Inspector French had now so many points of attack in his inquiry that he felt somewhat at a loss as to which he should proceed with first. The tracing of Mrs. Vane was the immediate goal, but it was by no means clear which particular line of inquiry would most surely and rapidly lead to that end. Nothing would be easier than to spend time on side issues, and in this case a few hours might make all the difference between success and failure. The lady had already had five days’ start, and he could not afford to allow her to increase her lead by a single unnecessary minute.

He considered the matter while he lunched, eventually concluding that the first step was the discovery of the maid, Susan Scott. The preliminary spadework of this required no skill and could be done by an assistant, leaving himself free for other inquiries.

Accordingly he returned to the Yard and set two men to work, one to make a list of all the registry offices in the Edgware Road district, the other to ring up those agencies one by one and inquire if the girl’s name was on their books. Then he went in to see his chief, told him of his discoveries, and obtained the necessary authority to interrogate the manager of Mrs. Vane’s bank on the affairs of that lady.

He reached the bank just before closing time and was soon closeted with the manager. Mr. Harrod, once satisfied that his usual professional reticence might in this case be set aside, gave him some quite interesting information. Mrs. Vane had opened an account with him some five years earlier, about the same time, French noted, as the house in St. John’s Wood Road had been leased. Her deposit had not been large, seldom amounting to and never exceeding a thousand pounds. It had stood at from four to eight hundred until comparatively recently, but within the past few months it had dwindled until some ten weeks earlier it had vanished altogether. Indeed, the payment of a cheque presented at this period had involved an overdraft of some fifteen pounds, and the teller had consulted Mr. Harrod before cashing it. Mr. Harrod, knowing Crewe Lodge and the scale on which the Vanes lived, had not hesitated in giving the necessary authority, and his judgment had proved correct, for some three days later Mrs. Vane had personally lodged over £100. This had since been drawn upon, and there remained at the present time a balance of eleven pounds odd in the lady’s favour.

All this information seemed to French to work in with the case he was endeavouring to make. The Vanes had apparently been living beyond their income, or at least Mrs. Vane had been living beyond hers, and she was finding it increasingly difficult to make ends meet. He did not see that any other interpretation of the dwindling balance and the overdraft could be found. That overdraft represented, he imagined, part of the lady’s ticket to America. Then a hundred pounds was paid in on the very next day, as he soon saw, to that on which Mr. Williams had paid Mrs. X her £3000. Here was at least a suggestion of motive for the robbery, and also the first fruits of its accomplishment. Moreover the subsequent withdrawal of all but a small balance, left doubtless to disarm suspicion, would unquestionably work in with the theory of flight. On the whole, French was well pleased with the results of his call.

But he was even more pleased to find on his return to the Yard that his assistants had located a registry office whose books included the name of Susan Scott. By some extraordinary chance, the very first call they made struck oil. The men, of course, had realised that there must be many Susan Scotts in London, but when they found that this one had placed her name on the firm’s books on the day after Mrs. Vane’s departure, they felt sure that they were on the right track. They had not, therefore, proceeded further with their inquiry, but had spent their time trying to locate the Inspector with the object of passing on the information with the minimum of delay.

The address was Mrs. Gill, 75 Horsewell Street, Edgware Road, and thither before many minutes had passed Inspector French was wending his way. The registry office was a small concern, consisting of only two rooms in a private house in a quiet street running out of Edgware Road. In the outer were two young women of the servant class, and these eyed French curiously, evidently seeing in him a prospective employer. Mrs. Gill was engaged with a third girl, but a few seconds after French’s arrival she took her departure and he was called into the private room.

The lady was not at first inclined to be communicative. But when French revealed his profession and threatened her with the powers and majesty of the law, she became profusely apologetic and anxious to help. She looked up her books and informed him that the girl was lodging at No. 31 Norfolk Terrace, Mistletoe Road.

As it was close by, French walked to the place. Here again his luck held in a way that he began to consider almost uncanny. A tall, coarsely good-looking blonde opened the door and announced in answer to his inquiry that she herself was Miss Scott. Soon he was sitting opposite to her in a tiny parlour, while she stared at him with something approaching insolence out of her rather bold eyes.

