Mr. Reeder kept what he called a case-book, in which he inscribed a passionless account of all the cases in which he was engaged. Some of these cases had no value except to the technician, and would not interest anyone except perhaps the psycho-pathologist. Under the heading “Two Aces” appeared this account, written in his own handwriting.
In the year 1919 (wrote Mr. Reeder) there arrived at the Hotel
Majestic in Nice a man who described himself in the hotel register as
Rufus Machfield. He had a number of other names, but it is only
necessary that Machfield should be used to identify this particular
character. The man had a reputation as a cardsharp, and, in the
pursuit of his nefarious calling, had “worked” the ships plying
between England and New York. He had also been convicted on two
occasions as a professional gambler in Germany.
He was of Danish origin, but at the time was a naturalized Englishman,
with a permanent address in Colvin Gardens, Bayswater. At the Majestic
Hotel he had met with Charles or Walter Lynn, an adventurer who had
also “operated” the ships on the North Atlantic. On one of these trips
Lynn had become acquainted with Mr. George McKay, a prosperous woollen
merchant of Bradford. There is no evidence that they ever played cards
together, and Mr. McKay does not recall that they did. But the
friendship was of value to Lynn because Mr. McKay was in the habit of
coming to Nice every year, and was in residence at the time Lynn and
Machfield met. McKay was known as a resolute and successful gambler,
and before now had figured in sensational play.
The two men, Lynn and Machfield, conferred together and decided upon a
scheme to rob McKay at the tables. Gambling in Nice is not confined to
the recognized establishments. There was at the time a number of
Cercles Privés where play was even higher than at the public rooms,
and the most reputable of these was “Le Signe” which, if it was not
recognized, was winked at by the French authorities.
In order to swindle McKay, a patron of this club, it was necessary to
secure the co-operation and help of an official. Lynn’s choice fell
upon a young croupier named Lamontaine, and he in turn was to suborn
two other croupiers, both of whom it was intended should receive a
very generous share of the money.
Lamontaine proved to be a singularly pliable tool. He had married a
young wife and had got into debt, and was fearful that this should
come to the ears of the club authorities. An interview was arranged in
Lyons; the scheme was put before the croupier by Lynn, and he agreed
to come in, taking a half share for himself and his two fellow
croupiers, the other half being equally divided between Lynn and
Machfield. Lynn apparently demurred at the division, but Machfield was
satisfied with his quarter share; the more so as he knew Mr. McKay had
been winning very heavily, and providing he had the right kind of
betting, there would be a big killing.
The game to be played was baccarat, for McKay could never resist the
temptation of taking a bank, especially a big bank. It was very
necessary that arrangements should be hurried on before the merchant
left the South of France, and a fortnight after the preliminaries,
Lamontaine reported that everything was in trim, that he had secured
the co-operation of his comrades, and it was decided that the coup
should be brought off on the Friday night.
It was arranged that Lynn should be the player, that after play was
finished the conspirators should meet again at Lyons, when the loot
was to be divided.
The cards were to be stacked so that the bank won every third coup. It
was arranged that the signal for the conspirators to begin their
betting was to be the dealing of two aces, the ace of diamonds and the
ace of hearts. Somebody would draw a six to these, and the banker
would have a “natural”--which means, I understand, that he would win.
Thereafter the betting was to be done by Lynn, and the first was a
banco call—which meant, as the cards lay, that the bank would be
swept into their pockets. They knew Mr. McKay would bid for the bank,
but they would bid higher, and Lynn then took the bank with a capital
of a million francs. Fourteen times the bank won, and had now reached
enormous proportions, so much so that every other table in the room
was deserted, and the table where this high play was going on was
surrounded by curious watchers.
There were fourteen winning coups for the bank, and the amount
gathered up at the finish by Lynn was something in the neighbourhood
of £400,000. Lamontaine states that it was more, but Machfield is
satisfied that it was in that region. The money was taken to the
hotel, and the following night Lynn left for Lyons. He was to be
joined the next day by Machfield, and on the Sunday they were to meet
the croupier in Paris and pay him his share.
The night that Lynn left, however, one of the officials of the rooms
made a statement to his chef. He had lost his nerve and he betrayed
his comrades. Lamontaine, with the other croupier, was arrested on a
charge of conspiracy, and Machfield only got away from the South of
France by the skin of his teeth. He journeyed on to Lyons and arrived
there in the early hours of the following afternoon. He hoped that no
news of the arrests would have got into the papers and scared his
partner, and certainly he did not wire warning Lynn. When he got to
the hotel he asked for his friend, but was told that he had not
arrived, nor had he made reservation of the rooms which had been
agreed upon.
