Taking his time, Alan recounted his experiences on Wednesday night at ‘The Green Lantern.’ He told how he had heard part of the conversation between Tom Young and Mr. Carlo Lewin. He repeated their actual words as carefully as he could remember them, telling how Tom Young had admitted that he knew where the stolen documents were, and how Carlo Lewin had undertaken to sell them—to Lord John himself—for the highest price that could be obtained. The conversation had confirmed without any doubt that both Tom Young and Carlo Lewin were members of the Lord John organization, and were treacherously conspiring to blackmail their chief. During Alan’s recital, Chief Inspector Holtby did not move, and he offered no word of comment, but his thick blunt forefinger tapped on the arm of his chair as he took each point.
‘Thank you, Mr. Gilmour,’ he said at the end. ‘You’ll make a perfect witness,’ He turned to Tripp. ‘You’ve explained to him why we haven’t taken action against Young or Lewin?’
Tripp nodded. ‘I told him we lacked evidence. You see, Gilmour, it’s a cardinal rule for a police officer—never touch your man without evidence to make certain of a committal. More than that. It isn’t Tom Young and Carlo Lewin we want. It’s Lord John. Now, this is how the matter stands. We must recover these stolen documents at any cost. As you know, they contain evidence that we’ve been collecting for many weeks. I’ll be frank with you, Gilmour. I’ve told you we’re within an ace of arresting our man. But if that evidence were destroyed, Lord John could walk into this office now and snap his fingers at us.’ He paused to light another cigarette. ‘Given any luck at all, we’ll have the stolen papers in our hands in less than an hour’s time. We’re going to arrest Carlo Lewin.’
‘Arrest Lewin!’
‘Not on the Lord John charge! We don’t want to show our hand. We’re going for him along a different line altogether. In fact, it’s any mortal thing we could get hold of. Inspector Weston of “M” division has been working like the devil all the week-end, and it was only late last night that he reported success. We’ve nailed Lewin on some paltry charge—he’ll get three months at the outside. The real point is that it’ll give us an excuse to search that office of his. We have information that he’s got the Lord John documents there. Now you see how the land lies?’ He rose to his feet. ‘If you’re ready, we’ll move.’
‘You’d like me to come too?’ asked Alan.
‘Yes. But you must keep in the background, and take a good look at Lewin. I want you to be quite certain that he’s the man you saw with Tom Young at ‘The Green Lantern.’ We can’t afford to make a slip, and you’ll be required as a witness one day on the bigger charge.’
Inspector Holtby, who was remaining behind, said ‘Good morning,’ and Alan followed Tripp downstairs to the waiting car. At the Tower Bridge police station they picked up Inspector Weston and a plain-clothes sergeant of Southwark (‘M’) Division, who were awaiting them there, and drove on to an address which Weston gave the service chauffeur.
Mr. Carlo Lewin, though reputed to have ample means, was a man of thrifty habits. Instead of occupying a house, he preferred to rent several large, uncomfortable rooms in a faded street in Rotherhithe. The woman who answered the door informed the police officers that her sub-tenant was not at home, and she had not seen him since early the previous evening.
‘Have you any idea where he spent the night?’ asked Tripp.
‘Maybe at his office, sir,’ replied the woman, darting suspicious glances at the plain-clothes officers. ‘He sometimes goes there of a Sunday evening, and if he’s working late he stops the night there. He’s got a room where he can sleep. You ain’t the police, by any chance?’ she inquired. ‘There ain’t nothing wrong, sir, is there? I hope there’s no harm come to Mr. Lewin. Nice quiet gentleman, he is. . . .’
‘Have you a telephone here?’ asked Tripp, ignoring her question.
‘No, sir.’
They hurried out to the car, and, dropping the sergeant at the corner to watch the house, drove on to Lewin’s office.
Alan followed Tripp and Inspector Weston upstairs. But there was no reply to their knock. A still louder summons yielded no better result, and it was evident that if Mr. Carlo Lewin was not in his office he was lying low. Tripp looked at his watch; the hour was half-past nine.
‘His clerks should be turning up any minute now,’ said Weston. ‘He keeps a couple of them and a typist.’
‘We’ll wait,’ nodded Tripp. ‘That landlady of his can’t have warned him, for she’s got no telephone—that’s why I put the question to her. If Lewin did spend the night here, I’m afraid he’s gone. But we’ll search the place just the same.’
‘Looks to me our luck’s dead out,’ muttered Weston.
As he spoke, footsteps sounded on the stairs below. It was Lewin’s managing clerk, who had arrived to open the office. Half a dozen steps from the top he halted in surprise at the sight of the three men on the landing. To Tripp and Alan Gilmour he gave a cursory glance; but, fastening his eyes on Weston, he recognized the features of the local Divisional Detective Inspector.
‘Good morning,’ said Weston, stepping back to let the man pass. ‘We were hoping to see Mr. Lewin, but he doesn’t seem to be here. We’ll come in and wait, if you don’t mind.’
‘Certainly. gentlemen,’ replied the clerk affably. ‘Come in and sit down. The junior should be here in a few minutes. Shall I send him round to Mr. Lewin’s rooms and let him know you’re here. You’re Inspector Weston, I believe: You’ve been here before to consult with Mr. Lewin about different cases?’
‘Quite right,’ said Weston, carefully shutting the door behind him, and then his voice assumed a note of authority: ‘Please lock this, and give me the key! Then go to your own room. I forbid you to use the telephone while we’re here. When the junior clerk and the typist arrive, let me answer the door. We’re going to search these offices.’
The clerk fell back a step, and his hand went to his mouth in astonishment.
‘I’m afraid you can’t do that, sir,’ he contrived to say; ‘not without Mr. Lewin’s permission.’
‘Here’s my warrant,’ said Inspector Weston sternly, drawing the paper from his pocket. ‘Now go to your room.’
In some consternation the managing clerk retreated; and with a nod to Tripp, Weston made for the other end of the passage.
But when he pushed open the door of Lewin’s room he started back with a gasp of surprise. Looking between the two other men, Alan Gilmour saw that the place was in the wildest disorder: deed-boxes lay open, their contents scattered, and bundles of documents had been hauled down from the shelves and lay in untidy heaps.
And then Inspector Tripp pointed to the floor.
Round the edge of the desk there was stretched a human hand. The long, thin, twisted fingers and white shirt-cuff were stained with blood. With one accord the three men rushed forward. At the side of the desk, as if he had fallen from the chair, lay the dead body of Carlo Lewin, the long haft of a knife protruding from his back.
Tripp bent down over the motionless figure, and his quiet voice broke the silence:
‘Dead for several hours,’ he said. ‘Lord John’s work undoubtedly. I’m afraid, gentleman, we’ve come too late!’
CHAPTER XXVIII
THE STRONG-ROOM OF THE MARQUISE HOTEL
Half an hour afterwards Alan Gilmour was returning to the West End alone in the back of the police-car, which was hastening to Scotland Yard to convey finger-print experts and others to the scene of the crime.