French, sizing her up rapidly, was courteous but firm. He began by ostentatiously laying his notebook on the table, opening it at a fresh page, and after saying, “Miss Susan Scott, isn’t it?” wrote the name at the head of the sheet.

“Now, Miss Scott,” he announced briskly, “I am Inspector French from Scotland Yard, and I am investigating a case of murder and robbery.” He paused, and seeing the girl was duly impressed, continued, “It happens that your recent mistress, Mrs. Vane, is wanted to give evidence in the case, and I have come to you for some information about where to find her.”

The girl made an exclamation of surprise, and a look, partly of fear and partly of thrilled delight, appeared in her blue eyes.

“I don’t know anything about her,” she declared.

“I’m sure you know quite a lot,” French returned. “All I want is to ask you some questions. If you answer them truly, you have nothing to fear, but, as you probably know, there are very serious penalties indeed for keeping back evidence. You could be sent to prison for that.”

Having by these remarks banished the girl’s look of insolence and reduced her to a suitable frame of mind, French got on to business.

“Am I right in believing that you have been until last Friday house and parlourmaid to Mrs. Vane, of Crewe Lodge, St. John’s Wood Road?”

“Yes, I was there for about three months.”

French, to assist not only his own memory but the impressiveness of the interview, noted the reply in his book.

“Three months,” he repeated deliberately. “Very good. Now, why did you leave?”

“Because I had to,” the girl said sulkily. “Mrs. Vane was closing the house.”

French nodded.

“So I understood. Tell me what happened, please; just in your own words.”

“She came in that afternoon shortly before four, all fussed like and hurrying, and said she was leaving immediately for New York. She said she had just had a cable that Mr. Vane had had an accident there, and they were afraid he wouldn’t get over it. She said for cook to get her some tea while I helped her pack. She just threw her clothes in her suitcases. My word, if I had done packing like that I shouldn’t half have copped it! By the time she’d finished, cook had tea ready, and while mistress was having it, cook and I packed. I started to clear away the tea things, but mistress said there wasn’t time for that, for me just to leave them and run out and get two taxis. She said there was a special for the American boat that she must catch. So I got the taxis, and she got into one and cook and I into the other, and we drove away together, and that’s all I know about it.”

“What time was that?”

“About half-past four, I should think. I didn’t look.”

“Where did you get the taxis?”

“On the stand at the end of Gardiner Street.”

“Who gave Mrs. Vane’s taxi man his address?”

“I did. It was Euston.”

“It was rather hard lines on you and the cook, turning you out like that at a moment’s notice. I hope she made it up to you?”

Miss Scott smiled scornfully.

“That was all right,” she answered. “We told her about it, and she gave us a fiver apiece, as well as our month’s wages.”

“Not so bad,” French admitted. “Who locked up the house?”

“She did, and took the key.”

“And what happened to you and cook?”

“We drove on here and I got out. This is my sister’s house, you understand. Cook went on to Paddington. She lives in Reading or somewhere down that way. Mrs. Vane said that when she came back she would look us up, and if we were disengaged we could come back to her. But she said not to keep out of a place for her, as she didn’t know how long she might have to stay in America.”

French paused in thought, then went on:

“Was Mrs. Vane much from home while you were with her?”

“No, she was only away once. But she stayed over three weeks that time. It’s a bit strange that it was an accident, too. Her sister in Scotland fell and broke her collar bone, so she told us, and she had to go to keep house till she was better. Somewhere in Scotland, she said.”

“When was that?”

The girl hesitated.

“I don’t know that I could say exactly,” she answered at last. “She’s back about six weeks or two months, and she left over three weeks before that, about a couple of weeks after I went. Say about ten weeks altogether.”

This was distinctly satisfactory. Mrs. Vane’s absence seemed to cover the period of Mrs. X’s visit to America.

“I should like to fix the exact dates if I could,” French persisted, “or at least the date she came back. Just think, will you, please. Is there nothing you can remember by?”

The girl presumably thought, for she was silent for some moments, but her cogitations were unproductive. She shook her head.

“Did you stay in the house while she was away?”

“No. I came here and cook went home.”

This was better. The attention of a number of people had been drawn to the date, and some one of them should surely be able to fix it.

“On what day of the week did you go back?” French prompted.

The girl considered this.

