by Guy Boothby
“I am pleased with you,” said Carne. “As a proof of my satisfaction, when the work is finished you will each receive five hundred rupees. Now you can go.”
According to his promise, ten o’clock on the Friday following found him in his hansom driving towards Belgrave Square. He was a little anxious, though the casual observer would scarcely have been able to tell it. The magnitude of the stake for which he was playing was enough to try the nerve of even such a past master in his profession as Simon Carne.
Arriving at the house he discovered some workmen erecting an awning across the footway in preparation for the ball that was to take place at night. It was not long, however, before he found himself in the boudoir, reminding Her Grace of her promise to permit him an opportunity of making a drawing of the famous jewel case. The Duchess was naturally busy, and within a quarter of an hour he was on his way home with the box placed on the seat of the carriage beside him.
“Now,” he said, as he patted it good-humouredly, “if only the notion worked out by Hiram Singh and Wajib Baksh holds good, the famous Wiltshire diamonds will become my property before very many hours are passed. By this time to-morrow, I suppose, London will be all agog concerning the burglary.”
On reaching his house he left his carriage, and himself carried the box into his study. Once there he rang his bell and ordered Hiram Singh and Wajib Baksh to be sent to him. When they arrived he showed them the box upon which they were to exercise their ingenuity.
“Bring your tools in here,” he said, “and do the work under my own eyes. You have but nine hours before you, so you must make the most of them.”
The men went for their implements, and as soon as they were ready set to work. All through the day they were kept hard at it, with the result that by five o’clock the alterations had been effected and the case stood ready. By the time Carne returned from his afternoon drive in the Park it was quite prepared for the part it was to play in his scheme. Having praised the men, he turned them out and locked the door, then went across the room and unlocked a drawer in his writing table. From it he took a flat leather jewel case, which he opened. It contained a necklace of counterfeit diamonds, if anything a little larger than the one he intended to try to obtain. He had purchased it that morning in the Burlington Arcade for the purpose of testing the apparatus his servants had made, and this he now proceeded to do.
Laying it carefully upon the bottom he closed the lid and turned the key. When he opened it again the necklace was gone, and even though he knew the secret he could not for the life of him see where the false bottom began and ended. After that he reset the trap and tossed the necklace carelessly in. To his delight it acted as well as on the previous occasion. He could scarcely contain his satisfaction. His conscience was sufficiently elastic to give him no trouble. To him it was scarcely a robbery he was planning, but an artistic trial of skill, in which he pitted his wits and cunning against the forces of society in general.
At half-past seven he dined, and afterwards smoked a meditative cigar over the evening paper in the billiard room. The invitations to the ball were for ten o’clock, and at nine-thirty he went to his dressing-room.
“Make me tidy as quickly as you can,” he said to Belton when the latter appeared, “and while you are doing so listen to my final instructions.”
“To-night, as you know, I am endeavouring to secure the Duchess of Wiltshire’s necklace. To-morrow morning all London will resound with the hubbub, and I have been making my plans in such a way as to arrange that Klimo shall be the first person consulted. When the messenger calls, if call he does, see that the old woman next door bids him tell the Duke to come personally at twelve o’clock. Do you understand?”
“Perfectly, sir?”
“Very good. Now give me the jewel case, and let me be off. You need not sit up for me.”
Precisely as the clocks in the neighbourhood were striking ten Simon Carne reached Belgrave Square, and, as he hoped, found himself the first guest.
His hostess and her husband received him in the ante-room of the drawing-room.
“I come laden with a thousand apologies,” he said as he took Her Grace’s hand, and bent over it with that ceremonious politeness which was one of the man’s chief characteristics. “I am most unconscionably early, I know, but I hastened here in order that I might personally return the jewel case you so kindly lent me. I must trust to your generosity to forgive me. The drawings took longer than I expected.”
“Please do not apologise,” answered Her Grace. “It is very kind of you to have brought the case yourself. I hope the illustrations have proved successful. I shall look forward to seeing them as soon as they are ready. But I am keeping you holding the box. One of my servants will take it to my room.”
She called a footman to her, and bade him take the box and place it upon her dressing-table.
“Before it goes I must let you see that I have not damaged it either externally or internally,” said Carne with a laugh. “It is such a valuable case that I should never forgive myself if it had even received a scratch during the time it has been in my possession.”
So saying he lifted the lid and allowed her to look inside. To all appearance it was exactly the same as when she had lent it to him earlier in the day.
“You have been most careful,” she said. And then, with an air of banter, she continued: “If you desire it, I shall be pleased to give you a certificate to that effect.”
They jested in this fashion for a few moments after the servant’s departure, during which time Carne promised to call upon her the following morning at 11 o’clock, and to bring with him the illustrations he had made and a queer little piece of china he had had the good fortune to pick up in a dealer’s shop the previous afternoon. By this time fashionable London was making its way up the grand staircase, and with its appearance further conversation became impossible.
Shortly after midnight Carne bade his hostess good-night and slipped away. He was perfectly satisfied with his evening’s entertainment, and if the key of the jewel case were not turned before the jewels were placed in it, he was convinced they would become his property. It speaks well for his strength of nerve when I record the fact that on going to bed his slumbers were as peaceful and untroubled as those of a little child.
