Richardson Scores Again by Basil Thomson

teeth, and then saying that their pockets have been picked, and that they’ve no money to pay for what they’ve had. And besides, Lieutenant Eccles didn’t behave as a gentleman should behave…blustering in here and kicking up a row. When I told him that I couldn’t be held responsible for things left in the hall, he said that he’d soon see whether I was responsible or not, and that he was going down to the police about me—for all the world as if he suspected me of stealing the thing. I tell you straight, I wasn’t a bit surprised when the police found him in possession of a stolen car that very evening.”
    â€œDid nobody in the hotel notice a man tampering with the coats hanging in the hall?”
    â€œNo, if they had they would have told me.”
    It being obvious that nothing useful could be extracted from a man in that state of mind, Richardson’s next visit was to the Chief Constable of the City Police—an officer who had worked his way up from the ranks and was genuinely anxious to help the sister force of the Metropolis. He was stout and rubicund.
    â€œGlad to see you, sergeant. I was expecting somebody down from the Yard. Now what can I do for you?”
    â€œI called, sir, to ask you whether you have had any line upon the man who is said by Lieutenant Eccles to have been posing as a detective of your Force.”
    â€œSo far none at all. I didn’t believe the story at first, but inquiry at a number of the public-houses facing the docks have made me change my opinion. In one of them—the Westward Ho—the barman remembered a man coming in and arresting a fellow who had been standing drinks; he resisted and it caused quite a row. But in the end the man went quietly. No arrest was made at that hour of the afternoon, and no one came to the station to report any arrest.”
    â€œDid the barman give a description of the sham detective?”
    â€œNone that could be of any use. I wish we could get one.”
    â€œI got a fair description of him from the porter at the Crown. Here it is just as I took it down.”
    The Chief Constable read it slowly until he came to the passage about the man’s hands—”‘A Londoner by his speech—hands rough, with short thick fingers—more like a man who’s had rough work to do day after day.’ Does that suggest anything to you, sergeant?”
    â€œYes, sir, it does. A man in regular employment doesn’t throw up his work to pose as a detective.”
    â€œExactly. That sort of man doesn’t do any work unless he’s made to. He lives by his wits. So, if that porter is right, the man we’ve got to look for is one who was doing rough work in some prison, and it must have been a convict prison, because they do not give their men rough work to do in local prisons. He must have been released quite recently from a convict prison where he worked either in the quarries or the stone-dressing parties. We seem to be getting warm. I dare say that if this description is sent to the Convict Supervision Office you could narrow down the inquiry to one out of a dozen possible men.”
    â€œThat shall be done, sir. I suppose that you had no difficulty in identifying the stolen car?”
    â€œNone at all. The owner came crying down to us and gave us a description of it. Really he deserved to lose it for his carelessness in parking it where he did, but he’s got it back now and the theft of his car doesn’t help us at all, because no one saw it done. But the coincidence of that burglary and murder in Hampstead following close upon the theft of that pocket-book can scarcely have been an accident. There must be a gang, and one member of it may be an ex-convict. That’s something to work on. If I hear anything useful I’ll ’phone to Superintendent Foster at the Yard, and if you get any light from the Convict Supervision Office, you’ll do the same by