The young man who awaited them was striding about the room in very obvious agitation. He looked as if he had slept in his suit, and not taken the time to do up his tie properly.
‘Oh, look here, Lord Peter,’ he exclaimed as soon as they entered the room, ‘I’m in a hell of a fix!’
‘Sit down, won’t you?’ said Peter. ‘But first, let me introduce Harriet, my wife.’
The visitor was so agitated he could barely manage the minimum courtesy of a handshake, and no sooner had he sat down than he jumped up again and resumed pacing about the room.
‘You’re going to need to calm down a bit, old chap, aren’t you,’ said Peter, taking young Attenbury by the arm, and firmly leading him back to a chair, ‘if you’re going to be able to tell us what this is about.’
Harriet rang the bell, and when Bunter appeared, asked him to bring brandy and water.
This was one of the occasions when Peter nodded discreetly to Bunter, who, having set down his tray, quietly retreated to the far end of the room, out of the eye-line of the visitor, and took a seat behind an elaborate Japanese lacquer screen.
‘I suppose you know about those damned emeralds,’ Attenbury said at last. ‘Since you famously found the things for my grandfather.’
‘Haven’t seen any of them since, though,’ said Peter. ‘Except from afar, once or twice. And I rather think they weren’t complete when they were re-mounted.’
‘No, they weren’t,’ said Attenbury. ‘Aunt Diana didn’t like the big dark chunky stone. She said it was inscribed with a curse. So Grandfather just took it back and put it in the bank. He set great store by it. When my father died he transferred ownership to me. He thought it would cover nearly half the estate duty, if it wasn’t liable to duty itself.’
‘I expect it would help with it if you didn’t mind selling,’ said Peter.
‘Mind selling?’ cried Attenbury in distress. ‘If only I could! But now I’m in terrible trouble!’
‘It wasn’t with Spink, was it?’ asked Peter. ‘Spink has a vault for its customers’ treasure, and it took a direct hit in the Blitz, you remember,’ he added for Harriet’s benefit.
‘No, no, it was still with Cavenor’s Bank,’ said Attenbury.
‘Well, has it gone missing?’ asked Harriet.
‘Or found to be a paste copy?’ asked Peter.
Suddenly the young man in front of them slumped in his chair. He took a gulp of brandy and said, quite levelly and calmly, ‘Not the one nor the other. It’s there. I don’t think it’s paste. But someone else has shown up who says it isn’t mine and he can prove it.’
‘Good lord!’ said Peter. Then after a minute or so he said, ‘I don’t suppose this person is an Indian gentleman of about my age called Nandine Osmanthus?’
‘I don’t know who he is,’ said Attenbury. ‘I haven’t clapped eyes on him. The bank won’t release the stone to me because they say there is a problem with ownership. And that’s about all I know. But what am I to do, Wimsey? The blasted pompous ass in the bank vault said I couldn’t sell the jewel anyway, because the auction houses wouldn’t touch it with a bad provenance. But I really must sell it. Without a bit of cash I might have to sell not just the land from the estate right up to the front door, I’ll have to sell the house itself. I’m having to let most of the pictures and the London house go, as it is. My mother can’t stop crying . . .’ He looked as if he was having difficulty not crying himself.
‘How can this possibly have happened?’ he asked.
‘Well, I think, Attenbury,’ said Peter, ‘the first thing to be done is to make sure that it really has happened. There was a very similar jewel; I once saw two side by side. I think I might be able to tell yours from the other one, with a bit of luck. Write me a letter authorising me to act on your behalf, and I’ll see if I can sort this out.’
‘Oh, would you really? That’s exceptionally kind of you. I’d be for ever in your debt.’
‘Hold on, hold on. I said I’d try. I might not succeed. I have a feeling this will be difficult.’
‘I suppose it’s a bit much of me even to ask . . .’
‘Of course not. I was a friend of your father’s from schooldays. I really will do my best. Now your part is to write that letter.’
Bunter appeared as if by magic, lowered the flap of the little writing desk that stood between the tall windows of the room, and laid out a sheet of writing paper and a pen on the blotter.
