‘At their trial, the four members of the gang were sentenced to various prison terms. One died in prison, a second was released four years ago and emigrated to Australia shortly afterwards, a third came out three years ago and seems to be a reformed character. That only leaves the fourth man, the ringleader of the gang and the man we have always suspected had the diamonds. He was released from Dartmoor just two weeks before Christmas.’ Lestrade paused and looked at Holmes, a teasing expression on his features. ‘No doubt you would like to know the name of this man.’
‘It might be helpful, as you seem to think he has some relevance to our case,’ returned Holmes placidly.
‘His name,’ said Lestrade with a chuckle, ‘is Albert Cosgrove, brother of the late solicitor whose widow you have met. Something else you won’t know, incidentally, as that, too, was before your time, is that Mrs Henry Cosgrove was once better known as Lucy Lambert, the darling of the music halls. I remember going to see her myself – when you two gentlemen were no doubt still schoolboys – and a very fine singer and actress she was, too. But not long after she married Henry Cosgrove she gave up the stage for good, more’s the pity.’
‘I see,’ said Holmes in a thoughtful tone. ‘So, to sum up, we have a fortune in diamonds, stolen and never recovered, and the principal villain in the robbery recently released from Dartmoor. What is the official view of the matter?’
‘It is believed that Albert Cosgrove gave the diamonds to his brother Henry for safe-keeping shortly before his arrest.’
‘This brother was a solicitor, I understand, so he could not have had a criminal record, otherwise he would not have been allowed to practise.’
‘That’s true. To speak plainly, we were never sure about Henry Cosgrove. He could have been as straight as a die for all we knew, or he could have been crooked. What is certain is that we were never able to pin any wrong-doing upon him, although we often suspected he wasn’t quite as upright as he appeared to be. He knew everybody who was anybody in the East End, including some decidedly shady characters for whom he acted as solicitor when they got into difficulties with the law.’
‘What makes you think that Cosgrove passed the diamonds to his brother?’ I asked. ‘Surely there were other ways, safer ways, he could have hidden them?’
Lestrade shook his head. ‘We were close on his trail for several days before we caught up with him. He must have known that it was only a matter of time before we got him and that he was likely to get put away for a long time when we did. He couldn’t tell what might happen in his absence. If he had hidden them under the floorboards somewhere, the house he hid them in might have been taken over by other people and the diamonds accidentally discovered by some stranger, or, for all he could tell, the house might have been knocked down altogether and something else built in its place. So he had to leave them with someone he could trust and the only person he could really trust was his brother, Henry. Albert Cosgrove knew a lot of people and a lot of people knew him, but he was never very popular. He may have been well connected among his own sort, but the connections were all based on stark fear, rather than any affection, and I don’t think he would have trusted anyone with a penny of his money. With his brother, Henry, however, he was on safer ground. It may be, of course, that Henry didn’t want anything to do with it, but if Albert had pushed a bag of diamonds into his hand, he may have felt unable to refuse his help. In the first place, blood is thicker than water, as they say, and in the second, Albert Cosgrove is a powerful and violent man, and few have ever dared say “no” to him.’
Sherlock Holmes had listened in silence to Lestrade’s account. Now he nodded his head in agreement. ‘I imagine you are correct,’ said he. ‘But now Cosgrove is out of prison only to find that in the meantime his brother has died and his brother’s widow has moved house. Where, then, are the Bellecourt diamonds?’
‘We have had plain-clothes men watching Cosgrove all the time, to see what he would do,’ said Lestrade. ‘We have also,’ he added in a lower tone, ‘got a source of information close to Cosgrove himself. One of his old cronies is keeping us informed as to his movements.’
‘With any results?’
‘Not so far. Mrs Cosgrove now lives in a new house at Higham’s Park, out Chingford way, and Cosgrove went out there to see her soon after his return to London. What passed between them, we don’t know, but our information is that he doesn’t yet have the diamonds and is talking of going to see her again, so evidently Mrs Cosgrove couldn’t – or wouldn’t – tell him what he wanted to know.’
‘And what is your interest in the painting of the tomb?’
‘The day after he visited his sister-in-law, Cosgrove was followed to that picture gallery in Bond Street, where he spent some time. I later questioned the proprietor, a Mr Appleby, who told me that Cosgrove had wanted to know who had bought the two copies of Mrs Cosgrove’s painting. He says he didn’t tell him, but I don’t believe him.’
‘Nor me,’ interrupted Holmes. ‘I can see no other way the thieves could have learnt the addresses of Dryson and Tacolstone. I imagine that Cosgrove offered a bribe which Appleby couldn’t resist.’
