For the second time I held the casket in my hand, but even now it was
impossible for me to look at it. I had to keep my eye on the duke. I
picked it up and walked to the table near which the duke was seated.
“Tell me,” I asked laughingly, “did you bring me to this room for the
sheer joy of gloating over my nearness to this toy that I have been
struggling to possess for the past month, knowing how impossibly far it
was from me? Did it afford you so much pleasure to play with me, to
tease me, that you pushed your game so dangerously far? If so, you are
an artist, my dear duke.”
“Mr. Hume is generous in his compliments.”
“Or,” I continued, thrusting my face nearer to his, “am I mistaken in
thinking that most of your words and deeds are spoken and acted with
some purpose in view?”
“For example?” he asked lightly.
“For example,” I repeated, “it was hardly for love of me that you spoke
to me this afternoon.”
“Hardly,” he sneered, pale with rage and disappointment. “Rather because
I hated you so much that I wished to amuse myself at your expense.”
“Or is there a third possibility?” I continued scornfully. “That you
wished to avenge yourself? While you were taunting me with St. Hilary’s
perfidy, or his supposed perfidy, the idea occurred to you that if you
could induce me to come to your rooms, if you could hold me there while
you sent Luigi for the gendarmes, you might have me committed to jail
for assault, perhaps, or complicity in breaking into your rooms. On the
whole, I am inclined to think that this view of the case is the most
reasonable.”
“As you will, Mr. Hume,” he answered, his lips white and trembling.
“Now listen to me, Duke da Sestos. Granting that I am correct, the
gendarmes will be here presently. Luigi has been gone some time. Before
they come, I wish to put the case clearly before you. This casket and
these jewels belong neither to me nor to you. They are the property of
the state. When your gendarmes come, be sure I shall make that clear.”
“Pooh! I have always known that you were a fool,” he cried
contemptuously.
“Ah, I thought you would listen to reason,” I said quickly. “Now tell me
frankly: Why have you been so keen on this hunt for the casket? Was it
to please Miss Quintard or to please yourself?”
“Why not both? In pleasing myself perhaps I should be pleasing Miss
Quintard.”
“And perhaps not,” I replied drily. “A truthful answer, duke, if you
please. We have no time to lose–if you care anything for the baubles in
this casket.”
“Well, then, for myself,” he said, looking at me curiously.
“And if I had not surprised you just now, you would have taken your
casketful of jewels to London or Paris to dispose of them at leisure?”
“Perhaps,” he assented insolently.
“Or would you have taken this casket to Miss Quintard and apologized for
making a slight error?”
“Why could I not have done both?” he cried. “Yes, Mr. Hume, even if you
give it to the gendarmes, the casket is mine–legally and morally. The
state will grant my claim, and then––”
“That is the point I was coming to. Supposing you were offered a share
of these baubles–I do not say how great a share–is it possible that you
could be induced to give up the casket?”
“I have heard there is an English proverb that it is better to have a
bird in one’s hand than two birds in the bushes.”
“But allow me to remind you that in this instance the bird is in my
hands.”
“For the present,” he interrupted with a meaning glance.
“Come, come,” I cried sharply, “we have had enough of this quibbling. I
make you a sporting proposition. I will give you a share of these jewels
for the casket.”
“I am afraid,” he said suspiciously, “my share would be rather a small
one.”
“It would be one-third,” I said quietly. “I am not a thief. I covet no
stolen property, and these stones were stolen. The price of blood is on
them. Whether they were stolen to-day or five hundred years ago, the
moral aspect of the case is the same. But I want that casket, and I must
have it.”
“Who gets the other two-thirds?” demanded the duke, like a greedy
glutton. “St. Hilary, I suppose.”
“If he can prove to me that he has played fair.”
The duke thought a minute. “Very well, I agree.”
I emptied the chambers of the revolver’s cartridges. I put them into my
pocket. I pushed the weapon carefully under the newspapers again.
“And now that the strain of the past five minutes is over, I suppose I
may have a look at my casket?”
“With pleasure.” The duke bowed sardonically.
In shape and size it was not unlike the pseudo da Sestos casket with
which the duke had attempted to deceive Jacqueline.
It was of bronze, overlaid with plaques of gold, enriched with cloisonné
enameled work and precious stones, cut for the most part _en cabochon_.
The cover rose to an apex. At the apex was a knob of wrought gold, in
shape a monster’s head, the eyes formed of minute rubies. At the four
corners of the cover were large semi-precious stones of chalcedony,
rock-crystal, carbuncle, and turquoise. From these four stones to the
knob of gold ran lines of pearls.
The sides of the casket were composed of rectangular plaques,
alternately covered with symmetrical designs in colored cloisonné
enamel, partly opaque and partly translucent. These plaques were studded
with pearls framed with a cunning design of scrolls and filigree work.
“It would fetch a thousand pounds at Christie’s any day,” I mused.
“Will you tell me how long that toy must tick before the cover can be
opened?” interrupted the duke.
“When did you set the mechanism?”
“At precisely twenty-five minutes to seven.”
“Then in half an hour the casket will be opened.”
There was a loud knock on the door.
“Ah, your gendarmes,” I said coolly.
“And, as host, may I receive my guests?”
