She tossed a tiny piece of silver pasteboard on to the counter, out of tho ordinary drawer. It was a four-leaved shamrock. Mr Martin had just moved to the ink pad, in search of tho date stamp, and under it was slnek another silver shamrock. He looked from one to tho other with frenzied eyes. Ho dashed to the order drawer; twentytwo pounds' worth were missing, and in their place lay Mr Jack Fenton's card, with- a third silver shamrock stuck on its corner.

It was five o'clock—dark and chilly,—an hour when the General Post Office at Suston did little business. It was also the hour at which Mr Martin, the postmaster, usually took his tea; but this afternoon he was in a state of expectant excitPment, and had allowed his assistant to go for her tea first.

Mr Martin had received two communications from the " authorities" (so he spokjj of those in power above him) of an interesting and thrilling character. The first had come by letter, teUing him what he already knew—that several small provincial post offices had been robbed by a man on a bicycle, .and that he was to beware of customers who offered to pay for their postal orders by cheque, and bolted out of the post office to get change. The second had come by telephone, and informed him that about five o'clock that afternoon a member of the detective force of Scotland Yard, one Jack Fenton of famous name, v aid call upon him in re this matter and another of a more private nature, and Mr Martin was i- 'tructed to give him every possible ass. Mr Martin bristled with importance behind the post office counter. A child came in for a halfpenny stamp, fjd Mr Martin served her absently; a clerk he knew well enough .wanted an eighteen-penny postal order, and Mr Martin, for whom the two words postal order were now charged with mystery, eyed him with sharp suspicion, and asked tersely for his one .shilling and sixpence halfpenny before he relinquished his hold on the slip of blue-and-white paper. It •was as this customer departed that a stranger entered the post He was a nice-looking, bright-faced, youngish man, and he strode up to the counter with a business-like tread.

"Can I see the postmaster, please?" he asked. Mr Martin was pro ad to inform him thikt he already had that pleasure. " Oh, 'hanks. You a*-e Mr Johnson then?" He turned the pages of a small book. "No, sir, Martin," corrected Mr Martin. " Oh, of course. I apologise. Johnson was the man's name at the last place. I've seen so many post offices to-day that really I am becoming quite addled. My card—you are expecting me, I think." Ho passed ; 't under- the brass-pet screen, and Mr Martin read the magic words, "Mr Jack Fenton," and underneath them the awe-inspiring addition, "Scotland Yard." "Yes, sir. Will you come through?" he inquired politely, and Mr Fenton joined him in the sacred ground behind the counter. He sat down on one of the stools and removed his hat. "This is a post office at which, so far, there has been no trouble, is it not?" he inquired abruptly. "Yes, sir. Nor won't ever be , any trouble neither. "We're a sight too careful here for anything ever to happen." "Well, I am-glad to hear it," said the detective. "As far as we can tell there seems to be a gang of several clever burglars about. They never seem to take very large amounts, and their methods axe quite simple. For instance, the most usual trick, xme that has befallen the postmaster a few miles away, at Stoon. I expect you have heard about it?" Mr Martin smiled tolerantly. "Well, yes, sir, but Smith, though he's as good a fellow as ever walked, he's not very bright, you know." Mr Fenton regarded the postmaster critically. "It does not do to be too certain of oneself," he replied. "Anyone might fall into the trap. A nice-looking fellow comes into your office and asks for a couple of postal orders. You get them out and stamp them. He asks for a registered envelope and hands you a cheque across the counter. You decline to take the cheque, the while he has put the orders in the envelope. He smiles, picks up the cheque, leaves the registered en velopo on the counter, and goes to cash his cheque elsewhere. When, after a few moment". lie does not return, you feel surprised; but you have the postal orders, so -what does it matter? After a little while you open the envelope, and find—two counterfeit slips of paper. And your orders- have been cashed by a man on a bicycle in the post office'at the next vil lage. By that trick alone during the last month the post office has been relieved of over a hundred pounds. Now we are putting our foot down. It must be stopped "Personally, of course, I don't hand over an order till f see the cash on the counter," said Mr Martin. "But I wonder they haven't caught the fellow." "My dear sir, it is never the same fellow. Sometimes'' he is fair, sometimes dark, sometimes clean shaven, sometimes not, sometimes even a woman. And that reminds me, you have an assistant here, have .you not/" Mr Martin admitted the fo-rt

