The Alcester Emeralds (A Jules Poiret Mystery Book 33)

by Frank Howell Evans

  When I say my name is Captain Hieronymus Haven, the name will convey no impression to you, one way or another. If you ask any policeman in London, who my former employer Jules Poiret was he will likely be able to tell you, unless he is a recent recruit. If you ask him where Mr. Poiret is now, he would not know, yet he had a good deal to do with Scotland Yard in his time.

  For a period of almost twenty years private detective Jules Poiret was one of the most trusted detectives in England and not just by Scotland Yard, but also by the Government of Great Britain, and if I am unable to provide any proof for the latter, it is because the records of that part of his career are in the secret archives of Whitehall.

  I will admit at the outset that I have grievances to air. As a former soldier I know what it is to take a beating and get on with it, but, on the other hand, I consider myself justified in publishing the following account of what actually happened, especially as so many false rumors have been put forth concerning the case. Poiret, however, holds no grievance, because his professional affairs in Geneva are now much more prosperous than they were in London, his intimate knowledge of that city and the language bringing to him many interesting cases with which he has dealt more than less successfully since he established himself there.

  Without further prelude I shall at once plunge into an account of the case which riveted the attention of the whole world a little more than a decade ago.

  The year was a prosperous one for England. The weather was good, the harvest excellent, and the marmalade of that vintage is celebrated to this day. Everyone was well off and reasonably happy.

  Newspaper readers may remember that in that year the Government of England came into possession of a famous artifact, which set the world ablaze, especially those inhabitants of it, who are interested in lost treasure. This was the finding of the emerald necklace in Alcester House, where it had remained undiscovered for a decade in a hidden part of the attic. This was a necklace, which the famous court jeweler, Bury St. Edmunds, had created. For a decade it was supposed that the necklace had been broken up in Antwerp, and its two hundred stones, great and small, sold separately.

  But I must say that it has always seemed strange to me that Lady Alcester, who was thought to have secretly sold these jewels, should not have used the proceeds to pay off her debts. Indeed, the unfortunate woman was haunted by her creditors, and soon fell to her death from the third floor of her house, when, in the direst anguish, she sought escape from the debts and responsibility for her servants.

  I am not a superstitious man, yet this celebrated piece of art seems to have exerted an evil influence over everyone, who had the misfortune to come into contact with it. Indeed, in a small way, I too suffered, though I caught but one glimpse of the alluring glow of these emeralds. The jeweler, who made the necklace, met financial ruin. The high-born Marquis Nicolas Foote, who purchased it for his lover, according to gossip, was flung into prison. As I said, the poor woman, who had received the necklace as a token of love, clung for five awful minutes to her window-sill, before dropping to her death and then, ten years later, this devilish green display of fireworks reappeared.

  Marc Dixon, the burglar, who found the hidden box, had prized it open, and realized that a fortune was in his grasp. The malevolent glitter from the necklace sent madness into his brain. He might quite easily have left the empty mansion the same way he had entered it, unsuspected and unquestioned with the emeralds concealed on his person, but instead of this he crept from the attic window on to the roof, slipped, fell to the ground, and broke his neck. The necklace, intact, shimmered in the moonlight beside his body. There they were found by a policeman. The Government insisted that they belonged to the Treasury as Alcester House had not long before been bought by them to house a government committee, therefore there could be no question regarding the ownership of the necklace. They ordered it to be sent by a trustworthy policeman to Whitehall. It was carried safely and delivered promptly to the authorities by my friend Inspector Watkins of Scotland Yard.

  In spite of its fall from the roof the jewel itself was not visibly damaged. The lock of the box had, however, apparently been forced by the burglar’s knife, which was found on his body. On reaching the ground the lid had flown open, and the necklace was thrown out. The broken lock of the jewel-case was skillfully repaired by an expert jeweler, who in executing his task was so unfortunate as to scratch a finger on the broken metal and add a few blood drops to the already cursed journey of the Alcester Emeralds.

  I believe there was some discussion in the Cabinet regarding the fate of this artifact, one section wishing it to be placed in a museum on account of its craftsmanship and beauty, another advocating the breaking up of the necklace and the selling of the emeralds for what they would fetch. A third group maintained that the method to get the most money into the coffers of the country was to sell the necklace as one, because the history of the green collar would enhance the value of the stones. This view prevailed, and it was announced that the necklace would be sold by auction a month later by Menzies, Garraway and Co., in Kensington Road, near the Royal Albert Hall.

  This announcement elicited many comments from the newspapers, and it seemed that, from a financial point of view at least, the decision of the Government had been wise, because it quickly became evident that a notable band of very wealthy buyers would travel to London on the eleventh, when the sale was to take place. The Government also soon became aware of another result, one somewhat more disquieting, which was that the biggest criminals in the world were gathering like hyenas in our alluring capital. The honor of England was at stake, the Cabinet felt. Whoever bought the necklace had to be assured of a safe journey out of the country. They might view cynically whatever happened afterwards, but while he was in England his life and property must not be endangered. Thus it came about that my friend Inspector Watkins was commissioned to ensure that neither murder nor theft should be committed while the purchaser of the necklace remained within our borders, and for this purpose the police resources of England were placed unreservedly at his disposal. It was a huge honor. I was happy for him. Poiret, however, was hesitant, because it meant that if he failed there was no one to blame but him.

