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- Herausgeber: Booksell-Verlag
- Kategorie: Krimi
- Sprache: Englisch
In "The Framing of Inspector Denvers," Aidan de Brune crafts a riveting detective tale set against a backdrop of early 20th-century societal norms and emerging forensic science. The narrative unfolds through a rich tapestry of intricate plots and character dynamics, characterized by de Brune's sharp wit and meticulous detail. The novel explores themes of justice, prejudice, and the often-blurred lines between crime and morality, utilizing a blend of traditional whodunit elements with modern sensibilities, making it a notable contribution to the genre during an era increasingly fascinated by psychological depth and sociological implications in crime fiction. Aidan de Brune, an accomplished author and journalist, was deeply influenced by his experiences in law enforcement and the legal system. His keen observations of human behavior and societal complexities shine through in the narrative, as he meticulously constructs a world where the protagonist must navigate not only the intricacies of the case but also the prejudices of the community. De Brune'Äôs background informs the authenticity present in the procedural aspects of the novel, imbuing it with both realism and a critical perspective on justice. This book is a must-read for enthusiasts of historical mysteries and those intrigued by the interplay of character and context in crime fiction. De Brune'Äôs skillful storytelling and compelling characterizations make "The Framing of Inspector Denvers" a captivating exploration of morality and deception, leaving readers eager for insight into the next twist in the narrative.
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Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2021
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The Framing of Inspector Denvers
Table of Contents
CHAPTER I
MARTHA TAYNE sat at her desk, close to the door leading into Luther Banke's private office. She was leaning forward, her elbows on the desk-top, her hands cupping her chin. A heavy frown drew down her brows, half-closing her eyes. Her foot tapped, impatiently, the mat under her desk.
The office was small, though comfortably furnished. Three tall lines of steel filing-cabinets and a door occupied one of the walls. Another wall held two large windows, and under them was a long, comfortable-looking lounge. The third wall was vacant except for a rather mediocre steel engraving. Against the fourth wall stood Martha's desk and close by it was the door leading into the inner office.
Martha had reason to frown. That morning should have been devoted by Luther Banke to the overseas mail; and Alec Kempton, senior partner in Walls, Kempton & Co., the leading solicitors of the city, had been engaged with Luther Banke for the past two hours. Impatiently, the girl's eyes wandered to the pile of correspondence awaiting attention. The beat of her foot beneath the desk increased perceptibly.
Really, the position was intolerable! More than one business man in the city had openly stated that Martha Tayne was "Luther Banke & Co., Jewellers." Outside her door—opening directly into the handsome, but discreetly, furnished shop—were half-a-dozen immaculately garbed assistants prepared to swear that if Martha married, handed in her resignation, or inconsistently "sacked" the firm, the shutters would have to be erected and a modest notice inserted in the Government Gazette in the section headed "Bankruptcy."
Yet Martha was a girl and, without the present frown, a remarkably pretty one. Tall, with dark hair containing more than a hint of gold; a lithe almost faultless figure, and a clear complexion, she attracted immediate attention.
From under rather heavy brows looked out keen, brown eyes which ever held a glint of laughter, even when discussing the gravest intricacies of business. A note in Luther Banke's private ledger informed the reader that Martha Tayne had entered the employ of the firm some three years previous and at that time had given her age at twenty years.
A little silver gong struck three clear notes as the door from the shop opened. Martha looked up quickly. A young man stood in the doorway. For a minute he hesitated then, in response to her quick nod of recognition, came to the desk and placed close to the girl's elbow a long, narrow case. A' quick movement of his tapered, well manicured fingers sprang back the lid, revealing six large, well-matched emeralds lying on a white velvet bed. For a moment the girl looked at the jewels a slight smile on her well-formed lips.
"Mr. Banke still engaged, Miss Tayne?"
"Yes." The girl leaned back in her chair, letting her hands fall to her lap, in a helpless gesture. "The Montgomery emeralds, Mr. Forde?"
The assistant nodded. He placed a slip of paper on the blotting-pad before the girl. Martha scanned the few lines and initialled them.
"Very well, Mr. Forde. I will take charge of the emeralds."
Fred Forde bowed and turned to the door. As his hand touched the doorknob the little silver bell chimed again. He looked round at the girl, a thin smile on his lips. She nodded, rising impatiently from her chair. For some minutes she paced the little room, continually glancing at the door of the inner office. Once she went to it and, after a moment's hesitation, bent her head to the panel, to listen. She could hear no sounds from the room, not even the murmur of voices. Her hand caught at the door-knob, then dropped to her side and she resumed her idle pacing.