As Attenbury sat down to write, Peter said, ‘Tell me, if you can, when the king-stone was deposited in the bank.’
‘I do know that,’ said Attenbury. ‘It was when the rest of the emeralds were re-set, just before Aunt Diana got married.’
‘March 1923, then. That’s a start. Then I’d like to know exactly when and for how long it has been taken out of the vault, in the years between then and now.’
‘I can ask my mother and aunts. I suppose they might know.’
‘I expect the bank can supply the bare dates,’ said Peter. ‘But I might have to nose round your family a bit, asking questions.’
‘They won’t mind,’ the young man said, adding, suddenly authoritative, ‘They’d better not!’
‘Have you told the insurance company?’
‘What can I tell them when I don’t know what has happened? And look, Wimsey, the family lawyer says not to tell anybody that there is a problem with the jewel, as that might make it harder to sell. I’d be helping to create a dicey provenance, was what he said.’
When he had gone, Peter was thoughtful. ‘Are you working this morning, Harriet?’ he asked.
‘I ought to, yes,’ she said.
‘Then I think Bunter and I will tool along to Messrs Cavenor and report to you later,’ his lordship said.
As Bunter brought him his coat and gloves he said, ‘You know, Bunter, I think the stones were identically carved in front. So our only hope would lie in the inscription. I think that I remember Mr Handley telling me that the Maharaja’s stone was inscribed with a rounded first letter.’
‘That is what I recollect our being told at the time, my lord,’ said Bunter.
‘What a man in a million you are, Bunter!’ said Peter, taking the steps down from his front door two at a time like a rash young boy.
‘Whatever has got into Father?’ said his son in astonishment, seeing him from the corner of the square.
Bankers are not much given to the expression of emotion; not when on duty, anyway. But obviously the Attenbury emerald had become a hot topic. There were pursed lips, and references to more senior people the moment Peter raised the subject. By and by he and Bunter were admitted to a large oak-panelled office with a high acreage desk, a fire laid but unlit in a marble surround, fine carpets and large windows, where, palatially ensconced and expensively suited, sat one of the bank’s directors.
Wimsey passed his letter of authority from Attenbury across the desk. Mr Snader picked it up and read it with a flash of consternation, quickly suppressed, crossing his face.
‘You do seem to be in a spot of bother over this,’ Wimsey remarked pleasantly. ‘I hope I shall be able to help.’
Mr Snader reacted sharply. ‘We are not in difficulties,’ he said. ‘Your client may well be.’
‘Oh, I don’t know,’ said Wimsey languidly. He stared at his opponent, for opponent Mr Snader undoubtedly was. ‘I don’t suppose it would improve the standing of your bank if it got around that your safe deposits were not very safe, don’t you know.’
‘Our safe deposits are for the use of honest clients,’ replied Mr Snader, with a note of indignation in his voice. ‘We have never been touched by a breath of scandal in more than a hundred years of business.’
‘I should be careful what you imply about my client,’ said Wimsey. ‘He is entitled to the presumption of innocence, and there are the libel laws – God bless them! – to consider. As I understand it all he has done is to request the return of his property.’
‘If he imagines that we will
hand over to you what we have declined to hand over to him in person, he is mistaken,’ said Mr Snader. ‘We are not sure that he is entitled to ask for the gem in question.’
‘If he is not entitled to ask for it,’ said Wimsey, ‘then you are indeed in a spot of bother. For the family can produce a sequence of receipts for the very famous jewel, famously belonging to them, each time it has been deposited with you.’ As he spoke Wimsey silently hoped that this was the case. ‘If there has been some hanky-panky, then the very least that has happened on your side is carelessness in writing receipts for the property handed in to your care.’
He let a silence develop in the room, before continuing. ‘You have perhaps mistaken my standing in this matter. It is true that I am a private detective, although professionally I prefer murder to fraud.’ He smiled softly as he saw the shudder of revulsion cross Mr Snader’s face. It was uncertain whether the word murder or the word fraud had most affronted him. ‘But it is as a friend of the family that I am here today. I have seen both the Attenbury jewel, and one very like it in the past. Admittedly rather long ago. It is possible I may be able to tell you whether you do or do not have the Attenbury gem in your deposit box.’