“Do,” I urged, and seated myself in his chair, the casket on my knees.
He opened the door. Two impossibly solemn gendarmes entered, precisely
alike as two files. Keeping step, each with each, their hands on their
sword hilts, they advanced to the middle of the room and saluted. Old
Luigi stood discreetly without. I hope it is no disgrace to confess that
I awaited the duke’s orders with some trepidation.
“We have received word,” said the duke calmly, and he waved his hand
toward me, “that an American gentleman, returning from the _bal masqué_
at the Cæsarini Palace, early this morning, was assaulted by ruffians
near the Calle Bianca Madonna, and knocked insensible. He was then
carried to an empty house in the Jewish quarter. It is the third
right-hand house on the quay of the Mestre Canal as you enter it.
Release the gentleman. Tell him that his friend, Signore Hume, wishes to
speak with him here. See that he comes. That is all.”
The gendarmes saluted as one man, spun about on their heels and marched
from the room, their red and white plumes nodding.
“The gentleman to be found in the Jewish quarter is, of course, St.
Hilary. It requires no great imagination to guess that you had him
confined there. It would interest me to know how you managed last
night.”
“Oh, believe me, nothing could have been simpler,” replied the duke. “I
knew, you may be sure, that you were not spying on Miss Quintard and
myself in the tower. As a matter of fact, I was bitterly disappointed
when you showed yourself; for, frankly, Mr. St. Hilary and you had been
seen ascending the tower, and it was known that you were concealed
somewhere. But we had not thought of the beams up there. When you were
discovered I had presence of mind enough not to rout out your friend.
All we had to do, then, was to watch him. We made our way into the sala
after you, and, lying concealed until the dramatic moment, my
Punchinello took care of your friend, while I took care of your casket.”
“But how did you know we were to take the casket that night?”
“You have been watched for a week. It is so much easier and more
sensible to reap where others have sown than to dirty one’s own fingers
with the plow.”
“Then,” I said with a sigh of relief, “St. Hilary played fair?”
“So far as I know,” replied the duke indifferently. “But I hear him
coming up the stairs. You can ask him for yourself.”
The door burst open, and St. Hilary rushed in. A bandage stained with
blood and dirt was wrapped about his head. He was still in my ulster and
golf cap. He looked as if he had spent a few bad quarters of an hour.
“You are just in time, St. Hilary,” I cried, “to see the casket opened.”
“What! You have beaten him after all!” He glared at the duke.
“With neatness and despatch,” generously complimented the duke.
St. Hilary did not answer. He stood looking down at the casket, holding
his watch in his hand. It was now six-thirty. The clock on the Piazza
told the half-hour.
“Did you set the mechanism at six thirty-five precisely?” I asked
anxiously.
“At six thirty-five precisely,” answered the duke, frowning too in
anxiety.
“Tut, tut! Do you expect the accuracy of a watch of the twentieth
century in this mechanism?” replied St. Hilary irritably. “It may be
several minutes before the casket opens.”
“In that case, I fear, Mr. Hume, that you may have to delay fulfilling
your promise to Miss Quintard.”
“Why?” I asked.
“Do you forget that she leaves Venice at seven-thirty?”
“What are you talking about?” asked St. Hilary roughly, his eyes fixed
on the casket.
“The duke has just been reminding me that the casket is legally his, and
that, if necessary, he will lay his claim before the state.”
“But we are not fools enough to care a straw about his claim,” growled
the dealer. “We have beaten him at his own game. It is too late for him
to cry out.”
“On the contrary,” I said coolly, “the duke has induced me to recognize
that claim.”
“Yes, I have exchanged my casket for a share of its contents,” added the
duke suavely.
For a moment St. Hilary forgot to keep his eye on the casket. He glared
at me with bloodshot eyes.
“Surrendered his claim! To you? By heavens, do you think, Hume, that you
can ignore me?”
“I have not ignored you, St. Hilary. If you lose the casket, you have
two-thirds of the gems. It is better, I should think, to have that
two-thirds than to have any trouble with the state.”
“Precisely,” beamed the duke.
“Very well,” agreed the dealer grudgingly.
It was now a quarter to seven. Still we could hear the muffled tick.
“It really looks as if Mr. Hume would miss his train,” mocked the duke.
At that instant there was a loud click. The duke started perceptibly.
St. Hilary, pale with excitement, flung up his hands. I threw back the
cover.
The room seemed suddenly irradiated with a flash of multi-colored light.
Five great gems glowed in their compartments of purple velvet in the
topmost tray. St. Hilary and the duke uttered cries of joy. If I must
confess it, these stones affected me hardly more than a display in any
jeweler’s window in Bond Street or Fifth Avenue.
“The minutes are more precious to me than those gems,” I cried. “Take
out the trays, or I shall empty the contents of the casket on the
table.”
“When once we have closed the shutters,” said St. Hilary.
He started to go to the windows, but noticing that the duke did not
move, he halted suspiciously. They were like two beasts with their prey
between them.
“I will close the shutters for you,” I said, laughing grimly at the
greed that distorted their faces.
As I left the room with the casket in a bag which the duke procured for
me, my last look caught a glimpse of the two men seated one on each side
of the table. A lighted candle was at each elbow, and the trays of gems
lay between them.