Wanted! E-Book

Dick Donovan

• Herausgeber: Ktoczyta.pl
• Kategorie: Krimi
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2022

Beschreibung

„Wanted! A Detective’s Strange Adventures”, by James Edward Muddock (Dick Donovan), is a collection of 22 short stories. For a time his detective stories were as popular as those of Arthur Conan Doyle. Between 1889 and 1922 he published nearly 300 detective and mystery stories. Donovan investigates crime in all its forms, recovering priceless jewels, exposing villainous conspiracies and solving dastardly murders!

Leseprobe

Contents

1. THE STORY OF SOME REMARKABLE FRAUDS

2. A DYING CONFESSION

3. A RAILWAY MYSTERY

4. SPRINGTHORPE'S LAST FLUTTER

5. MRS. O'FLAGGERTY'S "JOOLS."

6. "OLD HURRICANE," THE GLASGOW FORGER

7. A GLASGOW CRIME

8. OUT OF HIS OWN MOUTH

9. A STRANGE CONSPIRACY

10. "DUMPY DICK," THE GLASGOW COINER

11. THE TINKER'S DOOM

12. THE SHADOW ON THE BLIND

13. THE HANGMAN'S PREY

14. THE LAST SHOT

15. A DARK NIGHT'S WORK

16. OLD JINKS'S MONEY

17. THE PRINCE OF SMASHERS

18. THE THREAD OF SILK

19. HOW THE BANK WAS SAVED

20. THE BARNFIELD MURDER CASE

21. THE STORY OF A CHRISTMAS FAIRY

22. TAKEN IN THE ACT

1. THE STORY OF SOME REMARKABLE FRAUDS

ONE of the most conspicuous men in Edinburgh about a quarter of century ago was Mr. Christopher Gourlay, and there was no man whose society was more courted. He was conspicuous for many things, amongst them being good looks–indeed, he was often referred to as the handsomest man in Edinburgh; he also had a ready though somewhat rough wit; he could tell a capital story, sing a good song, was sociable, genial, and full of what the French expressively term bonhomie.These things in themselves would have been sufficient to make any man popular; but, in addition, Mr. Gourlay seemed to be in possession of the purse of Fortunatus, consequently he was a power amongst his followers. Perhaps it was his seemingly unlimited resources that induced people to accept him for what he seemed, and not to trouble themselves about inquiring too closely into his antecedents. At this time Mr. Gourlay was in the very prime of life; that is, he was about forty. Now, there is little doubt that amongst the sycophants, fawners, and spongers who crowded round him there were many who could remember him when fifteen years before he had been a clerk in a firm of well-known lawyers, at a salary of not more than eighteen shillings a week. And had they not been afraid of losing his patronage and companionship, they might have asked how it was that in the comparatively short space of fifteen years he had risen from the position of an obscure clerk to a wealthy man about town. But though Mr. Gourlay affected an outspoken honesty and frankness, he knew how to conceal his thoughts, and keep his own affairs to himself.

While no word of suspicion was ever breathed against him, he was undoubtedly a mystery, and he evidently wished to remain so, for he never volunteered any statement about himself. This gentleman, upon whom nature and good fortune seemed to have smiled so sweetly, while much attached to those things that delight carnally, displayed a very proper regard for spiritual matters, and not only was he a constant churchgoer and a strict Sabbatarian, but he was regarded as one of the most liberal benefactors of the church. The fact that he was fond of horse- racing, passionately attached to the theatre, a bon vivant,that he played billiards for large sums of money, and held whist parties in his own house–when heavy amounts often changed hands–was not taken into consideration. He attended the church regularly on the “Sabbath,” and no appeal for church purposes was ever made to him that did not meet with a ready response. Tie displayed so much holiness on Sunday, that few thought of concerning themselves with his week-day doings.

I refer to this matter particularly because it serves not only to emphasize the man’s characteristics, but affords another example of the power wealth has to blunt men’s consciences and cause them to regard certain sins committed by the rich man as only venial, whereas the same sins on the part of a poor man would be looked upon as deadly.

Mr. Christopher Gourlay had built himself what was almost a palatial residence in one of the fashionable outskirts of Edinburgh. The house, which was replete with every modern luxury and comfort, and furnished with a sumptuousness that a prince might have envied, stood in something like ten acres of grounds. These grounds were almost unsurpassed for beauty, and the extensive greenhouses and hothouses, which required quite a little army of gardeners to look after them, were considered a sight worth seeing, and strangers were permitted to view them every Saturday on the presentation of their cards. The owner of this grand place kept seldom less than a dozen horses in his luxuriously appointed stables; and for his own particular use he had a brougham, which was a triumph of the coach-builder’s art. Of course, he kept other vehicles, but this particular brougham was so conspicuous that it never failed to attract attention when passing through the streets.

