Mixed Grill/A Case of Suspicion

was pleasant to get about the square of the station—where luggage had to be labelled and heated passengers stormed at porters and a rather stout brass bell was rung, and where at moments of pressure it did seem that the world had suddenly gone mad—pleasant to stroll there and to feel you were one of the few who recognised the identity of the quiet man smoking a briar pipe and carrying an umbrella, over near the label case. He was middle-aged, with an unobtrusive manner; in the summer he wore a straw hat sedately; he seemed to be always waiting for a train that never arrived. If a loiterer made his way into the station and stood about the bookstall longer than seemed necessary, the quiet man would go near to him, moving when he moved, stopping when he stopped, and losing no sight of him until he went off. The quiet man had apparently no friends, and the staff addressed him rarely.

Now the Station Master's boy knew that this man was a retired member of the police force, the plain-clothes detective attached to the terminus. And in connection with a predecessor of this mysterious official they told him, in the Up Parcels Office, an incident.

Sergeant Bellchambers had not succeeded in gaining the popularity that most men, in this world, desire, but one or two of his first investigations received favourable comment from the General Manager, and this repaid him for lack of sympathy from others. It was said that in the M division they had been glad to see him take his pension and go, the opinion of the Inspector's desk being that Bellchambers was a born muddler. This might have been the invention of the station staff; what was quite certain was that in his reports on blue paper in the early cases referred to he fixed blame on men whom the station considered innocent, and these men were, in consequence, fined or reduced. Moreover, he had not been content with singling out individuals and recommending them for the stocks, but he condemned an entire department; for which reason the station said darkly:

“We shall 'ave to get our own back.”

This was the state of things when the cigar robberies began. Parcels of cigars came up regularly from a certain firm and from a certain local station, sometimes for delivery in London, sometimes for transfer to another railway; one parcel in four reached its destination in good appearance outwardly, but with part of the contents abstracted. The firm made heavy claims, wrote furious letters, and at last managed to get a communication into the public press in which bitter reference was made to the supineness and slothful behaviour of the railway company. The Superintendent of the Line sent for Bellchambers, withdrawing him from easy duties on the station square.

“The only question is” said the high official.

“Where do these robberies take place?” suggested Bellchambers. “That's the point,” he added sagely, “that's what we've got to get at.”

“What is your opinion, Sergeant?”

Sergeant Bellchambers made a fine pretence of taking thought before he answered. Then with red-ink pen he wrote on an envelope and passed it across the table.

“Up Office,” read the Superintendent.

“'Ush,” said Bellchambers warningly.

“Do you think you can find the thieves?”

“If I'm given a free hand,” said Bellchambers, “and no quibble raised, sir, about my petty disbursements.”

“Go in and win,” said the Superintendent. “When do you start?”

“This very night, sir?”

“Let me have a report in the morning.”

That evening the head of the department sent to the Up Office a new hand to assist the late-duty men. He was black-bearded with a very ruddy face, and he wore a uniform that had apparently belonged to a shorter and a slimmer person. His name, he said, was Edward Jones, but the Up Office seemed not contented with this and decided on the suggestion of a junior clerk to call him by the title of “Sunset.” He settled to the work with moderate determination, calling off parcels and sorting them into bins for delivery with perhaps more intelligence than the raw amateur usually showed: he spoke in a hoarse voice, and this he accounted for by confessing himself a slave to tobacco; he discussed the matter with the other men, between the arrival of trains, and seemed, not unnaturally, more interested in those who smoked than in the one or two who limited themselves to a cigarette a week, consumed after dinner on Sundays. The Up Office always had a composite scent, in which fruit, game, cheese, and other things mixed, with sometimes one gaining ascendancy, sometimes another; a new flavour of a more pleasant and a vaguer character was contributed presently by a small brown-paper-covered box, brought in from an arrival platform, bearing a proud label:—

“'Ere's a chance for some one,” said the porter, as he called it off. “Sunset, old chum, these'd do your palate good.”

