by Clara Benson
‘Do you believe him to be in Tregarrion at this moment?’ asked Angela.
He nodded.
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I won’t bore you with the whole story, but through a rather convoluted route we recently received a report that Valencourt was intending to come to Cornwall in pursuit of a priceless jewel. The report indicated Tregarrion as his most likely destination. Of course, this puzzled us rather, since we had no knowledge of any members of European royalty staying in the area.’
‘It doesn’t seem quite the sort of place a foreign dignitary would choose to spend a holiday,’ agreed Angela.
‘Quite. I thought it was probably all a mare’s nest, but I didn’t want to miss any opportunity to catch Valencourt, however unlikely, so I came down here with the intention of keeping my eyes open. I had just begun to think that there was nothing in the report after all, and had in fact almost decided to leave Tregarrion tomorrow, but what you told me just now has given me pause for thought, and renewed hope that we may have run him to earth at last.’
‘Do you think Valencourt is after the necklace?’ asked Angela doubtfully.
‘I do not know for sure, but you must admit that it is a strange coincidence: we have reports that a notorious jewel-thief is in the area, and at the same time we discover that a jewel of untold value, with a connection to the Queen of France, is thought to be hidden in a house nearby, which is inhabited by a frail old lady who is unlikely to be much threat to any determined thief.’
‘Miss Trout is a very pleasant lady,’ said Angela, ‘and even though she is rather frail, I shouldn’t say that she would be easy pickings. She appears to have all her wits about her—more so than many people of more tender years, as a matter of fact.’
‘Is that so?’ he said. ‘That is a very good thing for her, given her situation.’
‘But what is her situation, exactly? I must say, it sounds rather far-fetched to me. Even if, as you say, Edgar Valencourt is in Tregarrion, why do you think he is intending to steal the necklace? After all, it has not been seen for a hundred and fifty years, and we don’t even know for certain whether it was ever in the house, let alone whether it is still there today. How on earth does he expect to find it?’
‘That I cannot say, but I have had experience of the man, which you have not, and I can only assure you that there is seemingly no end to his cunning. If a man like Edgar Valencourt thinks it worth his while to come here in quest of a legendary jewel, then it seems almost certain that it is there for the taking. And what you tell me of the anonymous letters merely confirms my suspicion that he is here and up to no good.’
‘I wonder what his plan is,’ said Angela. ‘Those letters were very crudely written, and hardly seemed like the kind of device a sophisticated thief would use to get his victim out of the way.’
‘Perhaps not, but they may have been intended as a preliminary salvo—an attempt to remove Miss Trout with the minimum of effort on his part. I have no doubt that he has some more subtle plan up his sleeve if that one doesn’t work. Did Miss Trout seem worried by the letters at all?’
‘No—she seemed more bemused than anything else. They really were rather feeble, you know. I have them at home and can show them to you, if you like.’
He waved his hand.
‘Yes, I shall take a look at them later, but I doubt they will tell us anything useful.’
He stroked his chin, thinking.
‘What is to be done now?’ asked Angela. ‘Do you intend to warn Miss Trout of the danger?’
‘I think not—as a matter of fact, it is probably better if she knows nothing of the affair. We should only worry her unnecessarily. He may be a bad lot, but Valencourt has never been known to use violence against his victims, so she is not in any danger of physical harm. And what is the worst that can happen if she knows nothing? Why, that Valencourt steals the necklace and she loses something that she never had in the first place! No, it is far better to keep it a secret from her.’
‘I see what you mean,’ conceded Angela, ‘but I can’t say I like the idea of his stealing the necklace and getting away with it. If it can be found then presumably either it will belong to Miss Trout, to do with as she wishes, or at the very least she will receive a large reward for finding it and will be able to stay at Poldarrow Point.’
‘Oh, rest assured that I have no intention of letting Valencourt get away scot-free,’ said Simpson. ‘On the contrary, I plan to arrest him and have him put in prison for a very long time. But since I am working under-cover, the fewer people who know about it the better.’
