AT THE PAWNBROKER’S
He escorted the girl downstairs, and they stood talking in the hall.
There was a car at the door, a luxury which she easily explained.
She was using the Grays’ car, which was to go back and pick up the
underwriter and his wife at two o’clock.
“I hate declining your invitation,” said Larry, “but I am hanging on
to the end of a wire. I sent Harvey on a tour of investigation to-day,
and he promised to ’phone me round about midnight.”
She was looking at him in some concern.
“Aren’t you rather overdoing it?” she said. “You don’t get any sleep.”
He laughed.
“I am one of those fortunate people who can do without sleep,” he said
boastfully, and then an official came out of one of the ground-floor
rooms.
“There is a call through for you, sir,” he said.
“Come along,” said Larry. “I may get this business off and then I
shall be able to revel in that millionaire feeling.”
He went back to his room and the girl followed. It was not Sergeant
Harvey who had called him, but the inspector in charge of the Oxford
Lane police station.
“Is that Inspector Holt?” he asked.
“That’s me,” said Larry ungrammatically.
“You circulated a description of a sleeve-link of black enamel and
diamonds.”
“Yes,” said Larry quickly.
“Well,” said the man, “Mr. Emden, of Emden and Smith, pawnbrokers,
brought a pair of links exactly tallying with the description
published in the _Hue and Cry_.”
“Have you got them there?” asked Larry eagerly.
“No, sir,” said the inspector. “But Mr. Emden is here, if you would
like to interview him. He can get the links in the morning. He
happened to be reading the _Hue and Cry_ to-night after dinner and he
came upon the description, and immediately walked over to the station.
He lives close by.”
“I’ll come down,” said Larry.
“What is it?” asked the girl. “Have they found the links?”
Larry shook his head.
“They’ve found a pair of links exactly like the one which was found in
Gordon Stuart’s hand,” he said, a little puzzled. “I can’t understand
that. If it had been half a link, or a link and a half, that would
have been clearly a clue.”
He looked dubiously at the switchboard and the operator.
“If Sergeant Harvey comes through,” he said, “tell him to ring me
again, or if he is in reach of the office to come back and wait for
me. I am going to the Oxford Lane police station. Incidentally,” he
said to the girl as they came out, “I will accept a lift in your
palatial conveyance.”
He dropped her at her flat. There was a lounger outside who saluted
Larry.
“You are not putting a guard on me?” said the girl in surprise. “I
think that’s unnecessary, Mr. Holt.”
“My own experience tells me that it is very necessary,” said Larry
grimly. “The gentleman who tossed me about as though I were a feather
is not wanting in courage. There is no other way into the house except
by this front door, is there?” he asked the detective on duty.
“No, sir, I have had a good look round, and I’ve also been into the
lady’s rooms.”
She gasped.
“How?” she asked.
“I had a duplicate key made from yours,” said Larry. “I hope you don’t
mind. And talking of keys,” he added, “the appearance of Blind Jake in
Fanny Weldon’s room is now no mystery at all. She had given him a key
of the house in case she missed him with the swag on Saturday night.
He was to come up and take it from her. She was in such terror of him
that she did not dare refuse the key, but she must have forgotten she
had loaned it, for she would never have slept.”
He said good-night to her and went on to Oxford Lane on foot.
Mr. Emden proved to be a mild little man in pince-nez.
“I happened to be running through the list of properties stolen,” he
said, “and I came upon this description of yours, Mr. Holt.”
He showed a fold of the paper on which a drawing of the link, whose
fellow was sought, appeared.
“You say you have a pair?”
“Yes, sir,” said the man. “It was pledged with me this morning. As a
matter of fact, it happened to be me who took the pledge. I don’t as a
rule work behind the counter, but one of my clerks had gone on a
message, and when the man came in I took the links and gave the
pledger £4 for them.”
“They are not of a usual pattern, are they?” asked Larry, and Mr.
Emden shook his head.
“They are very unusual,” he said. “I don’t remember having seen a pair
exactly like those before. I think they must be of a French make. They
were slightly damaged. Three of the diamonds on the rim were missing
or I should have given him a great deal more.”
“Do you know the man who pledged them?”
“No, sir. He was a smart-looking fellow who told me he’d got tired of
them. My impression was----” He hesitated.
“Well?” said Larry.
“Well, I thought, in spite of his good appearance, that he looked like
one of these smart thieves that abound in the West End, and I had an
idea that he was pledging them, not so much because he wanted the
money, but because he wanted to put them in a safe place. A thief will
often do that and take the chance of the pawnbroker discovering that
the property is missing or wanted by the police.”
Larry nodded.
“Smartly dressed,” he said thoughtfully, and then quickly: “Did he
wear any diamonds?”
“Yes, sir,” said the pawnbroker, “that is why I thought he was
planting the stuff. Four pounds isn’t much to advance on property of
that value, but he didn’t make any fuss.”
“What name?” asked Larry.
“He gave the name of Mr. Frederick, and I think an accommodation
address.”
“Flash Fred!” said Larry. “Is Jermyn Street in your district?” he
asked the inspector.
“Yes, sir,” said the officer.
“Send a couple of men out and pull in Flash Fred. Bring him here
first, and afterwards, if it is necessary, I’ll take him to Cannon
Row.”
“Is it an arrest?” asked the inspector.
“A detention merely. He may be able to explain, but I think he’ll have
to be clever if he gets out of this. Now, Mr. Emden,” he said, turning
to the pawnbroker, “I’m afraid I can’t wait until the morning and I
must ask you to accompany me to your shop and let me have the actual
links.”
“With pleasure, sir,” said the pawnbroker. “I expected something like
that and I brought my keys over. My shop is only about five minutes’
walk away.”
Accompanied by a plain-clothes officer they went to the shop and Mr.
Emden fitted the key in the side door, but as he pressed the key into
the keyhole the door gave.
“Why, the door’s open,” he said in surprise, and went quickly down the
side passage. He tried another door, but there was no need even to go
through the formality of putting a key in the lock. The door was ajar
and Larry’s pocket lamp revealed the mark of the jemmy that had opened
it. The pawnbroker hurried into his main premises and switched on the
light.
A book lay on the counter, open at the page of that day’s
transactions.
“Where did you put these links?” asked Larry quickly.
“In the safe, in my private office,” said the man. “Look,” he returned
to the book, “there is the number.”
“Also the word ‘safe,’” said Larry, “and somehow I don’t think you’ll
see your safe intact.”
And his words proved prophetic. The big “burglar-proof” safe presented
a somewhat untidy appearance, for a hole had been burnt in the steel
and the lock had disappeared. Articles of value there were none. Every
package had been cleared out.
“I think they have got those links,” said Larry grimly.