Mr Snader silently fiddled with his gold pen, taking the cap on and off.
‘This matter will have to be taken further, one way or another,’ said Wimsey. ‘You can hardly suppose that young Attenbury will simply walk away from his heirloom on the say-so of a bank employee, and keep his mouth shut about it. He will raise an awful stink, and who could blame him?’
‘You say you can identify the Attenbury jewel?’
‘I say that I might be able to.’
Mr Snader rang a discreet silver bell on his vast desk. An employee appeared, and was asked to bring a numbered strongbox. All this time Bunter was standing well back, seeming to be absorbed in the view from the window. Minutes passed.
The porter appeared with the box, and set it down on the desk. Mr Snader went to a locked cabinet, and produced a numbered key. He opened the box and removed a leather case about six inches square, which he opened, and pushed across the desk towards Wimsey. Wimsey leaned forward, and picked up the jewel. He looked closely at it, removing his eye glass, and using it like a jeweller’s loupe. Then he turned the gem over, laid it back on the velvet lining of the box, and stared long and hard at the inscription on the back. What had Mr Handley told him, all those years ago? That the Indian gentleman had said one jewel had an inscription beginning with a spiky letter, the other with a round one . . .
‘Well, sir, what do you say?’ demanded Mr Snader.
‘Ah. I cannot read this inscription myself, so I am relying on my recollection of the letter shapes in the first line. Will you permit my man to take a photograph of this inscription so that I can consult someone who can read it?’
Mr Snader looked distinctly unwilling.
‘All that I require,’ said Bunter, ‘is that you will lay the jewel on the windowsill for several seconds.’
‘You can take a snap at once, without fuss or extra equipment? In that case I cannot object. As far as I can see it is in the best interest of everyone to establish the identity of this jewel.’
Almost before the sentence was out of his mouth Bunter had placed the jewel on the windowsill. The cloudy, shadowless light of an overcast London day, and his Leica did the job. Peter heard the shutter click three times with the jewel lying face down, three times with it lying face up, and then Bunter returned the box to Snader’s desk.
Snader had not taken his eyes off the jewel for a split second during this procedure.
‘May I ask you what is your opinion, Lord Peter?’ he asked.
‘I would like to be able to tell you that I am certain that the jewel you have is Attenbury’s,’ said Peter. ‘So much less trouble all round. But I am afraid that it is not. And yet you are in possession of Attenbury’s jewel, for he has your receipt for it. He could go to the police.’
Mr Snader appeared to have lost an inch or so in height, and a good deal of confidence along with it. ‘Is there any way of avoiding the involvement of the police?’ he asked.
‘We could try where whole-hearted co-operation might get us,’ said Wimsey drily.
‘What do you need me to do?’ asked Snader.
‘I take it you have carried out a thorough search of all your deposit boxes, to be sure that you have not got custody of two nearly identical stones, and all that is amiss is that the wrong one is in the Attenbury box?’
‘We did that as soon as we understood that there were two stones. No other was found to be here.’
‘Then there has been a substitution. But I am naturally deeply curious to know who told you that there were two stones.’
‘A Mr Tipotenios,’ said Snader.
‘But, my dear fellow, that is just Greek for nobody!’ said Wimsey. ‘Did you see Mr Nobody in person? He wasn’t an Indian gentleman, was he?’
‘Oh, no, he was a white man,’ said Snader. ‘He called here in person.’
‘To do what, exactly?’ asked Wimsey.
‘To tell me that he acted for somebody who claimed ownership of the emerald in the Attenbury strongbox, and to threaten me with all sorts of legal reprisals if the stone were released to the Attenbury family. He was very definite that he could prove the ownership of the stone that he claimed the Attenburys were passing off as theirs.’
‘He did not ask you to give the stone to him?’
‘We would not have done that. We told him we would require to see his proof of ownership, and he went off to get it, saying that it would take some time as the documents were not in England.’
‘How long ago was this?’
