by Guy Boothby
“It’s on the stroke of twelve,” he said, as he gave a final glance at himself in the pier-glass above the dressing-table, and arranged his tie to his satisfaction. “Should any one call, instruct Ram Gafur to tell them that I have gone out on business, and shall not be back until three o’clock.”
“Very good, sir.”
“Now undo the door and let me go in.”
Thus commanded, Belton went across to the large wardrobe which, as I have already said, covered the whole of one side of the room, and opened the middle door. Two or three garments were seen inside suspended on pegs, and these he removed, at the same time pushing towards the right the panel at the rear. When this was done a large aperture in the wall between the two houses was disclosed. Through this door Carne passed, drawing it behind him.
In No. 1, Belverton Terrace, the house occupied by the detective, whose presence in the street Carne seemed to find so objectionable, the entrance thus constructed was covered by the peculiar kind of confessional box in which Klimo invariably sat to receive his clients, the rearmost panels of which opened in the same fashion as those in the wardrobe in the dressing-room. These being pulled aside, he had but to draw them to again after him, take his seat, ring the electric bell to inform his housekeeper that he was ready, and then welcome his clients as quickly as they cared to come.
Punctually at two o’clock the interviews ceased, and Klimo, having reaped an excellent harvest of fees, returned to Porchester House to become Simon Carne once more.
Possibly it was due to the fact that the Earl and Countess of Amberley were brimming over with his praise, or it may have been the rumour that he was worth as many millions as you have fingers upon your hand that did it; one thing, however, was self evident, within twenty-four hours of the noble earl’s meeting him at Victoria Station, Simon Carne was the talk, not only of fashionable, but also of unfashionable London.
That his household were, with one exception, natives of India, that he had paid a rental for Porchester House which ran into five figures, that he was the greatest living authority upon china and Indian art generally, and that he had come over to England in search of a wife, were among the smallest of the canards set afloat concerning him.
During dinner next evening Carne put forth every effort to please. He was placed on the right hand of his hostess and next to the Duchess of Wiltshire. To the latter he paid particular attention, and to such good purpose that when the ladies returned to the drawing-room afterwards, Her Grace was full of his praises. They had discussed china of all sorts, Carne had promised her a specimen which she had longed for all her life, but had never been able to obtain, and in return she had promised to show him the quaintly carved Indian casket in which the famous necklace, of which he had, of course, heard, spent most of its time. She would be wearing the jewels in question at her own ball in a week’s time, she informed him, and if he would care to see the case when it came from her bankers on that day, she would be only too pleased to show it to him.
As Simon Carne drove home in his luxurious brougham afterwards, he smiled to himself as he thought of the success which was attending his first endeavour. Two of the guests, who were stewards of the Jockey Club, had heard with delight his idea of purchasing a horse, in order to have an interest in the Derby. While another, on hearing that he desired to become the possessor of a yacht, had offered to propose him for the R.C.Y.C. To crown it all, however, and much better than all, the Duchess of Wiltshire had promised to show him her famous diamonds.
“By this time next week,” he said to himself, “Liz’s interest should be considerably closer. But satisfactory as my progress has been hitherto, it is difficult to see how I am to get possession of the stones. From what I have been able to discover, they are only brought from the bank on the day the Duchess intends to wear them, and they are taken back by His Grace the morning following.
“While she has got them on her person it would be manifestly impossible to get them from her. And as, when she takes them off, they are returned to their box and placed in a safe, constructed in the wall of the bedroom adjoining, and which for the occasion is occupied by the butler and one of the under footmen, the only key being in the possession of the Duke himself, it would be equally foolish to hope to appropriate them. In what manner, therefore, I am to become their possessor passes my comprehension. However, one thing is certain, obtained they must be, and the attempt must be made on the night of the ball if possible. In the meantime I’ll set my wits to work upon a plan.”
Next day Simon Carne was the recipient of an invitation to the ball in question, and two days later he called upon the Duchess of Wiltshire, at her residence in Belgrave Square, with a plan prepared. He also took with him the small vase he had promised her four nights before. She received him most graciously, and their talk fell at once into the usual channel. Having examined her collection, and charmed her by means of one or two judicious criticisms, he asked permission to include photographs of certain of her treasures in his forthcoming book, then little by little he skilfully guided the conversation on to the subject of jewels.
“Since we are discussing gems, Mr. Carne,” she said, “perhaps it would interest you to see my famous necklace. By good fortune I have it in the house now, for the reason that an alteration is being made to one of the clasps by my jewellers.”
“I should like to see it immensely,” answered Carne. “At one time and another I have had the good fortune to examine the jewels of the leading Indian princes, and I should like to be able to say that I had seen the famous Wiltshire necklace.”
“Then you shall certainly have that honour,” she answered with a smile. “If you will ring that bell I will send for it.”
Carne rang the bell as requested, and when the butler entered he was given the key of the safe and ordered to bring the case to the drawing-room.
