Drury Lane’s Last Case

12 Hands Across

Traffic was heavy, and Dromio chafed under the necessity of crawling the Lincoln up Fifth Avenue. But Mr. Drury Lane seemed in no hurry. He glanced quietly from Thumm to Patience. Once he chuckled.

“You’re a pair of pettish children. Smile!” They smiled feebly. “A remarkable case,” he continued. “I don’t believe either of you realizes quite how remarkable it is.”

“I’ve got a headache,” grumbled the Inspector.

“And you, Patience?”

“I think,” said Patience, gazing steadily at the nape of Dromio’s neck, “that the symbol means more to you than it does to us.”

The old gentleman actually was startled. He sat forward abruptly, studying her smooth young face with penetration. “Perhaps,” he said. “All in good time. Inspector, have there been any developments? So much has happened this morning that I haven’t had a chance to ask.”

“A lot’s happened,” said the Inspector wearily. “Brodie took it all down this morning. I knew you’d want to know.” He handed Lane a typewritten report.

“Is this all, Inspector?” said Lane, returning the sheet; he seemed disappointed. “I thought you had cabled Scotland Yard.”

“Never forget, do you, you old fox?” grinned Thumm. “No, that’s more like an elephant, isn’t it? Yes, I got an answer from Trench at the Yard, and it’s a honey. Came late yesterday. Get an eyeful of this.”

He handed Lane several sheets of cablegram paper, and these the old man clutched to his breast with avidity. They watched his face. It grew sterner as he read.

The cablegram was addressed to the Inspector, and ran:

“What d’ye think of that?” said the Inspector triumphantly.

“Extraordinary,” murmured Lane, returning the cablegram. His forehead was furrowed and his eyes blank.

“It’s clear now that Sedlar landed in New York,” said Patience, “a full week before he claimed. Seven days! What did he do in New York — if he stayed here — during that week? Why did he lie about it in the first place? I don’t like that ‘upright’ gentleman!”

“I’ve passed the word along to Geoghan at H.q.,” said Thumm, “on the quiet, to try and trace his movements between the twenty-second and the twenty-ninth. It’s the same guy, all right — description fits perfectly. But he’s got a screw loose somewhere, and I don’t like him any more than Patty does.”

“Of what, exactly, do you suspect him?” asked Lane.

The Inspector shrugged. “Well, he’s clear on one count. He couldn’t have been the queer duck with the phony beard and the English accent that left the note with me. According to Trench’s information Sedlar didn’t leave England until the seventeenth, and my man visited me in New York on the sixth. But” — and he grinned wolfishly — “he could have been somebody else, by God, and I’d bet dollars to doughnuts he was!”

“Indeed?” said the old gentleman. “And who might that be?”

“This crazy guy in the blue hat throwin’ rare books and hundred dollar bills around!” exclaimed Thumm. “That specimen of insanity came out in the open on May twenty-seventh, and that was five days after Sedlar landed on the q.t. in New York!”

“That’s scarcely airtight reasoning, Inspector,” smiled Lane. “By the same token the man in the blue hat might have been one of several million persons whose movements on May twenty-seventh cannot be accounted for.”

The Inspector digested this and apparently, from the expression on his hard-bitten face, did not like its savor. “Yeah, I know, but—”

“Oh, good Lord!” cried Patience suddenly, jumping up and striking her head against the roof of the tonneau. “Ouch! I’m a fool. Why didn’t I think of that before?”

“Think of what before?” asked Lane softly.

“The symbol, the symbol! It... oh, how blind I’ve been!”

Lane regarded her steadily. “What about the symbol, my child?”

Patience fumbled for her handkerchief and blew her nose vigorously. “It’s very clear.” She put the kerchief away and sat up, her eyes sparkling. “3HS wM. Don’t you see?”

“I don’t see any more now than I did before,” growled Thumm.

“Oh, father, the HS must stand for Hamnet Sedlar!”

Both men stared, and both men broke into chuckles. Patience tapped indignantly with a slippered toe. “I think that’s extremely poor manners,” she said in an injured tone. “What’s wrong with that theory?”

“But what do the other elements of the symbol stand for, my dear?” asked the old gentleman mildly. “I’m sorry I was rude, but your father’s chuckle is infectious. How do you explain the 3 and the small w and the capital M?”

She stared at Dromio’s solid red neck, offended — and doubtful.

“Oh, Patty, Patty!” choked the Inspector, doubled up. “You’ll be the death of me yet. I’ll tell you what it stands for. Ho, ho, ho! It stands for ‘three portions of Hamnet Sedlar with Mustard!’”

“That’s so funny,” said Patience frigidly. “I believe we’ve arrived.”