The Mysterious Telegrams.

New Zealand Illustrated Sporting & Dramatic Review, 1 December 1915, Page 10

The Mysterious Telegrams.

CHAPTER I. “Well!” Davern said, sitting in thoughtful perplexity with his extinguished cigar in his hand, “it’s the strangest thing I have ever known in all my life!” The other occupant of the smoking room of Cavern’s flat was h s close friend Dick Alywyn, who nodded entire acquiescence. “Let’s have another look at Jacobson’s letter,” he said. Davern took the envelope from the table by his side and handed it to Aldwyn, who again read: “013, Cork Street, S.W., “October 9. “Dear S r, —I can only state the plain facts of the case once more. A wire came from you—that is to say, in the cypher which we have both always understood is known to nobody except us two —saying that you wanted to have £l2OO on your horse Seagull if I could lay you 10 to 1. You instructed me to reply to Kempton Park Racecourse, where you would be n the afternoon. 1 did so, saying that you were on. “That is all; but I want to make one remark and to ask one question. Seagull went to fours, and, as you may imagine, the big bet I had laid you upset my book considerably. That is the remark. As to the quest on, I should like to ask if you think it is quite right that I should suffer because you have been careless in letting somebody get hold of your cypher code? I only just want to put that to you. “Yours faithfully, “Harry Jacobson. “Sir James Davern, Bart., etc.” “It is odd!” Aldwyn agreed, as he replaced the letter n the envelope and passed it to Davern. “You say you never spoke to Jacobson about the horse?” “Nevei* a word. I seldom bet with anyone else, as you know, but quite by accident I chanced to run up against Cooper in the street just after meeting Laverton, and hearing from him that he had tried to get tens in vain, I asked Cooper how they were betting on the race. He said 10 to 1 Seagull amongst others, and I took the odds to a monkey —quite as much as I wanted on; indeed, I should not have had so much except that I thought that some fellows I knew would like to stand in.” “And you weren’t at Kempton at all?” Aldwyn rejoined. “No, and never had any 'intention of going. I was shooting all that week,” Davern answered. “Of course the thing is simple. Somebody sent this wire to Jacobson —it went, that is beyond doubt, from the Bury Street Office. The ’dea was, if the horse

won, to tell Jacobson to forward the cheque to some place where the sender of the message would be able to get hold of it; if the horse lost, naturally Jacobson would come down on me. ‘Heads I win, tails you lose’ — that was about the notion. But who sent the wire?”

“How could anyone get hold of your cypher? That is the point. You have not had Perkins w th you very long—are you quite sure of him?” “Yes, 1 have every confidence in his honesty,” Davern replied. “He’s a thoroughly steady, straight-going servant —and not nearly sharp enough to have thought of such a thing, bes des.”

“Good stock-in-trade for a rogue,” the other suggested, “a reputation for honesty and for being a bit of an ass!”

But Davern shook his head and declined to consider the possibil ty of his man’s guilt.

“I suppose Jacobson cannot be playing a little game of his own!” Aldwyn suggested. Davern shook h's head again still more emphatically.

“Oh, that idea would be absolutely mad,” he said; “there is not a more straightforward old boy in the world. He’s full of money, too, for the matter of that, and £l2OO more or less is of no importance to him. No; the telegram went all right, I have not the shadow of a doubt.”

“That precious cousin of yours, if you won’t mind my abusing your family—though, by the way, I suppose he is a cousin of mine, too? You lent h : m these rooms for two or three weeks, I remember, and I’ve heard you say he would do anything for a tenner.”

“Yes, but he wouldn’t do that sort of thing—he’s not as bad as that,” Davern replied. “There are many tenners in £12,000 you know?” Aldwyn continued.

But Davern would not for a moment accept the idea as possible. “Well, the telegram was sent, and therefore I suppose we are justified in conclud ng that someone sent it. It must have been someone, too, who has the run of the place, though I can’t quite see why you want a cypher —why ordinary English isn’t good enough?” “There are reasons, my dear fellow, why a code is better, and .he likelihood of mistake 's —well, we have never had a figure wrong beiore. Jacobson sits in his office nil 4 he fiatracing season every day from eleven till five and looks after everyth’ng himself.”