I have stated that Mr. Gourlay was passionately fond of the theatre. Not only was he a very liberal supporter of the places of public amusement, but he was generally mixed up with all the private theatricals that were given in the town. In his own house he had a miniature bijou theatre fitted up, which was probably unique in its way, and is worth describing. It was seated to hold about one hundred and fifty people. The walls were covered with quilted blue satin, over which were hung elegant looped-up lace curtains; while at intervals were magnificent oval mirrors with candelabra, and between the mirrors were costly vases for holding flowers. The seats were most luxurious spring chairs covered with blue velvet to match the wall decorations. The floor–over which was spread two thicknesses of Turkey carpet–sloped toward the stage, so that every seat commanded a perfect view. The roof was painted to represent an Italian sky, flecked with a few light fleecy clouds, and three or four gorgeous-plumaged birds on the wing. The proscenium was a work of art, and represented a massive carved picture-frame. The curtain was of the heaviest and costliest blue Genoa velvet, and all the appointments of the stage were perfect. Some of the scenery had been painted by artists of renown. One in particular is known at the present day the wide world over.

In this splendid little temple of the drama Mr. Gourlay was in the habit of performing some of his own pieces, for he affected dramatic literature, and was exceedingly ambitious of being known as a writer for the stage; but with one exception, and in spite of his wealth, he could not succeed in getting a piece from his own pen performed in a public theatre. It must not be supposed that a gentleman of such refined tastes, having so high a regard for dramatic art, was content to let his friends be bored with mere amateurs. He was in the habit of bringing to his house ladies who were celebrated as actresses. It will be noted that I only refer to ladies, for the fact is Mr. Gourlay had an especial weakness for theatrical ladies, and very rarely indeed invited gentlemen professionals. The ladies, too, were generally those who were noted for their youth and beauty, and it was no secret that this remarkably liberal patron of the drama was a devout worshipper at the shrine of beauty. He was, so far as was known, a bachelor, and it is not difficult to understand how such a man, under such circumstances, should be a sort of human magnetic pole that drew to him all marriageable womankind that came within his influence. But let not the inference from this remark be that Mr. Gourlay strictly confined his attentions to those ladies who had not yet entered the bonds of Hymen. As a matter of fact, his receptions were noted for the number of young and handsome married ladies who assembled at them. And it may at once be stated here that the female sex was always largely in excess at all Mr. Gourlay’s gatherings. In short, he displayed a decided partiality for the society of women in preference to that of men–he liked to reign a sole god amongst the goddesses.

There was one curious circumstance in connection with his home life that I must refer to. His mother lived with him, but her life was isolated from his. She never mixed with his company; never went out with him, never took her meals with him, and he was hardly ever known to speak to her, while she presented that remarkable phenomenon–a silent woman.

Mrs. Gourlay was about seventy, with a pleasant, rather patrician face, surmounted by a quantity of snow-white hair. This lady never received visitors, and made no calls; nor was she ever to be seen by visitors to the house. She had a carriage for her own use, and with great regularity she went for a daily drive of two hours. After that she retired to her own apartments, and was seen no more for the rest of the day, save by her own personal female servant. Mrs. Gourlay took no part whatever in the conduct of the household. That was entirely in the hands of a housekeeper, who had absolute and entire control. Mrs. Gourlay, in fact, was a mystery, and, since she never entered into conversation with any one, not even the servants, it seemed as if the mystery was not likely to be solved. The servant who attended to her was only a little younger than she was; and, like her mistress, she seemed to be under a vow of silence. At any rate, although she must have been aware of the intense curiosity that was evinced to know some particulars of the lady she served, she never volunteered any information, nor could any one draw her out. It was well understood amongst his acquaintances that any questions to Gourlay regarding his mother would have been resented as an unpardonable insult, so no one ventured to speak of the old lady to him. Curiosity, powerful quality as it is of the human mind, was stifled, rather than any risk should be run of losing the great man’s friendship. Such is the power of gold.

Of course it can readily be supposed that a gentleman of such unbounded popularity, and of such profuse generosity, and who, moreover, seemed to have unlimited wealth at his command, would be in great request for public offices. He might not only have been Provost, but an ALP to boot, for a constituency could easily have been found that would have sent him to the House of Commons with an enormous majority But he resolutely declined all offers and proposals that were made to him. He preferred the dolce far nienteto the sweets of office. A love of pleasure was his weakness, and he revelled in luxury; and to be considered and known as an epicure and Sybarite was his sole ambition. The only business connection he had was a directorship of a small bank, and the management of the branch office of a very large and wealthy insurance office, the head-quarters of which were in London. He had been associated with the bank about thirteen years, but not all that time as a director, for he had commenced in the humble capacity of a ledger clerk. Two years later he became an agent for the insurance office, and very soon got the entire control and management of the concern.

