Schedule Numbers 37, 38 and 39
When Peter entered the Galleries there were comparatively few people
present. A knot of interested art-enthusiasts had gathered in front of
a superb “Reynolds” dated 1765. It was described as the “Portrait of a
Lady.” She held a lute in her hand and wore a satin dress cut low and
edged with pearls. Although Peter was no expert in these matters, it
did not take him long to realize that he was gazing at a masterpiece.
But he passed on. The Galleries held other attractions that interested
him more. Schedule Numbers 37, 38 and 39 were easily to be found. The
three objects that had brought him to Day, Forshaw and Palmers’ almost
jostled each other on the left of the room as you entered. The screen
stood on the floor, the Pearl Collar and Rosary lay on a small
Sheraton Inlaid Mahogany side table right against it. Their only
visible protection from covetous hands was a rail that barriered them
from the public, about four feet high. But as Peter looked at the
three things for which he had been commissioned by Mr. Laurence P.
Stewart, he became acutely aware and very definitely conscious, that
he in his turn was being watched. Two men of medium height were
lounging near . . . their profession was obvious to him. He had come
into contact with their kind too many times before in the course of
his own business not to recognize them when he saw them.
“Plain-clothes,” he told himself. He walked across to the barrier and
took a close inspection of the objects in which he was interested. As
he did so he fancied the two men edged a little more closely to him.
But he realized, upon looking round, that with the exception of the
men to whom reference has been made, he was the only person in that
particular part of the room; hence their keener interest in his
movements. “Hang it all,” he said to himself—“this shadowing business
gets on my nerves—I’ll establish my ‘bona-fides.’”
He walked back to the entrance to the Galleries. A middle-aged man was
superintending the transportation of what was evidently a valuable
picture. He paused in his directions as Peter came up. “Anything I can
do for you, sir?” Peter caught him by the arm.
“Yes. Look here! Here’s my card! I’m Daventry—of ‘Merryweather,
Linnell and Daventry.’ I want to examine items Nos. 37, 38 and 39 in
the published catalogue of your sale on Friday.”
The man scratched his chin—thoughtfully. Then looked again at the
proffered card.
“Young Mr. Forshaw’s here, sir. You’re Mr. Daventry, I think you said,
sir.”
“That’s right.”
“I’ll tell the young governor, sir! Can I say you’ve a mind to
purchase?”
“Oh yes!” cut in Peter impetuously. “I’m representing my firm on
behalf of a very——”
He checked himself—suddenly. It occurred to him that there was
absolutely no need to mention Stewart’s name at this juncture and
perhaps more than one excellent reason for withholding it. He thought
of Stewart’s phrase concerning discretion.
“Very good, sir,” said the man. “I’ll bring young Mr. Forshaw along to
you in half a minute.”
He was as good as his word. A young man bustled up, wiping his hands
upon a duster.
“Mr. Daventry?” queried Forshaw. Peter bowed!
“You wished to have a look at something included in to-morrow’s sale?
What is it exactly?”
“It’s not an ‘it,’” responded Peter jocularly. And then with scant
regard for the inclination of the verb “to be”—“it’s a ‘them.’”
“More than _one_, sir?”
“To be precise—three—the numbers are 37, 38 and 39 in your catalogue.”
“Come this way.” He escorted Peter to the handrail from which he had
so recently come. Then slipped underneath with ease and handed him the
Collar and the Rosary. It was impossible for Peter to form any
adequate idea of the value of either. His experience of jewels was
very limited, and the Rosary appeared to him to possess little value
apart from its historical association. However, for the sake of
appearances he feigned to make a very careful study of each.
“Aren’t your people afraid of having some of these things stolen?” he
ventured to Forshaw.
“We take certain precautions, Mr. Daventry,” was the answer. “Close
watch is maintained all day and all night. Anybody attempting any
‘jiggery-pokery’ would get the surprise of his life.”
Peter glanced at the two representatives of the Law. They lounged in a
corner. Forshaw followed the direction of his eyes and smiled.
“Exactly! And well armed too!” He replaced the Pearl Collar and the
Rosary as Peter handed them across to him. Then lifted up the screen
and handed it over.
“I see that you advertise these three articles as having belonged to
Mary, Queen of Scots,” remarked Peter.
“That is so!” replied Forshaw. “They formed part of the late Lord
Clavering’s collection. Had been in his family, I believe, for over
two hundred years. No doubt whatever on that point,” he concluded
decisively.
Peter looked at the screen with some interest. It stood approximately
from three and a half to four feet high he estimated—on a carved-wood
pedestal. Upon the tapestry, which was covered with thick glass, he
could see a number of brightly colored beads. They were, to all
appearances, arranged in the form of letters. Peter inspected them
carefully. Then quickly grasped their meaning. The beads formed words
and the words were—
“JESUS CHRIST, GOD AND SAVIOUR.”
In the top left-hand corner of the tapestry was worked the Scots
Queen’s Royal Lion and in the right could be discerned the
“fleur-de-lis.” The corners at the bottom showed the Leopards and
Lilies of England.
“Of more ornament than use, I’m afraid, Mr. Daventry,” said Forshaw
with a smile.
“I agree.” He bent down to examine it more closely.
“I expect some pretty brisk bidding for that on Friday! Just the kind
of thing to appeal to a collector of antiques.”
“I suppose so,” replied Peter. He handed it back to its temporary
guardian.
“Thank you—Mr. Forshaw. I’m very much obliged to you, I’m sure, for
showing me round as you have. I’ll be getting along now.”
Then he was suddenly impelled to ask a question. “I suppose a good
many people have had a good look at these three articles already?”
