The Herapath Property Part 33

Professor c.o.x-Raythwaite ran his eye over the neatly-written pages, pa.s.sing rapidly on to the important date--November 12th. And he suddenly thrust out his arm and put the tip of a big yellow finger on one particular entry.

"There!" he exclaimed. "Look at that. 'Self, 5,000.' Paid out, you see, on November 12th. Do you see?"

Mr. Playbourne laughed cynically.

"My dear sir!" he said. "Do you mean to say that you attach any importance to an entry like that? Jacob Herapath constantly drew cheques to self for five, ten, twenty, thirty--aye, fifty thousand pounds! He dealt in tens of thousands--he was always buying or selling. Five thousand pounds!--a fleabite!"

"All the same, if you please," said the Professor quietly, "I should like to know if Jacob Herapath presented that self cheque himself, and if so, how he took the money it represents."

"Oh, very well!" said the manager resignedly. He touched his bell again, and looked wearily at the clerk who answered it. "Find out if the late Mr. Herapath himself presented a cheque for five thousand on November 12th, and if so, how he took it," he said. "Well," he continued, turning to his visitors. "Do you see anything with any further possible mystery attached to it?"

"There's an entry there--the last," observed Mr. Halfpenny. "That.

'Dimambro: three thousand guineas.' That's the same date."

Mr. Playbourne suddenly showed some interest and animation. His eyes brightened; he sat up erect.

"Ah!" he said. "Well, now, that is somewhat remarkable, that entry!--though of course there's nothing out of the common in it. But that cheque was most certainly the very last ever drawn by Jacob Herapath, and according to strict law, it never ought to have been paid out by us."

"Why?" asked Professor c.o.x-Raythwaite.

"Because Jacob Herapath, the drawer, was dead before it was presented,"

replied the manager. "But of course we didn't know that. The cheque, you see, was drawn on November 12th, and it was presented here as soon as ever the doors were opened next morning and before any of us knew of what had happened during the night, and it was accordingly honoured in the usual way."

"The payee, of course, was known?" observed Mr. Halfpenny.

"No, he was not known, but he endorsed the cheque with name and address, and there can be no reason whatever to doubt that it had come to him in the ordinary way of business," replied the manager. "Quite a usual transaction, but, as I say, noteworthy, because, as you know, a cheque is no good after its drawer's demise."

Professor c.o.x-Raythwaite, who appeared to have fallen into a brown study for a moment, suddenly looked up.

"Now I wonder if we might be permitted to see that cheque--as a curiosity?" he said. "Can we be favoured so far?"

"Oh, certainly, certainly," answered Mr. Playbourne. "No trouble.

I'll--ah, here's your information about the other cheque--the self cheque for five thousand."

He took a slip of paper from the clerk who just then entered, and read it aloud.

"Here you are," he said. "'Mr. Herapath cashed cheque for 5,000 himself, at three o'clock; the money in fifty notes of 100 each, numbered as follows'--you can take this slip, if you like," he continued, handing the paper to Professor c.o.x-Raythwaite, as the obviously most interested man of his party. "There are the numbers of the notes. Of course, I can't see how all this throws any light on the mystery of Herapath's murder, but perhaps you can. Sellers," he continued, turning to the clerk, and beckoning him to look at the pa.s.s-book, "find me the cheque referred to there, and bring it here."

The clerk returned in a few minutes with the cheque, which Mr.

Playbourne at once exhibited to his visitors.

"There you are, gentlemen," he said. "Quite a curiosity!--certainly the last cheque ever drawn by our poor friend. There, you see, is his well-known signature with his secret little mark which you wouldn't detect--secret between him and us, eh!--big, bold handwriting, wasn't it? Sad to think that that was--very likely--the last time he used a pen!"

Professor c.o.x-Raythwaite in his turn handled the cheque. Its face gave him small concern; what he was most interested in was the endors.e.m.e.nt on the back. Without saying anything to his companions, he memorized that endors.e.m.e.nt, and he was still murmuring it to himself when, a few minutes later, he walked out of the bank.

"Luigi Dimambro, Hotel Ravenna, Soho."

