“Then it would have been possible to mistake the number one-six-one for one-nine-one, for instance?”
George hesitated. “It might,” he said. “I’ll tell you one thing, if it’s any help to you. I took that wallet from the inside waistcoat pocket of a brown tweed suit. I remember it distinctly — a brown tweed suit. What the number was I can’t say.”
The girl pounced on the ledger and ran her finger down a column of hieroglyphics.
“You’re right,” she said, grinning at Campion. “That’s how it happened. I took George’s writing the wrong way up. One-nine-one was a brown tweed suit. The fellow came in for it half an hour ago.”
A muffled exclamation escaped the superintendent, but Campion interrupted him.
“Just a minute,” he said. “Was he by any chance a very tall, well-set-up man, about fifty-five to sixty? Gray hair, perhaps?”
“Yes, he was.” The girl seemed surprised. “I didn’t see his hair because he had a hat on, but he wasn’t young. I noticed him particularly, being so tall. He was a bit hasty too. He said his landlady had taken the suit to be cleaned without his knowing — seemed quite shirty about it. I told him she only meant to be kind. He didn’t ask about the wallet.”
“No, he wouldn’t,” said Campion. “He wouldn’t want to call your attention to it.”
“He’ll come back,” put in Oates suddenly. “When he gets that parcel undone and finds he’s lost the wallet he’ll come back, if he doesn’t see us first. We must clear out. Now look here, my dear, here’s the wallet. It’s got two stamps and a ticket in it. When he comes, give it to him, and whatever you do, don’t act in any way that may make him suspicious. Can I rely on you?”
She nodded and stretched out a firm, capable hand for the black folder.
The superintendent hurried his friend from the shop and the waiting sergeant received his instructions.
“Right you are, sir,” he said, touching his felt hat. “I’ll lay for him and I’ll tail him. He won’t get away from me.”
Oates nodded and thrust Campion into the cab.
“The Yard first to get the stuff and then Charing Cross,” he said briefly. “Is that how you were figuring it out, Campion?”
The younger man leaned back in the cab.
“Perfect,” he said contentedly. “There’s nothing like a fair cop.”
Herbert, who had watched the proceedings with his little ferret’s eyes glistening with excitement, ventured a question.
“Are we going to see Sir Matthew now, sir?”
Campion glanced at Oates.
“No,” he said. “Sorry to disappoint you, Herbert, but no. For the time being, the aristocracy is out of it. But we’re going to meet a celebrity, I fancy, and when we see him we’re going to take his fingerprints.”
The superintendent regarded his friend with eyes that were bright and suspicious.
“I want a word or two with you, my lad,” he said. “What do you know about this chap we’re after? When did you see him?”
“I haven’t,” said Mr. Campion.
“What about that description you gave the girl?”
The younger man grinned.
“That was rather good, wasn’t it?” he agreed. “I made that up.”
Oates opened his mouth to speak, but caught sight of Herbert’s fascinated gaze and thought better of it.
“Wait till I get you on your own,” he murmured darkly, and rapped on the window to urge the driver to hurry.
The next fifteen minutes did not give anybody much opportunity for conversation. The cab paused for a moment at the Yard to take on board two plain-clothes men and the bag of silver, and afterward swung round to speed back to Charing Cross station.
“If I know the type we shan’t have long to wait,” said Oates as he and Campion took up their positions in a convenient doorway, which afforded them a good view of the cloakroom window. “As soon as he gets his hands on that ticket he’ll beetle down here and make sure that the stuff is safe. I’m trusting that girl.”
Campion glanced casually across the station to where two inconspicuous plain-clothes figures were lounging by the bookstall.
“The clerk’s giving them the sign, is he?”
Oates nodded. “Yes, they understand one another. He’s a good man, that clerk. The way he corroborated Herbert Boot’s story was intelligent and convincing. He realized the necessity for haste, too. A fool in that position might have held us up for hours. My fellows have got to rely on him. They haven’t the least idea who they’re waiting for, see?”
Campion coughed.
“I don’t think they’ll miss him,” he murmured. “He’s a distinctive sort of chap, you know.”
Oates swung round on him.
“Blast it, Campion, what do you know about this business?” he demanded.
“Nothing that I haven’t told you.”
“But this tale about the tall elderly man, where did you get it from? What are you playing at?”
“Wait.” Campion laid a restraining hand on his friend’s arm and nodded toward a figure which had come striding in through the crowd. The man was striking and even distinguished. Well over six feet four, he was very erect, with a clean-shaven, sharp-featured face which must in youth have been remarkably handsome.
Oates stiffened, a startled expression creeping into his eyes.
“Recognize him?” murmured Campion.
“Yes, I think so.” The superintendent’s voice was wondering, and he stepped forward at the same moment as the two Yard men darted out into the open and closed in on either side of the stranger as he took the heavy, battered suitcase from the cloakroom counter. There was only a very brief struggle.
The tall man glanced shrewdly at his adversaries.
“I guess I’m too old for a scrap, boys,” he said. “I’ll come quietly. It’s all there in the bag — oh, you know that, do you?”
As Mr. Campion and the superintendent drove quietly back to the Yard together, Oates was still thoughtful.
“It must be nearly thirty years ago,” he said at last. “I was a sergeant at the Thames Court Police Station, I remember, and we had that fellow in the cells there for a couple of days. I can’t think of his name, but as soon as I set eyes on him this afternoon I recognized him. He looks much older, of course, but you can’t mistake that height or that face. We’ll get his prints when we get back and identify him. What was his name now?”
Mr. Campion hesitated.
“Does The Shiner convey anything to you?” Mr. Campion said diffidently.
“The Shiner! That’s it, The Shiner!” The superintendent’s voice rose with excitement. “By George, it’s the same lark too. Old silver shipped to a fence in Amsterdam. That’s him. Good heavens, Campion, how did you know?”
The younger man looked pleased.
“Oh, it occurred to me, you know,” he said modestly. “I was in old Florian’s shop yesterday, talking about these burglaries, and he got reminiscing about crooks who had specialized in old silver in the past. He mentioned this chap, The Shiner, and said he hadn’t been heard of since he came out of jail, which made me think he’d probably gone abroad. Florian also said that The Shiner used to do his early burglaries in full Guardsman’s uniform.”
“That’s right,” said Oates. “So he did. Amazing vanity these fellows have. A Guardsman before the War was a picturesque figure and there were a lot of them about in London.”
Campion ignored the interruption.
“The fancy dress appealed to me,” he said, “and I was thinking about it, and also about your mysterious Question Mark, when the astonishing points of similarity between the two occurred to me. I didn’t see how it worked out, of course, until I’d heard Herbert’s contribution and put things together a bit.”
Oates shook his head.
“I’ll buy it,” he said. “I don’t see any similarity between the Question Mark and The Shiner. One was a bent, sinister figure straightening up to run, and the other made himself conspicuous in a red tunic. They both pinched silver, I know, but if you can see any other likeness between the two you’re a cleverer man than I am, or off your head.”