“I suppose there is a key to the cypher. Where do you keep it? I wonder, by the way, if anybody, knowing that we see so much of each other, will believe that I am the culprit? Oh! you don’t know,” he continued, not-ng Davern’s smile. “It was sent, as you say, and therefore someone must have sent it. Where do you keep the code?” “It’s in that drawer,” Davern said, pointing to his writing-table, “and I confess that I am beastly careless. I often forget to lock the drawers up, or rather have a hab t of leaving the key in the lock of any drawer I may have opened. To be quite frank, I’m almost sure I left it when Heatherley was here; but he’d never do that!”

“Who is there who could have done it?” Aldwyn continued. “That girl—don’t be angry—Miss Bessie R'chardson, makes herself very much at home here. She was turning over the papers on the table when we came in the other day in a very unconventional manner.”

“Looking for something to read while she wa'ted,” Davern said. “Perhaps, but she was rummaging about, and that pasty-faced fellow who hangs about after her and looks so sanctimonious strikes me as capable of anything.” “There’s not an ounce of harm in Bess e,” Davern rejoined. “I have encouraged her perhaps a bit too much; but, as I think I’ve told you, she is the daughter of the old headkeeper at my uncle’s who taught me to hold a gun. I’ve known her from a child —I am glad you have given up your old idea that I was ever in the least fond of her —and when she turned from a nursery governess to a musichall singer I felt bound to look after

her a little. No; Bessie is, as you say, unconventional, but ” At this moment Perkins opened the door to announce that Mr. Jacobson had called, and was told to admit him; the v sitor, however, was not the old man of whom Davern had spoken so highly, but his son, a youth with prominent eyes, rather purple as to what should have been the white, and a somewhat aggressive manner.

“1 called, Sir James,” he began, “because my father thought that perhaps you would like to see th’s certified copy of the te’egram that reached his office in your name.” “Thank you,” Davern answered. “I was not in the least anxious to do so, for I have had no doubt that the message arrived.” “Of course it d’d!” Jacobson junior answered. “Haven’t you any dea yet who sent it —as you didn’t?” and the last three words brought an angry flush to Aldwyn’s face, seeming as they did to throw sortiething of doubt on Davern’s denial.

“I much regret to say that I cannot form the slightest conjecture,” Davern, with something of a frown on h s forehead, replied. “Rum thing, isn’t it, sir?” the youth went on; “about the rummest I’ve ever heard of! It isn’t as if ” “Had you any further message to deliver?” Davern rather impatiently broke n.

“No, Sir James,” I was only asked to bring you that copy of the telegram ; but father is anxious to know what you are going to do about it — at least, not what you’d call anxious, but he’d like to know. He says he’s not sure he shouldn’t be wise to let t drop, so far as that goes, for he heard from a very good man that there’s something wrong about the winner, and he might have to pay you after all, as you may get the race. I thought you were going to win at the distance, but the other stayed on better. But you see father likes to go straight, and —well, you know, the message came in your cypher, Sir James, and of course there’s not much doubt that the Committee of the Newmarket Rooms would soon say ” “Your father did not ask you to express these opinions, I presume?” Davern interrupted. “I will write to him on the subject. I scarcely th'nk you and I need discuss it.” “I daresay you are right, only Well, good afternoon, Sir James. Of course, we know that you’ll do the right thing ■” “Yes; very kind of you to say so. Good-day, Mr. Jacobson,” Davern cut in ’’mpatiently, and the cub retired. “Insolent little beast! ” Aldwyn ejaculated as the door closed. “ ‘Knows you’ll do the right thing!’ Confound his impudence! And the stupid little bit of temptat on that the winner may be disqualified! I expect that’s what the creature regards as a brilliant idea of h’s own. ‘The right thing!’ Why should you pay a debt you never incurred? That seems to be infernally hard, not to say ridiculous.” “I regard it as a fine on my carelessness. The cypher has been in an unlocked drawer, and though I can’t imagine who ferreted it out, someone must have done so, I suppose.’ ’ “Well, I call it Qu xotic,” Aldwyn rejoined; “and as for the Newmarket Committee, you can’t suppose that they would refuse to take your word that you never sent the message—had no notion of the bet till you received Jacobson’s request for payment?”