From that moment he disappeared from human ken, and neither Machfield
nor any of his friends were able to trace him. It was no accident: it
was a deliberate double-cross. Machfield played the game as far as he
was able, and when Lamontaine was released from prison and came to
Paris, a broken man, for his young wife had died while he was in gaol,
he helped the croupier as well as he could, and together they came to
England to establish gaming-houses, but primarily to find Lynn and
force him to disgorge.
There was another person on the track of Lynn. McKay, who had been
robbed, as he knew after the French court proceedings, employed me to
trace him, but for certain reasons I was unable to justify his
confidence.
I do not know in what year or month Lamontaine and Machfield located
their man. It is certain that “Mr. Wentford,” as he called himself,
lived in increasing fear of their vengeance. When they did locate him
he proved to be an impossible man to reach. I have no doubt that the
house was carefully reconnoitred, his habits studied, and that
attempts were made to get at him. But those attempts failed. It is
highly probable, though no proof of this exists, that he was well
informed as to his enemy’s movements, for so far as can be gathered
from the statement of his niece and checked by the admissions of
Machfield, Lynn never left his house except on the days when Machfield
and Lamontaine were in Paris—they frequently went to that city over
the week-end.
It was Lamontaine who formed the diabolical plan which was eventually
to lead to Wentford’s death. He knew that the only man admitted to the
house was the mounted policeman who patrolled that part of the
country, so he studied police methods, even got information as to the
times on which the beat was patrolled, and on the night of the murder,
soon after it was dark, he travelled down to Beaconsfield by car
through the storm, accompanied by Machfield.
Lamontaine at some time or other had been on the French stage (he
spoke perfect English) and I have no doubt was in a position to make
himself up sufficiently well to deceive Wentford into opening the
door. At seven o’clock Constable Verity left the station and proceeded
on his patrol. At seven-thirty he was ruthlessly murdered by a man who
stepped out of his concealment and shot him point-blank through the
heart.
The body was taken into a field and laid out, the two murderers hoping
that the snow would cover it. Lamontaine was already wearing the
uniform of a police constable, and, mounting the horse, he rode on to
Wentford’s house. The old man saw him through the window, and,
suspecting nothing, got down and opened the door.
He may not have realized that anything was wrong until he was back in
his parlour, for it was there that he was struck down. The two men
intended leaving him in the cottage, but a complication arose whilst
they were searching the place, or endeavouring to open the safe behind
the bookcase. The telephone rang, and they heard Margot Lynn say that
she was coming on but was delayed. One of them answered in a disguised
voice.
The thing to do now was to remove the body. Lifting it out, they laid
it over the horse’s saddle, and, guiding the nervous animal down to
the road, led it towards Beaconsfield. Here a second complication
arose: the lights of Mr. Enward’s car were seen coming toward them.
The body was dropped by the side of the road, and the constable took
his place on the horse’s back. The animal was smothered with the blood
of the murdered man, and the clerk of Mr. Enward, the lawyer, taking
the bridle quite innocently, must have rubbed his sleeve along the
shoulder, for it was afterwards discovered that his coat was stained.
That gave me my first clue, and I was able, owing to my peculiar mind,
to reconstruct the crime as it had been committed.
The two men joined one another again in the vicinity of the cottage.
They were not able to make any further attempt that night. One of
them, however, heard that the girl knew where the money was cached. I
am afraid I was responsible for this, and it was intended that she
should be taken away, with the key of the safe deposit.…
Machfield had already become acquainted with the straitened
circumstances of young McKay, the son of his victim, and probably to
hit at his father, who he must have known was still hunting for him,
used an opportunity which was offered by chance, to ruin him, as he
believed.
Two hundred pounds, representing a portion of the money obtained from
the bank by a fraudulent manager (3 years Penal Servitude; Central
Criminal Court) through the instrumentality of his woman friend (5
years P.S., C.C.C.) was sent anonymously to the younger McKay by
Machfield, and was traced to the young man.
After this came a note, also in Mr. Reeder’s hand:
“Rufus John Machfield and Antonio Lamontaine (sentence: death, C.C.C.)
executed at Wandsworth Prison, April 17th. Executioner Ellis.”
Mr. Reeder was a stickler for facts.
KENNEDY THE CON. MAN