It has been necessary for me to speak of Mr. Gourlay and his mode of life at some length and with a regard for detail, because by so doing I shall be able to make what follows more intelligible to the reader. At the period to which I am alluding Gourlay was in the zenith of his power and influence, so far as being able to attract people around him was concerned, and had any one at that time ventured to suggest he was not quite as honest as he might be, such a person would have subjected himself to a storm of indignation.

But now a curious thing happened. In the insurance office over which Mr. Gourlay ruled a man by the name of Richard Wheeler had been employed for a number of years as bookkeeper. In a general way he bore a good character; he was a married man with two children, but seemed to have a weakness for convivial society and horse-racing. Not that he indulged in the latter to any very considerable extent, but he had been known to lose as much as four and five hundred pounds at one fell swoop; and certain people naturally asked how a bookkeeper, who was dependent upon his salary, could afford to drop so much money and seem none the worse for it. The mystery, however, was explained one day when the rumour ran that Richard Wheeler had absconded, and that his books at the office showed serious defalcations. I received instructions to try and effect the arrest of Wheeler, and in order that I might get some particulars about him I waited upon Mr. Gourlay at his house. It was my first introduction to him, and the first time I had ever been on his premises. I knew him well enough by sight, but had never before spoken to him. I was struck by his affability and general charm of manner, no less than by the princely appointments of his house. But when we came to business he astonished me by a very evident reluctance to give me such information with regard to Wheeler as I deemed necessary.

“The fact is,” he said, “until the books have been thoroughly overhauled it is impossible to say whether Wheeler has robbed the Company or not. As far as I know at present, I don’t think he has.”

“Why has he bolted, then?” I asked, betraying the surprise I felt.

“That I cannot say. I can only conjecture.”

“But what are your conjectures, Mr. Gourlay?”

“Well, I don’t know that I ought to put them into words, in the absence of anything like proof, but I think you will find that domestic affairs have had something to do with his going away.”

The result of my interview with Mr. Gourlay, and of what he said, was that I called on Mrs. Wheeler, and found her in the greatest distress about her husband. But my questions elicited from her that her domestic life had been very happy. Nothing had ever occurred between her and her husband that would in any way account for his leaving her. She acknowledged that he was a reticent man, and, though he denied her and her children nothing, he did not make a confidante of her, and she knew little of his affairs.

I asked her if she had never felt surprise that her husband should have been able to keep up so much style on his salary as a bookkeeper, and she assured me that she had no idea what his salary was; and she was, moreover, under the impression that he won large sums of money on horse-racing.

Although there was nothing in the lady’s manner to warrant me in thinking she was deceiving me, I did not altogether feel satisfied. But, from what I saw of her, and what I heard from other sources, I came to the conclusion that she had purposely refrained from learning anything about her husband’s habits. She was content, perhaps, to believe that all was right; and, as long as she got what she wanted, she did not consider it policy to inquire too closely where it came from. Although I kept my thoughts to myself, I felt very far from satisfied with the spirit in which Mr. Gourlay had met me. As I have already said, I did not think that Mrs. Wheeler was deceiving me; in fact, I felt pretty sure that she was really in entire ignorance of her husband’s whereabouts.

It appeared that the information about Wheeler’s embezzlement had come from the head clerk of the office, a Mr. Philip Adair, and having failed to make anything of the manager, I turned my attention to Adair. He was a quiet, unostentatious man verging on sixty-five years of age. He had only been with the Company about two and a half years. He stepped into the position of a man who had died, and previous to getting that situation he had been a “policy clerk” in another insurance office, a post he had held for fifteen years.

I found that he, like the manager, was not disposed to be communicative, though it very soon came out that he had been cautioned by the manager not to say anything until the books had been thoroughly examined.

“But you do not withdraw your accusation against Wheeler?” I asked pointedly.

“Oh dear, no!”

“And there is no doubt about Wheeler having embezzled the funds of the Company?”

“None whatever.”

“Then why are you reluctant to give me all the information you are possessed of?”

“The fact is,” he answered, “after I had communicated with the police in the first instance, Mr. Gourlay was very angry with me.”

“But why angry with you?” I exclaimed.

“Well, he said it was no use making the affair public until we had fully ascertained the extent of Wheeler’s misdoings.”

“I thought you had already done so.”

“Not wholly so; and before I can do so it will be necessary to go through what we call our balance ledger, and check that with the bank pass-book, and both those books are under the control of Mr. Gourlay.”

“But surely it is to Mr. Gourlay’s interest to have the books examined immediately?” I remarked, my astonishment growing.