“Silly thing to mark 'em like that,” remarked the new man. “It's throwing temptation in anybody's way. I should say they're likely enough worth about fifteen pence to one-and-six a-piece.”

“How d'you know?”

“I don't profess to know,” said the new man hurriedly. “I'm only giving a rough estimate. But bless my soul,” he went on after a pause, “what a refining influence a cigar has.”

“If it's a good one,” suggested a boy porter.

“They're all good,” declared the new man with enthusiasm. “They're like the ladies in that respect. Some are better'n others, but they're all good.”

“Not a married man, then?” asked a foreman.

“I'm a bloomin' bachelor,” said the new chum. “And what a thing it is on your Sunday off, when you're waiting at the end of her road, to light up a cigar with a fine aroma to it. It not only gives you an air of belonging to the 'igher aristocracy, but it also carries away any suspicion of corduroy that might be 'anging about.”

“I've never give less than twopence,” remarked the boy porter.

“I'm sorry for you,” said the new man. “I should have thought a chap with your fore'ead had got more ambition. Why, when I was a lad of your height”

“Pardon me,” interrupted the foreman, “you seem to 'ave a most extr'ordinary flow of conversation.”

“I'm celebrated for it.”

“I wonder,” said the foreman curiously, “whether you'd mind stopping it for a moment and doing a bit of work instead. Reason I suggest it is that the Company pays you for what you do and not for what you talk.”

“I can take a 'int,” said the new man coldly.

There seemed a desire on the part of the others that night to make Porter Jones work as hard as it is possible for a man to work. The heaviest hampers were confided to his care; the slimiest cases of fish were placed upon his shoulder; he it was who was told off to see to some consignments of rather advanced venison. The parcel of valuable cigars remained in the Number Five bin to be transferred to another Company by the first delivery in the morning, and it was observed that whenever Porter Jones came into the office he glanced in that direction. Now the Up Office, as I have hinted, had been perturbed over the recent complaints, and the mere fact that they had to fill up memoranda in regard to the various investigations, to the effect that, “I beg to say in reference to the attached papers that I know nothing whatever of the matter, I am, sir, your obedient servant,” this in itself was enough to put a keener edge on observation. Wherefore, a secret meeting was held near the gas-stove by the booking-up desk, and it was decided that the new man should be watched closely; it was felt it would be a proud and estimable thing for the office, the character of which was at this period slurred, if it could itself detect a wrong-doer and take him to justice. And should it happen that the detected one proved to be a new man with no friends in the department to lament his fall, then the most doubtful would have to revert to old beliefs in a wise and thoughtful Providence. Their suspicions were increased by the fact that whenever Porter Jones, in the brief intervals between work from nine o'clock onwards, resumed conversation, he invariably bent its direction towards the subject of cigars.

“Take no notice,” whispered the foreman to his colleagues. “At least when I say take no notice, I mean take all the notice you can, but keep your little heads shut as tight as possible.”

“Shall one of us lay up for him?”

“Who's the smallest?” asked the foreman, with an air of having already thought of this device.

“I are,” said the boy porter.

“Evidently,” remarked the foreman, looking down at him, “evidently a chap of superior education. Country born, ain't you?”

“I were.”

“Then,” said the foreman, “up you jump behind them 'books off' and you watch, my lad, watch Sunset for all you are worth.”

The Up Office closed at midnight in order to sleep for a few hours. Before that time the men had made preparations for departure, packing shining hand-bags and exchanging the official cap for a bowler hat, and brushing their boots; this last act is one of which the railway man never tires. Porter Jones alone seemed to be taking no preliminary steps, and when asked where he lived replied lightly and evasively that he should probably finish up at the Carlton Club. The gas lights were turned down one by one and darkness increased its possession of the office. Porter Jones went up to the end where Bin Number Five was situated; the others hummed to give a suggestion of unconcern. Suddenly there was commotion at the darkened end of the office, and seizing hand lamps, they hurried forward.

