The Yellow Face

by Fred M. White

"Am I to come with you now?" Carrington managed to stammer out. "Is there no such thing as bail?"

Bates shook his head. Carrington would have to pass the night, and doubtless a good many succeeding nights, in the police cells; but, first of all, they were going as far as the bank. Bates explained that there was no reason, for the present, why Carrington should stand confessed as a prisoner. The bank officials need know nothing whatever about it. What Carrington had to do now was to hand over the service of Cellini plate at present locked up in his private safe. The detective gave his promise that the plate in question should be restored to its proper owner in due course, though he refused to gratify Carrington's curiosity as to why he had specially selected this particular art treasure.

An hour later the Cellini plate was safe in Bow Street, together with the crystal globe; and before the week was out both articles had undergone some mysterious process of photography, not altogether unconnected with sheets of glass. Meanwhile, Anstruther was preparing his defense as best he could, and Carrington had been twice remanded on a charge of fraudulently dealing with the property of his clients. The two cases excited the greatest interest, and on the following Monday morning the Central Criminal Court was packed with society people eager to hear the charges against Spencer Anstruther.

Anstruther stood there, quite calm and collected, with just the touch of a cynical smile on his lips. He looked round the court as if in search of acquaintances, but no one responded. Many people whom he knew quite well affected to look over his head. But cool and deliberate as he was, Anstruther had all his work cut out to keep his feelings in control when the barrister who represented the Crown proceeded to call witnesses. The name of Seymour resounded down the corridor, and a tall man with his face muffled up and a slouch hat on his head stepped into the box. He bowed gravely to the judge, and apologized for wearing his hat. A moment later his hat and coat slipped away, and he turned his face half defiantly to the light. There was an instant's breathless pause, then a veritable shout of astonishment, as the Nostalgo of the posters stood face to face with those whose curiosity had been so deeply touched during the past four months.

"My name is Seymour," he said quietly, as if quite unconscious of the tremendous sensation his appearance had excited. "I have known the prisoner for some years. Before I unfortunately made his acquaintance, I was not the human wreck you see now, but a man like my fellows. But I need not go into that. What I propose to do now is to tell the story of the burglary at the City and Provincial Bank.

"Previous to my visit to Mexico, I occupied with Mr. Carrington the rooms which are now his. I have in my pocket a latch-key which opens the front door. It matters little now why I wanted to make a search of Mr. Carrington's rooms, but I did make that search, and I was hidden in the conservatory behind the smoking-room with Mr. John Masefield on the night that the prisoner and Carrington planned the sham burglary at the bank. The whole scheme was revealed to us, and I shall be prepared to tell the jury presently what steps I took to see the so-called burglary carried out. It is sufficient for the present to say that it was carried out, and that I witnessed the whole proceedings in the company of Mr. Masefield and a journalist on the staff of the Planet,Mr. Rigby by name.

"I should like, at this point, to call the attention of the jury to what we saw when the bank strong room was forced. So far as valuables are concerned, the safe was practically empty, save for a service of Cellini silver plate. Other witnesses beside myself will tell you that the prisoner claimed that plate as a reward for the ingenious way in which he had plotted to preserve Carrington's reputation. When I heard this, a sudden inspiration came to me. With a piece of greasy rag I hastily smeared the surface of the set of plate. I will come to my reason for doing that presently. When the whole affair had been finished, the prisoner was half minded to take the service of plate back with him at once to his house in Panton Square. But Carrington dissuaded him from this on the grounds of prudence. Therefore the prisoner carried the plate up-stairs and deposited it in Carrington's private safe. There it remained for a day or two, pending some way of conveying it to Panton Square.

"But in the meanwhile something happened which aroused the prisoner's suspicions. He made up his mind that he would himself remove the plate from Carrington's safe by means of another burglary. Carrington refused to have anything to do with this, but the prisoner got his own way by the simple expedient of stealing Carrington's keys. The prisoner is more or less intimately acquainted with some of the cleverest thieves and housebreakers in London. There was no time to call in an honest expert to open Carrington's safe, but the prisoner was equal to the occasion. He called upon a well-known housebreaker who passes by the name of 'Simple Charlie.' I know this, because for some time I have been watching the man in the dock. I have my own reasons for keeping quiet and living in an out-of-the-way place, and I have a set of rooms fitted up in what is more or less a common lodging house.

"By good fortune the man known as 'Simple Charlie' had rooms in the same block of buildings. When the prisoner called upon him the housebreaker was out, so that a note was left for him. This note I managed to get hold of and read. Together with a friend of mine named Ferris, we laid a little plot for 'Simple Charlie.' We compelled him to find a substitute who would operate upon the safe, and that substitute was no other than Inspector Bates, as doubtless he will tell you later on."

It must be clearly understood that Seymour did not stand in the box and reel off his evidence in the glib way of one who is making a speech for the prosecution. On the contrary, the fascinating evidence he gave was in reply to questions asked by the representative of the Crown, occasionally supplemented by a query or two from the judge. All this time Anstruther stood in the dock, his face knitted in an ugly frown. Despite his easy air, his confidence was fast deserting him. Any other man would have been crushed and broken by the deadly weight of a testimony like that of Seymour's. In his heart of hearts Anstruther was sick and frightened. Never for a moment had he dreamed of anything like this. Seymour stood before him without a trace of expression on his scarred, repulsive face. And yet every word he uttered was as another month on the long sentence he was already anticipating.