“I–don’t–know that it is,” answered Mr. Adair slowly, and with great stress on his words. I looked hard at him for some moments, trying to read his thoughts, and then I put this point-blank question–

“Do you suspect that Mr. Gourlay has some sinister motive in trying to screen Wheeler?”

“I am not prepared to say what I suspect,” was the answer. “My thoughts are my own, and nothing can compel me to utter them unless I like. You see, I am a servant, and an old man, and I cannot afford to lose my situation. You are a detective used to unravelling tangled skeins, and you must make the best of what I have said. If you succeed in arresting Wheeler, it may probably–I only say probably–be the means of bringing some startling facts to light.”

“I have but one more question to put at present,” I said. “Roughly speaking, what do you think the amount of Wheeler’s defalcations will tot up to?”

“As far as I can tell just now, I should say not far short of five or six thousand pounds. Indeed, it may be very much more than that. My own impression is the whole business wants thoroughly overhauling There is something rotten somewhere, but I am not going to say anything more.”

On leaving Mr. Adair I felt that he had afforded me food for reflection, and, though in the meantime my only business was to arrest Wheeler if possible, I could not help feeling that if the old man was correct in his surmises, matters certainly did want looking into. Knowing as I did, however, that Adair was liable to lose his situation if what he had said to me should reach the ears of Gourlay, who was to all intents and purposes his employer–for he had the power to discharge him at a week’s notice–I decided to keep my suspicions to myself for the time being.

Within a day or two, however, of that interview a new development took place in the arrival from London of one of the directors of the Company. This was Sir Thomas Aspden, a gentleman exceedingly well known in the financial world. He sent for me at once, and informed me that Mr. Gourlay had informed the Board of Wheeler’s embezzlement, but spoke lightly of it, saying that so far as could then be ascertained the amount purloined was trifling. On the strength of this, the directors would not have interfered in the matter, had it not been for an anonymous letter they had received, wherein they were strongly advised to institute a thorough investigation of all the affairs of the Edinburgh branch of the business, and above all the writer impressed upon them the necessity of using every possible means to effect Wheeler’s arrest.

I told Sir Thomas that I would do all I could, and promised to communicate with him as soon as I got any clue; but on the following day he sent me an urgent request to call upon him at once, and on my doing so, he told me that the huge balance ledger of the business was missing. Consequently, an investigation was rendered impossible.

“Whom do you suspect having removed it?” I asked.

“I don’t know what to say. Adair assures me that the ledger was in the strong-room just before Wheeler’s flight, and the strong-room is under the control of the manager.”

“That is of Mr. Gourlay?”

“Yes.”

There was a question that arose in my mind here, but which I hesitated to put to Sir Thomas, until resolving the whole matter over and over, and looking at it from all points of view, it seemed to me as if it was nothing short of a duty on my part to ask it, so, turning to him, I said with deliberate emphasis–

“Sir Thomas, do you think it in the least degree likely that Mr. Gourlay has a reason for that ledger not being found?”

“God bless my life! no,” he answered quickly and in what seemed to me a strong tone of indignation. “Why, we repose the greatest confidence in our manager, and though the business has not flourished, and, indeed, has fallen far below our expectations, whatever has been done is due entirely to the tact and energy of Mr. Gourlay. We should have to put our shutters up in Edinburgh if it were not for him.”

“That is your deliberate opinion?”

“That is my deliberate opinion.”

In the face of this I could not, of course, proceed any further so far as Gourlay was concerned, though Sir Thomas’s expression of confidence in Gourlay did not by any means remove from my mind the suspicion that had haunted me for days–that is, ever since my interview with Gourlay As far as I could judge, his actions were not those of a man sincerely desirous of doing all he could to bring the guilt home to the suspected person. On the contrary, he had thrown every obstacle in the way of an investigation. I therefore called again on Mr. Adair, and questioned him with a view to elicit his opinion with regard to the missing ledger. But he seemed to have become more reticent than ever. It was not difficult, however, to determine that his lips were sealed with the fear of getting himself into trouble. I inferred that, whatever his suspicions–and though they might be very well founded–he was not in possession of such proofs as would warrant him in setting himself in opposition to Gourlay. At least, such was the deduction I made, and yet I should have been prepared to stake a good deal that the author of the anonymous letter that had brought Sir Thomas Aspden to Edinburgh was Adair himself. But the first thing to do was to try and get hold of Wheeler, and I now set myself seriously to work to discover his whereabouts, nor could I forget what old Adair had said–”If you succeed in arresting Wheeler, it may probably be the means of bringing some startling facts to light.”

