American Horses
The thing began in the colony room of the Empire Club in London.The colony room is on the second floor and looks out overPicadilly Circus. It was at an hour when nobody is in an Englishclub. There was a drift of dirty fog outside. Such nights comealong in October.Douglas Hargrave did not see the Baronet until he closed the doorbehind him. Sir Henry was seated at a table, leaning over, hisface between his hand, and his elbows resting on the polishedmahogany board. There was a sheet of paper on the table betweenthe Baronet's elbows. There were a few lines written on thepaper and the man's faculties were concentrated on them. He didnot see the jewel dealer until that person was half across theroom, then he called to him."Hello, Hargrave," he said. "Do you know anything aboutciphers?""Only the trade one that our firm uses," replied the jeweldealer. "And that's a modification of the A B C code.""Well," he said, "take a look at this."The jewel dealer sat down at the other side of the table and theBaronet handed him the sheet of paper. The man expected to see alot of queer signs and figures; but instead he found a simpletrade's message, as it seemed to him.P.L.A. shipped nine hundred horses on freight steamer Don Carlowfrom N. Y.Have the bill of lading handed over to our agent to check up."Well," said the jewel dealer, "somebody's going to ship ninehundred horses. Where's the mystery?"The Baronet shrugged his big shoulders."The mystery," he said, "is everywhere. It's before and afterand in the body of this message. There's hardly anything to itbut mystery.""Who sent it?" said Hargrave."That's one of the mysteries," replied the Baronet."Ah!" said the jewel dealer. "Who received it?""That's another," he answered."At any rate," continued Hargrave, "you know where you got it.""Right," replied the Baronet. "I know where I got it." He tookthree newspapers out of the pocket of his big tweed coat. "Thereit is," he said, "in the personal column of three newspapers -today's Times printed in London; the Matin printed in Paris; anda Dutch daily printed in Amsterdam."And there was the message set up in English, in two sentencesprecisely word for word, in three news papers printed on the sameday in London, Paris and Amsterdam."It seems to be a message all right," said Hargrave: "But why doyou imagine it's a cipher?"The Baronet looked closely at the American jewel dealer for amoment."Why should it be printed in English in these foreign papers," hesaid, "if it were not a cipher?""Perhaps," said Hargrave, "the person for whom it's intended doesnot know any other language."The Baronet shrugged his shoulders."The persons for whom this message is intended," he said, "do notconfine themselves to a single language. It's a prettywell-organized international concern.""Well," said Hargrave, "it doesn't look like a mystery that oughtto puzzle the ingenuity of the Chief of the CriminalInvestigation Department of the metropolitan police." He noddedto Sir Henry. "You have only to look out for the arrival of ninehundred horses and when they get in to see who takes them off theboat. The thing looks easy.""It's not so easy as it looks," replied the Baronet. "Evidentlythese horses might go to France, Holland or England. That's thesecret in this message. That's where the cipher comes in. Thename of the port is in that cipher somewhere.""But you can, watch the steamer," said Hargrave, "the DonCarlos."The Baronet laughed."There's no such steamer!" He got up and began to walk round thetable. "Nine hundred horses," he said. "This thing has got tostop. They're on the sea now, on the way over from America: Wehave got to find out where they will go ashore."He stopped, stooped over and studied the message which he hadwritten out and which also lay before him in the threenewspapers."It's there," he said, "the name of the port of arrival,somewhere in those two sentences. But I can't get at it. It'sno cipher that I have ever heard of. It's no one of the hundredfigure or number ciphers that the experts in the department knowanything about. If we knew the port of arrival we could pick upthe clever gentleman who comes to take away the horses. Butwhat's the port - English, French or Dutch? There are a score ofports." He struck the paper with his hand. "It's there, my wordfor it, if we could only decode the thing."Then he stood up, his face lifted, his fingers linked behind hisback. He crossed the room and stood looking out at the thinyellow fog drifting over Piccadilly Circus. Finally he cameback, gathered up his papers and put them in the pocket of hisbig tweed coat."There's one man in Europe," he said, "who can read this thing.That's