‘What does this Valencourt look like?’ asked Angela. ‘I shall keep an eye out for him myself.’
Simpson looked rather sheepish.
‘I am ashamed to say it, but we have no idea. He is a master of disguise and has assumed a different appearance for each of his robberies. All we know is that he is a man of about thirty-eight or forty, who was born in England of a French father and English mother. He was apparently brought up in various countries, and so speaks many languages fluently, but beyond that we know very little. He has successfully eluded us for several years now.’
‘Does he work alone, or with a gang?’
‘Alone, for the most part, although he will avail himself of accomplices on occasion. He has a network of dishonest jewellery dealers all over Europe, who collude with him to sell the stolen pieces—or, if they are too easily recognizable to sell, to break them up and dispose of the stones separately.’
‘I see,’ said Angela. ‘Very well, if you don’t intend to warn Miss Trout of her danger, what are you going to do?’
Simpson smiled.
‘Why, I am going to request the help of a well-known lady detective,’ he said.
‘I assume you mean me,’ said Angela. ‘Of course, you know that I am not really a detective?’
‘Perhaps not, but your frequent appearance in the newspapers means that you will be forever considered as such in the mind of the English public. Confess it, though: you do not really object to the deception.’
Angela did not reply directly, but only said, ‘I will certainly confess to having more than my share of natural curiosity and a desire to get to the bottom of any mystery that happens to present itself.’
‘Then may I count on your help?’ said Simpson.
‘What is it that you wish me to do?’
‘Oh, very little. I do not demand that you catch the man single-handedly—no, leave it to the police to do that. All I ask is that you keep me informed of anything that happens at Poldarrow Point. Did Miss Trout ask you to investigate the anonymous letters?’
‘Yes, and I agreed to do so, although I hardly know where to start.’
‘Very good. Then you will see her often and she will tell you of any developments. In addition, your god-daughter is going to search for the necklace itself. I think I hardly need tell you that if she finds it, you must keep it safe and tell me at once. It might even be better to get it out of the house immediately if you can, so Valencourt does not have the opportunity to steal it from under your noses.’
‘Very well,’ said Angela. ‘I shall see what I can do. I should hate to see Miss Trout forced to leave her home just when the recovery of the necklace ought to make her quite safe from eviction.’
‘And don’t forget to keep the thing quiet,’ he said. ‘If Valencourt gets wind of the fact that we are on to him, then he will disappear and we shall have to start all over again. I don’t mind telling you that I take his continued freedom personally. I don’t like to lose a man even once, let alone several times, and Valencourt is as cunning as the devil. I shall be very glad to see him behind bars where he belongs.’
Angela promised to do as he asked, and they parted for the present, since Simpson had to report the new developments to his superiors.
‘I am at the hotel if anything comes up,’ he said as he was about to leave. ‘You may summon me at any time and I shall come.’
Angela walked slowly back
to Kittiwake Cottage, her mind full of what she had just heard. What an extraordinary story! To think that a notorious jewel-thief was here under their very noses, planning his latest crime. It almost defied belief that such a thing could happen in this peaceful spot.
‘I shall have to take another look at those anonymous letters,’ she said to herself. ‘I can’t say I took them very seriously before, but it looks as though they may be more significant than I thought.’
TEN
Barbara stood ankle-deep in the shallows and watched the waves come in. Farther out, the breeze whipped the sea up into white, choppy peaks, but here in the little cove, all was calm thanks to the shelter provided by the rugged cliffs that loomed above and all around.
Helen Walters was swimming with powerful strokes up and down the little bay. She caught sight of Barbara and slowed her pace, then stopped and waved, treading water.
‘Hallo,’ she called. ‘Are you coming in? The water is simply splendid this morning.’
‘Not today,’ Barbara called back. ‘I don’t have my bathing things.’
She kicked the water grumpily with a bare foot. She wanted the place to herself so she could look for the smugglers’ tunnel, but the girl from next door was spoiling everything by taking her bathe now. Soon the tide would come in and cover the beach, and then she wouldn’t be able to get anywhere near the cliffs.