CHAPTER XXVIII

THE HOTEL RAVENNA

Once closeted together in the private room at Halfpenny and Farthing's office, Mr. Halfpenny, who had seemed somewhat mystified by the happenings at the bank, looked inquiringly at Professor c.o.x-Raythwaite and snapped out one suggestive monosyllable:

"Well?"

"Very well indeed," answered c.o.x-Raythwaite. "I consider we have done good work. We have found things out. That bank manager is a pompous a.s.s; he's a man of asinine, or possible bovine, mind! Of course, he ought to have revealed these things at both the inquest and the magisterial proceedings!--they'll certainly have to be put in evidence at Barthorpe Herapath's trial."

"What things?" demanded the old lawyer, a little testily.

"Two things--facts," replied the Professor, composedly. "First, that Jacob Herapath drew five thousand pounds in hundred pound notes at three o'clock on the day of his death. Second, that at some hour of that day he drew a cheque in favour of one Luigi Dimambro, which cheque was cashed as soon as the bank opened next morning."

"Frankly," observed Mr. Halfpenny, "frankly, candidly, c.o.x-Raythwaite, I do not see what these things--facts--prove."

"Very likely," said the Professor, imperturbable as ever, "but they're remarkably suggestive to me. They establish for one thing the fact that, in all probability, Jacob Herapath had those notes on him when he was murdered."

"Don't see it," retorted Mr. Halfpenny. "He got the fifty one-hundred-pound notes from the bank at three o'clock in the afternoon. He's supposed to have been murdered at twelve--midnight. That's nine hours. Plenty of time in which to pay those notes away--as he most likely did."

"If you'll let your mind go back to what came out in evidence at the inquest," said the Professor, "you'll remember that Jacob Herapath went to the House of Commons at half-past three that day and never left it until his coachman fetched him at a quarter-past eleven. It's not very likely that he'd transact business at the House."

"Plenty of time between three and half-past three," objected Mr.

Halfpenny.

"Quite so, but we haven't heard of any transaction being carried out during that time. Make inquiry, and see if he did engage in any such transaction," said the Professor. "If he didn't, then my theory that he had the notes on him is correct. Moreover, Barthorpe has told Selwood that he picked up one note from the desk in his uncle's private room."

"One note!" exclaimed Mr. Halfpenny.

"One note--quite so," agreed the Professor. "May it not have been--it's all theory, of course--that Jacob had all the notes on the desk when he was murdered, that the murderer grabbed them afterwards, and in his haste, left one? Come, now!"

"Theory--theory!" said Mr. Halfpenny. "Still, I'll make inquiries all around, to see if Jacob did pay five thousand away to anybody that afternoon. Well, and your other point?"

"I should like to know what the cheque for three thousand guineas was for," answered the Professor. "It was paid out to one Luigi Dimambro, whose address was written down by himself in endorsing the cheque as Hotel Ravenna, Soho. He, presumably, is a foreigner, an Italian, or a Corsican, or a Sicilian, and the probability is that Jacob Herapath bought something from him that day, and that the transaction took place after banking hours."

"How do you deduce that?" asked Mr. Halfpenny.

"Because Dimambro cashed his cheque as soon as the bank opened its doors next morning," answered the Professor. "If he'd been given the cheque before four o'clock on November 12th, he'd have cashed it then."

"The cheque may have been posted to him," said Mr. Halfpenny.

"May be; the point is that it was drawn by Jacob on November 12th and cashed at the earliest possible hour next day," replied the Professor.

"Now, though it may have nothing to do with the case, I want to know what that cheque referred to. More than this, I have an idea. May not this man Dimambro be the man who called on Jacob Herapath at the House of Commons that night--the man whom Mountain saw, but did not recognize as one of his master's usual friends or acquaintances? Do you see that point?"

Mr. Tertius and Selwood muttered expressions of acquiescence, but Mr.

Halfpenny shook his head.

"Can't see anything much in it," he said. "If this foreign fellow, Dimambro, was the man who called at the House, I don't see what that's got to do with the murder. Jacob Herapath, of course, had business affairs with all sorts of queer people--Italians, Spaniards, Chinese--many a Tom, d.i.c.k, and Harry of 'em; he bought curios of all descriptions, and often sold them again as soon as bought."