“It was a Thursday,” she said at last. “I remember that now, because Thursday is my night out, and I remembered thinking that that week I shouldn’t get it.”

French was delighted with the reply. It was on a Thursday night, seven weeks earlier, that Mrs. X had driven from the Savoy to Victoria, left her boxes there, and vanished. The thing was working in.

“What time of the day did she arrive?”

“In the evening.” Miss Scott answered promptly this time. “It was about half eight or a quarter to nine.”

Better and better! Mrs. X left the Savoy shortly before eight, and it would take her about three-quarters of an hour to drive to Victoria, leave her trunks in the left luggage office, and get out to St. John’s Wood Road.

“Now,” French went on, “if you or your sister could just remember the week that happened, I should be very much obliged.”

Susan Scott sat with a heavy frown on her rather pretty features. Concentrated thought was evidently an unwonted exercise. But at last her efforts bore fruit.

“I’ve got it now,” she said with something of triumph in her tone. “It was the last week of November. I remember it because my brother-in-law got his new job in the first week of December, and that was the following Monday. I heard that much about his job that I ought to know.”

French had scarcely doubted that this would prove to be the date, but it was most excellent to have it fixed in so definite a manner. He felt that he was progressing in his weaving of the net round the elusive Mrs. X.

“That’s very good,” he said approvingly. “Now will you tell me about Mr. Vane?”

The girl sniffed.

“Him?” she said scornfully. “There ain’t much to tell about him. He didn’t trouble us much with his company.”

“How was that? Did they not get on? Remember we’re speaking in confidence.”

“Why, I never even saw him. He didn’t turn up all the three months I was there. But I heard about him from cook. He was away all the time or next thing to it. When he did come, it was generally for two days. He would come late in the evening, so cook said, and stay for two days without ever going so much as outside the door, and then go away again in the evening.”

“You mean that if he came, say, on a Monday night, he would stay until the following Wednesday night?”

“Yes; or sometimes for three days, so cook said.”

“What time in the evening would he come and go?”

“About half-past ten he always came, and a little before eight he left.”

“Do you mean that he arrived and left at the same time on each visit?”

“Yes, always about the same time.”

“After dark?”

“No. Just at those times. It was the same summer and winter. At least, that’s all what cook told me. We talked about it many a time. She thought he was balmy.”

French was somewhat puzzled by this information. The whole story had what he called with a fine disregard for metaphorical purity, a “fishy ring.” At first it had looked uncommonly like as if Mr. Vane were paying clandestine visits to his own house, and, if so, he might well be the man the old stage doorkeeper had spoken of, and still have another establishment elsewhere. But this last answer seemed to suggest some other explanation of Vane’s mysterious movements. After a pause, French went on:

“Did it ever strike you he was trying to keep his visits secret?”

“I can’t say it did,” the girl answered with apparent regret. “Cook never said that. But,” more hopefully, “it might have been that, mightn’t it?”

“I don’t know,” French rejoined. “I’m asking you.”

Miss Scott didn’t know either, but in her opinion the Inspector’s suggestion might well be the truth. French noted the matter as one for future consideration as he continued his interrogation.

“What was Mr. Vane like in appearance? Did cook ever say?”

Cook, it appeared, had supplied information on this point also. Even French, who knew the ways of servants, was amazed at the detailed thoroughness with which these two had evidently discussed their employers’ affairs. Mr. Vane was tall, but stooped, with a sallow complexion, a heavy dark moustache, and glasses.

As French listened to this description an almost incredible idea flashed into his mind. He seemed to see a vision of the Duke & Peabody office in Amsterdam, and to hear again the voice of the dapper agent, Schoofs, saying: “A tall man, but stooped, with a sallow complexion, a heavy dark moustache, and glasses.” Could it be? Could this mysterious Mr. Vane be none other than his old acquaintance, Vanderkemp?

For a time he sat motionless, lost in thought, as he considered the possibility. It would certainly clear up a good deal that was mysterious in the case. It would account for Vanderkemp’s actions previous to the murder, as well as his bolt to Switzerland; it would supply a cause for Sylvia Duke’s perturbation and for the postponement of the wedding; and it would explain how Mrs. Vane received her warning, Mr. Duke having stated he would, without delay, tell Vanderkemp of the discovery of Cissie Winter. The choice of the name Vane even tended in the same direction. There were advantages in an alias beginning with the same letter as the real name, lest an inadvertent initial on clothing or elsewhere should give the secret away. Moreover, the theory involved nothing inherently impossible. Vanderkemp was then, and had been for some time, ostensibly on an extended tour in the United States, so that, as far as he could see at present an alibi was out of the question.

