THE PRICELESS STATUE THAT VANISHED
It is strange what undue fascination exists for things belonging to the
ancient stories of the past, and curiously enough, Dollops had recently
developed a deep interest in the British Museum. For days he would haunt
that classic building, poring religiously over guide books and
catalogues until it seemed as if he must have committed to memory their
entire contents. Strangely enough, too, by reason of his very energetic
admiration for the arts of the dead peoples of the earth, he was able to
bring to Cleek's notice a remarkable case.
With puzzled brows and straining eyes, a day, some weeks later, Dollops
sat in the dusk on top of the stairs in the house at Portman Square
anxiously awaiting the return of his master.
Since this development of affection for art galleries and museums, Cleek
had marked the auspicious event of Dollops' birthday with a copy of a
famous classical dictionary. Henceforward the boy had diligently sought
out the known statues of every god and goddess mentioned therein, and it
was this queer hobby which led to the solution of one of the strangest
riddles Cleek had ever been asked to solve.
Dollops had attached himself to the galleries of the Imperial Institute
where was being held a special exhibition of sculpture. Priceless
statues and examples of the sculptor's art had been gathered from almost
every museum and private gallery in the world. When it was learned that
the Italian Government had consented to lend the actual statue of the
Capitoline Venus, public excitement was raised to fever pitch, and half
London had crowded in to see the two-thousand-year-old figure.
Special precautions had been taken against fire or possible theft, for
more than one millionaire would have risked a fortune to become even the
secret owner of the statue.
Having purchased a subscription ticket for Dollops, Cleek was devoting
his own time to Ailsa Lorne, and those exquisite days spent on the river
in her company were to remain in his memory for many months to come. It
was close on ten o'clock of this certain night that he came quietly up
the stairs in Portman Square, nearly breaking his neck stumbling over
the recumbent and sleeping figure of Dollops, tired out with waiting and
excitement.
"What the deuce is the matter, you young monkey?" was his affectionate
greeting, as he noted the excited look of his young protégé.
"Matter enough, Mr. Cleek, sir," stammered forth the boy. "I'm orf my
bloomin' nut, sir. That's wot it is. Got no eyes in my 'ead, I don't
think, or they're going orf duty. Strike me, sir, but you could 'ave
knocked me down wiv a piece of chalk. I tell you, I ain't 'ad a scrap
inside me since for thinkin' of it."
Cleek hung up his hat and coat, and sat down to the supper which Dollops
hastened to place before him. "Now, then, suppose you tell me what you
are talking about," he said good-humouredly. "Where have you been all
day?"
"At the Himperial Institute, sir," was the response, "and as merry as a
sandbag. Those statues are just immense, sir; and as for that Wenus--the
Cap--Cap--or something--she's gorgeous."
"Capitoline, eh?" interposed Cleek, smiling at the lad's enthusiasm.
"Well, so she is, Dollops."
"Well, sir, it's the last day, yer know, and I stayed till after the
doors were closed and people were all gone. I comes to 'ave one parting
look at 'er, but when I gets to the top of the gallery and looked
down--Mr. Cleek, sir, she was gone."
"What!" Cleek's knife and fork dropped out of his fingers as he took in
the sense of the words. "Nonsense, Dollops! How could as large an object
as the Capitoline Venus disappear in broad daylight? Preposterous!"
"Yus, sir. I know that; so I turns and runs off for a policeman, or one
of those commissionaire chaps. There was one, Scott--not 'arf a bad
fellow, neither--an' he come back wiv me, and nearly larfed his 'ead
off, for there was that blessed statue on the pedestal again. He didn't
'arf chaff me, and away I comes, leaving him on guard for the last time.
It's all shut up to-day, but----"
Cleek gave a little laugh. "I should think he would laugh. You've got
statues on the brain. A great fright you gave me, though it would be an
impossibility to steal the Capitoline Venus. You must have been
dreaming, my boy."
"I tell you, she wasn't there," said Dollops, stubbornly.
"She was there all right when you came away, wasn't she?" said Cleek.
"Well, then, it's indigestion, shall we say?"
But Dollops for the first time in their companionship was indignant at
Cleek's teasing, and retired to his own quarters in high dudgeon,
leaving the detective to dreams of Ailsa Lorne and love and peace, and
all things that make life desirable.
It was not until the following morning, when the whir of a hastily
driven motor was heard stopping outside, followed by the hurried
appearance of Mr. Narkom himself, that Cleek recalled the incident of
the preceding night.
"Haven't come to tell me the Capitoline Venus has disappeared, have
you?" he said, jokingly, as the puffing Superintendent strove to get his
breath. "Dollops had a nightmare----"
He got no further, for the purple face of Mr. Narkom had turned almost
white with the shock of what seemed to him quite supernatural knowledge,
and he nodded feebly.