‘Either that or threatened him with violence,’ said Lestrade. ‘Anyhow, when I heard what Cosgrove had been asking about in the gallery, it rang a bell somewhere in my memory, so I got out all the notes I’d accumulated relating to Cosgrove and the missing diamonds. I soon found what I was looking for. On one of the last occasions that Henry Cosgrove visited his brother in prison, about a year ago, they had a conversation that was overheard by one of the prison warders. In this, Henry told Albert that he was ill and did not know how long he might live. He then told him he had commissioned two paintings of a scene he thought Albert would like. “One of them is for you,” he said. “But if I die before you get out, you might like to have them both, to remember me by. I think you will find them of interest.” This conversation must refer to the two copies of The Tomb on the Hill, as that would explain Albert Cosgrove’s recent interest in them. And yet, when it seems he has finally managed to get his hands on them, he has simply returned them to their owners. It doesn’t make sense.’
‘I think we may take it,’ said Holmes, ‘that permanent possession of the paintings is of no interest to Cosgrove. He simply wanted to get hold of the paintings for a short time, in order to examine them. Now, we must assume, he has done so and, having no further use for them, has given them back.’
‘Why should he bother?’
‘He has probably reasoned that if the paintings are returned, the police will close the matter and he is not likely to be questioned about it. And, in the case of my client’s painting, he perhaps hoped that Mr Dryson would not notice the substitution for a while, which would give him the time he needed to examine the painting before the hue and cry went up. Incidentally, if you have men watching Cosgrove, but knew nothing of these thefts until after they had taken place, it must be that Cosgrove took no part in them himself, but got two confederates to do his bidding.’
‘That must be so,’ Lestrade agreed. ‘We must conclude, then, that the diamonds were hidden inside the picture-frames. For the moment at least he has outwitted us.’
‘I doubt it is as simple as that,’ said Holmes with a shake of the head. ‘Cosgrove’s brother Henry was a lawyer and no doubt as careful and cautious as such men generally are. He would have realised that hiding the gems inside a painting was scarcely any safer than hiding them under a floorboard. If anyone had chanced to find them there, he could not with any plausibility have pleaded innocence. It would almost certainly have meant a long prison term for him. His life, both private and professional, would have been ruined forever. In addition, he could not be sure what might happen to the paintings after his death. They might, for instance, be sold – as indeed they were. I think, therefore, that the connection between the paintings and the Bellecourt diamonds is an altogether more subtle and less tangible one.’
‘What are you suggesting?’
‘The tomb inscriptions are different on Cosgrove’s two paintings. That is a very curious thing, considering that the two paintings were done at the same time. There must be some good reason for it and it is at least possible that it has something to do with the location of the diamonds.’
‘You think the tomb inscriptions could be cryptograms of some sort?’ I asked.
‘I think it a strong possibility.’
‘By George!’ cried Lestrade abruptly. ‘I think you may well be on to something there, Mr Holmes. During that conversation in prison between the two Cosgrove brothers that I mentioned to you, Henry several times referred to the games they used to play together as boys. “Do you remember how we used to send secret messages to each other in a code that no one else could understand?” he said. Apparently Albert was not very interested in remembering this, but Henry persisted. “We’ll have larks again, Albert,” he said, “when you get out. Just remember how we worked the secret code, for I might send you such a message again!” I dismissed this conversation as of no importance before, but perhaps I was wrong.’
‘It strikes me as highly suggestive,’ said Holmes. ‘Well done, Lestrade! The thoroughness of your records does you credit. There is some kind of cipher in those pictures – I am sure of it! I have already asked Dryson and Tacolstone to bring their pictures round to Baker Street this evening, so that I can study them more closely, but now that we have a better idea of what we might be looking for, the results should be all the more interesting! Pray feel free to drop by yourself later in the evening, if it is convenient, and I shall be able to tell you if we have made any progress!’
At six o’clock that evening, there was a ring at our front-door bell, and a moment later Mr Dryson was shown in to our sitting-room with his painting wrapped in a sheet of sacking. Holmes propped it up on a chair and, while he was doing so, the bell sounded again and Mr Tacolstone brought the other painting in, which was promptly propped up on a table at the side of the first one. Holmes poured out four small tots of sherry, and for some time the four of us stood gazing at the pictures and discussing their similarities and differences. Holmes remarked in a gay tone that 221B Baker Street had become quite the bijou art gallery, but I could see that beneath his outward bonhomie he was impatient to be getting on with his examination of the pictures. At length our two visitors departed, Tacolstone having accepted an invitation from Dryson to view his art collection. As soon as they had gone, Holmes brought out an easel and blackboard from his bedroom, set it up in the middle of the room and began to copy on to it the tomb inscriptions of the two paintings.
‘I understand your view that the secret is concealed in the inscriptions,’ I observed, ‘but it is apparent, as you yourself remarked, that the backs of both of these paintings have recently been removed, presumably by Albert Cosgrove.’
‘So we must suppose. He was, I take it, unsure at first of the precise meaning of his brother’s cryptic reference to these pictures. I very much doubt there was anything concealed there and if there was it won’t be there now; but perhaps you had best have a look if you wouldn’t mind: there may be something written on the inside of the back-board.’