“We must not keep it very long,” she observed while the man was absent. “It is to be returned to the bank in an hour’s time.”
“I am indeed fortunate,” Carne replied, and turned to the description of some curious Indian wood carving, of which he was making a special feature in his book. As he explained, he had collected his illustrations from the doors of Indian temples, from the gateways of palaces, from old brass work, and even from carved chairs and boxes he had picked up in all sorts of odd corners. Her Grace was most interested.
“How strange that you should have mentioned it,” she said. “If carved boxes have any interest for you, it is possible my jewel case itself may be of use to you. As I think I told you during Lady Amberley’s dinner, it came from Benares, and has carved upon it the portraits of nearly every god in the Hindu Pantheon.”
“You raise my curiosity to fever heat,” said Carne.
A few moments later the servant returned, bringing with him a wooden box, about sixteen inches long, by twelve wide, and eight deep, which he placed upon a table beside his mistress, after which he retired.
“This is the case to which I have just been referring,” said the Duchess, placing her hand on the article in question. “If you glance at it you will see how exquisitely it is carved.”
Concealing his eagerness with an effort, Simon Carne drew his chair up to the table, and examined the box.
It was with justice she had described it as a work of art. What the wood was of which it was constructed Carne was unable to tell. It was dark and heavy, and, though it was not teak, closely resembled it. It was literally covered with quaint carving, and of its kind was an unique work of art.
“It is most curious and beautiful,” said Carne when he had finished his examination. “In all my experience I can safely say I have never seen its equal. If you will permit me I should very much like to include a description and an illustration of it in my book.”
“Of course you may do so; I shall be only too delighted,” answered Her Grace. “If it will help you in your work I shall be glad to
lend it to you for a few hours, in order that you may have the illustration made.”
This was exactly what Carne had been waiting for, and he accepted the offer with alacrity.
“Very well, then,” she said. “On the day of my ball, when it will be brought from the bank again, I will take the necklace out and send the case to you. I must make one proviso, however, and that is that you let me have it back the same day.”
“I will certainly promise to do that,” replied Carne.
“And now let us look inside,” said his hostess.
Choosing a key from a bunch she carried in her pocket, she unlocked the casket, and lifted the lid. Accustomed as Carne had all his life been to the sight of gems, what he then saw before him almost took his breath away. The inside of the box, both sides and bottom, was quilted with the softest Russia leather, and on this luxurious couch reposed the famous necklace. The fire of the stones when the light caught them was sufficient to dazzle the eyes, so fierce was it.
As Carne could see, every gem was perfect of its kind, and there were no fewer than three hundred of them. The setting was a fine example of the jeweller’s art, and last, but not least, the value of the whole affair was fifty thousand pounds, a mere fleabite to the man who had given it to his wife, but a fortune to any humbler person.
“And now that you have seen my property, what do you think of it?” asked the Duchess as she watched her visitor’s face.
“It is very beautiful,” he answered, “and I do not wonder that you are proud of it. Yes, the diamonds are very fine, but I think it is their abiding place that fascinates me more. Have you any objection to my measuring it?”
“Pray do so, if it is likely to be of any assistance to you,” replied Her Grace.
Carne thereupon produced a small ivory rule, ran it over the box, and the figures he thus obtained he jotted down in his pocket-book.
Ten minutes later, when the case had been returned to the safe, he thanked the Duchess for her kindness and took his departure, promising to call in person for the empty case on the morning of the ball.
Reaching home he passed into his study, and, seating himself at his writing table, pulled a sheet of note paper towards him and began to sketch, as well as he could remember it, the box he had seen. Then he leant back in his chair and closed his eyes.
“I have cracked a good many hard nuts in my time,” he said reflectively, “but never one that seemed so difficult at first sight as this. As far as I see at present, the case stands as follows: the box will be brought from the bank where it usually reposes to Wiltshire House on the morning of the dance. I shall be allowed to have possession of it, without the stones of course, for a period possibly extending from eleven o’clock in the morning to four or five, at any rate not later than seven, in the evening. After the ball the necklace will be returned to it, when it will be locked up in the safe, over which the butler and a footman will mount guard.
“To get into the room during the night is not only too risky, but physically out of the question; while to rob Her Grace of her treasure during the progress of the dance would be equally impossible. The Duke fetches the casket and takes it back to the bank himself, so that to all intents and purposes I am almost as far off the solution as ever.”
Half an hour went by and found him still seated at his desk, staring at the drawing on the paper, then an hour. The traffic of the streets rolled past the house unheeded. Finally Jowur Singh announced his carriage, and, feeling that an idea might come to him with a change of scene, he set off for a drive in the park.
By this time his elegant mail phaeton, with its magnificent horses and Indian servant on the seat behind, was as well-known as Her Majesty’s state equipage, and attracted almost as much attention. To-day, however, the fashionable world noticed that Simon Carne looked preoccupied. He was still working out his problem, but so far without much success. Suddenly something, no one will ever be able to say what, put an idea into his head. The notion was no sooner born in his brain than he left the park and drove quickly home. Ten minutes had scarcely elapsed before he was back in his study again, and had ordered that Wajib Baksh should be sent to him.