‘It was a week ago. It is very unfortunate that Lord Attenbury did not appear first.’
‘Who interviewed Mr Tipotenios?’ asked Wimsey.
‘Orson, my second-in-command. I was out of the office myself that day.’
‘Could you instruct Mr Orson to give a full description of the man to Bunter?’
Mr Snader rang the bell again, and Bunter departed, notebook in hand.
‘It looks very likely that there has been a substitution,’ Wimsey said once more. ‘It’s a clever manoeuvre; a version of the three-card trick. The thing to do is to work out when and how the substitution was made. Can you give me a list of all the occasions since 1923 when the jewel has been out of the strongbox, and in the hands of the family?’
‘You mean the substitution might not have been made by tampering with our strongboxes?’ said Mr Snader, brightening visibly.
‘I would be deeply obliged to you if you can find me those dates and receipts,’ said Wimsey. ‘Then I can begin to find out.’
‘If there is one thing we are meticulous about,’ said Mr Snader, ‘it is record-keeping. We can tell you what has come in and out of our boxes going back to the 1880s. Except the secret boxes. Only the client knows what is in those.’
‘But the Attenbury box is not one of those?’
‘No. So we shall be able to provide you with what you ask for. With a bit of burrowing around in the files.’
‘I’ll send Bunter round tomorrow morning to collect what you can find for me,’ said Wimsey.
‘Oh, Lord Peter’ said Mr Snader, recovering poise, ‘if any rumours were to start to circulate about the security of the bank, it would be as well for you to remember that we too have lawyers.’
‘Good heavens, man, what do you take me for?’ said Wimsey, getting up to leave. ‘Some of my best friends are lawyers.’
Chapter 13
Late the following morning found Lord Peter, Harriet and Bunter sitting in conference round the library table. ‘This is what we have,’ said Peter. The papers Bunter had fetched from Mr Snader’s office were spread out on the table in front of him.
‘Seems that the jewel has been delivered to the family, or fetched by them on only four occasions in the last thirty years. It was taken out of the bank for Charlotte’s engagement party, a
s we all know, and returned with the whole parure on 20th April 1921. The king-stone was left in the bank when the other stones were taken to be re-set for Diana. So at that stage the king-stone on its own belonged to the Attenburys and the rest of the emeralds had become combined with Writtle diamonds, and were now owned by the Writtle family. The king-stone was removed from the bank in 1929, and returned a month later. And again it was borrowed from the bank in 1941, and returned twelve days later. Finally it was lent to one Miss Pevenor to assist her in writing a history of jewellery, and returned to the bank in November 1949. And there it should still be.
‘Here we have it lying all before us – pairs of receipts, signed by a family member who took the jewel out of the strongbox, and by a bank employee when the jewel was returned. We are fully briefed, and can begin.’
Harriet said, ‘Peter, the first of these occasions is the one in the tale you have been telling me, which includes the two stones side by side in a pawnbroker’s shop. Are we sure the exchange didn’t happen then?’
‘Well, Osmanthus is the only person in the tale so far who could tell the stones apart. He could read the inscriptions.’
‘Could he have been less honest and fair-dealing than he represented himself as being?’
‘Could he deliberately have taken the wrong stone? Was the jumpy Mr Handley careless enough to let him? Somehow I don’t think the man I encountered was a likely scoundrel. But I can’t rule it out. Meanwhile, we must see what we can find out about more recent occasions.’
‘How do we begin exactly, Peter? All these trails are by now stone-cold.’
‘Cold, cold, my girl, no doubt,’ said Peter. ‘But we must try to warm them up a bit. We’ll walk around and talk to people. Would you like to be my woman’s-eye view, Harriet? After all, jewels are women’s stuff.’
‘Won’t a deputation of three of us rather seem alarming? Are we declaring our purpose?’
‘Talking to the family I think we can. And we shall talk first, I think, to Sylvia Abcock, Roland’s widow, and mother of young Edward who has appealed to us. You and I shall call on her ladyship, and Bunter will be offered a cup of tea in the kitchen, just like the old days, and we’ll find out what we all can.’
The Attenbury Emeralds Page 12