“'Old him, 'old him,” cried the boy porter. The counsel seemed unnecessary, for he gripped Porter Jones most effectively by the collar of the corduroy jacket. “Set on his 'ead. Lam him one.”

“What's all this fuss about?” demanded the foreman.

“He's got it,” screamed the boy porter. “Sunset's got it hid under his jacket.”

“Got what hid?” asked the foreman. “Let's 'ave the facts first of all.”

“I can easily explain,” gasped the new man. “I only wanted to see if Make him leave go. He's—he's throttling me.”

“He's a-trying to,” admitted the boy porter.

“Let him loose,” ordered the foreman. “Men, stand around him so as he can't make his escape. What's that bulging under your arm, matey?”

The new man gave an awkward laugh, as he withdrew the labelled parcel.

“I can explain it all to you,” he said, addressing the foreman and trying to rebutton his torn collar, “if you will favour me with two minutes alone outside.”

“Don't you do it,” advised the others. “See him 'anged first.”

“Whatsoever you 'ave to say,” declared the foreman steadily, “you'd better say it here and now.”

“Well, it's like this. I'm the detective.”

“Ho!” said the foreman satirically. “Detective and thief in one, eh? Vurry 'appy combination, I must say.”

“See here,” said the other, annoyed at the incredulous tone, “I'll take off this beard and then you can some of you identify me.”

As he did so the foreman held up his hand lamp, examining the features carefully.

“Do any of you chaps recognise him?”

The staff replied at once that to the best of their belief they had never before in this world set eyes on him.

“Don't play the goat,” he urged anxiously. “We've all got our duties to perform.”

“That's true; we shall 'ave to lock you up for the night.”

“Right you are,” said the other gleefully. “Take me round to the nearest police station and then”

“That would mean losing our last train 'ome,” pointed out the foreman.

“I s'pose,” said the boy porter respectfully, “it wouldn't do to put him in the lamp room?”

“Chaps,” said the foreman, “my idea is we'd better, I think, put him in the lamp room. Get Porter Swan to lend you the keys, my lad. As for you, you scoundrel”

“If you so much as dare to lock me up there I'll see that you regret it every day of your lives.” He argued vehemently.

“Look 'ere, me man,” said the boy porter, returning with the keys, “we want none of your empty threats. If you think we're going to be bluffed by a chap of your calibre”

“My what?” shouted the indignant man, struggling to get at the lad.

“Go on, my child,” said the foreman approvingly. “Let him have some of your long ones.” The foreman turned to the others. “This is where your school teaching comes in 'andy,” he whispered.

“A chap of your calibre,” repeated the boy porter, encouraged; “you're labouring under the very worst misapprehension”

“Good!” said the others.

“Worst misapprehension that you ever suffered from or endured or tolerated or submitted to or underwent or”

“That's enough for him,” interrupted the foreman, “we'd best not overdo it. Got his arms tied, lads?”

“You'll suffer for this,” he cried.

“I'll take me oath you will,” said the foreman. “Now then, two of you at each arm and—march! Boy, blow out the gas and lock up.”

No one was encountered on the way to the lamp room who had authority to interfere with the plans of the Up Office, and the unfortunate man was conducted at a sharp walk to that gloomy, sooty, greasy haven. The place reeked with oily waste, and some appeared to have been smouldering, giving a result that nice people would call displeasing. The uneven flooring was laid out with lakes of dirty water; zinc counters did not permit themselves to be touched. The foreman turned out the one glimmer of light as though by accident.

“Got a match on you?” he asked the prisoner in a kindly tone.

“Only one box.”

“Hand it over,” ordered the foreman, “for a moment. Thanks,” slipping it into his pocket. “Now we can catch our twelve-fifteen. Good night, old sort.”

“'Appy dreams,” cried the others.

“Don't be late in the morning,” called out the boy porter.