When the man he wanted put in an appearance, Carne handed him the paper upon which he had made the drawing of the jewel case.
“Look at that,” he said, “and tell me what thou seest there.”
“I see a box,” answered the man, who by this time was well accustomed to his master’s ways.
“As thou say’st, it is a box,” said Carne. “The wood is heavy and thick, though what wood it is I do not know. The measurements are upon the paper below. Within, both the sides and bottom are quilted with soft leather, as I have also shown. Think now, Wajib Baksh, for in this case thou wilt need to have all thy wits about thee. Tell me is it in thy power, oh most cunning of all craftsmen, to insert such extra sides within this box that they, being held by a spring, shall lie so snug as not to be noticeable to the ordinary eye? Can it be so arranged that, when the box is locked, they shall fall flat upon the bottom, thus covering and holding fast what lies beneath them, and yet making the box appear to the eye as if it were empty. Is it possible for thee to do such a thing?”
Wajib Baksh did not reply for a few moments. His instinct told him what his master wanted, and he was not disposed to answer hastily, for he also saw that his reputation as the most cunning craftsman in India was at stake.
“If the Heaven-born will permit me the night for thought,” he said at last, “I will come to him when he rises from his bed and tell him what I can do, and he can then give his orders as it pleases him.”
“Very good,” said Carne. “Then to-morrow morning I shall expect thy report. Let the work be good, and there will be many rupees for thee to touch in return. As to the lock and the way it shall act, let that be the concern of Hiram Singh.”
Wajib Baksh salaamed and withdrew, and Simon Carne for the time being dismissed the matter from his mind.
Next morning, while he was dressing, Belton reported that the two artificers desired an interview with him. He ordered them to be admitted, and forthwith they entered the room. It was noticeable that Wajib Baksh carried in his hand a heavy box, which, upon Carne’s motioning him to do so, he placed upon the table.
“Have ye thought over the matter?” he asked, seeing that the men waited for him to speak.
“We have thought of it,” replied Hiram Singh, who always acted as spokesman for the pair. “If the Presence will deign to look, he will see that we have made a box of the size and shape such as he drew upon the paper.”
“Yes, it is certainly a good copy,” said Carne condescendingly, after he had examined it.
Wajib Baksh showed his white teeth in appreciation of the compliment, and Hiram Singh drew closer to the table.
“And now, if the Sahib will open it, he will in his wisdom be able to tell if it resembles the other that he has in his mind.”
Carne opened the box as requested, and discovered that the interior was an exact counterfeit of the Duchess of Wiltshire’s jewel case, even to the extent of the quilted leather lining which had been the other’s principal feature. He admitted that the likeness was all that could be desired.
“As he is satisfied,” said Hiram Singh, “it may be that the Protector of the Poor will deign to try an experiment with it. See, here is a comb. Let it be placed in the box, so— now he will see what he will see.”
The broad, silver-backed comb, lying upon his dressing-table, was placed on the bottom of the box, the lid was closed, and the key turned in the lock. The case being securely fastened, Hiram Singh laid it before his master.
“I am to open it, I suppose?” said Carne, taking the key and replacing it in the lock.
“If my master pleases,” replied the other.
Carne accordingly turned it in the lock, and, having done so, raised the lid and looked inside. His aston
ishment was complete. To all intents and purposes the box was empty. The comb was not to be seen, and yet the quilted sides and bottom were, to all appearances, just the same as when he had first looked inside.
“This is most wonderful,” he said. And indeed it was as clever a conjuring trick as any he had ever seen.
“Nay, it is very simple,” Wajib Baksh replied. “The Heaven-born told me that there must be no risk of detection.”
He took the box in his own hands and, running his nails down the centre of the quilting, dividing the false bottom into two pieces; these he lifted out, revealing the comb lying upon the real bottom beneath.
“The sides, as my lord will see,” said Hiram Singh, taking a step forward, “are held in their appointed places by these two springs. Thus, when the key is turned the springs relax, and the sides are driven by others into their places on the bottom, where the seams in the quilting mask the join. There is but one disadvantage. It is as follows: When the pieces which form the bottom are lifted out in order that my lord may get at whatever lies concealed beneath, the springs must of necessity stand revealed. However, to any one who knows sufficient of the working of the box to lift out the false bottom, it will be an easy matter to withdraw the springs and conceal them about his person.”
“As you say that is an easy matter,” said Carne, “and I shall not be likely to forget. Now one other question. Presuming I am in a position to put the real box into your hands for say eight hours, do you think that in that time you can fit it up so that detection will be impossible?”
“Assuredly, my lord,” replied Hiram Singh with conviction. “There is but the lock and the fitting of the springs to be done. Three hours at most would suffice for that.”