Luther Banke was a man of routine. Alec Kempton was a methodical, matter-of-fact solicitor. Both men well knew that Thursday morning was strictly reserved for the overseas post—that to infringe on that time meant the possibility of disorganising for that week the large interests Luther Banke & Co. had in all parts of the world, and especially in Europe and America.
Martha glanced at her wrist-watch then went to the pile of correspondence on her desk and fumbled through the papers. She had no necessity to glance at one of them, she knew their contents by heart. Again she glanced at her watch. Another half-hour and her work would be too late for that day's mail. For the first time in the three years she had been Luther Banke's private secretary' the overseas mail would leave Sydney without including the very important correspondence from Luther Banke & Co. Again she turned to face the door of the inner room.
Then her eyes fell on the case of emeralds—six large stones, each about the size of a filbert. She lifted the case, letting the light from the window play on the facets of the jewels, admiring the quick changing of colours, the marvellous depth and brilliancy, then abruptly closed the case and replaced it on the desk.
Another glance at her wrist-watch, checking the time by a swift look at the clock perched on top of the centre filing-cabinet, and she turned to the inner office-door. A moment's hesitation and she knocked. There was no response. A full half-minute she waited, then knocked again, this time louder. Almost as her hand fell to her side the door was partly opened and a short, florid man peered around the edge.
"I wish to speak to Mr. Banke, Mr. Kempton."
Martha spoke coldly. "Mr. Banke is engaged, Miss Tayne."
"Mr. Banke cannot be engaged." A quick flush rose to the girl's face. "He cannot have forgotten that this is mail-day and that many important matters require his immediate attention, Mr. Kempton."
"It doesn't matter if this is the Day of Judgment!" The solicitor's florid face grew ruddy. "I have told you, Mr. Banke is engaged and cannot attend to any business just for the moment."
Martha gasped. The door had almost closed before she regained her wits; then with a quick forward movement she pushed the door from the man's hand. It swung back against the wall with a crash.
"Oh, I'm sorry!" Martha spoke contritely, for Alec Kempton was rubbing his' wrist. Yet the little smile on her lips detracted from the words of her apology. Her quick glances travelled past the solicitor to the man seated at the desk on the other side of the room. He was sitting well forward, his body pressed against the edge of the desk. One hand was raised to his brow, shielding his face, his elbow resting on the blotting-pad. Something in his attitude—a reflection of dejection—called to the girl.
She stepped forward.
"Mr. Banke, this is mail-day. I must have your instructions at once or we shall miss the mail this week."
"I have told you, Miss Tayne! Mr. Banke is engaged on important business and cannot attend to the mail today."
Alec Kempton had followed the girl into the room and now interposed between her and the seated man. "I take my instructions only from Mr. Banke, Mr. Kempton." Martha faced the solicitor defiantly.
"Mr. Banke is not in a condition to—er—attend to routine business this morning," the solicitor persisted. "Mr. Banke has not said so."
The girl tried to pass the solicitor, but he moved again between her and the desk. "Will you allow me to pass, please, Mr. Kempton!"
"No." The man spoke brusquely. "Please go back to your office, Miss Tayne."
The girl shook her head, but the action was rather uncertain. For a moment she hesitated, then again stepped quickly to one side. Something in the attitude of the man at the desk alarmed her. She turned and faced the solicitor.
"Is Mr. Banke unwell, Mr. Kempton?" she asked.
"Mr. Banke has had a—er—shock." The man's reply came after a deliberate pause. "I have told you he is not able to attend to routine business. You must deal with those matters of which you are cognisant, and allow other matters to remain over until the next mail."
Martha gasped. Bewildered she looked from the solicitor to the seated man. "I don't think you understand, Mr. Kempton," she said slowly. "The overseas mail of this firm is entirely apart from the ordinary shop business and local trade. Mr. Banke attends to it personally, nearly every detail of it requires his personal attention. It is quite Impossible for any of it to be dealt with without Mr. Banke's personal decisions and instructions."
"Then I am afraid this mail will have to be missed." A slight smile played about the legal lips. "What is the matter with Mr. Banke?" "He—I have told you. He has received a shock."
"A shock?"
"Yes." The solicitor hesitated. "Do you understand now?" A little smile broke the line of the girl's compressed lips. Slightly taller than the man before her, she looked down on him. For a moment she caught sight of steel-blue eyes that held a hint of fear. Martha moved suddenly, catching the solicitor by the arm and swinging him to one side. A couple of quick steps and she was standing before the desk.