Every detective of ally experience knows that in all cases of crime, if a woman is in any way connected with the case, and a clue is wanted, the woman is almost certain to afford it. That is, that though she may try in every way to screen the criminal, she will, by some incautious action, give him away sooner or later. This may be explained by the hard fact that a woman as a rule lacks the tact and caution of a man, although she is often quicker witted and keener sighted than he is. But she does not reason in the same way, and is apt to overlook small details that a man sees. Bearing this in mind, I kept a close watch on Mrs. Wheeler, hoping to find out her husband’s whereabouts through her; and in the meantime, both for my own satisfaction and with a view to possibilities, I made it my business to learn all I could about Mr. Gourlay, and what I did learn I have placed before the reader in the first part of this narrative. Perhaps I need scarcely say that there were many things in connection with his mode of life and his antecedents which justified my suspicions. Those things wanted a good deal of explanation to make them seem like the acts and deeds of a thoroughly honest man. But what was most strikingly incongruous was his lavish expenditure, his princely style of living, and his costly establishment. Where did the money come from for all this? I felt convinced that if the true answer was given to the question, Mr. Gourlay would have found himself in an awkward position.

Several weeks passed without any clue to ‘Wheeler’s whereabouts being forthcoming, nor was the missing ledger discovered. The firm of accountants who had the auditing of the Company’s books were deputed to investigate the matter, though they confessed themselves quite nonplussed for the want of the missing ledger. But I learned that they were fully convinced the business needed thoroughly looking into, and they were equally of opinion that everything was exceedingly unsatisfactory. The report which they furnished to the London establishment determined the directors to overhaul the business, and as a preliminary step they requested Mr. Gourlay to go to London to attend a conference. It was during his absence that I at last got the longed-for clue to Wheeler’s hiding-place.

One day Mrs. Wheeler called at a local post-office, where she was well known, and asked them to cash a ten-pound English bank- note. A day or two later she changed a twenty-pound note at the same place, and within a week she took a post-office order there for ten pounds; but as it was payable at the General Post Office, the local people, of course, could not give her the money for it, and told her she must go to the General. Now, I got to know of these transactions, and I ascertained at the General Post Office that the money-order had come from Liverpool, and the sender was given as “Emily Sinclair.” I now began to think that the scent was getting warm, for I inferred that “Emily Sinclair” was the long-wanted Wheeler, and that by a clumsy blunder Mrs. Wheeler had given her husband away. I soon discovered too that the lady was making preparations for departure from Edinburgh by gradually selling off her furniture, and she had also given the necessary legal notice to her landlord to enable her to vacate her house. These things were very significant to me, and the inference I drew was that Wheeler was in Liverpool, and she was going to join him before very long.

I got to know the address of the “Emily Sinclair” who had sent the post-office order, and I found it out in this way. Mrs. Wheeler dispatched a large parcel through a firm of carriers to Liverpool, the parcel being consigned to Mrs. Emily Sinclair, whose address, of course, was given.

I at once started for Liverpool, and found, somewhat to my surprise, I honestly confess, that Mrs. Emily Sinclair was not a mythical personage. She was considered to be highly respectable, and was the wife of a gentleman who occupied an important position in a large engineering establishment. My business now was to discover in what way Mrs. Emily Sinclair was connected with Mrs. Wheeler, and I did this by rather a bold move, and luck favoured me. I called at Mr. Sinclair’s business place, and asked him point-blank if he knew a Mr. Richard -Wheeler, of Edinburgh. My idea was that if he was in the secret he would betray himself by some signs of confusion, and I was hardly prepared for his straightforward answer.

“Oh, yes,” he said. “His wife is my sister-in-law.”

This was a revelation, a keynote to what had been obscure, and now all was plain. Mrs. Sinclair was aiding her sister.

“Do you know where Mr. Richard Wheeler is?” I asked.

“Well, I expect he is in Edinburgh. He was when I last heard of him.”

“How long ago is that?”

“Two or three months, I should think.”

“Are you not aware that Mr. Wheeler has left Edinburgh?”

“No, indeed, I am not.” This with genuine surprise. “When did he leave?”

“Some time ago, and I am anxious to discover where he is.”

“But where is his wife?”

“In Edinburgh.”

“Can you not get his address from her?”

“No. The fact is, Mr. Sinclair, your sister-in-law’s husband is wanted to answer a grave charge of embezzlement, and I have some grounds for supposing that he is in Liverpool at the present moment.”

Mr. Sinclair fairly staggered as I made this announcement, and clapping his hands to his forehead, he exclaimed in great distress–

“My God! is it possible that Dick has gone wrong?” Then when he had recovered from the shock a little he added–

“Now, then, much that has been mysterious of late on my wife’s part is explained.”