The imprisoned man, not daring to trust himself to reply, heard the door close, heard the lock shoot. He groaned, and began to reckon the black hours that he would have to endure in the place; at the least, the number would be six; he did not care to think what it might be at the most. Throughout the whole of the time he was unable to close his eyes, and his only relief to the length of the hours came by thinking of the report that he would indite the following morning. He polished up in his mind some of the references to the boy porter, and to the man who gripped his arm in bringing him from the Up Office; it seemed that his suspicions in regard to the pilferages were centred, for some reason, on those who had most aggrieved him. Before daylight began to grin at him through the barred window of the lamp room he had mentally completed his report, and the last paragraph he felt was especially good.

“I am able to speak with absolute certainty, and I can go so far as to say the men who are undoubtedly responsible for the recent pilferages are those I have named, and I beg to suggest respectfully that steps be taken to relieve them of their present duties at the earliest possible moment. The only alternative is a clean sweep of the whole of the Up Office staff, and this, sir, I hesitate to recommend. But for reasons that I have stated, and for others which I think it wise not to place upon paper, I earnestly hope that the recommendation I have made will be acted upon without delay. “. “P.S.—Especially the foreman and the junior.”

“Can't make it hotter for them,” said Sergeant Bellchambers to himself regretfully, “without it looking as though I'd got some personal spite.”

The night seemed endless, but it proved to have a finish, and Bellchambers, when the lamp-man opened the door in the morning, went out, a tired, oil-scented, yawning, but a determined official. A wash and a shave increased the last quality, and when the Superintendent arrived at nine o'clock, morning paper under his arm, Sergeant Bellchambers was waiting for him in the lobby of the office with confidence written all over his face in large letters.

“Evening, sir.”

“Good-morning, Sergeant.”

“I mean morning,” corrected Bellchambers. “I've been up all night over that little affair you spoke about.”

“Ah!” said the Superintendent, sitting down in his arm-chair, “with no result?”

“On the contrary, sir,” said Sergeant Bellchambers importantly. “If it isn't troubling you too much I'll trouble you to cast your eyes over this report of mine.”

The Superintendent let his glasses flick open and adjusted them on his nose. The Sergeant, leaning one arm on the mantelpiece, watched his superior officer, waiting for the sign of gratified approval. This, to his great astonishment, did not come, and the Superintendent's face remained unchanged when he had thrown the report on the shining table.

“Do you mean to say that you want me to get rid of these men?”

“That was the impression,” said the Sergeant, with a touch of acidity, “I intended to convey.”

“And you think they're guilty?”

“I'll stake my reputation on it, sir,” said Sergeant Bellchambers.

“That is not much of a bet,” remarked the other.

“You can take it from me that these pilferages will never cease until the men I've referred to are turned out.”

“I'm very anxious to do something,” said the Superintendent, taking up a ruler thoughtfully.

“Like myself, sir,” said Bellchambers. “That's me all over.”

“But not,” said the Superintendent, hitting the table, “not in the direction you suggest. Read this!”

He handed over the morning paper to Sergeant Bellchambers, pointing to a letter headed “Recent Complaints of Pilferages.”

“Ah!” said the Sergeant exultingly, “they're going for us again, then. 'Dear Sir,' he read. 'With reference to our letters to you complaining of abstraction from our parcels of cigars sent by railway, we think it only right to inform you that we have discovered these pilferages were made by one of our own men. It appears that after delivering the parcels at the station here, and after they were weighed, he was in the habit of offering to take them to the train, and whilst doing this effected the robberies to which reference has been made. We need scarcely point out that if the station had been wisely managed these lamentable occurrences would in all probability never have taken place; the only question is, who is responsible? We are, dear sir, yours faithfully'”

“A paltry trick to play on anybody,” said the Sergeant. “At the same time, sir, I think there'll be no harm in making a change in the staff.”

“I intend to do so. Will you keep your eyes open, Sergeant”

“Ain't they always?”

“And,” said the Superintendent, “look out for another berth. Shut the door quietly after you.”