‘I can scout about a bit, at any rate,’ she said to herself. ‘Helen needn’t know what I am up to.’
She walked back up the beach and pulled her shoes on over wet feet, then headed to the section of cliff that she thought was most likely to contain the entrance to the tunnel. Stopping now and again by a rock pool and poking about amongst the seaweed (might as well make it look as though she were merely hunting for interesting sea-creatures), she worked her way slowly along the cliff face, glancing up occasionally in the hope of seeing an opening that might be the entrance.
At last she came to a little rocky outcrop that looked as though it might be just the thing: just after it, the cliff appeared to fold in on itself and form a kind of recess. Barbara’s eyes gleamed in excitement. Surely this was it! She glanced up to see where Helen had got to, and saw that she had come out of the water and was wrapping herself in a towel while proceeding slowly across the sand back towards the cliff path that led back to her cottage. Barbara waited a minute or two until Helen was out of sight then turned back to look more closely at the cliff face. As far as she could judge, the recess was almost directly below Poldarrow Point itself. This was promising. She skirted round a large seaweedy pool and rounded the rock, then almost jumped out of her skin as she came face to face with a man who was crouching in the recess in a most suspicious manner.
‘Oh!’ she exclaimed. The man straightened up in a hurry. He was clearly as surprised as she was. He went pink in the face.
‘I am very sorry,’ he said. ‘I do not wish to frighten you.’
‘That’s all right,’ said Barbara. ‘I just got a shock, that’s all. I didn’t know anyone was here, you see.’
She looked more closely at the man. He was obviously foreign, and was dressed in a rather odd pair of knee breeches and a hat with a feather. Despite his luxuriant moustache, he was younger than she had first thought. On the ground next to him was a knapsack, attached to which were one or two glass jars and a number of digging implements. He saw her curiosity and waved a hand towards the equipment.
‘I am Pierre Donati, from Switzerland,’ he said. ‘I am a scientist.’
‘Oh!’ said Barbara. ‘How fascinating. Are you studying something here?’
He went pink again.
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I look for the hore.’
‘The what?’ said Barbara.
‘The hore. Metal, yes? Cornwall is rich in hore. Tin, copper. Also other things, such as wolfram, or tungsten as it is also known.’
‘Oh, ore—yes, of course,’ said Barbara. ‘I did know that. We learned about it at school, but I’m afraid I wasn’t listening very carefully.’
‘It can be a little dry for a young mind,’ he agreed, ‘but it is very important, for if metal can be found in the soil, it may be worth many thousands of pounds.’
‘I say!’ said Barbara. ‘That sounds more like it. Perhaps I shall pay more attention in future. You can’t carry much in those jars, though.’
‘No, no,’ he said. ‘I do not dig up the hore itself. I merely take little samples of the soil here and there, which I will test later.’
‘But there’s no soil in here, only sand.’
‘Ah, yes,’ said Mr. Donati. ‘I come here for a little break from my work. The view is most beautiful.’
‘What, from behind this rock?’
He looked confused, and coughed.
‘No, I was on the beach, then I happened to see this little—what do you call it?—cave, and I was very curious, so I came to take a closer look.’
‘Oh, so it is a cave,’ said Barbara in excitement. ‘Might I see?’
He stepped out of the way to allow her to enter the recess. Sure enough, there was a narrow fissure in the cliff face that was quite screened from the view of anyone who might be looking from the beach. It appeared to be the entrance to a passage.
‘Have you been inside?’ she said to Donati.
‘No, I have not the torch,’ he replied.
‘I have a torch,’ she said. ‘Would you like to come in with me?’ She spoke out of politeness since he had, after all, found the cave first, but was relieved when he shook his head.
‘No, I thank you,’ he said. ‘I must return to work now. Goodbye. Perhaps we shall meet again soon.’
‘Oh yes, goodbye,’ said Barbara, then turned her attention back to the cave and promptly forgot about the strange man, who had picked up his knapsack and was already heading back towards the path, clanking as he went.
