The Big Book of Victorian Mysteries

by The Big Book of Victorian Mysteries (retail) (epub)

  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 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 her 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 kitchen-maid 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 neighbor, 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 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 and 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 up Klimo at twelve o’clock, and afterwards 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 anyone.

  “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 someone 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 o’clock 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 Jinison, 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.

  “Where so many have failed,” he said to himself, as he wrapped it in the handkerchief again and locked it in his safe, “it is pleasant to be able to congratulate oneself on having succeeded. It is without its equal, and I don’t think I shall be overstepping the mark if I say that I think when she receives it Liz will be glad she lent me the money.”

  Next morning all London was astonished by the news that the famous Wiltshire diamonds had been stolen, and a few hours later Carne learnt from an evening paper that the detectives who had taken up the case, upon the supposed retirement from it of Klimo, were still completely at fault.

  That evening he was to entertain several friends to dinner. They included Lord Amberley, Lord Orpington, and a prominent member of the Privy Council. Lord Amberley arrived late, but filled to overflowing with importance. His friends noticed his state, and questioned him.

  “Well, gentlemen,” he answered, as he took up a commanding position upon the drawing-room hearthrug, “I am in a position to inform you that Klimo has reported upon the case, and the upshot of it is that the Wiltshire Diamond Mystery is a mystery no longer.”

  “What do you mean?” asked the others in a chorus.

  “I mean that he sent in his report to Wiltshire this afternoon, as arranged. From what he said the other night, after being alone in the room with the empty jewel case and a magnifying glass for two minutes or so, he was in a position to describe the modus operandi, and, what is more, to put the police on the scent of the burglar.”

  “And how was it worked?” asked Carne.

  “From the empty house next door,” replied the other. “On the morning of the burglary a man, purporting to be a retired army officer, called with an order to view, got the caretaker out of the way, clambered along to Wiltshire house by means of the parapet outside, reached the room during the time the servants were at breakfast, opened the safe, and abstracted the jewels.”

  “But how did Klimo find all this out?” asked Lord Orpington.

  “By his own inimitable cleverness,” replied Lord Amberley. “At any rate it has been proved that he was correct. The man did make his way from next door, and the police have since discovered that an individual, answering to the description given, visited a pawnbroker’s shop in the city about an hour later, and stated that he had diamonds to sell.”

  “If that is so it turns out to be a very simple mystery after all,” said Lord Orpington as they began their meal.

  “Thanks to the ingenuity of the cleverest detective in the world,” remarked Amberley.

  “In that case here’s a good health to Klimo,” said the Privy Councillor, raising his glass.

  “I will join you in that,” said Simon Carne. “Here’s a very good health to Klimo and his connection with the Duchess of Wiltshire’s diamonds. May he always be equally successful!”

  “Hear, hear to that,” replied his guests.

  INTERNATIONAL STORIES

  The Nail

  PEDRO DE ALARCÓN

  The author of six novels, numerous short stories, dramas, essays, and three travel books among a large number of nonfiction works, Pedro Antonio de Alarcón y Ariza (1833–1891) was born in Guadix, near Granada. While still in his twenties, he had established an excellent reputation as a journalist. He then wrote a play, The Prodigal Son (1857), that was such a staggering failure that he joined the armed forces to participate in a Spanish military campaign in Morocco. His eyewitness account of the battles and description of military life, Diary of a Witness to the African War (1859–1860), gave him his first serious recognition as a man of letters.

  Alarcón is probably best known for his novel The Three-Cornered Hat (1874), inspired by a popular ballad, a humorous, picaresque portrayal of village life in the region in which he lived; it served as the basis for Hugo Wolf’s opera Der Corregidor (1897) and Manuel de Falla’s ballet The Three-Cor
nered Hat (1919).

  Openly anticlerical and liberal, Alarcón for several years was the editor in chief of the popular periodical The Whip. His other major novels are The Last Act of Norma (1855), The Scandal (1875), and The Infant with the Globe (1880).

  First published in Spanish in 1853, very little of Alarcón’s work has been translated into English. This story was published in the volume titled Mediterranean Stories, part of The Lock and Key Library: Classic Mystery and Detective Stories, edited by Julian Hawthorne (New York, The Review of Reviews Co., 1909).

  THE NAIL

  Pedro de Alarcón

  I

  The thing which is most ardently desired by a man who steps into a stagecoach, bent upon a long journey, is that his companions may be agreeable, that they may have the same tastes, possibly the same vices, be well educated and know enough not to be too familiar.

  When I opened the door of the coach I felt fearful of encountering an old woman suffering with the asthma, an ugly one who could not bear the smell of tobacco smoke, one who gets seasick every time she rides in a carriage, and little angels who are continually yelling and screaming for God knows what.

  Sometimes you may have hoped to have a beautiful woman for a traveling companion; for instance, a widow of twenty or thirty years of age (let us say, thirty-six), whose delightful conversation will help you pass away the time. But if you ever had this idea, as a reasonable man you would quickly dismiss it, for you know that such good fortune does not fall to the lot of the ordinary mortal. These thoughts were in my mind when I opened the door of the stagecoach at exactly eleven o’clock on a stormy night of the Autumn of 1844. I had ticket No. 2, and I was wondering who No. 1 might be. The ticket agent had assured me that No. 3 had not been sold.