"Well, you want a special framing against another form of robbery; you must supply that assistant with a bell, and otrict orders. Only two days ago a man walked into the office at Dudham

and asked to see the postmaster _on an important matter. He handed in his card, and the girl went to call the postmaster During her absence he vaulted the counter, helped himself, and was just off when she reappeared. He quietly discussed an altogether fictitious matter with the postmaster, and calmly walked out. That office lost £25 in orders. Now don't you let your girl ever leave a man like that ; give her a bell so that she can ring for yon if you are wanted. And if you are wise you won't have any truck with anyone who claims interviews, unless you know who they are, and a»e expecting them. You never know when you are going to be done, and this Silver Shamrock gang is too clever to triile with." "Why do you call 'em that?" inquired Mr Martin, all eyes, ears, and interest. "Becaus'e that seems to be their badge —sort of crest, you know. That is the one thing about them that is decent: where they've robbed there is always i fonr-lcaved shamrock, a little silver cardboard thing, like you see on a wedding cake, left somewhere about. That way they stop other people—assistants, and so forth—getting accused of the theft. Shun silver shamrocks like the plague!" A boy came in for some stamps, and two young women to post a parcel. Mr Martin attended to their wants in an abrupt and businesslike manner, because the detective was watching { him. Then Mr Fenton opened his pocketbook, and handed him a crumpled postal order. "Would you cash that?" he inquired. Mr Martin looked it all over, smelt it, turned it about, but could find nothing wrong. However, he wished to seem very smart, so he said,

"No." "What is wrong with it?" "Looks fishy, somehow," said MiMartin.

The detective returned it to his pocketbook, and stuck a small magnifying glass in his eye. "Let's look at those you have cashed to-day," he said. Rather nervous, Mr Martin produced them. The detective, examined them all minutely. He put two aside, writing MiMartin a little receipt for having taken them.

"We cannot make out these orders," he said. "Some questionable ones seem to be coming into circulation; but which side of the counter they start from it is difficult to say. Now, lam obliged to ask this question of everyone: Have you absolute faith in your assistant?" " Absolute," answered Mr Martin.

" There is not a shadow of a possibility that she might slip a few counterfeit orders into your drawer? You see, somebody is doing it, and from the point of view of Scotland Yard, it may just as well be you. or your assistant, as anyone else." Mr Martin felt two keen, steely-blue eyes upon his face, and he shivered.

"I am sure, sir, that nothing of that sort goes on here." " I'll look through your orders." Mt Martin was not pleased at this suggestion. He opened the order drawer n'ei vously. "This is coming it a bit thick," he reflected.

An untidy servant girl came into the office with a telegram. Mr Martin took it and scanned it through. "What's the word?" he asked. '" Notting 'ill," said the girl. "Well, it's two words, and tliTe are two t's in Notting. What a handwriting !" he 'muttered to himself. "Is that word Sham ?"

The girl nodded. " ' Back Sham twenty-two. Coming town?' (Mr Martin's voice rose in query) 'to-morrow. Meet. Rock.' Is that right? Sixpence halfpenny," said Mr Martin, glancing at the clock, to put the time down.

The girl laid a warm sixpence and a halfpenny out of a grubby hand upon the counter, stuck the stamps on crooked, and shuffled out of the nost office.

The detective took the magnifying glass out of his eye. "Do you know that girl?" he asked sharply.

" No," said Mr Martin. "It seemed to me an unneccessarily badlv-worded and obscure telegram." "We sets lots of rum-worded wires," said Mr "Martin. "So many of 'em are codes. Don't suppose for a minute that Sham's the horse's real name; but somebody thinks they've got a tip worth following up.". "Let me look at that a moment." The detective studied the telegram. " Stmd it off," he said. " But—by Jove!" " What's the matter?"

" Well, I am wondering whether Sham is the name of a horse at all, and Bock of a person, or whether the two don't spell Shamrock," exclaimed the detective, with subdued excitement. Mr Martin stopped dead.

" I say!" he cried. "T think I will go and make a few inquiries about that girl," said the detective. " I'll make a note of that address. You'll see me ao;ain in an hour or two. Close at I will see you privatelv about nine. Your orders are all right, by the way." Mr Martin heaved a sigh of rel'ef; Jack Fenton shook him cordially by the hand, put on his hat. and went out of the office in nurmnt of the servant girl. Mr ?dartin was rrlad. •after ro much to think about, to see his assistant, and leave her in charge while he got his tea. Wlit he came back, she greeted him frr.ffully.

"What have you done with the date ptanw for the order?" she asked crosslv. "I have had to run up and down the counter, using the same sfarrm both ends."

" Well, it's there if von vi°e your eves," said Mr Martin. " I've not touched it." "It's not: there's only the pad," said the girl. " And we are very low in orders above fifteen shillings. Dir) yon know?" Mr Martin was looldncr irritably for the date stamp, while the girl found a sixpenny order for a customer. " Anyone would think wc had been

having a wedding," she muttered "There's the second of those I've found." She tossed a tiny piece of silver pasteboard on to the counter out of the order drawer. It was a four-leaved shamrock. Mr Martin had just moved the ink pad, in search of the date stamp, and under it was stuck another silver shamrock, lie looked from one to the other with frenzied eyes. He dashed to the order drawer: twenty two pounds' worth were missing, and in their place lay Mr -lack Fenton's card, with a third silver shanuock stuck on its corner.

The next morning Martin received through his own letter-box tli3 following cryptic note : "It is a mistake to he over self-confi-dent, my friend, and try to appear too clever. Mi 1 -trust strangers, telephone messages, ambiguous telegrams, and. above all, your own cuten&ss. And be on guard against silver shamrocks, for they don't bring luck to everyone."