I saw that he was very greatly cut up, and I told him that I would not add to his grief by asking him to betray his relative by discovering his whereabouts to me.

“It is but human nature,” I said, “that your wife should endeavour to render assistance to her own sister, and if you will not put her on her guard I think I shall be able to find out Wheeler’s hiding-place myself.”

Mr. Sinclair was so keenly distressed that it was some minutes before he could answer me.

“If Wheeler has done wrong,” he said at last, “he must answer to the law for it, and it would be wrong for me to try and screen him. At the same time I greatly appreciate your suggestion, and if you can arrest him without any assistance from me I prefer that you do so. Although I can declare solemnly that I have not seen him in Liverpool, and don’t know that he is here, in the light of your revelation certain movements lately on the part of my wife are fully explained, and I have no doubt she knows where Wheeler is. Under the circumstances, and painful though my position is, you can count on my not putting her on her guard. Blood is thicker than water, it is true; but still, I think, she has done a foolish thing in not taking me into her confidence.”

“No doubt she thought that you would not countenance her little deception.”

“I thank you for the compliment, and perhaps you are right. Although possibly I should not have betrayed Wheeler, I should have declined to be made an instrument for endeavouring to screen him from the pursuit of justice.”

I parted from Mr. Sinclair greatly impressed with his frankness and honesty, and relying on my theory about women supplying clues by short-sightedness and blundering, I set to work to find Wheeler through Mrs. Sinclair. In the course of a few days I tracked her from her house to a house in a quiet and obscure suburb of Liverpool, and in that house I soon ascertained that Wheeler, under the name of Meldrum, was living. The same night I arrested him.

“I was prepared for this,” he said, in a tone of deep despair; “and yet if you had only delayed for a week I should have been on my way to America with my family.”

The following day, after some legal formalities, I conveyed him to Edinburgh. He volunteered no statement, and, of course, I had no right to question him. He was terribly depressed, and I tried to raise his spirits by suggesting that by making a full and clean breast of all he knew he might possibly so far aid the course of justice that his sentence would be lightened should he be convicted. To this he preserved a dogged silence, and the subject was not referred to again.

Perhaps I need scarcely tell the reader that the legal processes in Scotland in a case of this kind are very different to what they are in England, and are more in favour of the accused person. In fact, Scotch law in many respects seems to have been framed by amateur lawyers, and often verges on the ridiculous. I have no hesitation in saying that if I stood charged with a crime I would much prefer to be tried by Scotch law than English law. Scotch sentences are always relatively lighter, while the “non proven” verdict gives the prisoner a greater chance of escape. It is a stupid verdict, and ought to be cleared off the statute book. However, in due course, Richard Wheeler was ordered for trial, but it was intimated that he would be liberated on bail, and the bail was fixed, himself in one thousand pounds, and one surety in two thousand pounds. Both were forthcoming, the surety being Mr. Gourlay. That he should offer himself was to me by no means surprising; though every one else seemed to be utterly amazed, and many people said that, since the great and good Gourlay had such faith in Wheeler, it was pretty evident the accused man’s crime was not serious.

But in the meantime Sir Thomas Aspden returned to Edinburgh, and had several interviews with me, and it was soon manifest that his views with regard to Gourlay had undergone a very radical change. His faith had been severely shaken, and things had come to his ears which left no doubt that heavy frauds had been committed by somebody. Mr. Gourlay’s income from his connection with the bank and the insurance office was slightly under two thousand a year, yet he was living at the rate of seven or eight thousand. Where did the difference between the two and seven or eight come from?

I had sometime before asked myself an analogous question, and had said if the true answer was forthcoming there would be a revelation. It was very clear now that the tide was turning against Gourlay, and suspicion, which had only hitherto been a faint whisper, swelled to a very audible murmur, and some of his staunchest adherents began to waver in their faith. It was the old story about giving a dog a bad name. When Mr. Adair saw that his position was no longer jeopardized he spoke his mind freely, and did not hesitate to express an opinion that the great ledger had been removed from the office by Gourlay himself. That statement did not surprise me by any means, but it did surprise Sir Thomas Aspden, though he was soon convinced there was truth in it. The result was that Sir Thomas decided that he, the accountants, and the employeesshould meet in the office in order to make an investigation, and Gourlay was asked to attend. He did so, and was subjected to severe questioning on the part of Sir Thomas and the auditors. He affected to be highly indignant at the aspersions on his honesty, and with passion and warmth he exclaimed–

“I will not remain here another moment to be insulted. If you want me, you know where to find me. I shall he at my house, and should I happen to go out, I shall leave word where I have gone to.”

Having thus delivered himself, he left the office in high dudgeon, but he felt and knew that his knell had struck. For years he had revelled in all the luxury that wealth could purchase, but the end had come, and the sources of that wealth were shut off.