At first sight it seemed to French as if he had hit on the solution of the mystery, but as he continued turning it over in his mind he became less and less certain. Several important points were not covered by the theory. First of all, it did not, in his opinion, square with Vanderkemp’s personality. The Inspector had a very exalted opinion of his own powers as a reader of character—with considerable justification, it must be admitted—and the more he thought of Vanderkemp’s bearing during their momentous interview at Barcelona, the more satisfied he felt of the traveller’s innocence. He found it hard to believe, further, that a man who had just benefited to the extent of over £30,000 would be able to deny himself at least a very slight betterment in his standard of living. But the real difficulty was to connect Vanderkemp with Miss Winter’s escapade with the sixteen diamonds. How did she receive them? She was in the Savoy building all the time between the theft at Hatton Garden and the traveller’s departure from London, and it was therefore impossible that they could have met. Nor did French think it likely that so dangerous a package would have been entrusted to other hands or to the post.

Here were undoubted objections to the theory, nevertheless French felt a pleasurable glow of excitement as he wondered if they could not be met and if he really had not reached the last lap of his long investigation. He determined that his first action on reaching the Yard would be to put the matter to the test.

Having arrived at this decision, he turned again to Miss Scott.

“I should like cook’s address, please.”

Miss Scott did not know cook’s address. She believed the woman lived somewhere down near Reading, but more than that she could not say, except that her name was Jane Hudson, and that she was small and stout and lively.

French felt that if he wanted the woman he could find her from this information. He scarcely hoped that she would be able to tell him more than the parlourmaid, but thought that it might be worth while to have her looked up on chance, and he decided to give the necessary instructions, to one of his men on his return to the Yard.

By this time it was evident that Miss Scott had exhausted her stock of information, and he presently took leave of her, having asked her to ring him up if she heard or saw anything either of cook or of her former employers.

Returning to the Yard he rang up the Hatton Garden office, and having obtained Vanderkemp’s last known address, sent a cable to the United States police, asking that inquiries should be made as to the man’s whereabouts.

His next business was to find the man who had driven Mrs. Vane to Euston. A few minutes’ walk took him to Gardiner Street, and he soon reached the cab rank. Five vehicles were lined up, and he called the drivers together and explained his business. He took a strong line, demanding information as a right in his capacity of an officer of the C.I.D. It had immediate effect.

One of the drivers said that he and the man next on the rank were called to Crewe Lodge by a rather pretty girl about 4.30 on the afternoon in question. It looked as if the house was being closed. A lady, apparently the mistress, got into his friend’s taxi and was driven off, then the girl who had called him and a friend—he took them to be servants—entered his car and followed. He set the girl down at some street off Maida Vale—Thistle Road or Mistletoe Road—he wasn’t just sure, and took the other woman on to Paddington. The colleague who had driven the lady was not then on the stand, but he had been gone a considerable time and might turn up any moment. Would the Inspector wait, or should the man be sent on to the Yard on his return?

French decided to wait, and in less than half an hour he was rewarded by the appearance of the car. Taximan James Tucker remembered the evening in question. He had followed his confrère to Crewe Lodge, and a lady whom he took to be the mistress of the house had entered his vehicle. The girl who had called him from the stand had told him to drive to Euston, and he had started off through North Gate and along Albert Road. But when he had nearly reached the station the lady had spoken to him through the tube. She had said that she had changed her mind, and would go on to St. Pancras. He had accordingly driven to the latter station, where the lady had paid him off.

“Had she any luggage?” French asked.

Yes, she had two or three—the man could not be quite sure—but either two or three suitcases. No, there wouldn’t be any note of them on his daily return as they were carried inside the vehicle. The lady got a porter at St. Pancras, he believed, but he could not identify the man now. No, she had spoken to no one during the journey, and he could not suggest any reason why she should have changed her mind.