Breakfast was scarcely over next morning before a hansom drew up at his front door and Lord Amberley alighted. He was ushered into Carne’s presence forthwith, and on seeing that the latter was surprised at his early visit, hastened to explain.
“My dear fellow,” he said, as he took possession of the chair the other offered him, “I have come round to see you on most important business. As I told you last night at the dance, when you so kindly asked me to come and see the steam yacht you have purchased, I had an appointment with Wiltshire at half-past nine this morning. On reaching Belgrave Square, I found the whole house in confusion. Servants were running hither and thither with scared faces, the butler was on the borders of lunacy, the Duchess was well-nigh hysterical in her boudoir, while her husband was in his study vowing vengeance against all the world.”
“You alarm me,” said Carne, lighting a cigarette with a hand that was as steady as a rock. “What on earth has happened?”
“I think I might safely allow you fifty guesses and then wager a hundred pounds you’d not hit the mark; and yet in a certain measure it concerns you.”
“Concerns me? Good gracious! What have I done to bring all this about?”
“Pray do not look so alarmed,” said Amberley. Personally you have done nothing. Indeed, on second thoughts, I don’t know that I am right in saying that it concerns you at all. The fact of the matter is, Carne, a burglary took place last night at Wiltshire House, and the famous necklace has disappeared.”
“Good heavens! You don’t say so?”
“But I do. The circumstances of the case are as follows: When my cousin retired to h
er room last night after the ball, she unclasped the necklace, and, in her husband’s presence, placed it carefully in her jewel case, which she locked. That having been done, Wiltshire took the box to the room which contained the safe, and himself placed it there, locking the iron door with his own key. The room was occupied that night, according to custom, by the butler and one of the footmen, both of whom have been in the family since they were boys.
“Next morning, after breakfast, the Duke unlocked the safe and took out the box, intending to convey it to the Bank as usual. Before leaving, however, he placed it on his study-table and went upstairs to speak to his wife. He cannot remember exactly how long he was absent, but he feels convinced that he was not gone more than a quarter of an hour at the very utmost.
“Their conversation finished, she accompanied him downstairs, where she saw him take up the case to carry it to his carriage. Before he left the house, however, she said: ‘I suppose you have looked to see that the necklace is all right?’ ‘How could I do so?’ was his reply. ‘You know you possess the only key that will fit it?’
“She felt in her pockets, but to her surprise the key was not there.”
“If I were a detective I should say that that is a point to be remembered,” said Carne with a smile. “Pray, where did she find her keys?”
“Upon her dressing-table,” said Amberley. “Though she has not the slightest recollection of leaving them there.”
“Well, when she had procured the keys, what happened?”
“Why, they opened the box, and, to their astonishment and dismay, found it empty. The jewels were gone!”
“Good gracious! What a terrible loss! It seems almost impossible that it can be true. And pray, what did they do?”
“At first they stood staring into the empty box, hardly believing the evidence of their own eyes. Stare how they would, however, they could not bring them back. The jewels had, without doubt, disappeared, but when and where the robbery had taken place it was impossible to say. After that they had up all the servants and questioned them, but the result was what they might have foreseen, no one from the butler to the kitchenmaid could throw any light upon the subject. To this minute it remains as great a mystery as when they first discovered it.”
“I am more concerned than I can tell you,” said Carne. “How thankful I ought to be that I returned the case to Her Grace last night. But in thinking of myself I am forgetting to ask what has brought you to me. If I can be of any assistance I hope you will command me.”
“Well, I’ll tell you why I have come,” replied Lord Amberley. “Naturally, they are most anxious to have the mystery solved and the jewels recovered as soon as possible. Wiltshire wanted to send to Scotland Yard there and then, but his wife and I eventually persuaded him to consult Klimo. As you know, if the police authorities are called in first, he refuses the business altogether. Now, we thought, as you are his next door neighbour, you might possibly be able to assist us.”
“You may be very sure, my lord, I will do everything that lies in my power. Let us go in and see him at once.”
As he spoke he rose and threw what remained of his cigarette into the fireplace. His visitor having imitated his example, they procured their hats and walked round from Park Lane into Belverton Street to bring up at No. 1. After they had rung the bell the door was opened to them by the old woman who invariably received the detective’s clients.
“Is Mr. Klimo at home?” asked Carne. “And if so, can we see him?”
The old lady was a little deaf, and the question had to be repeated before she could be made to understand what was wanted. As soon, however, as she realized their desire, she informed them that her master was absent from town, but would be back as usual at twelve o’clock to meet his clients.
“What on earth’s to be done?” said the Earl, looking at his companion in dismay. “I am afraid I can’t come back again, as I have a most important appointment at that hour.”
“Do you think you could entrust the business to me?” asked Carne. “If so, I will make a point of seeing him at twelve o’clock, and could call at Wiltshire House afterwards and tell the Duke what I have done.”
“That’s very good of you,” replied Amberley. “If you are sure it would not put you to too much trouble, that would be quite the best thing to be done.”