From the office he must have gone straight to his home, and made hurried preparations for flight, for when the next day dawned, it began to be rumoured that both Gourlay and Wheeler were missing. Inquiry proved this to be true. They had both left the previous night. As soon as their flight was discovered, the telegraph was put in motion, in the hope that their course might be cut short before they got out of the country. But when the night came, we were without any news of their arrest, and I felt then that they had succeeded in quitting England. In the meantime, on my advice, Sir Thomas Aspden applied for an attachment of all Gourlay’s property, and this was at onto granted. His escape had been so well planned and arranged for, that not one of the servants knew he was going out of town; and he had not even informed his mother. When the old lady heard the news, she was stricken with what seemed mortal grief, and in her anguish exclaimed–

“I knew it would come–I knew it would come! For years he has lived on a powder mine, and it has exploded at last.”

In an interview I had with the poor old creature, I elicited the fact that she had, by some means or other, been fully aware of her son’s evil doings. But the mother-love was stronger than all other feelings, and she had held her peace. The dreadful knowledge, however, had preyed upon her mind, and made her a silent, unhappy woman. She resolved from the first, although living under his roof, to take no part in his gaieties, and to seclude herself from all his associates. Hence the mysterious life she led.

I next directed my attention to trying to find the missing ledger. It was a huge book, and could not conveniently have been destroyed. I discovered it at last in the lumber-room of the house, hidden behind some boxes.

As soon as the book had been returned to the office, the accountants set to work to examine it, and gradually they brought to light such an astounding state of matters that they seemed almost incredible. Gourlay had defrauded the office out of more than a hundred thousand pounds, and it was pretty certain that he had been assisted by Wheeler, although Wheeler would seem to have been nothing more than a tool. At any rate, he got a very small portion of the plunder.

Of course, if the books had been properly kept, such a gigantic fraud would have been impossible. But, astounding as it seems, the system pursued in the office was to make the bank pass-book the basis for the ledger accounts, instead of entering all transactions in the ledger first, and checking the ledger afterwards by the pass-book. Instead of the branch business having been a struggling one, as the directors in London supposed it was, it had flourished tremendously, but the money had gone to enrich Gourlay; and he had spent his ill-gotten gains in riotous living, and useless, lavish display. The means he had pursued were simple enough in themselves. He falsified the bank pass- book, destroyed the misappropriated cheques, and thus rendered discovery as long as he had control exceedingly unlikely. By some clever means, he erased figures from the bank-book, and added others in their places, so as to make the balances right. And he entered policies as having been paid, but which had not only never been paid, but which absolutely had no existence save in the ingenious and inventive brain of Mr. Gourlay. Any one with a knowledge of figures will thus see how enormous sums could be abstracted, without much fear of detection, so long as the defrauder kept his head clear, and had matters under his own control. It is difficult, of course, to understand how the manipulated pass-book should have escaped the scrutiny of the bank officials, but that it did so is on record, and for years Gourlay’s cleverness had defied detection. If there had been equal cleverness on the part of Wheeler, the two might have gone on for a considerable time longer. But he was clumsy, and had blundered, and his blundering had pricked the bubble; although Mr. Adair had suspected for some time that things were going wrong.

As may well be imagined, the discovery of the frauds caused a tremendous sensation in the financial world, and it came like a bombshell to the fawners and sycophants who had sponged on Gourlay. It is also a remarkable fact that notwithstanding the large sums of money that passed through Gourlay’s hands he was heavily in debt; for, as it was believed he was wealthy, his credit was unlimited, and now his creditors were aghast, but proceedings in bankruptcy were immediately taken and a receiver appointed. In view of possibilities, he had made provision for his mother by purchasing her an annuity for five hundred pounds, and the poor old lady, with whom most people sympathized, retired into obscurity, though the shock of the exposéso told upon her that she was seized with sudden illness, and speedily sank, dying within two months of her son’s flight.

In the meantime, no means had been left untried to bring about the arrest of Gourlay and his confederate. But it was clearly proved that they crossed the Channel and proceeded to Spain, where they were secure. When the news of Mrs. Gourlay’s death, however, gained publicity, her unworthy son seems to have been stricken with remorse, and though his companion decided to remain in his safe retreat, he himself returned to England and gave himself up. He afforded information and assistance that were the means of a large sum being recovered for the benefit of his creditors. His beautiful house, with all its superb fittings and furniture, was brought to the hammer, together with his carriages, horses, plate, and other things; but, as is always the case, the amount realized fell far short of what had been spent on them.