“On the contrary—you’re the first, Mr. Daventry. That is, of course,
up to the moment. They haven’t been on show very long.”
Peter shook hands and laughed. “My remarks seem to miss fire every
time.”
“Good afternoon, sir.”
“Good afternoon.” He passed by the middle-aged man at the entrance and
pushed something into his hand. The man looked at it and smiled—then
put his finger to his forehead in salute.
“Thank you, sir. You’re a gentleman. Still—there was no necessity——”
Peter waved a sympathetic hand and departed.
Half an hour later saw him back at the office in Cornhill.
“Well?” said Linnell as he entered the room, “everything
satisfactory?”
Peter sat on the corner of the table and swung his leg.
“I went up there, as we arranged, and I had a look at the stuff we’ve
been asked to get.” He paused.
“Yes?” interrogated Linnell. “What did you think of it?”
“Hard to say. The Pearl Collar is really magnificent, and the screen I
should say will prove a tremendous attraction for the ‘genus’
collector—the species that we are deputed to represent—the Rosary, in
my opinion, won’t fetch anything like so much.”
“H’m,” said Linnell reflectively. He traced a pattern on his
blotting-paper with his pen. Then he looked up at his companion.
“Has it struck you, Daventry—that we may possibly be running a big
risk over this business?”
Peter looked startled. “How do you mean?”
Linnell opened a drawer and handed over a letter. “Supposing that
letter hadn’t come from Stewart; supposing that signature—purporting
to be Stewart’s——was a forgery?”
Peter’s eyes opened even wider. “That’s interesting. Go on!”
Linnell from Lancashire went on. And emphasized his points with quick
jerks of the head. “We are instructed to _purchase_! That is to say
Stewart in no way restricts us. He mentions no limit. Supposing we
pay, for argument’s sake, £25,000—thinking we’re acting for
Stewart—and then Stewart repudiates ever having commissioned us! And
then, after that, we find our £25,000 worth of stuff is worth say—only
£15,000. Where are we then, Daventry? I’ve inflated the figures
purposely.”
“Down the mine, Daddy,” declared Peter. “But what’s the Big Idea—who
would ever——?”
“Who would? Seems to me Day, Forshaw and Palmers might find it a very
healthy proposition,” replied Linnell.
“And that’s what you really think?” asked Peter incredulously.
“No—I don’t!” said Linnell grimly. “But I’m damned well going to find
out.”
“How? Go and see Stewart?” Peter was all alertness now.
“No! I’ve telegraphed to him—this morning. The answer should be here
at any moment! That should be sufficient.”
He looked at his watch.
Peter selected a cigarette—then handed his case to Linnell.
“Thanks! I don’t mind if I do.”
Before Peter had had time to take his eyes from the match with which
he lit his companion’s cigarette——there was a tap at the door—Plunkett
entered. Linnell tore open the telegram that was handed to him. Then
he smiled. Peter looked over his shoulder. Then he smiled in his turn,
and read aloud what he saw.
“Say! What the hell’s biting you—when I say Buy—then Buy. Got that?
Stewart.”
That was the intelligent rendering of the message. A message which
looked and sounded even cruder and terser in the unpunctuated
word-arrangement of telegrams.
Linnell’s smile developed into a ringing laugh. “I’ve been barking up
the wrong tree, after all, Peter. Still—one can’t be too careful.
You’ll go along then on Friday and——”
Plunkett reappeared in the doorway. “Another telegram, sir.” Linnell
looked surprised. Then read the second message.
“Say—you don’t _look_ before you leap—you take a magnifying glass.
Same name as before.”
“Mr. Stewart has a decided sense of humor,” commented David Linnell.
“But I’d sooner he took liberties with my ‘_amour propre_’ than with
my pocket.”
Peter laughed.
“Some people wouldn’t,” continued Linnell, determined to justify
himself, “but I _would_. And even if he is a millionaire—to put four
words where he could have used one—should have used one in fact, is
just a piece of reckless and shameless waste—and that’s all there is
to it.”
He turned to Daventry, proudly conscious that he was safeguarding an
important principle.
“I think I’ll go myself and have a glance at the stuff to-morrow,
Peter—after all he’s a millionaire—and business is business. Where did
you lunch?”
“At the ‘Violette,’” was the reply. “And, by the by, whatever you
do—don’t upset the cruet.”
“What do you mean?” Linnell looked at him curiously.
Peter recounted the incident that had occurred earlier in the day.
“Probably quite an accident,” he concluded, “and a coincidence—still
it took my breath away, as it were, for just the moment.”
Linnell thought for a moment or two. “Probably nothing in it, Peter.
You had the thing on your mind and were over-imaginative. What are you
doing to-night? Anything special?”
“I’m dining at the Club. And I may have a rubber or two afterwards.”
“Good. I sha’n’t be in, in the morning. I may run down to Berkshire
this evening, and in any case I’ll go straight on to Day, Forshaw and
Palmers’ first thing to-morrow. I’m really very anxious to see the
actual objects of this extraordinary commission of ours!”
But just as Peter was destined never to buy them, so Linnell was fated
not to see them on the morrow.
For when he arrived at Day, Forshaw and Palmers’ next morning he found
a condition of extreme excitement and agitation. Detective-Inspector
Goodall was in charge of the case—a case that had cost Day, Forshaw
and Palmers Schedule Nos. 37, 38 and 39 in their sale catalogue, and
their night-watchman his life. Linnell’s hand shook when he heard what
had happened. The conviction came to him that he was connected with
the affair. Acting upon a sudden impulse, he went in.