Carefully, using the blade of a knife, I levered off the backs of the paintings, but there was nothing to be seen there. Meanwhile, my companion was busily copying the inscriptions on to his blackboard. Then, as I was tapping the tacks back into place, he stood back and surveyed what he had written. From Dryson’s painting, the one Tacolstone had brought round, he had copied the following:
For thirty years my feet marched
On from east and west
To each corner of the dew-laden far south.
Never resting then, now laid down at last.
From the other one, Tacolstone’s picture, he had copied the following:
Death where is thy victory?
Peace doth fill these parks
While water from the fountain
Doth sparkle on the rocks.
‘I can make nothing of them,’ I remarked after a moment.
‘Well, of course, if they are cryptograms of some sort, that is what you would expect,’ responded my companion. ‘They could hardly be considered very successful as secret messages if their meaning were instantly obvious. There are, however, some observations we can make before we begin. First, to judge from Henry Cosgrove’s remarks to his brother, this is a form of cipher the two of them had used as boys, so it should not be too difficult for two grown men to solve. Second, although it must, as I say, appear opaque to a casual observer, otherwise it fails as a cryptogram, it must also be perfectly clear to one who knows the secret, otherwise it would fail on that account. I am therefore confident of getting to the bottom of the matter before I leave this room tonight.’
Holmes fell silent then, and remained staring at his blackboard in perfect immobility for some time, save only when he transferred his gaze for a moment to the paintings. Confident of solving the puzzle he may have been, but when our supper was brought up shortly afterwards, he was still sitting in silence, with no indication that he was making any progress. For myself, I had given up on the inscriptions and was examining all the other differences between the two paintings. In fact, there were not many. The depiction of the tomb, the trees about it and the landscape beyond was identical in both pictures, save only that in the picture which mentioned a fountain in the inscription, a small fountain could be seen far in the distance. In the foreground, however, there were a few more obvious differences between the pictures. The rustic character was the same in both, but the little rabbits about his feet were quite different. In Dryson’s picture there were three rabbits, but in Tacolstone’s – the one with the fountain – there were five. The ducks, too, were different. In the first picture there were just two of them, but in the second, five. Whether these differences were of any significance, or merely represented a whim on the part of the artist or his patron, I could not imagine, but I was sure that if anyone could work out the meaning of these differences and solve the puzzle, my friend Sherlock Holmes could.
We had been eating our meal in complete silence for some time, my companion’s gaze alternating rapidly between the blackboard and the paintings, and hardly ever resting on the plate before him, when he abruptly put down his knife and fork with a clatter.
‘I have it!’ cried he. ‘It was the meaning of the ducks I could not see, Watson, but now I understand it all! Now I know where Henry Cosgrove hid the Bellecourt diamonds!’ Then he fell to laughing, as he picked up his cutlery once more and finished off his meal, almost choking as he did so. ‘It is often the case with such things,’ said my friend in a tone of satisfaction, as he stood up and took his pipe from the mantelpiece. ‘You struggle for a while with individual parts of the puzzle, and feel you are making no progress at all, and then, in a moment, like the break of dawn upon the dark sea, light falls upon the whole at once and all is illuminated.’
‘I am eager to hear your solution,’ I said, joining him beside the fire, as he threw on a few more coals and poked it into a blaze.
‘It is soon explained,’ he began. ‘It is essentially a very simple little cipher, as I was sure it must be. Some of the words in the tomb inscriptions are important, and some are completely unimportant and are present only to disguise the true message. The trick, of course, is to identify those words which are significant. This is where the animals come into the matter. In the picture with three rabbits, every third word in the inscription forms part of the secret message; and in the picture with five rabbits, every fifth word. The function of the ducks – which I confess I could not see at first – is to indicate the word in the inscription at which the secret message begins. Thus, in the one with two ducks, the true message begins at the second word; and in the one with five ducks, it is at the fifth word.
‘If we look at the inscription on Mr Dryson’s picture first,’ he continued, taking a stick of chalk and stepping to the blackboard. ‘This, as you see, is “For thirty years my f
eet marched, On from east and west, To each corner of the dew-laden far south, Never resting then, now laid down at last”, and the picture contains three rabbits and two ducks. Therefore we begin at the second word – “thirty” – then pass over the next two words and find the fifth is “feet”. The next significant word is the eighth word, “from”,’ he continued, underlining each of these words in turn, ‘and the next “west”, then “corner”, then “dew”, then “south” and, finally, from the last line, “then” and “down”. The whole hidden message is thus revealed as “thirty feet from west corner, dew south, then down”, in which the word “dew” is obviously meant to stand for its homonym, “due” – a little touch of ingenuity and imagination which I find admirable, I must say. The diamonds are therefore hidden – probably buried – thirty feet due south from the west corner of some building or other structure.’
The Mammoth Book of the New Chronicles of Sherlock Holmes Page 26