In the meantime, Gourlay was brought to trial in Edinburgh, and notwithstanding his weight of guilt and the tremendous loss his employers had sustained, he only received the comparatively light sentence of five years’ imprisonment. But the wretched fellow knew that his life was practically done. He had revelled in sunshine for some time, but the storm had burst upon him suddenly and crushed him. The change from the life of a Sybarite to that of a felon in a criminal prison was too much for him. Unable to endure it, he one night closed his earthly record by hanging himself in his cell by means of a sheet torn into strips. That he was a clever man goes without saying, and with all his natural advantages he might have taken high and honourable position amongst his fellow-men. But he chose a course of crime as a shorter way to wealth, and found, as all evil-doers do, that there can be no happiness where there is no honesty; and that the ways of guilt are ever dark and tortuous, while the end is shame and ignominy.

Wheeler was never caught. Probably his conscience was less sensitive to remorse than his guilty companion, or his guilt being proportionately lighter did not affect him in the same way. At any rate, he did not return, and I have reason to know that his wife and children subsequently joined him abroad.

2. A DYING CONFESSION

FOR many years Dr. William Albert Simson resided in a somewhat isolated house in the Stretford Road, near Old Trafford, Manchester, where he practised and carried on his profession. It was before Stretford Road had become one long monotonous street as it is now. At that period the houses did not extend much above the junction of the Chorlton Road, or, at any rate, what houses there were, were detached or semi-detached; and the country on either side was open and wooded. Manchester has the unenviable notoriety of being one of the most hideously ugly cities in the kingdom; but, on the other hand, it has the advantage over many other cities that rank in the same category of being possessed of most charming suburbs. The speculative builder, however, has long been doing his best to destroy all the beauty that the suburbs possessed, and the Stretford Road, as I knew it in the days of my youth, no longer exists. Its picturesqueness has been quite destroyed; the wide open stretches of fields are now covered with miles and miles of monotonous, squalid, ugly rows of houses, devoid of all architectural beauty, and maddening in their similarity to each other. The trees have all been cut down, and the hedgerows swept away, while the grimy, overgrown, dirty town has pushed its way far beyond Old Trafford itself, which was formerly a delightful bit of country. However, this is by the way, and the recollection of what Stretford Road am about to relate, and what it is now, is responsible for my remarks.

Dr. Simson was a man whom nature had peculiarly favoured, for he was a fine, handsome-looking fellow, with an exceedingly good appearance and commanding presence. Physically, it might be said, he lacked nothing that could possibly make him attractive. In this case, however, this was rather a misfortune than otherwise, for he was young–a little over thirty–and somewhat wanting in that stability of character and purpose which are indispensable to a professional man who is desirous of living beyond the reach of scandal. Simson was a married man with two young children, a girl and boy; but notwithstanding this, it was said that he was much given to flirtation, and stories were rife that female patients of his had fallen desperately in love with him, and that he had been too weak to resist their blandishments. I merely mention this for what it is worth. But it is pretty certain that he owed his subsequent troubles in a large measure to the crystallized belief that his matrimonial bonds were irksome to him, and that he sighed to be a free lance. As he was accounted clever, his practice was large, larger perhaps than that of any of his local brethren, and this in itself made him an object of a good deal of envy and jealousy, for alas unhappily, human nature is incapable of being generous when it considers itself neglected. In Simson’s case some very hard things were said about him, and there is little doubt that there was a tacit cabal amongst his local colleagues to ruin him. But he seemed to be indifferent to all this, for while his pleasant, gentlemanly manner, to say nothing of his good looks, made him a favourite with ladies, his acknowledged ability as a medical man caused a large general demand for his services.

It would seem, therefore, as if this young medico hell at that time fortune and fame at his disposal. Within certain limits this was true, but there were causes at work which were surely tending to do that which his detractors were incapable of doing, namely, to blast his reputation and ruin his prospects.

As there is no fruit so fair but it may have a worm at its core, so there is no home, however well it may seem to be ordered, but has its skeleton; and Dr. Simson’s home was no exception. Indeed, it may be said that his skeleton was a very grim thing indeed, for its name was “the green-eyed monster.”

His wife was older than he was, and was accounted “plain- looking” even by her best friends. Perhaps, when all the circumstances and conditions are considered, it was natural–having regard to the constitution of human nature–that the lady should be jealous of her husband. But had she been a wise woman, she would have refrained from “constantly nagging at him,” as it was said she did, and from making his home-life unbearable. Whatever his faults were, it may be doubted if they were so heinous as to justify his wife in destroying his peace and happiness, and of surrounding her children with an atmosphere of discord and jealousy. But when once the demon jealousy takes possession of a woman’s breast, common sense flies away. Mrs. Simson evidently considered herself an ill-used creature, and that being so, she was resolved that her husband’s life should be rendered as uncomfortable as it was in her power to make it.