Inquiries at St. Pancras seemed to French to be the next item on his programme, and entering Tucker’s vehicle, he was driven to the old Midland terminus. Where, French wondered, had his quarry been going? With Tucker’s help he fixed a few minutes before 5.00 as the hour of the lady’s arrival, and then, after paying the man off, he went to the time-tables to find out what trains left about that hour.

In the nature of the case—a woman making a hurried flight from the attentions of the police—he thought it more than likely that the journey would have been to some distant place. While a very clever fugitive might recognise that a change to another part of London was perhaps his safest policy, the mentality of the average criminal leaned towards putting as many miles as possible between himself and the scene of his crime. It was by no means a sound deduction, but in the absence of anything better, he thought the main line trains should be first considered.

He looked up the tables and was struck at once by the fact that an important express left at 5.00 p.m. It called at Nottingham, Chesterfield, Sheffield, and Leeds, and there were connections to Harrogate, Bradford, Morecambe, and Heysham for the Belfast boat. But any one of these places might be the starting-point of some further journey, and unless he got a lead of some kind it was quite hopeless to try to follow the traveller. Besides, she might not have gone by this train. There was a 5.5 stopping train to Northampton, a 5.35 to Nottingham, stopping at a number of intermediate places, and a 6.15 express to the north, not to mention local trains. No, he did not see that much was to be gained from the time-tables.

He made what inquiries he could at the station, exhibiting the lady’s photograph to officials who were on duty when the trains in question were starting. It was, of course, a forlorn hope, and he was not greatly disappointed when it led to nothing.

As another forlorn hope, he wired to the police at Nottingham, Chesterfield, Sheffield, Leeds, Harrogate, Bradford, Morecambe, Heysham, and Belfast, saying that the woman referred to in page four of the previous week’s Bulletin was believed to have gone to their respective towns, and urging that a vigilant lookout be kept for her.

French once more felt baffled. Again in this exasperating case he was left at a loose end. The information he gained always seemed to fail him at the critical moment. In something very like desperation he sat down that evening at his desk and spent a couple of hours going through his notes of the case, wondering if by any chance he could find some further clue which he had hitherto overlooked. After careful thought, he decided that there was still one line of research unexplored—an unpromising line, doubtless, but still a line. That list of dealings on the Stock Exchange: could anything be made of that? Would, for example, the secretaries of the various firms be able to tell him who had carried out the transactions in question? If so, it should lead to Mrs. Vane or to some one who knew her intimately. He was not hopeful of the result, but he decided that if next day he had no other news he would look into it.

Full of his new idea, French on arrival at his office on the following morning took from his archives the letter addressed to Mrs. Vane which he had found in the box on that lady’s hall door and spread it out before him on his desk.

As he looked down the list of sales and purchases of stock, he was struck once again not only by the surprising number of the transactions, but also of the diversity of the stocks dealt in. There were British War Loan, Colonial Government and foreign railway stocks, as well as those of banks, insurance companies, stores, and various industrial concerns—some five-and-twenty altogether. He wondered from which of them he would be most likely to obtain the desired information.

Finally he selected James Barker and The Daily Looking Glass, and taking the latter first, he went to the registered offices of the company and asked to see the secretary. His question was a simple one. In his investigations of the affairs of a suspect, he had come across a memorandum of the sale of £895 19s. 8d. worth of Daily Looking Glass ordinary stock. Could the secretary please inform him either of the parties to the transaction or of the stockbroker through whom it was carried out?

The secretary was dubious. He asked French the date of the sale, and when the latter replied that he did not know, dilated on the complexity of the search. This ignorance as to time, together with the constantly varying value of the stock, made the sale very difficult to trace; in fact he was not sure that the information could be obtained. French in his turn dilated on the urgency and importance of the matter, with the result that two clerks were set to work and a report promised for the earliest possible moment.

So far so good, but this was not enough. French went on to James Barker’s, where he set similar inquiries on foot. Then, anxious to leave no stone unturned, he asked the same questions at the registered office of the Picardie Hotel.

The latter was the first to reply. The secretary telephoned to say that he had had a careful search made, and that no transaction covering the exact amount in question had taken place. Nothing within eight pounds of the figure given by Inspector French had been dealt with.