"Mr. Banke!" The man did not look up. For an instant the girl waited, fear growing in her heart. Shaking herself, mentally, she reached forward and touched his hand—to have her wrist grasped firmly by Alec Kempton. "Mr. Kempton!"
"Miss Tayne; you must not."
"What is the matter with Mr. Banke?"
"I have told you—a shock."
"Then he should be attended to." A quick movement brought the girl to the side of the desk. Kempton made a feeble effort to prevent her, but Martha wrenched her arm free.
"Mr. Banke!"
The man at the desk did not answer, or even change his position. The girl looked at him, in perplexity. Something was wrong in that room; something was wrong with the man seated at the desk. He had not moved since she had come into the room. He had taken no notice of her presence, or of her questions. Tentatively, hesitatingly, she stretched out her hand again to the man. This time the lawyer grasped her wrist firmly.
"Mr. Kempton, how dare you touch me!"
"Miss Tayne." The solicitor's voice held entreaty. "I ask you to be careful—to leave this matter to me. Please go back to your office."
"I refuse."
"I assure you that if you continue to interfere you may do irreparable harm."
"I think—" Martha hesitated, "I think there is something very wrong here." Her words were spoken slowly.
"What do you mean?" Kempton was staring at the girl, his face greying.
"This." With a sudden movement the girl released herself. She caught at the seated man's arm, jerking it sideways. "This, Mr. Kempton. This man is not Luther Banke!"
CHAPTER II
MECHANICALLY, Martha repeated her statement:
"This man is not Luther Banke." She turned to face the lawyer. "Mr. Kempton, Where is Mr. Banke?"
The lawyer did not answer. He was staring moodily at the man seated at the desk, a frown on his florid face.
"Mr. Banke came into the office this morning very early," the girl, continued. "As you know, he has to pass through my room to get to his. On his way in he stopped at my desk and told me he would be ready to deal with the overseas mail within an hour. I replied that the details were awaiting him. He nodded and smiled. I know he has not left his Office since he entered it."
"Perhaps you did not see him leave," the solicitor suggested, his tones showing his uneasiness.
"If I had not seen him I should have heard him." Martha continued quickly. "The door between my office and the shop is fitted with an electric bell that 'rings' immediately the door is opened. You know that, Mr. Kempton; you have remarked on that bell to me."
"There may be other ways of leaving this office—" The man's uneasiness showed very plainly.
"There are no other ways out of Mr. Banke's office." The girl spoke quickly.
"Mr. Banke—" Alec Kempton paused, hesitating.
"Mr. Banke came in here this morning."
A slight flush stained the girl's cheeks.
"He spoke to me, as I have told you. I followed him in here. As I went back to my desk the bell on the door leading to the shop rang, and you entered my room. I came to this door and told Mr. Banke you were here. I held this door open for you to enter. You mentioned Mr. Banke's name as you entered. I heard you speak to him as you entered the room Martha paused and turned angrily on the man. Mr. Kempton, who is this man and what is he doing here? Where is Mr. Banke?"
For a long moment there was silence in the room. Then the man behind the desk rose to his feet and lazily stretched himself. "Interesting, isn't it, Kempton?" He yawned. "Seems to me this young lady has rather busted things, eh?"
"Me?" The man laughed. "Ask him?" He pointed to the solicitor.
Martha was bewildered. What did it all mean? She knew that Luther Banke had not left his office, yet he was not in it. She glanced about the room again. There Was no place there where a man could hide. With a swift, lithe movement she went to the windows and flung them open. The massive Ironwork protections were intact. Again she turned to face the room. The two men were regarding her curiously. Some silent message must have passed between them while her back had been turned to them. They appeared more at ease. For a moment the girl regarded them steadily, then went to the door.
"Where are you going, Miss Tayne?" asked Alec Kempton.
"To summon the police," the girl answered over her shoulder, half pausing on her way.
"I don't think you had better." The stranger spoke slowly, in a lazy drawl. "You might find yourself in trouble, y'know."
"Trouble!" Martha turned on the two men passionately. "Mr. Kempton, you know the trouble that can take place here. Why, in that shop is over fifty thousands pounds' worth of jewellery."
"Not to mention the Montgomery emeralds." The strange man spoke indifferently.
Again Martha did not reply to him. The Montgomery emeralds! Were they the key to the strange happenings of that morning? The emeralds were on her desk. Instinctively, she made a step toward her room, then stopped and laughed. The emeralds were well protected. No one could enter that suite of offices without ringing the bell attached to the door between her room and the shop—and that bell had not rung since she had left her desk. She went to the door, from whence she could see the long, narrow jewel-box on the corner of her desk. A little sigh of relief escaped her lips and she turned again to face the two men, still silently regarding her, curiosity showing in their faces.