the Swiss expert criminologist, old Arnold, of Zurich.He's lecturing at the Sorbonne in Paris. I'm going to see him."Then he went out.Now that, as has been said, is how the thing began. It was thefirst episode in the series of events that began to go forward onthis extraordinary night. One will say that the purchasing agentfor a great New York jewel house ought to be accustomed toadventures. The writers of romance have stimulated that fancy.But the fact is that such persons are practical people. Theynever do any of the things that the story writers tell us. Theynever carry jewels about with them. Of course they know thepolice departments of foreign cities. All jewel dealers make apoint of that. Hargrave's father was an old friend of Sir HenryMarquis, chief of the C. I. D., and the young man always went tosee him when he happened in London. That explains the freedom ofhis talk to Hargrave on this night in the Empire Club inPiccadilly.The young man went over and sat down by the fire. The, big roomwas empty. The sounds outside seemed muffled and distant. Theincident that had just passed impressed him. He wondered whypeople should imagine that a purchasing agent of a jewel housemust be a sort of expert in the devices of mystery. As has beensaid, the thing's a notion. Everything is shipped throughreliable transportation companies and insured. There was muchmore mystery in a shipload of horses - the nine hundred horsesthat were galloping through the head of Sir Henry Marquis - thanin all the five prosaic years during which young Hargrave hadsucceeded his father as a jewel buyer. The American wasimpressed by this mystery of the nine hundred horses. Sir Henryhad said it was a mystery in every direction.Now, as he sat alone before the fire in the colony room of theEmpire Club and thought about it, the thing did seeminexplicable. Why should the metropolitan police care whoimported horses, or in what port a shipload of them was landed?The war was over. Nobody was concerned about the importation ofhorses. Why should Sir Henry be so disturbed about it? But hewas disturbed; and he had rushed off to Paris to see an expert onciphers. That seemed a tremendous lot of trouble to take. TheBaronet knew the horses were on the sea coming from America, hesaid. If he knew that much, how could he fail to discover theboat on which they were carried and the port at which they wouldarrive? Nobody could conceal nine hundred horses!Hargrave was thinking about that, idly, before the glow of thecoal fire, when the second episode in this extraordinary affairarrived.A steward entered."Visitor, please," he said, "to see Mr. Hargrave."Then he presented his tray with a card. The jewel dealer tookthe card with some surprise. Everybody knew that he was at theEmpire Club. It is a colony thing with chambers for foreignguests. A list of arrivals is always printed. He saw at aglance that it was not a man's card; the size was too large.Then he turned it over before the light of the fire. The namewas engraved in script, an American fashion at this time.The woman's card had surprised him; but the name on it broughthim up in his chair - "Mrs. A. B. Farmingham." It was not a namethat he knew precisely; but he knew its genera, the family orgroup to which it belonged. Mr. Jefferson removed titles ofnobility in the American republic, but his efforts did noteliminate caste zones. It only made the lines of cleavage morepronounced. One knew these zones by the name formation.Everybody knew "Alfa Baba" Farmingham, as the Sunday Press wasaccustomed to translate his enigmatical initials. Some wonderfulWestern bonanza was behind the man. Mrs. "Alfa Baba" Farminghamwould be, then, one of the persons that Hargrave's house wasconcerned to reach. He looked again at the card. In the cornerthe engraved address, "Point View, Newport," was marked out witha pencil and "The Ritz" written over it.He got his coat and hat and followed the steward out of the club.There was a carriage at the curb. A footman was holding the dooropen, and a woman, leaning over in the seat, was looking out.She was precisely what Hargrave expected to see, one of thosedominant, impatient, aggressive women who force their way to thehead of social affairs in America. She shot a volley ofquestions at him the moment he was before the door."Are you Douglas Hargrave, the purchasing agent for Bartholdi &Banks?"The man said that he was, and at her service, and so forth. Butshe did not stop to listen to any reply."You look mighty young, but perhaps you know your business. Atany rate, it's the best I can do. Get in."Hargrave got in, the footman closed the door, and the carriageturned into Piccadilly