He had scarcely finished the conversation when the secretary of James Barker rang up. He, too, had made a careful search for several years back, and he, too, had found that stock of the amount mentioned by the Inspector had not changed hands during the period. On the 2nd March previously a sale had taken place of slightly over a pound more than the Inspector’s figure, £1 2s. 1d. to be exact, but with the exception of this there was nothing very close to it. An hour later came a similar reply from the Picardie Hotel. No transaction could be traced within ten pounds of the amount mentioned by the Inspector.

Could the discrepancies, French wondered, represent broker’s commission, stamp duties or tax of some kind? To make sure of this would, he thought, be a tedious business, involving research through the books of a considerable number of the companies concerned. He was rather ignorant of the business of stockbroking, and he had no idea of the scale of the brokers’ fees nor how these were paid. He thought, however, that if in the case of, say, six companies, a note were made of the names of those concerned with all transactions of amounts approximating to those mentioned in Mrs. Vane’s letter, and if the same broker, seller, or purchaser occurred in the deals of each company, he would be justified in assuming that person had some connection with Mrs. Vane. It was somewhat complicated as well as unpleasantly vague, but it did at least represent a clue. French decided he would get on with it, though exactly how he did not see.

After some thought he decided he would put his problem before a stockbroker friend of his own. George Hewett was junior partner of a small firm with offices in Norfolk Street off the Strand, and French, having made an appointment for fifteen minutes later, put the list in his pocket and set off to walk along the Embankment.

His friend greeted him as a long-lost brother, and after lighting up cigars, they discussed old times as well as the testamentary affairs of one Bolsover, deceased, which had involved a Chancery action in which Hewett had given evidence. That subject exhausted, French turned to his immediate business. He handed his list to the other, and telling his story, ended up by asking for an expert opinion on the whole affair.

The stockbroker took the paper and glanced rapidly down it; then he began to reread it more slowly. French sat watching him, puffing the while at his cigar. Finally the other made his pronouncement.

“Hanged if I know, French. It is evidently a statement of some one’s dealings in the money market, but it’s not in the form a professional man would use. In fact, I never saw anything quite like it before.”

“Yes?” French prompted. “In what way is it different from what you’re accustomed to?”

Hewett shrugged his shoulders.

“I suppose if I said in every way, I shouldn’t be far wrong. First place, there are no dates for the transactions. Of course if the statement was only intended to show the net result of the deals the dates wouldn’t so much matter, but a stockbroker would have put them in. Then it’s impossible to get at any idea back of the sales. You see here that 4% War Loan was sold and 5% War Loan was bought; Great Westerns were sold and North-Easterns bought, while Australian 6% was sold and British East Africa 6% bought. These stocks are all pretty much the same in value, and there was nothing to be gained by selling one and buying another. Same way no sensible man would sell Alliance Assurance and buy Amalgamated Oils. You get what I mean?”

“Quite. But mightn’t the operator have been ignorant or misled as to the values?”

“Of course he might, and no doubt was. But even allowing for that, he’s had a rum notion of stock exchange business. Then these small items are unusual. What does ‘balances’ mean? And why are ‘telegrams’ shown as a sale and not a purchase? I don’t mind admitting, French, that the thing beats me. It’s the sort of business you’d expect to be done on the stock exchange in Bedlam, if there is one.”

“I tried to get at the operator through the secretaries of some of those companies, but that was no good.”

“Which ones?”

“The Daily Looking Glass, James Barker, and the Picardie Hotel.”

“And they couldn’t help you?”

“They said no transactions of those exact figures had been carried out. The nearest were within a few pounds of what I wanted. I wondered would the amounts include brokers’ fees or stamp duty or taxes of any kind which would account for the difference?”

“I don’t think so.” Hewett pored in silence over the paper for some seconds, then he turned and faced his visitor. “Look here,” he went on deliberately, “do you want to know what I think?”

“That’s what I came for,” French reminded him.

“Very well, I’ll tell you. I think the whole thing is just a blooming fraud. And do you know what makes me sure of it?”

French shook his head.

“Well, it’s a thing you might have found out for yourself. It doesn’t add. Those figures at the bottom are not the sum of the lines. The thing’s just a blooming fraud.”

French cursed himself for his oversight, then suddenly a startling idea flashed into his mind. Suppose this list of sales and purchases had nothing whatever to do with finance. Suppose it conveyed a hidden message by means of some secret code or cipher. Was that a possibility? His voice trembled slightly, as with a haste verging on something very different from his usual Soapy Joe politeness he took his leave.