“There’s another side of the question, you know,” Davern answered. “The old man had to square his book, and I can’t blame h m for supposing that a telegram which came in my cypher was from me? It’s hard that I should have to pay, I fully agree with you; Put it would be harder, 1 think, that Jacobson shouldn’t be paid.” “1 don’t know—it’s hard either way. That Lttle beast who was here just now bel eves in his heart that you did send it, I’m convinced —that’s what made me so angry. He spoke as if he thought that you wanted to compromise, to come to an understanding, to delay payment at any rate —I don’t know what. Confound him! He’s made me lose my temper. I can’t see why you should pay, though all the same I admit that it is rough on Jacobson. The only th ng certain seems to be that it is a most amazing business altogether!” CHAPTER 11. About a wek later Davern and Aldwyn were shooting with a friend in a rather remote part of Wiltshire. A familiar group was assembled at the end of a muddy lane, by a gate through which the company of beaters had just passed on their way to the wood at which operations were to begin. Keepers and loaders were taking the gun-cases from the host’s brake, and from a motor that had brought a couple of fr ends who lived some twenty miles away—neighbours now, though they had been practically out of reach in pre-motor days. The dogs, excited by the prospect of sport, wagged their tails and occas.onally vented an uncontrollable yelp of satisfact'on. Only one guest had not arrived, and his cart was soon descried lapidly approaching. “Congratulate you, my dear fellow,” he said, when after alighting from his trap and shak ng hands with his host he came to greet Davern. “Thank you, very kind of you, I’m sure—but I don’t know what it’s about,” Davern replied. “Why, haven’t you heard, really?” the other rejoined. “You’ve got that 'race?. The 'w nner’s disqualified—in the Irish Forfeit list. Do you mean to say you know nothing about it?” “No idea of it, not even that there was an objection. We’ve none of us really read a paper for a couple of days; though, by the way,” he added, turning to Aldwyn, “young Jacobson sa d something about it, I remember, which I thought was rubbish at the time.”

“Well, I hope you backed yours, at any rate,” the friend went on. “He did, and so did I —nine ponies, me. Good business! It’s a most wonderful story about th s bet of his,” Aldwyn broke in. “Yes, too long to tell you now,” Davern said. “You shall have it at lunch, if you like,” and after having drawn for places and been instructed to move up two each time, the party marched off across the field to take the r stands and wait developments. “Strange, isn’t it?” Davern obsetved to Aldwyn as they walked together. “I don’t know what to do, for I shouldn’t feel quite comfortable in taking a large sum from Jacobson when I never really backed the horse with him.” “I don’t see that,” Aldwyn answered. “You sent him the money he claimed —for he did claim it, though he did it in the ‘leave it to you’ style; and if

that doesn’t constitute a bet I don’t know what does! You paid him thinking you were beaten: why shouldn’t he pay you now you’ve won? Quixotic, old boy, as I told you before! Bets follow stakes, and you’ve won the race.”

But Davern shook his head as he looked at the number on the bit of paper in the cleft of the stick that marked the position of one of the guns, and found that it was his place. At lunch t me the story was told, but naturally the hearers were as much puzzled as the two friends had been, and could not suggest a reasonable or even unreasonable explanation, especially as only Aldwyn, who had given up all effort to solve the problem, knew the frequenters of Davern’s flat. Jacobson’s character for straightforwardness was, however, well recognised; most of the party had betted w.th him, and that he could possibly be n any way an accomplice to the fraud no one would for a moment believe. The certified copy of the telegram proved nothing, one of the men pointed cut, as — without a suggestion that such a thing had been done—he or some agent of h.s might have sent the message; but the man who remarked this was careful to add that he knew the old boy was as straight as a die. A couple of evenings afterwards Aldwyn was sittmg in the Mutton Chop Club waiting for Davern to come and d ne, the pair having reached town just in time to dress, when the latter entered, and without a word put a letter into his friend’s hand. Aldwyn read: “013, Cork Street, S.W. “Dear Sir James, —I am a little upset at not receiv ng a written acknowledgment of the cheque for £13,200 which I sent you last Monday. I got your wire asking me to forward it to the Empire Hotel, Seaford, and duly received another message saying that you had it; but as t is a large sum I thought you would have been sure to send an acknowledgment in your own hand. I hope it is all right, but shall be pleased to hear from you. “Yours faithfully “Harry Jacobson. “Sir James Davern, Bart., etc.” “I found that on my return,” Davern said, as his fr end, with a blank look on his face, gave him back the epistle. “Of course, as you know, I’ve not been near Seaford, and had no intent.on of going,” he continued. “He has sent you cheques to the hotel there, I suppose?” Aldwyn nquired. “Oh, yes, several times. This rogue is someone who knows my habits and movements thoroughly. It’s gett.ng on my nerves!” Davern had a large property near that popular watering place, but the Manor House was let to a Lord Hubert Merrow, and when he visited the estate he had been m the habit of staying at the hotel. “What have you done?” Aldwyn asked.