Circus. The woman did not pay very muchattention to him. She made a laconic explanation, the sort ofexplanation one would make to a shopkeeper."I want your opinion on some jewels," she said. "I have a lot todo - no time to fool away. When I found that I could see thejewels to-night I concluded to pick you up on my way down. Ididn't find out about it in time to let you know."Hargrave told her that he would be very glad to give her thebenefit of his experience."Glad, nonsense!" she said. "I'll pay your fee. Do you know ajewel when you see it?""I think I do, madam," he replied.She moved with energy."It won't do to think," she said. "I have got to know. I don'tbuy junk."He tried to carry himself up to her level with a laugh."I assure you, madam," he said, "our house is not accustomed tobuy junk. It's a perfectly simple matter to tell a spuriousjewel."And he began to explain the simple, decisive tests. But she didnot listen to him."I don't care how a vet knows that a hunter's sound. All that Iwant to be certain about is that he does know it. I don't wantto buy hunters on my own hook. Neither do I want to buy jewelson what I know about them. If you know, that's all I care aboutit. And you must know or old Bartholdi wouldn't trust you.That's what I'm going on."She was a big aggressive woman, full of energy. Hargrave couldnot see her very well, but that much was abundantly clear. Thecarriage turned out of Piccadilly Circus, crossed TrafalgarSquare and stopped before Blackwell's Hotel. Blackwell's has hada distinct clientele since the war; a sort of headquarters forSoutheastern European visitors to London.When the carriage stopped Mrs. Farmingham opened the doorherself, before the footman could get down, and got out. It wasthe restless American impatience always cropping out in thiswoman."Come along, young man," she said, "and tell me whether thisstuff is O. K. or junk."They got in a lift and went up to the top floor of the hotel.Mrs. Farmingham got out and Hargrave followed her along the hallto a door at the end of a corridor. He could see her now clearlyin the light. She had gray eyes, a big determined mouth, and amass of hair dyed as only a Parisian expert, in the Rue de laPaix, can do it. She went directly to a door at the end of thecorridor, rapped on it with her gloved hand, and turned the latchbefore anybody could possibly have respondedHargrave followed her into the room. It was a tiny sitting room,one of the inexpensive rooms in the hotel. There was a bit offire in the grate, and standing by the mantelpiece was, a big oldman with close-cropped hair and a pale, unhealthy face. It wasthe type of face that one associates with tribal races inSoutheastern Europe. He was dressed in a uniform that fittedclosely to his figure. It was a uniform of some elevated rank,from the apparent richness of it. There were one or twodecorations on the coat, a star and a heavy bronze medal. Theman looked to be of some importance; but this importance did notimpress Mrs. Farmingham."Major," she said in her direct fashion, "I have brought anexpert to look at the jewels."She indicated Hargrave, and the foreign officer bowedcourteously. Then he took two candles from the mantelpiece andplaced them on a little table that stood in the center of theroom.He put three chairs round this table, sat down in one of them,unbuttoned the bosom of his coat and took out a big oblong jewelcase. The case was in an Oriental design and of great age. Theembroidered silk cover was falling apart. He opened the casecarefully, delicately, like one handling fragile treasure.Inside, lying each in a little pocket that exactly fitted theoutlines of the stone, were three rows of sapphires. He emptiedthe jewels out on the table."Sir," he said, speaking with a queer, hesitating accent, "itsaddens one unspeakably to part with the ancient treasure ofone's family."Mrs. Farmingham said nothing whatever. Hargrave stooped over thejewels and spread them out on top of, the table. There weretwenty-nine sapphires of the very finest quality. He had neverseen better sapphires anywhere. He remembered seeing stones thatwere matched up better; but he had never seen individual stonesthat were any finer in anybody's collection. The foreigner wascomposed and silent while the American examined the jewels. ButMrs. Farmingham moved restlessly in her chair."Well," she said, "are they O. K.?""Yes, madam," said Hargrave; "they are first-class stones.""Sure?" she asked."Quite sure, madam," replied the American. "There can be noquestion about it.""Are they worth eighteen thousand dollars?"She put the question in such a way that Hargrave understood herperfectly."Well," he said, "that