“I will do it with pleasure,” Carne replied. “I feel it my duty to help in whatever way I can.”
“You are very kind,” said the other. “Then, as I understand it, you are to call upon Klimo at twelve o’clock, and afterwards to let my cousins know what you have succeeded in doing. I only hope he will help us to secure the thief. We are having too many of these burglaries just now. I must catch this hansom and be off. Good-bye, and many thanks.”
“Good-bye,” said Carne, and shook him by the hand.
The hansom having rolled away, Carne retraced his steps to his own abode.
“It is really very strange,” he muttered as he walked along, “how often chance condescends to lend her assistance to my little schemes. The mere fact that His Grace left the box unwatched in his study for a quarter of an hour may serve to throw the police off on quite another scent. I am also glad that they decided to open the case in the house, for if it had gone to the bankers’ and had been placed in the strong room unexamined, I should never have been able to get possession of the jewels at all.”
Three hours later he drove to Wiltshire House and saw the Duke. The Duchess was far too much upset by the catastrophe to see any one.
“This is really most kind of you, Mr. Carne,” said His Grace when the other had supplied an elaborate account of his interview with Klimo. “We are extremely indebted to you. I am sorry he cannot come before ten o’clock to-night, and that he makes this stipulation of my seeing him alone, for I must confess I should like to have had some one else present to ask any questions that might escape me. But if that’s his usual hour and custom, well, we must abide by it, that’s all. I hope he will do some good, for this is the greatest calamity that has ever befallen me. As I told you just now, it has made my wife quite ill. She is confined to her bedroom and quite hysterical.”
“You do not suspect any one, I suppose?” inquired Carne.
“Not a soul,” the other answered. “The thing is such a mystery that we do not know what to think. I feel convinced, however, that my servants are as innocent as I am. Nothing will ever make me think them otherwise. I wish I could catch the fellow, that’s all. I’d make him suffer for the trick he’s played me.”
Carne offered an appropriate reply, and after a little further conversation upon the subject, bade the irate nobleman good-bye and left the house. From Belgrave Square he drove to one of the clubs of which he had been elected a member, in search of Lord Orpington, with whom he had promised to lunch, and afterwards took him to a ship-builder’s yard near Greenwich, in order to show him the steam yacht he had lately purchased.
It was close upon dinner time before he returned to his own residence. He brought Lord Orpington with him, and they dined in state together. At nine the latter bade him good-bye, and at ten Carne retired to his dressing-room and rang for Belton.
“What have you to report,” he asked, “with regard to what I bade you do in Belgrave Square?”
“I followed your instructions to the letter,” Belton replied. “Yesterday morning I wrote to Messrs. Horniblow and Jimson, the house agents in Piccadilly, in the name of Colonel Braithwaite, and asked for an order to view the residence to the right of Wiltshire House. I asked that the order might be sent direct to the house, where the Colonel would get it upon his arrival. This letter I posted myself in Basingstoke, as you desired me to do.
“At nine o’clock yesterday morning I dressed myself as much like an elderly army officer as possible, and took a cab to Belgrave Square. The caretaker, an old fellow of close upon seventy years of age, admitted me immediately
upon hearing my name, and proposed that he should show me over the house. This, however, I told him was quite unnecessary, backing my speech with a present of half a crown, whereupon he returned to his breakfast perfectly satisfied, while I wandered about the house at my own leisure.
“Reaching the same floor as that upon which is situated the room in which the Duke’s safe is kept, I discovered that your supposition was quite correct, and that it would be possible for a man, by opening the window, to make his way along the coping from one house to the other, without being seen. I made certain that there was no one in the bedroom in which the butler slept, and then arranged the long telescope walking-stick you gave me, and fixed one of my boots to it by means of the screw in the end. With this I was able to make a regular succession of footsteps in the dust along the ledge, between one window and the other.
“That done, I went downstairs again, bade the caretaker good-morning, and got into my cab. From Belgrave Square I drove to the shop of the pawnbroker whom you told me you had discovered was out of town. His assistant inquired my business, and was anxious to do what he could for me. I told him, however, that I must see his master personally, as it was about the sale of some diamonds I had had left me. I pretended to be annoyed that he was not at home, and muttered to myself, so that the man could hear, something about its meaning a journey to Amsterdam.
“Then I limped out of the shop, paid off my cab, and, walking down a by-street, removed my moustache, and altered my appearance by taking off my great coat and muffler. A few streets further on I purchased a bowler hat in place of the old-fashioned topper I had hitherto been wearing, and then took a cab from Piccadilly and came home.”
“You have fulfilled my instructions admirably,” said Carne. “And if the business comes off, as I expect it will, you shall receive your usual percentage. Now I must be turned into Klimo and be off to Belgrave Square to put His Grace of Wiltshire upon the track of this burglar.”
Before he retired to rest that night Simon Carne took something, wrapped in a red silk handkerchief, from the capacious pocket of the coat Klimo had been wearing a few moments before. Having unrolled the covering, he held up to the light the magnificent necklace which for so many years had been the joy and pride of the ducal house of Wiltshire. The electric light played upon it, and touched it with a thousand different hues.”