ERNEST BRAMAH Ultimate Collection: 20+ Novels & Short Stories in One Volume. Bramah Ernest
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I have just received an almost imploring message from the manager to come at once. I assumed that it was the affair of our colonial friend here, but he went on to mention Professor Holmfast Bulge. Can it really be possible that he also has made a similar discovery?”
“What did the manager say?” asked Carrados.
“He was practically incoherent, but I really think it must be so. What have you done?”
“Nothing,” replied Carrados. He turned his back on “The Safe” and appeared to be regarding the other side of the street. “There is a tobacconist’s shop directly opposite?”
“There is.”
“What do they sell on the first floor?”
“Possibly they sell ‘Rubbo.’ I hazard the suggestion from the legend ‘Rub in Rubbo for Everything’ which embellishes each window.”
“The windows are frosted?”
“They are, to half-way up, mysterious man.”
Carrados walked back to his motor car.
“While we are away, Parkinson, go across and buy a tin, bottle, box or packet of ‘Rubbo.’”
“What is ‘Rubbo,’ Max?” chirped Mr Carlyle with insatiable curiosity.
“So far we do not know. When Parkinson gets some, Louis, you shall be the one to try it.”
They descended into the basement and were passed in by the grille-keeper, whose manner betrayed a discreet consciousness of something in the air. It was unnecessary to speculate why. In the distance, muffled by the armoured passages, an authoritative voice boomed like a sonorous bell heard under water.
“What, however, are the facts?” it was demanding, with the causticity of baffled helplessness. “I am assured that there is no other key in existence; yet my safe has been unlocked. I am given to understand that without the password it would be impossible for an unauthorized person to tamper with my property. My password, deliberately chosen, is ‘anthropophaginian,’ sir. Is it one that is familiarly on the lips of the criminal classes? But my safe is empty! What is the explanation? Who are the guilty persons? What is being done? Where are the police?”
“If you consider that the proper course to adopt is to stand on the doorstep and beckon in the first constable who happens to pass, permit me to say, sir, that I differ from you,” retorted the distracted manager. “You may rely on everything possible being done to clear up the mystery. As I told you, I have already telephoned for a capable private detective and for one of my directors.”
“But that is not enough,” insisted the professor angrily. “Will one mere private detective restore my £6000 Japanese 4-1/2 per cent. bearer bonds? Is the return of my irreplaceable notes on ‘Polyphyletic Bridal Customs among the mid-Pleistocene Cave Men’ to depend on a solitary director? I demand that the police shall be called in—as many as are available. Let Scotland Yard be set in motion. A searching inquiry must be made. I have only been a user of your precious establishment for six months, and this is the result.”
“There you hold the key of the mystery, Professor Bulge,” interposed Carrados quietly.
“Who is this, sir?” demanded the exasperated professor at large.
“Permit me,” explained Mr Carlyle, with bland assurance. “I am Louis Carlyle, of Bampton Street. This gentleman is Mr Max Carrados, the eminent amateur specialist in crime.”
“I shall be thankful for any assistance towards elucidating this appalling business,” condescended the professor sonorously. “Let me put you in possession of the facts——”
“Perhaps if we went into your room,” suggested Carrados to the manager, “we should be less liable to interruption.”
“Quite so; quite so,” boomed the professor, accepting the proposal on everyone else’s behalf. “The facts, sir, are these: I am the unfortunate possessor of a safe here, in which, a few months ago, I deposited—among less important matter—sixty bearer bonds of the Japanese Imperial Loan—the bulk of my small fortune—and the manuscript of an important projected work on ‘Polyphyletic Bridal Customs among the mid-Pleistocene Cave Men.’ To-day I came to detach the coupons which fall due on the fifteenth, to pay them into my bank a week in advance, in accordance with my custom. What do I find? I find the safe locked and apparently intact, as when I last saw it a month ago. But it is far from being intact, sir. It has been opened; ransacked, cleared out. Not a single bond; not a scrap of paper remains.”
It was obvious that the manager’s temperature had been rising during the latter part of this speech and now he boiled over.
“Pardon my flatly contradicting you, Professor Bulge. You have again referred to your visit here a month ago as your last. You will bear witness of that, gentlemen. When I inform you that the professor had access to his safe as recently as on Monday last you will recognize the importance that the statement may assume.”
The professor glared across the room like an infuriated animal, a comparison heightened by his notoriously hircine appearance.
“How dare you contradict me, sir!” he cried, slapping the table sharply with his open hand. “I was not here on Monday.”
The manager shrugged his shoulders coldly.
“You forget that the attendants also saw you,” he remarked. “Cannot we trust our own eyes?”
“A common assumption, yet not always a strictly reliable one,” insinuated Carrados softly.
“I cannot be mistaken.”
“Then can you tell me, without looking, what colour Professor Bulge’s eyes are?”
There was a curious and expectant silence for a minute. The professor turned his back on the manager and the manager passed from thoughtfulness to embarrassment.
“I really do not know, Mr Carrados,” he declared loftily at last. “I do not refer to mere trifles like that.”
“Then you can be mistaken,” replied Carrados mildly yet with decision.
“But the ample hair, the venerable flowing beard, the prominent nose and heavy eyebrows——”
“These are just the striking points that are most easily counterfeited. They ‘take the eye.’ If you would ensure yourself against deception, learn rather to observe the eye itself, and particularly the spots on it, the shape of the fingernails, the set of the ears. These things cannot be simulated.”
“You seriously suggest that the man was not Professor Bulge—that he was an impostor?”
“The conclusion is inevitable. Where were you on Monday, Professor?”
“I was on a short lecturing tour in the Midlands. On Saturday I was in Nottingham. On Monday in Birmingham. I did not return to London until yesterday.”
Carrados turned to the manager again and indicated Draycott, who so far had remained in the background.
“And this gentleman? Did he by any chance come here on Monday?”
“He did not, Mr Carrados. But I gave him access to his safe on Tuesday afternoon and again yesterday.”
Draycott shook his head sadly.
“Yesterday I found it empty,” he said. “And all Tuesday afternoon I was at Brighton, trying to see a gentleman on business.”
The manager sat down very suddenly.
“Good God, another!” he exclaimed faintly.
“I am afraid the list is only beginning,” said Carrados. “We must go through your renters’ book.”
The manager roused himself to protest.
“That cannot be done. No