depends upon a good many conditions. ButI'm willing to say, quite frankly, that if you don't want thejewels I'm ready to take them for our house at eighteen thousanddollars."The big, dominant, aggressive woman made the gesture of one whocracks a dog whip."That's all right," she said. Then she turned to the foreigner."Now, major, when do you want this money?"The big old officer shrugged his shoulders and put out his hands."To-morrow, madam; to-morrow as I have said to you; before middayI must return. I can by no means remain an hour longer; my leaveof absence expires. I must be in Bucharest at sunrise on themorning of the twelfth of October. I can possibly arrive if Ileave London to-morrow at midday, but not later."Mrs. Farmingham began to wag her head in a determined fashion."Nonsense," she said, "I can't get the money by noon. I havetelegraphed to the Credit Lyonnais in Paris. I can get it by theday after to-morrow, or perhaps to-morrow evening."The foreigner looked down on the floor."It is impossible," he said.The woman interrupted him."Now major, that's all nonsense! A day longer can't make anydifference."He drew himself up and looked calmly at her."Madam," he said, "it would make all the difference in the world.If I should remain one day over my time I might just as wellremain all the other days that are to follow it."There was finality and conviction in the man's voice. Mrs.Farmingham got up and began to walk about the room. She seemedto speak to Hargrave, although he imagined that she was speakingto herself."Now this is a pretty how-de-do," she said "Lady Holbert told meabout this find to-night at dinner. She said Major Mikos wantedthe money at once; but I didn't suppose he wanted it cash on thehour like that. She brought me right away after dinner to seehim. And then I went for you." She stopped, and again made thegesture as of one who, cracks a dog whip. "Now what shall I do?"she said.The last remark was evidently not addressed to Hargrave. It wasnot addressed to anybody. It was merely the reflection of adominant nature taking counsel With itself. She took anotherturn about the room. Then she pulled up short."See here," she said, "suppose you take these jewels and give themajor his money in the morning. Then I'll buy them of you.""Very well, madam," said Hargrave; "but in that event we shallcharge you a ten per cent commission."She stormed at that."Eighteen hundred dollars?" she said. "That's absurd,ridiculous! I'm willing to pay you five hundred dollars."The American did not undertake to argue the matter with her."We don't handle any sale for a less commission," he said.Then he explained that he could not act as any sort of agent inthe matter; that the only thing he could do would be to buy thejewels outright and resell them to her. His house would not makeany sale for a less profit than ten per cent. Hargrave did notpropose to be involved in any but a straight-out transaction. Hewas quite willing to buy the sapphires for eighteen thousanddollars. There was five thousand dollars' profit in them on anymarket. He was perfectly safe either way about. If Mrs.Farmingham made the repurchase there was a profit of ten percent. If not, there was five thousand dollars' profit in thebargain under any conditions.They were Siamese stones, and the cutting was of an old design.They were not from any stock in Europe. Hargrave knew whatEurope held of sapphires. These were from some Oriental stock.And everybody bought an Oriental stone wherever he could get it.How the seller got it did not matter. Nobody undertook to verifythe title of a Siamese trader or a Burma agent.Mrs. Farmingham walked about for several minutes, saying over toherself as she had said before:"Now what shall I do?"Then like the big, dominant, decisive nature that she was shecame to a conclusion."All right," she said, "bring in the money in the morning and getthe sapphires. I'll take them up in a day or two. Good-by,major; come along, Mr: Hargrave." And she went out of the room.The American stopped at the door to bow to the old Rumanianofficer who was standing up beside the table before the heap ofsapphires. They got into the carriage at the curb beforeBlackwell's Hotel. Mrs. Farmingham put Hargrave down at theEmpire Club, and the carriage passed on, across Piccadilly Circustoward the Ritz.The following morning Hargrave got the sapphires from MajorMikos, and paid him eighteen thousand dollars in Englishsovereigns for them. He wanted gold to carry back with him forthe jewels that he had brought out of the kingdom of Rumania. Heseemed a simple, anxious person. He wished to carry histreasures with him like a peasant. The sapphires looked betterin the daylight. There ought to have been seven thousanddollars' profit in them, perhaps more; seven thousand dollars, atany rate, that very day in the London market. Hargrave took themto the Empire Club and put them in a sealed envelope in thesteward's safe.The thin drift of yellow remained in the city; that sulphuroushaze that the blanket of sea fog, moving over London, pressesdown into her streets. It was not heavy yet; it was only a mistof saffron; but it threatened to gather volume as the dayadvanced.,At luncheon Hargrave got a note from Mrs. Farmingham, a linescrawled on her card to say that she would call for him at threeo'clock. Her carriage was before the door on the stroke of thehour, and she explained that the money to redeem the jewels hadarrived. The Credit Lyonnais had sent it over from Paris. Sheseemed a bit puzzled about it. She had telegraphed the CreditLyonnais yesterday to send her eighteen thousand dollars. Andshe had expected that the French banking house would havearranged for the payment of the money through its Englishcorrespondent. But its telegram directed her to go to the UnitedAtlantic Express Company and receive the money.A few minutes cleared the puzzle. The office of the company ison the Strand above the Savoy. Mrs. Farmingham went to themanager and showed him a lot of papers she had in anofficial-looking envelope. After a good bit of official potherthe porters carried out a big portmanteau, a sort of heavyleather traveling case, and put it into the carriage. Mrs.Farmingham came to Hargrave where he stood by the door."Now, what do you think!" she said. "Of all the stupid idiots,give me a French idiot to be the stupidest; they have actuallysent me eighteen thousand dollars in gold!""Well," said Hargrave, "perhaps you asked them to send youeighteen thousand dollars in gold."She closed her mouth firmly for a moment and looked him vacantlyin the face."What did I do?" she said, in the old manner of addressing aninquiry to herself. "The major wanted gold and perhaps I saidgold. Why, yes, I must have said I wanted eighteen thousanddollars in gold. Well, at any rate, here's the money to pay youfor the sapphires. I'll telegraph the Credit Lyonnais to send meyour eighteen hundred, and you can come around to the Ritz for itin the morning."She wished Hargrave to see that the telegram was properly worded,so the stupid French would not undertake to ship another bag ofcoin to her. He wrote it out, so there could be no mistake, andsent it from Charing Cross on the way back to the club.Hargrave had to get two porters to carry the leather portmanteauinto his room at the Empire Club. Mrs. Farmingham did not waitto receive the sapphires. She said he could bring them over tothe Ritz after he had counted the money. She wanted a cup oftea; he could come along in an hour.It took Hargrave the whole of the hour to verify the money. Thecase had been shipped, the straps were knotted tight and the lockwas sealed. He had to get a man from the outside to break thelock open. The man said it was an American lock and he hadn'tany implement to turn it.There were eighteen thousand dollars in American twenty-dollargold pieces packed in sawdust in the bag. The Credit Lyonnaishad followed Mrs. Farmingham's directions to the letter. Such isthe custom of the stupid French! She had asked for eighteenthousand dollars in gold, and they had sent her eighteen thousanddollars in gold. Hargrave put one of the pieces into hiswaistcoat pocket. He wanted to show Mrs. Farmingham howstrangely the stupid French had made the blunder of doingprecisely what she asked. Then he strapped up the portmanteau,pushed it under the bed, went out and locked the door. He askedthe chief steward to put a man in the corridor to see that no onewent into his room while he was out. Then he got the sapphiresout of the safe and went over to the Ritz.He met Mrs. Farmingham in the corridor coming out to hercarriage."Ah, Mr. Hargrave," she said, "here you are. I just told theclerk to call you up and tell you to bring the sapphires over inthe morning when you came for the draft. I promised Lady Holbertlast night to come out to tea at five. Forgot it until a momentago."She took Hargrave along out to the carriage and he gave her theenvelope. She tore off the corner, emptied the sapphires intoher hand, glanced at them, and dropped them loose into the pocketof her coat."Was the money all right?" she said."Precisely all right," replied the American. "The CreditLyonnais, with amazing stupidity, sent you precisely what youasked for in your telegram." And he showed her the twenty-dollargold piece."Well, well, the stupid darlings!" Then she laughed in her big,energetic manner. "I'm not always a fool. Come in the morningat nine. Good-night, Mr. Hargrave."And the carriage rolled across Piccadilly into Bond Street in thedirection of Grosvenor Square and Lady Holbert's.The fog was settling down over London. Moving objects werebeginning to take on the loom of gigantic figures. It wasgetting difficult to see.It must have taken Hargrave half an hour to reach the club. Thefirst man he saw when he went in was Sir Henry, his hands in thepockets of his tweed coat and his figure blocking the passage."Hello, Hargrave!" he cried. "What have you got in your roomthat old Ponsford won't let me go up?""Not nine hundred horses!" replied the American.The Baronet laughed. Then he spoke in a lower voice:"It's extraordinary lucky that I ran over to the Sorbonne. Comealong up to your room and I'll tell you. This place is fillingup with a lot of thirsty swine. We can't talk in any public roomof it."They went up the great stairway, lined with paintings of famouscolonials celebrated in the English wars, and into the room.Hargrave turned on the light and poked up the fire. Sir Henrysat down by the table. He took out his three newspapers and laidthem down before him."My word, Hargrave," he said, "old Arnold is a clever beggar! Hecleared the thing up clean as rain." The Baronet spread thenewspapers out before him."We knew here at the Criminal Investigation Department that thisthing was a cipher of some sort, because we knew about thesehorses. We had caught up with this business of importing horses.We knew the shipment was on the way as I explained to you. Butwe didn't know the port that it would come into.""Well," said the American, "did you find out?""My word," he cried, "old Arnold laughed in my face. 'Ach,monsieur,' he cried, mixing up several languages, `it is Heidel'scipher! It is explained in the seventeenth Criminal Archive atGratz. Attend and I will explain it, monsieur. It is alwayswritten in two paragraphs. The first paragraph contains thesecret message, and the second paragraph contains the key to it.Voila! This message is in two paragraphs:"'"P.L.A. shipped nine hundred horses on freight steamer DonCarlos from N. Y."'"Have the bill of lading handed over to our agent to check up""'The hidden message is made up of certain words and capitalletters contained in the first paragraph, while the presence ofthe letter t in the second paragraph indicates the words orcapital letters that count in the first. One has only to note thenumerical position of the letter t in the second paragraph inorder to know what capital letter or word counts in the firstparagraph.'"The Baronet took out a pencil and underscored the words in thesecond paragraph of the printed cipher: "Have the bill of ladinghanded over to our agent to check up.""You will observe that the second, the eighth and the eleventhwords in this paragraph begin with the letter t. Therefore, thesecond, the eighth and the eleventh capital letters or words inthe first paragraph make up the hidden message."And again with his pencil he underscored the letters of the firstparagraph of the cipher: "P.L.A. shipped nine hundred horses onfreight steamer Don 'Carlos from N. Y.""So we get `L, on, Don.""London!" cried Hargrave. "The nine-hundred horses are to comeinto London!"And in his excitement he took the gold piece out of his pocketand pitched it up. He had been stooping over the table. The fogwas creeping into the room. And in the uncertain light about theceiling he missed the gold piece and it fell on the table beforeSir Henry. The gold piece did not ring, it fell dull and heavy,and the big Baronet looked at it openmouthed as though it hadsuddenly materialized out of the yellow fog entering the room."My word!" he cried. "One of the nine hundred horses!"Hargrave stopped motionless like a man stricken by some sorcery."One of the nine hundred horses!" he echoed.The Baronet was digging at the gold piece with the blade of hisknife."Precisely! In the criminal argot a counterfeit Americantwenty-dollar gold piece is called a `horse.'"Look," he said, and he dug into the coin with his knife, "it'swhite inside, made of Babbit metal, milled with a file andgold-plated. Where did you get it?"The American stammered."Where could I have gotten it?" he murmured."Well," the Baronet said, "you might have got it from a big, old,pasty-faced Alsatian; that would be 'Dago' Mulehaus. Or youmight have got it 'from an energetic, middle-aged, American womanposing as a social leader in the States; that would be `Hustling'Anne; both bad crooks, at the head of an international gang ofcounterfeiters."
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