Then it was Cleek's own turn to show amazement, and for a minute he
stood transfixed.
"Nonsense, man!" he rapped out. "She was there last night. Here,
Dollops----" He flung open the door, but the lad, scenting trouble from
the early arrival of the Superintendent, was already tumbling into the
room.
"She _is_ all right, ain't she, sir?" he squealed, turning from one man
to the other. "The Wenus, I mean. A fair beauty she was."
"That's just it, Dollops; though what you have got to do with it, I
don't know," said Narkom, slowly. "But your 'Wenus' has gone, vanished
in the night out of that gallery, steel-lined and steel-gated as it is,
and with barred windows, Petrie and Hammond outside all night, too, as a
special favour to the Italian Government. And there you have it." He
looked at Cleek, who stood staring through narrowed eyelids, his face
pale and set, his mouth in a straight line. "But what do you know about
it, youngster?"
Dollops told his tale of the preceding night with renewed gusto, but the
Superintendent only shook his head.
"Only makes matters worse," he said, "for it proves that the thing was
safe at closing time. How it's been done beats me! All your invisible
deaths and vanishing stones are nothing to it. I've had a good many
mysterious cases to deal with, but this beats all. If it wasn't for the
blessed lump of marble being so valuable----"
"Valuable?" echoed Cleek, a queer, little one-sided smile flickering
round his mouth. "I should just think it is valuable. Why, my dear chap,
the Capitoline Venus is more than two thousand years old, and one of the
most perfect and uninjured pieces of ancient art ever found. It was
discovered in the eighteenth century, carefully bricked up in a cell of
masonry, and wonderfully preserved. It is of almost priceless value. I
only wonder that it was ever allowed out of the museum at Rome."
"I wish to goodness it hadn't been," groaned Mr. Narkom, wiping his
heated brow.
"My dear Narkom," Cleek said, "for a heavy marble statue to melt into
air is so preposterous that you may well call it supernatural. Tell me
all the details, please. When was the loss discovered, and how?"
"The dickens of it is, there doesn't seem to be much to tell," said
Narkom. "There hasn't been a sign of any suspicious character visiting
the Institute since the exhibition was opened, and the number of
plain-clothes men had been augmented. Not a door or window was touched,
there was not the slightest sign of any struggle or upset, yet at
nine-thirty this morning, when the secretary came to see about the
dispatching of the statues to their respective owners, the Venus was
missing. In front of the empty pedestal lay one of the commissionaires,
Tom Scott--a member of the force really, only he was wearing the
Institute uniform. He had evidently died----"
"What's that?" rapped out Cleek, spinning round in the chair in which he
had just seated himself. "Do you mean he was murdered?"
"No," returned the Superintendent. "It was heart disease, so the doctor
said. They fetched one in, and then made a quick tour round the
building, to see where the burglars had made an entry, or whether any
other articles of value were missing. But, as I said before, there isn't
a hole or a crack big enough to let a mouse through."
"Hm! what about keys?" said Cleek. "This Scott--if he was out of the
way, they could unbolt the doors and walk out."
"That's just it, Cleek. Every door save one has been screwed up, and on
the outside. Scott was invariably locked in at night, the keys of the
one door remaining with the secretary. Petrie and Hammond remained on
duty outside all night, and they swear there was neither suspicious
sight nor sound."
"The first thing is to come and look at the place for myself," said
Cleek, quietly. "Who is at the head of affairs, by the way?"
"The Marquis of Willingsley is the president of the Institute with a
whole host of bigwigs," replied Narkom; "but the man in charge is the
secretary, Charles Belthouse, and he's nearly out of his mind over it."
For the second time that morning Cleek sprang up in astonishment.
"Gad, man! Charles Belthouse--Charles Galveston Belthouse?" he cried.
"Yes, I think it is," returned the bewildered Superintendent. "At least
his note to me this morning is signed C. G. Belthouse; but what----?"
For Cleek had sunk down, his two hands planted on his knees, a rueful
and sarcastic look on his face.
"Oh! our national intelligence!" he cried. "Charles Galveston Belthouse!
The man was kicked out of one of the biggest galleries in America for
smuggling in forgeries of well-known masterpieces. And that man, out of
all the millions in this city, is in charge of the Capitoline Venus!" He
jumped up. "Well, it's no use abusing the jockey after he has sold the
race. I presume you have not mentioned my name in the matter?"
"Not a word," returned Mr. Narkom, promptly. "I didn't know whether you
were free."
"Ah, well, we'll see what that well-meaning and amiable individual
George Headland can do."