  The four weeks previous to the eleventh proved a busy and anxious time for the inspector, who had asked Poiret and me to help him, because thousands, most of whom were curious but not rich, wished to view the emeralds. We were compelled to make choices, who to let in, and sometimes this caused unpleasant scenes. Three distinct attempts were made to rob the safe of the auction house, but these clumsy criminal efforts we could easily stop, and so we came still unscathed to the eleventh of the month.

  The sale was to begin at two o’clock, and on the morning of that day Inspector Watkins took the somewhat despotic precaution of having the more well-known thieves arrested on trumped up charges. Though they were laid by the heels, Poiret told me that it was not these rascals we had most to fear, but the suave, well-groomed gentlemen, holding unimpeachable credentials, housed at our fine hotels and eating like aristocrats. Many of these, against whom we could prove nothing, and whose arrest might land us into difficulties, the inspector had nevertheless shadowed, and on the morning of the eleventh if one of them had even disputed a cab fare he had him in prison half an hour later, but most of these gentlemen were very shrewd and were not in the habit of committing mistakes.

  Poiret made up a list of all the men in the world who were able or likely to purchase the necklace. Many of them would not be present in person at the auction room. Their bidding would be done by agents. This simplified matters a good deal, for t
hese agents were registered and known and kept us duly informed of their purposes. The added advantage was that agents, who handled expensive items every week, were adept at the business, and did not need the protection which necessarily had to surround an amateur, who in nine cases out of ten had but scant idea of the dangers that threatened him.

  There were no less than forty-seven clients all told, whom we were informed were to attend personally on the day of the sale. Any one of them was rich enough to have made the purchase. Mr. Naysmith and Lord Harman from England were well-known jewel collectors, while at least half a dozen millionaires were expected from the United States, with a few from Germany, Austria, and Russia, and one each from Italy, Belgium, and Holland.

  Admission to the auction room was allowed by ticket only, to be applied for at least a week in advance. The applications had to be accompanied by extensively sourced testimonials. Inspector Watkins stationed trusty men outside on Kensington Road. Each of them knew by sight most of the probable purchasers of the necklace. It was arranged that when the sale was over Watkins and his sergeant should walk out to the street alongside the man, who was the new owner of the emeralds, and from that moment until he left English soil policemen in plain clothes were not to lose sight of him. That was if he took personal custody of the stones, instead of doing the sensible thing of having them insured and forwarded to his main residence by a trusted transportation company, or depositing them in a bank vault.

  For one reason or another it was nearly half-past two before the sale began. There had been considerable delay because of forged tickets, and, indeed, each request for admittance was so closely scrutinized that this in itself took a good deal of time. Every chair was occupied. A number of visitors had to remain standing. Inspector Watkins stationed himself by the huge door at the entrance of the auction room, where he could command a view of the entire scene. I stood near the fireplace, leaning on the mantelpiece. Poiret stood near the windows, sometimes looking out, sometimes in. Some of the policemen were placed with their backs against the wall, whilst others were seated on the chairs. Most were in plain clothes. During the sale the Alcester Emeralds themselves were not visibly displayed, but the box containing them rested in front of the auctioneer. Two policemen in uniform stood guard on either side.

  The auctioneer began by saying, “Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen. There is, I don’t think, any need for me to expound on the exclusive character of the treasure I have the privilege to offer for sale, the world famous Alcester Emeralds.”

  With these words he requested those present to bid. Someone offered twenty thousand Pounds, which was received with laughter. Then the bidding went steadily on until it reached ninety thousand Pounds, which I knew to be less than half the price the Government had hoped to make on the necklace. The contest advanced more slowly until the hundred and fifty thousand was touched, and there it hung in the air.

  The auctioneer remarked, “This offer does not do justice to the beauty and craftsmanship, which the maker of the necklace has bestowed on this exquisite creation.” After another pause he added, “Gentlemen, as the offer has not exceeded the reserve, the necklace will be withdrawn and put in a museum, and will probably never again be offered for sale. I implore you, ladies and gentlemen, if you were holding back, please make your true feelings known now.”

  At this the auction heated up until the sum of two hundred thousand Pounds had been offered. Now I knew the necklace would be sold. Nearing the three hundred thousand mark the competition dwindled down to a few jewelry salesmen from Hamburg and Mr. Naysmith, one of the richest men in London at the time. It was then that a new voice bellowed in a tone of some impatience, “One million dollars!”

  There was an instant hush, followed by the scribbling of pencils, as each person present calculated what the sum was in his own currency. The aggressive tone of voice and the sharp-cut, athletic face of the bidder easily distinguished him as an American, not less than the monetary denomination he had used. In a moment it was realized that his bid was a clear leap of more than a hundred thousand Pounds, and a sigh went up from the audience as if this had settled the matter, and the sale was done. Nevertheless the auctioneer hesitated and his hammer hovered over his desk. He looked up and down the long line of faces turned towards him. He seemed reluctant to tap the board, but no one wished to compete against this incredible bid. At last, with a bang the mallet fell.