"Mr. Kempton—"
She turned to re-enter the inner office. Her words brought the solicitor to action. In a couple of strides he reached the door, Martha retreating before him into the outer office. He turned swiftly and drew the door shut, turning the key in the lock. Withdrawing the key from the lock he laid it on the corner of Martha's desk.
"There is the key to Mr. Banke's room." Alec Kempton spoke in hurried, worried tones. "You are to retain it until Mr. Blake returns. Perhaps you will be able to supply him with a satisfactory explanation of your remarkable conduct this morning."
Martha hesitated a moment, then slipped quickly into her chair. The solicitor watched her for a moment, then with a shrug went to the door leading to the shop.
"A moment, Mr. Kempton." The girl spoke quietly. "What of the man you have locked in Mr. Luther Banke's office?"
"Well, what of him?" The little man answered defiantly.
"Is he to stay there until Mr. Luther Banke returns?"
Alec Kempton shrugged. "That is for you to say now," he replied, "Why do you ask?"
"Mr. Banke's private safes are in there." The girl spoke significantly.
"What of that?"
"Those safes hold a valuable collection of mounted and unmounted gems."
"You examined the windows and found them secure."
"I did not see Mr. Luther Banke leave his office."
"What do you 'mean by that?"
"Is there necessity for me to explain." Martha passed her hand over her brow wearily. She let the hand drop to art open drawer of her desk. Kempton waited a moment for the girl to speak, then took a step toward the girl's desk. Martha smiled, and her left hand slipped under the desk. There came the sound of metal clicking on metal. A startled look came in the little solicitor's eyes, and he glanced quickly toward the door.
"You are quite right, Mr. Kempton." Again the girl smiled. "I have a switch under my desk controlling the lock of that door. The sound you heard was the lock being shot home. Now, if you please, what of the man in Mr. Luther Banke's room?"
"What of him?" Again Alec Kempton gave question for question. He waited a moment, then shrugged.
"I have no time for your heroics." He moved to the door. "You will hear more of this when Mr. Luther Banke returns."
"The door is locked, Mr. Kempton."
"Then open it immediately!" The little solicitor turned furiously and went to the desk. He had not proceeded half-way when Martha Tayne's hand came out of the desk-drawer, holding a small automatic. "I prefer you by the door, Mr. Kempton."
"And I prefer the other side of the door." The man laughed harshly, yet the girl detected a note of nervousness in the laughter.
"Have you gone entirely mad, girl?":
"I would be mad to allow anyone In Mr. Luther Banke's office without knowing his business and how he got there." Martha spoke evenly. She waited a moment, watching the man before her keenly. Then her voice softened: "Mr. Kempton, you have been Mr. Luther Banke's legal adviser for a number of years—you were his legal adviser long before I came here. You know the strict rules governing this business. How many of them have been infringed this morning?"
Again the girl paused, but the man did not reply. "I have told you the shop contains over fifty thousand pounds' worth of stock; the safes in Mr. Banke's office contain several times that value. Here, on my desk—" Her armed hand rested for a moment on the emerald box. "Here are jewels valued at over ten-thousand pounds. When Mr. Luther Banke is absent, I am in sole charge—responsible for the safety of everything—"
Her voice trailed to silence. The man shifted uneasily, allowing his eyes to fall beneath the girl's level look. "Do you think I should let anything pass me that I do not thoroughly understand, and which I do not consider quite clear and honest. I have to use what discretion I possess. I cannot I dare not allow what has happened this morning to pass unchallenged."
"What do you suggest doing?" Alec Kempton spoke after a long silence.
"Call in the police." Martha answered promptly.
"Unless—"
"Unless, what?"
"Unless you are prepared to answer my questions?"
"What do you want to know?"
"First, who Is the man in Mr. Luther Banke's office?"
"Perhaps Mr. Alec Kempton would prefer me to answer that question." The girl swung round In her chair sharply at the sound of the voice from the direction of the inner office. She saw the door was now open and, on the threshold stood the man she had seen seated In her employer's chair. She glanced to the corner of her desk where she Had seen the solicitor deposit the key he' had taken from the door-lock. The key was there! She started at the strange man In mute astonishment.
"Interested?" The man laughed slightly. "No, Miss Tayne, I am not a magician. I unlocked the door—just that!" He smiled.
"But-" Martha's eyes again went to the corner of her desk.
"The—the key?"