He hurried back to the Yard, eagerly anxious to get to work on his new inspiration, and reaching his office he spread the list on his desk and sat down to study it. It read:

Stock and Share List

The first question which occurred to French was whether, assuming the list did contain some secret message, this was hidden in the names of the stocks or in the money, or in both?

Taking the former idea first, he began trying to form words out of certain letters of the names, selected on various plans. The initials, W, A, G, A, A, . . . were not promising, even when read bottom upwards, J, D, M, B, C. . . . Nor were the final letters, downwards and upwards, any better. Those next the initials and the penultimates were equally hopeless, nor did diagonal arrangements promise better.

French tried every plan he could think of, working steadily and methodically through the various cases of each, and not leaving it until he was satisfied that he was on the wrong track. He came on no solution, but he did make one discovery which seemed to indicate that the message, if such existed, was contained in the money columns rather than in the names. He noticed that in the majority of cases the names of the various stocks began with one of the earlier letters of the alphabet, and where this did not obtain, the stock in question was one of the first of that kind of stock to be quoted. He picked up a Daily Mail and looked at the financial page. The stocks were divided under various headings, British Stocks, Overseas Dominions, Home Railways, Canadian and Foreign Railways, and such like. The first division was British Stocks, and the first item in it was War Loan 5%. But the first item on Mrs. Vane’s list was War Loan 5%.

The second item on the list was Australia 6%, and referring to the Daily Mail once more, French saw that Australia 6% was the first item on the second division. This was sufficiently interesting, but when he found that the next five items, Great Western, Associated News, Aerated Bread, Barclay’s Bank, and Alliance Assurance were each the first of their respective divisions, he felt he had stumbled upon something more than a coincidence.

He re-examined the list on this new basis, only to find his conclusions verified. Apparently the person writing it had simply copied down the stocks given in some paper—probably the Daily Mail. In order to obtain variety and to make an unsuspicious-looking list, he had not simply copied them consecutively; he had taken the first out of each division. Then he had gone over the divisions again, using the second name in each case, and so on until he had obtained the whole twenty-five names that he had required. It had not been done with absolute accuracy, but there was no doubt of the general method. From this it followed that any message which the list might convey was contained in the money columns, and French accordingly transferred his attention to the latter.

The amounts extended from 16s. 7d. up to £1039, and varied surprisingly between these extremes. There were none in the £100’s or the £600’s, but all the other hundreds were represented. Speaking broadly, there were more of the £800’s and £900’s than of the lower numbers. But he could not see where any of these facts tended.

There being no obvious line of research, he began a laborious and detailed investigation into the possibilities of substitution, that is, one of those ciphers in which a number or other sign is used to denote a letter. It was clear that single numbers were insufficient for this purpose, as in that case only ten letters of the alphabet could be used. Some combination was therefore involved, and French tried various schemes of addition to meet the case. But though he got three men to assist him in the details of his various tests, he could not find anything which gave the least suggestion of an intelligible combination.

While engaged in this manner, he noticed that so far as the pounds were concerned there were no less than three similar pairs, numbers 2 and 22, 3 and 15, and 10 and 21. He examined these pairs for some time, and then he suddenly made a discovery which seemed to show that at last he was on the right track. He had put the figures down beside each other, so:

when suddenly he noticed that if the shilling and pence of each item were added the result would be the same: 5+0=5; 2+3=5. Eagerly he turned to the other pairs and wrote them out similarly,

and,

Here he saw at a glance that the same thing obtained, the pounds alone, and the pence and shillings added together, making two similar pairs, and therefore presumably standing for the same word.

This discovery restored all his eager interest. It seemed definitely to prove three things, each several one of which afforded him the liveliest satisfaction. First, these combinations of figures proved that there really was some underlying scheme, and that in its turn involved the hidden message; secondly, they showed that he, French, was on the direct road towards a solution; and thirdly, they indicated a code or cipher built up of pairs of numbers, a frequent combination, embracing many well-known varieties of cryptogram.

His next step was, therefore, to rewrite the list in dual column, the pounds in front, the pence and shillings added together behind. This gave him a new jumping-off place in the following: