# The Memoirs Of Constantine Dix/Checkmate
### IV
#### CHECKMATE

I think I have already mentioned that Mr Stanwick, the managing director of Messrs Pawling & Ramsworthy, was a friend of mine, and occasionally helped me to find work for some of those whose reclamation I was attempting. It therefore was with great regret that I stole his valuable collection of stamps in which, as I was aware, he took an immense interest. The circumstances which made this action on my part necessary may be given briefly, and will explain exactly how it happened.
Mrs Gimbrell, the wife of a criminal of low intelligence, had, as I have told previously, been given work by Pawling & Ramsworthy. I guaranteed the cost of materials entrusted to her. She had a cousin, Mrs Sanders, a widow, who, in the rare intervals of her intoxication had seemed to me to show abilities of a rather unusual order. She could draw and design fairly well. Naturally her bad habits prevented her from getting regular work and kept her in a condition of the most miserable poverty. Mrs Gimbrell had a very proper desire to persuade her cousin to lead a new life, and consulted me on the subject.
"Fust, she drinks because she ain't got nothing else to do, and then she ain't got nothing else to do because she drinks. And that's how it is. Goes on and on like. But she's a woman as might make a good living twenty different ways. So far as cleverness of the head goes I don't know that I wouldn't put her before myself."
"And what," I asked, "do you think we could do?"
"Well, it's this wye. If I were to come to her with work in my hand and say, 'Now then, Gladys, you take and do this and you'll be well paid for it, and there's plenty more where that came from so long as you keep sober,' then that'd be talking."
I promised her that I would do what I could, and I took some specimens of her drawings to show to my friend Mr Stanwick. As it happened his firm was making at that time rather a speciality of water-colour drawings of dresses. Customers could look through the portfolio and find the kind of thing that they wanted. The firm found this a very satisfactory way of dealing with some of their best exclusive ideas. A model in a window or showroom is easily seen, remembered, and copied by a clever dressmaker. The portfolio was only shown to customers with whom the firm was acquainted. He agreed to give Gladys Sanders a trial, and I guaranteed the firm against any loss due to her for a space of one month. During that month she did admirably, showed great resource, and produced several novelties out of which the firm made a good profit. They kept her on, but they did not renew the guarantee. This may have been carelessness—Stanwick himself said it was an oversight—but I think myself that they had been convinced too readily of the woman's honesty and ability and did not think the guarantee necessary. She was well paid, had no one but herself to support, and was now infinitely better off than her cousin, Mrs Gimbrell, who had befriended her. There was no excuse whatever for what she did. I am sorry to say that she took sketches of the whole of Messrs Pawling & Ramsworthy's Spring novelties and sold them to an unscrupulous opposition establishment. Naturally Stanwick was furious and sent for me. I offered there and then to make good the money loss, so far as it could be calculated, that the firm had incurred, although I was not legally bound to do anything of the kind. Stanwick would not hear of it. He said he did not want my money. He simply stamped up and down the room saying that it was the last time he would do anything for my damned East-Enders, and that he would employ respectable people in future. He expressed delight that Mrs Sanders was in prison, and hoped that she would drink herself to hell as soon as she came out. I begged him to moderate his language; but it is of little use to argue with an angry man. Out of sheer spite and vindictiveness he stopped giving out any further work to Mrs Gimbrell, though the firm had always found her honest and skilful, and were in her case fully protected by my guarantee.
The work was not essential to Mrs Gimbrell. Alfred had now got a post as night-watchman, and the family could have lived on what he made. But undoubtedly the money that Mrs Gimbrell earned was very useful to them. They had, it will be remembered, a large family. I waited for a week to give Stanwick's temper time to cool down, and then I called on him again with reference to Mrs Gimbrell. He was good enough to say that he was always pleased to see me whenever I looked in to have a chat with him, but on the other point he was as obstinate as ever. I saw that if I pressed the subject it would only end in his losing his temper again. So I left with a sad heart that such cruelty and obstinacy should be possible in the world, and with the decision to steal Mr Stanwick's collection of postage stamps. Those who will not lend a hand in the work of reclamation, and try to thrust back a poor woman like Mrs Gimbrell struggling out of the mire, should be punished in a way that they will feel. I was sure that Stanwick would feel the loss of his collection acutely.
Mr Stanwick lived in a handsome, but rather pretentious house on Wimbledon Common. I had frequently dined there and knew the place well. The stamp collection was kept in the library in an unlocked bookcase. It had been begun by his father, and was now being completed by himself. I have known several cases of hereditary philately. He had told me some years before that he would not take fifteen hundred pounds for the collection, and as he was adding to it from time to time I supposed that it would be worth more now. The system of bolts, locks and burglar alarms in his house was really ingenious. There was hardly a window in the place which could have been easily and safely opened at night by a burglar with a common pocket-knife. There are very few houses of which one can say as much as that. And Stan wick himself always tested the alarms before going to bed.
I did not propose therefore to force my admission into Stanwick's house. I always try the easiest way first. There is a convict at present in Portland who spent five hours and a half on one safe, and then discovered that the thing was not locked at all. I selected a night when Stanwick was giving a big dinner-party. At the moment when everybody was most busy I opened the back door, stepped across a passage to the coal-cellar, entered it, shut the door and sat down. Nothing could have been simpler. My only objection was that the waiting was rather tiresome. I had no light, and therefore could not read or write. To occupy my mind I thought out the address which I was to deliver on the following Sunday. I heard the last carriage drive away and Stanwick's tired servants going up to bed, but it was not till an hour after that, that Stanwick made his rounds. He is really a singularly thorough and careful man. I herd him locking doors, sliding bolts, and testing electric alarms. At last he went up to bed. Ten minutes later I was walking along the road in the direction of Putney with Stanwick's stamp collection under my arm. A policeman told me that I had missed the last 'bus, but I was lucky enough to find a belated hansom. I went to sleep, well satisfied with my night's work. Stanwick had no right to punish Mrs Gimbrell for the faults of Mrs Sanders. It was an act of abominable injustice that made my blood boil.
This, by the way, is the only time in my life that I have taken anything that I did not want. I have not the faintest interest in stamps, and I did not propose to take the bother or run the risk of disposing of the collection.
Three days later I called on Stanwick at his place of business in Oxford Street. He seemed to be in the best of spirits, and chaffed me about my usual refusal to have a whisky-and-soda.
"You seem very cheerful, Stanwick," I said. "Anything happened to you?"
"Yes," he said, "something has happened to me. I have had a bit of luck."
"I am very glad to hear it," I said. "Somebody been leaving you money?"
"No, I have had a burglary at my house."
"You don't say so!"
"Fact. Last Wednesday night somebody or other managed to get into my house. How it was done I cannot imagine. The wire of the burglar alarm was cut against one of the library windows, but how the man managed to get in to cut it I can't conceive. The police think he must have been concealed on the premises, but that doesn't seem to me to be likely. Somebody or other would have been certain to have seen him."
It was by the window of the library that I had made my exit after first cutting the wire.
"I see," I said. "So that's your bit of luck? The chap got scared, and left before he had time to take anything."
"Not a bit of it. That's the queer part of it. I'm in luck because the burglar did take something. He took my collection of stamps."
"I confess that I don't see it. I thought you valued that collection particularly."
"So I did, and it's because I did that I have been so lucky. Some time ago I had an impression that the collection ought to be worth close on two thousand pounds, and I had it specially insured for that amount. Well, one lives and learns. I came to go over some of the finest things in it—things that my father had got, and I didn't like the look of a good many of them. I got in one of the best experts in London and he confirmed my opinion. The poor old chap had been taken in. Collectors were not so scientific in his day as they are now. Nearly all his best things, the things that give a real money value to a collection, were forgeries. If that collection was worth a thousand pounds, that is every penny it was worth. It was insured for two thousand, and the insurance people will pay up like lambs. Consequently, I am one thousand pounds to the good on that burglary. I shall begin collecting again with a better system of arrangement, and thoroughly enjoy it. As I said to the police, if I could find the man who stole that collection I'd shake him by the hand and thank him. It might be my duty to get him six months afterwards, but that's another matter."
I said, and indeed I thought, that this was very extraordinary.
I went on chatting with him for about a quarter of an hour, and, as I expected, the name of the insurance people slipped out. It was a good, solid company. As I got up to go, I said: "Now, Stanwick, may I speak one word to you seriously?"
"You may," he said. "But if it is what I think it is, you will be wasting your time."
"That," I said, "I cannot help. I must do what I believe to be my duty. I want you to reconsider the case of Mrs Gimbrell. She had nothing to do with that woman Sander's transgressions, and it is not right or fair that she should be punished for them."
"How am I to know that she had nothing to do with them? The women were cousins, and it's my belief that it was a put-up thing between them. You've been taken in, as you always are, I've been taken in too, but I don't give the same person the chance to take me in twice."
"I assure you, you are wrong. I have made mistakes, but I've made none about Mrs Gimbrell. The woman is honest now and is doing her best to make her husband honest. You must take her back."
"Sorry I can't oblige you, Dix, but I won't."
"Remember," I said, "that the unjust and tyrannical are often punished, even in this world."
"I don't know about that. According to you, I was unjust and tyrannical in sacking a woman for combining with another one to swindle my firm. According to you, I ought to have been struck dead or something in that line. As a matter of fact, a few days later I get this burglary which suits me down to the ground, and puts a thousand pounds in my pocket. Keep that kind of thing for your sermons, Dix. I am a business man, and it has no effect with me. When the punishment comes I may change my mind."
I appeared depressed as I left him, and he told me to cheer up. As soon as I was out in the street I did cheer up. I very seldom laugh, but I smiled as I walked back to my house in Bloomsbury. Undoubtedly it might appear to a superficial observer that I had lost the game. On the contrary, I was absolutely certain that I had won it.
On the following day I went down to see Mrs Gimbrell. She was despondent and inclined to grumble. "What's the good of keeping strite?" she asked. "That's the plain question I'd like you to answer me, Mr Dix. It seems you get the sack just the same one way as the other, and how am I to get took on anywhere else? I feel like chucking it, and letting Alf try his hand at the old game again. It mayn't have been right, but there was some money in it while it lasted."
"Mrs Gimbrell," I said, "this rebellious spirit must be checked, natural though it may be. You would not speak like that if you knew what had happened. Yesterday I had a few words with Mr Stanwick on your behalf, and I promise you that within a very few days he will send for you and give you again the same work that you had before."
Mrs Gimbrell was voluble in her thanks. I hope that my reader will not think that I had any intention of deceiving the poor woman. I could see through to the end of the game, and the end of the game was to be checkmate for Mr Stanwick. He is a man who believes in luck, and I felt sure that when the blow came he would recall my words and change his mind about Mrs Gimbrell.
On my return to my house I did up the Stanwicks' collection of stamps in a neat parcel, and wrote on it in a large, printed hand, "Taken in error from Hedley Mount, Wimbledon Common, residence of Mr Algeron Stanwick." I put this under another cover, directed in a similar hand to the insurance company, and took the next train with it to Northampton. From Northampton I sent off my parcel and returned to London again.
A few days later I made it my business to meet Mr Stanwick as' he was going out to lunch. We lunched together and he did his best to appear cheerful. He is a man who cannot help bragging of his good luck, but where possible, keeps his misfortunes to himself, especially if they are of a kind to render him ridiculous. During lunch he said:
"I am going to put a funny question to you. After you left me the other day, did you make any attempt to discover who it was that took my stamp collection? I know you are in touch with all these blackguards, and they might tell you things that they wouldn't tell everybody."
"They do," I said. "But I made no such attempt I never do police work. If I ever tried anything of the kind, my influence for good would be lost at once. Why do you ask?"
"I don't know," he said meditatively, "I had some sort of wild idea in my head, but there can be nothing in it Let's talk about something else."
Towards the close of lunch he said: "By the way, you wanted me to take that Mrs Gimbrell back again. Do you think she's honest?"
"I am sure she is," I said.
"Yes, but you wouldn't bet on it Money talks. Would you be prepared to renew your guarantee for as long as she worked for me?"
"Certainly I would, and be glad of the chance."
"Well then," he said, "next time you see her you can send her up, and I'll see what can be done. I suppose you won't leave me any peace till I do take her back."
In this guess of my intentions he was perfectly correct. At the moment of recording this incident Mrs Gimbrell is still working for the firm, and has had employment from them for the last two years.
Naturally from the higher point of view I regard all this with great satisfaction. At the same time I must confess that it was certainly not business.