"The key." The stranger laughed gently. He took from his waistcoat pocket a strangely-shaped key, tossing it in his hand. "Just so! The key. Mr. Kempton locked the door, I believe, confining me in the room, as he thought. I had no desire to stay there, alone, so I unlocked the door."
For some seconds he watched, the girl, a little twinkle in his eyes, then strolled across the room to where the solicitor stood.
"Coming, Alec?" His tones were studiously careless. "Right-o! Come on."
He caught the handle of the door. A glint of amusement shone in his fine eyes when he realised that the door was fastened. He looked toward the girl backing slowly until his back was pressed against the lintel.
"May I trouble you to unlatch the door, Miss Tayne," he said courteously.
"I shall not." The automatic clenched in the girl's fist tilted menacingly at the man.
"Then—" he smiled again. "I must manage it myself." He turned and for a few seconds carefully surveyed the door and Its frame.
"If you touch that door, I'll shoot,"' said Martha firmly; yet there' was a little quiver in her voice.
"Not necessary, I assure you!" Again he smiled. As he spoke three irregularly spaced knocks came at the door. Instinctively, Martha's hand went to the switch controlling the door-lock, and released it. The door swung open and Fred. Forde walked into the room.
"You rang, Miss Tayne?" The assistant spoke formally.
"I rang?" Martha, showed surprise. "No, Mr. Forde, I did not ring."
"But I did."
Martha looked toward the door, to see the strange man standing in the doorway, holding the door ajar. "Just a pin, Miss Tayne; a small thing, but very useful, sometimes. Lesson One—a pin will ring an electric bell, and produce a Mr. Forde."
Martha sprang to her feet, anger flaming in her eyes.
"Move and I fire." Determination was in her voice, her hand was steady. "Close that door! Tell me, who are you?"
"I?" The stranger's laugh rang through the room. "Why not? Young lady, my name is 'Cain'—and you spell it with an 'i'!"
His long arm swept out, catching the solicitor by the collar and drawing him before the door and through it. A moment and the door closed, leaving the girl alone in her office with the dumbfounded jeweller's assistant.
CHAPTER III
MARTHA came out of Luther Banke's room, closed the door and went to the seat behind her desk, sitting down wearily.
For more than an hour she had been in her employer's private office, recounting the details of the raid on the jewellery establishment by the notorious crook who styled himself "Cain."
For more than an hour she had withstood the searching questioning by Detective-Sergeant Davidson, striving to answer intelligently and fully while her brain had been in a whirl, and the keen eyes of the police officer had seemed to stare down into her secret thoughts accusingly.
Now, in the semi-privacy of her own office she smiled at the tremors that had assailed her while under examination. She had nothing to fear, in fact the detective had, at the end of his questioning, complimented her on the brave stand she had made against a feared and notorious criminal.
"Cain" had departed with the Montgomery emeralds—and no one had seen him take them from her desk. Martha was almost prepared to swear that he had never approached the desk. Fred Forde, the assistant, had that he believed the jewels to be on Martha's desk when he had entered the office to be confronted by the much-advertised crook, and that from thence on he had been between the crook and the desk.
Detective-Sergeant Davidson had laughed, suggesting that they had seen the jewels where Forde had placed them, because they had expected them to be there. He would not explain that cryptic remark.
If only Alec Kempton had given her one hint of what had happened in the inner office after she had shown him in to the man she had mistaken for her employer. Her fine lips curled in disdain as thoughts of the little man came to her.
What sort of a man was he? He had allowed himself to be intimidated, to be awed into silence, almost forced to be an accessory to the theft of the jewels.
Almost Martha could find admiration in her heart for the man who had named himself "Cain"—"Cain," the legendary criminal who had been driven from his kind with the curse that every human hand should henceforth be lifted against him. She had to admire the absolute nerve that had brought him to that establishment, so well guarded, disguised as the owner, intent on the theft of the famous Montgomery emeralds. She had to admire the steadfast confidence which had held him to his task, the fear of discovery ever beside him.
She could not but admire the strength of will which had allowed him to overawe the little solicitor and force the man to do his bidding. Now Martha believed she could trace the crime step by step.
Now she knew of the false telephone message which had taken Luther Banke into a distant suburb of the city and there detained him during the first hours of the morning. She could visualise the big, unnerving moment for the crook when Alec Kempton had unexpectedly walked into his presence. She conceived the swift swoop on the jewels he coveted, and knew, far too well, the details of the daring escape. Against her will she sighed.
That was adventure!
"Well, Miss Tayne?" Martha looked up suddenly, to see the detective standing in the doorway, surveying her quizzically. "Do you want me, Mr—Sergeant?"