“He’d left his office, of course, when I got the letter about half-past six, so I sent Perkins to his private houselie lives at Beckenham. I wrote that I had not asked him to forward the money, and knew nothing of any telegram —that the sender of the first message must have sent the second and got hold of the cheque. It’s too late to stop -t, of course!” “Yes, but it must have been crossed. It will have to be passed through a bank, and the man who has presented it can be traced, can’t he?” Aldwyn replied. “I’m not so sure of that,” Davern rejoined. “A clever rogue like this fellow would find some way of getting the money, I expect. However, we must dine, and then, perhaps, you can come back w th me and see what news Perkins brings. He should be home before ten.”

Perkin’s quest, however, proved vain. He had been to Beckenham, he reported, but Mr. Jacobson was not there, and furthermore not expected home that night; had gone to Brighton, where he had a daughter at school, and his servant did not know at what hotel he stayed nor the name of the school, so that it was impossible to communicate with him. There was nothing for it but to wait till morn ng, which Davern did impatiently enough. At least Jacobson was certain to be at his office by eleven or thereabouts, and at that hour Davern, who was going to motor into the country, stopped his car at the bookmaker’s door, his friend accompany ng him as usual. Jacobson was at home, a cleanshaven, benevolent-looking old gentleman, who might, from his appearance, have been a member of any learned

profession, and whom no one would ever have taken for a layer of odds. The office, too, suggested the parlour of a prosperous banker, with its oldfashioned solid mahogany furniture. The bookmaker rose from his chair and greeted his visitors warmly. “I’m very glad indeed you’ve come, Sir James,” he said, “for I really was growing anxious. I begged you to let me see you personally, indeed, n answering your wire.” “My wire! What wire now? I’ve sent you no wire at all. What do you mean?” Davern broke in.

Jacobson gazed with an expression of amazement and perplexity. “Why,” he rejoined, “I found a message here this morning from you —here it is, sent from Bury Street 9.27 —saying you wanted a monkey each way on The Corner for the Cesarewitch. Is this one wrong, too?” “I sent no message at all; is it in code?” Davern asked. “No, plain wording; and I wasn’t surprised that you had given up the cypher—indeed, that, I rather believe, now I think of it, prevented me from hav'ng any doubt about its being genuine,” and Jacobson handed the

other the telegram, which ran: “Want monkey each way The Corner Cesarewitch. Please reply to Sandown. Am writing.”

“ ‘Am writing.’ That’s rather a cunning stroke, sn’t it?” Aldwyn observed. “He’s certainly a clever devil. I needn’t ask if you ever got the letter,” he added to the bookmaker. “We’re being robbed, Jacobson, by some shrewd rascal —who, I can’t for the life of me guess. About that cheque. I never wrote a word to you. I’ve not been near Seaford, and had no intention of going there. Has it been presented?” Davern asked. “It has indeed,” the bookmaker answered. “I had inquiries about it made. A groom—very smart groom, the hall porter said—rode up to the hotel and asked for your letters and telegrams. He had your card with him, and said you were staying with Lord Hubert Merrow at the Manor House. Of course, the hall porter had no suspicion that there was anything wrong, and brought out a bundle of letters.”

“A bundle?” Davern interrupted. “I should not have supposed there could have been one. My visits to the hotel are quite casual, and nobody I can think of would write to me

there. How came there to be a bundle?” “Part of the plan, my dear fellow,” Aldwyn put in. “If there had been a single letter special notice would have been taken of it, but when there were a lot of them it would seem as if you had intended to come or were likely to send. Our rogue wrote the lot, I have no doubt. He’s clever, that’s very certain, and seems to think of everything. He’ll want catching!” “But what of the cheque?” Davern cont nued. “Where did it come from? Who paid it into your bank?” “I thought we might get a clue there, but it’s no good,” Jacobson answered, with a despairing shrug of the shoulders. “My cheque was paid nto the Credit Lyonnais in Paris by someone who signed your name and asked that the Monte Carlo branch might be requested to honour cheques. Of course they were instructed to do so. My cheque was negotiated on the 7th, and on the 10th the money was drawn out of the Credit Lyonnais at Monte Carlo in two sums, £ll,OOO in the morning, and the balance just before the place closed. It had been ascerta'ned, you see, that

the cheque was good, and then very little time was lost.”

“He gets the best of us at every turn, our robber!” Davern ejaculated. “Far from asking you for the money, I had not made up my mind to accept it, for ” “Oh, Sir James, there can’t be a question about that! I asked you for what seemed to me ”

Aldwyn suddenly clutched Davern by the arm.

