The Penguin Book of Gaslight Crime - Michael Sims [112]
“That’s the weird thing about it,” replied Dawes. “I’m fairly certain that she donates very large sums to all kinds of charities. For example, after the Lewinstein burglary a big crèche in the East End of London received from an anonymous donor the sum of four thousand pounds. Simultaneously, another sum of four thousand was given to one of the West End hospitals. After the Talbot burglary three thousand pounds, which represented nearly the whole of the amount stolen, was left by some unknown person to the West End Maternity Hospital. I have an idea that we shall discover she is somebody who is in close touch with hospital work, and that behind these crimes there is some quixotic notion of helping the poor at the expense of the grossly rich.”
“Very beautiful,” said the Chief dryly, “but unfortunately her admirable intentions do not interest us. In our eyes she is a common thief.”
“She is something more than that,” said Peter quietly; “she is the cleverest criminal that has come my way since I have been associated with Scotland Yard. This is the one thing one has dreaded, and yet one has hoped to meet—a criminal with a brain.”
“Has anybody seen this woman?” said the Commissioner, interested.
“They have, and they haven’t,” replied Peter Dawes. “That sounds cryptic, but it only means that she has been seen by people who could not recognize her again. Lewinstein saw her, Claythorpe saw her, but she was veiled and unrecognizable. My difficulty, of course, is to discover where she is going to strike next. Even if she is only hitting at the grossly rich she has forty thousand people to strike at. Obviously, it is impossible to protect them all. But somehow—” he hesitated.
“Yes?” said the Chief.
“Well, a careful study of her methods helps me a little,” replied Dawes. “I have been looking round to discover who the next victim will be. He must be somebody very wealthy, and somebody who makes a parade of big wealth, and I have fined down the issue to about four men. Gregory Smith, Carl Sweiss, Mr. Thomas Scott, and John Tresser. I am inclined to believe it is Tresser she is after. You see, Tresser has made a great fortune, not by the straightest means in the world, and he hasn’t forgotten to advertise his riches. He is the fellow who bought the Duke of Haslemere’s house, and his collection of pictures—you will remember the stuff that has been written about.”
The Chief nodded.
“There is a wonderful Romney, isn’t there?”
“That’s the picture,” replied Dawes. “Tresser, of course, doesn’t know a picture from a gas-stove. He knows that the Romney is wonderful, but only because he has been told so. Moreover, he is the fellow who has been giving the newspapers his views on charity—told them that he never spent a penny on public institutions, and never gave away a cent that he didn’t get a cent’s worth of value for. A thing like that would excite Jane’s mind; and then, in addition, the actual artistic and monetary value of the Romney is largely advertised—why, I should imagine that the attraction is almost irresistible!”
Mr. Tresser was a difficult man to meet. His multitudinous interests in the City of London kept him busy from breakfast time until late at night. When at last Peter ran him down in a private dining-room at the Ritz-Carlton, he found the multimillionaire a stout, red-haired man with a long clean-shaven upper lip, and a cold blue eye.
The magic of Peter Dawes’ card secured him an interview.
“Sit down—sit down,” said Mr. Tresser hurriedly, “what’s the trouble, hey?”
Peter explained his errand, and the other listened with interest, as to a business proposition.
“I’ve heard all about that Jane,” said Mr. Tresser cheerfully, “but she’s not going to get anything from me—you can take my word! As to the Rumney—is that how you pronounce it?—well, as to that picture, don’t worry!”
“But I understand you are giving permission to the public to inspect your collection.”
“That’s right,” said Mr. Tresser, “but everybody who sees them must sign a visitor’s book, and the pictures are guarded.”
“Where do you keep the Romney at