She ducked in through the low entrance and followed the passage which, after six or seven feet, took a sharp turn to the right. Beyond that point it was too dark to see, so she took out her electric torch and switched it on. By the dim light she saw that a few yards ahead the little tunnel opened out into a larger space. She hurried forward, then stopped and looked about her, waving the torch around as she turned her head this way and that. She was in a cave of perhaps thirty feet square which had presumably been hollowed out by the tides of many millions of years. Water dripped from the ceiling, and the walls glistened and oozed with festoons of clinging seaweed. Underfoot, rippled paths of wet sand wound in and out among dark rock pools. The air was damp and chill.
Sure that she had found the right place, Barbara started forward into the cave and began to explore it carefully. She walked slowly around it, shining her torch on any recess that might be the entrance to the tunnel, or any large patch of seaweed that might possibly conceal an opening. After three circuits of the place, however, by which time she had in desperation begun pulling aside smaller and smaller patches of seaweed that could not possibly hide anything, she was forced to concede that there was no tunnel here. The thought rather cheered her, since it meant that the discovery was still all her very own to make without any interference from Swiss scientists, and she emerged into the sunshine undaunted and as determined as ever.
She proceeded along the bottom of the cliff, examining the face carefully but finding nothing—although she noted that the tide had advanced surprisingly far while she had been inside the cave. She had now reached the very furthest extremity of the Poldarrow Point headland without finding the smugglers’ tunnel, and there seemed to be nowhere else to look: any farther on and she would be past the headland and into the other side of Tregarn Bay proper.
‘Where on earth can it be?’ she said to herself. ‘I’ve searched every inch of this cove, it seems, but I haven’t found anything. Could that cave be the entrance after all? Perhaps the tunnel has been blocked by a rock-fall, or something. Or perhaps it’s back there, where the path comes out onto the beach.’
Sh
e clambered up to sit on a large, flat outcrop at the base of the cliff and gazed back in the direction she had come, searching for any signs she might have missed, but saw nothing that looked a likely prospect. She sighed and began to spin around idly on her seat, debating whether or not to leave the search for today and come back tomorrow, as the tide was approaching rapidly now. It would be lunch-time soon, too, and Barbara realized that she was hungry. Then she remembered that Cook had promised to bake some more scones, and that decided it. She was going back.
She spun herself round one more time—too violently, for she lost her balance and before she could regain it, fell off the rock and landed six feet below on the far side of it.
‘Oof!’ she said, and then, ‘Ow!’
She lay there for a moment or two to get her breath back, then sat up gingerly and rubbed her elbow. Nothing seemed to be broken. She was about to utter a word that would certainly be forbidden at school, when her eyes widened and her mouth dropped open, for there it was—the entrance to the smugglers’ tunnel, as plain as the eye could see, right there before her. No wonder she had missed it: the slab of rock hid it completely from the beach, and except at very low tide, it was totally inaccessible. It was a low, wide opening in the rock which a quick inspection showed opened out into a little cave. Without bothering to stand up (it was too low to walk under in any case), Barbara scrambled inside and saw that she had at last found what she was looking for. She got to her feet. The ceiling of this cave was lower than the other one, and the floor made mostly of rock, but this one too was dripping and strewn with wet seaweed. Barbara glanced out through the entrance into the sunshine and saw that the sea was not twenty yards away. She briefly considered leaving her expedition until the next low tide, but then the gleam of the torch happened to fall on the tunnel entrance itself at the back of the cave, and her decision was made.
She crossed the slippery floor carefully and entered the passage, looking about her. Her heart beat in her chest as the tunnel dipped down steeply and then began to wind upwards, and she gripped her torch more firmly, thankful that she had remembered to bring it. After a hundred yards or so the damp passage emerged into a sort of chamber that was much drier. Barbara had a vague recollection of having once read a book about Cornish smugglers, and supposed that in the olden days, when customs men might turn up at any time or the tide take them by surprise, the men must have brought the smuggled booty to this place first of all. Afterwards, once it had all been brought ashore safely, they would carry it up to the cellars of Poldarrow Point at their leisure.