“My dear fellow!” he said hastily, “we are wasting most piecious time! Jacobson has sent a reply to what he supposes to be your message to Sandown. The telegram will be in the rack there, either in Tattersail’s Ring or the Club Stand.” “The Club Stand,” Jacobson interjected.

“Very well,” Aldwyn went on. “We shall reach the course, if we’re lucky, as soon as the first train from town gets there. Let us start off at once, see if the telegram ! s in the rack, and watch who comes for it! We ought to have him that way! He had some reason to imagine you wouldn’t be at Sandown no doubt.” “What a fool I was not to think of it! Excellent idea, of course! Come on; we’ll go this moment!” Davern sa : d, delighted at the scheme.

“And good luck, gentlemen,” Jacobson said, as they hurried out. “I’ve seen some funny things in my time, but never anything quite so odd as this!”

Davern was a skilful driver. Along Piccadilly he manoeuvred skilfully in and out of the traffic, made spurts through, Putney, dashed along by Wimbledon Common, and tore, reckless for once of legal enactments, through Richmond Park. Kingston was soon reached, not long afterwards the gates of Sandown; over the grass to the place reserved for automobiles, and then he and Aldwyn ran Eke hares to see if the message was waiting, and to leave it carefully as bait if it were. The one fear was that the artful enemy might have driven down from London, or come to some conven ent station and walked or hired a fly, so that the all-important missive would be gone. A number of telegrams were exposed. “Dalrymple,” “Davies” —yes; “Sir James Davern.” There it was, and now who would come and take it, and what explanation could he give? If no one came! That would be most exasperat ng of all, for here the solution of the mystery did really seem to be impending. And who could it be! The friends entered the refreshment-room, which gave them a view of the board through the wmdows, and a few moments after their arrival, from right and from left began to stream up those who had arrived by the first train, a large proportion of the increasing throng going to look at the board; for devotees of the sport are much g.ven to the receipt and despatch of telegrams. A man in a long covert-coat came up qu ckly, but it was the line headed “W” that he began to investigate. A foreign-looking personage with upturned moustache —who could he be? It was, at any rata, down the “S’s” that he searched hesitatingly, as if not sure that the envelqpe which arrested h s attention was addressed to him; but he presently took it, and from Its face it was evident that it was something he expected. A youth conies up, glances vaguely from the “A’s” to the “Z’s,” and turns away with an exclamation of annoyance. “There’s Ether dge!” Aldwyn said, quickly, as someone investigated the earlier letters of the alphabet. The friends chafed. This waiting, anxiety, and exc tement tried them. Ah! here is someone, a stout, coarsefeatured, fur-coated man of middle age, who is occupied with the “D’s.” He stretches out his hand, and actually touches the envelope addressed to Davern; its legit mate owner is about to rush forward when the man glances at the board again and takes the message below —he is apparently Davies.

The members now begin to arrive in streams, and some passing to the r glit, others to the left, occasionally obscure the board and confuse the watchers; but through the crowd — for their eyes are glued on the message—they suddenly observe someone stop, look at the “D’s,” and —yes! no doubt about it this time! —take the telegram from the rack. At last! Rushing to the place Davern seizes the long-sought rascal’s arm before he has time to open the envelope. “So it’s you, is it?” he exclaimed, as the man turned round in amazement and fright, and disclosed the features of Jacobson, junior. The detected rogue gasped, stared and went deadly pale as he gazed on the face of his captor. He could.say nothing; there was, indeed, noth ng to be said. Denials would have been worse than useless now that he was caught in the act. “You precious villain;” Davern murmured, as the three walked on together, Aldwyn on the other side; for t was desirable not to make a scene. “You precious villain! Not only to rob me, but to rob your own father —for you had the cheque, of course; I needn’t ask!” The wretch could hardly articulate.

“Oh, Sir James,” he whispered, hoarsely, “if you could only forgive me and say nothing! I won’t deny it, but my father is so strict —and so rich. If he knew, I should be done for ever!”

“I have nothing to say to you,!’ Davern replied, turning scornfully aside. It was a grief to him to distress the father by a revelation of the son’s niquities, but of course the thing had to be done. Jacobson was indeed heart-broken; he had trusted the youth implicitly, and access to the key to the cypher was easy for him. The rogue disappeared without seeing the old man, and is understood to have taken his talents to the colonies.