So far so good, but this was not enough. French went on to James Barker’s, where he set similar inquiries on foot. Then, anxious to leave no stone unturned, he asked the same questions at the registered office of the Picardie Hotel.
The latter was the first to reply. The secretary telephoned to say that he had had a careful search made, and that no transaction covering the exact amount in question had taken place. Nothing within eight pounds of the figure given by Inspector French had been dealt with.
He had scarcely finished the conversation when the secretary of James Barker rang up. He, too, had made a careful search for several years back, and he, too, had found that stock of the amount mentioned by the Inspector had not changed hands during the period. On the 2nd March previously a sale had taken place of slightly over a pound more than the Inspector’s figure, £1 2s. 1d. to be exact, but with the exception of this there was nothing very close to it. An hour later came a similar reply from the Picardie Hotel. No transaction could be traced within ten pounds of the amount mentioned by the Inspector.
Could the discrepancies, French wondered, represent broker’s commission, stamp duties or tax of some kind? To make sure of this would, he thought, be a tedious business, involving research through the books of a considerable number of the companies concerned. He was rather ignorant of the business of stockbroking, and he had no idea of the scale of the brokers’ fees nor how these were paid. He thought, however, that if in the case of, say, six companies, a note were made of the names of those concerned with all transactions of amounts approximating to those mentioned in Mrs. Vane’s letter, and if the same broker, seller, or purchaser occurred in the deals of each company, he would be justified in assuming that person had some connection with Mrs. Vane. It was somewhat complicated as well as unpleasantly vague, but it did at least represent a clue. French decided he would get on with it, though exactly how he did not see.
After some thought he decided he would put his problem before a stockbroker friend of his own. George Hewett was junior partner of a small firm with offices in Norfolk Street off the Strand, and French, having made an appointment for fifteen minutes later, put the list in his pocket and set off to walk along the Embankment.
His friend greeted him as a long-lost brother, and after lighting up cigars, they discussed old times as well as the testamentary affairs of one Bolsover, deceased, which had involved a Chancery action in which Hewett had given evidence. That subject exhausted, French turned to his immediate business. He handed his list to the other, and telling his story, ended up by asking for an expert opinion on the whole affair.
The stockbroker took the paper and glanced rapidly down it; then he began to reread it more slowly. French sat watching him, puffing the while at his cigar. Finally the other made his pronouncement.
“Hanged if I know, French. It is evidently a statement of some one’s dealings in the money market, but it’s not in the form a professional man would use. In fact, I never saw anything quite like it before.”
“Yes?” French prompted. “In what way is it different from what you’re accustomed to?”
Hewett shrugged his shoulders.