  “What name?” he asked, smiling towards the customer.

  “Amethyst, paying cash,” replied the American. “Here’s a check for the amount. I’ll take the emeralds with me.”

  “Your request is somewhat unusual, sir,” protested the auctioneer.

  “I know what you’re saying,” interrupted the American. “You think the check cannot be cashed. You must have noticed it is drawn on Barings bank, which is next door. Send your messenger with the check. It will take only a few minutes to find out whether or not the money is there to meet it. I won, so the necklace is mine. I insist on having it now.”

  The auctioneer with some hesitation handed the check to the representative of the Government, who was present, and this official himself decided to go to the bank. There were some other things to be sold left on that day’s list, so the auctioneer tried to go on, but no one paid the slightest attention to him.

  Meanwhile I had walked over to Poiret. He was studying the face of the man, who had made the astounding bid. Watkins joined us.

  “We must adjust the preparations to meet the new conditions now confronting us,” said Poiret.

  “I agree,” answered Watkins. “Here is a man about whom we know nothing whatever.”

  I myself had come to the conclusion that he was a criminal, and that a sinister scheme was on foot to get possession of the jewels. I told my two friends this.

  Poiret raised his eyebrows and asked sternly, “Mon ami, on what investigation do you base this?”

  Inspector Watkins, however, agreed that the check was clearly a trick of some sort, and he fully expected the official to return and say it was no good.

  “I intend to prevent this man from getting the jewel box, until I know more of his game,” he said.

  He walked to the auctioneer’s desk, having two objects in mind. The first was to warn the auctioneer not to part with the necklace too easily. The second was to study the suspected man at closer range. I know from experience that of all criminals Americans are the most to be feared. They use ingenuity in the planning of their shady projects, and take great risks in carrying them out.

  I looked at Poiret and saw his gaze move between two persons in the room. The bidder seemed keen and intellectual. His hands looked refined, lady-like almost, clean and showing they had long not done any manual labor, if indeed they had ever done any useful work at all. He was calm beyond a doubt. The man, who sat at his right, was of an entirely different sort. His hands were hairy and sun-tanned. His face showed grim determination. I knew from working with Poiret for the past few years that these two types usually hunted in pairs. One was there to plan, the other to act accordingly. This combination of talents was always difficult to counter.

  There were noises of conversation up and down the room as these two men talked together. I decided to follow Watkins’s lead and move closer to the actual object of contention, the emeralds. I heard Watkins whisper to the auctioneer, who bent his head to listen, he knew very well who was talking to him, of course, “You must not give up the necklace!”

  The auctioneer shrugged his shoulders. “I’m under the orders of the representative of the Government. You must speak to him.”

  “I shall do so,” Watkins replied. “Nevertheless, do not give up the box too readily.”

  “It’s not up to me,” the other man protested. “I must do what the government official tells me to do.”

  Seeing it was useless to persuade the auctioneer towards his side of the argument, the policeman set his wits to work to meet the new challenge.

  “I’m convinced
that the check will prove to be a fraud, but it might not be discovered in time to aid us in preventing the swag from leaving our shores,” he told me.

  His duty, therefore, was to make sure we lost sight neither of the buyer nor the artifact he had bought. Of course he knew he could not arrest the purchaser merely on suspicion. It would make the Government the laughing-stock of the world, if they sold a valuable necklace and then immediately threw the buyer in jail. The subsequent ridicule would blow the Government out of existence much more easily than cannon balls ever could.

  Poiret suddenly appeared next to me and took me aside. “Mon ami, you have seen the American, who has bought the necklace?”

  “Yes, I did.”

  “Bien! Haven, please to go outside quietly, and station yourself on the street. He is likely to leave the auction house with the Alcester Emeralds in his possession soon. Mon ami, something it is not as it should be. Please not to lose the sight of the man or the jewel box.”

  I nodded and quickly left the room. Just as I left the room the government official entered. I hesitated, but my orders were clear and continued on my path. I heard later that Poiret and Inspector Watkins intercepted him about half-way from the door to the auctioneer.

  “Perhaps, Monsieur, the check, it appears to be genuine?” Poiret asked him.

  “Certainly,” the other man replied pompously. Like most politicians he was greatly impressed with his own importance. They are characters with which it is always difficult to deal.

  “I advise you strongly not to hand over the necklace, sir,” Watkins added.

  “And why not, policeman?’ he asked, raising his eyebrows arrogantly.

  “Because, sir, I’m convinced the bidder is a criminal,” said the inspector, becoming red in the face.

  “Policeman, if you have proof of that, arrest him.”

  “Sir, I have no proof at the present moment, but I request that you at least delay the delivery.”

  “Don’t be absurd, policeman,” he cried impatiently. “The necklace is no longer ours. The money has just been transferred to the account of the Government,” and so the politician left him and Poiret standing there.