When I say I am called Valmont, the name will convey no impression to
the reader, one way or another. My occupation is that of private
detective in London, but if you ask any policeman in Paris who Valmont
was he will likely be able to tell you, unless he is a recent recruit.
If you ask him where Valmont is now, he may not know, yet I have a
good deal to do with the Parisian police.
For a period of seven years I was chief detective to the Government of
France, and if I am unable to prove myself a great crime hunter, it is
because the record of my career is in the secret archives of Paris.
I may admit at the outset that I have no grievances to air. The French
Government considered itself justified in dismissing me, and it did
so. In this action it was quite within its right, and I should be the
last to dispute that right; but, on the other hand, I consider myself
justified in publishing the following account of what actually
occurred, especially as so many false rumours have been put abroad
concerning the case. However, as I said at the beginning, I hold no
grievance, because my worldly affairs are now much more prosperous
than they were in Paris, my intimate knowledge of that city and the
country of which it is the capital bringing to me many cases with
which I have dealt more or less successfully since I established
myself in London.
Without further preliminary I shall at once plunge into an account of
the case which riveted the attention of the whole world a little more
than a decade ago.
The year 1893 was a prosperous twelve months for France. The weather
was good, the harvest excellent, and the wine of that vintage is
celebrated to this day. Everyone was well off and reasonably happy, a
marked contrast to the state of things a few years later, when
dissension over the Dreyfus case rent the country in twain.
Newspaper readers may remember that in 1893 the Government of France
fell heir to an unexpected treasure which set the civilised world
agog, especially those inhabitants of it who are interested in
historical relics. This was the finding of the diamond necklace in
the Château de Chaumont, where it had rested undiscovered for a
century in a rubbish heap of an attic. I believe it has not been
questioned that this was the veritable necklace which the court
jeweller, Boehmer, hoped to sell to Marie Antoinette, although how it
came to be in the Château de Chaumont no one has been able to form
even a conjecture. For a hundred years it was supposed that the
necklace had been broken up in London, and its half a thousand stones,
great and small, sold separately. It has always seemed strange to me
that the Countess de Lamotte-Valois, who was thought to have profited
by the sale of these jewels, should not have abandoned France if she
possessed money to leave that country, for exposure was inevitable if
she remained. Indeed, the unfortunate woman was branded and
imprisoned, and afterwards was dashed to death from the third storey
of a London house, when, in the direst poverty, she sought escape from
the consequences of the debts she had incurred.
I am not superstitious in the least, yet this celebrated piece of
treasure-trove seems actually to have exerted a malign influence over
everyone who had the misfortune to be connected with it. Indeed, in a
small way, I who write these words suffered dismissal and disgrace,
though I caught but one glimpse of this dazzling scintillation of
jewels. The jeweller who made the necklace met financial ruin; the
Queen for whom it was constructed was beheaded; that high-born Prince
Louis René Edouard, Cardinal de Rohan, who purchased it, was flung
into prison; the unfortunate Countess, who said she acted as
go-between until the transfer was concluded, clung for five awful
minutes to a London window-sill before dropping to her death to the
flags below; and now, a hundred and eight years later, up comes this
devil's display of fireworks to the light again!
Droulliard, the working man who found the ancient box, seems to have
prised it open, and ignorant though he was--he had probably never seen
a diamond in his life before--realised that a fortune was in his
grasp. The baleful glitter from the combination must have sent madness
into his brain, working havoc therein as though the shafts of
brightness were those mysterious rays which scientists have recently
discovered. He might quite easily have walked through the main gate of
the Château unsuspected and unquestioned with the diamonds concealed
about his person, but instead of this he crept from the attic window
on to the steep roof, slipped to the eaves, fell to the ground, and
lay dead with a broken neck, while the necklace, intact, shimmered in
the sunlight beside his body. No matter where these jewels had been
found the Government would have insisted that they belonged to the
Treasury of the Republic; but as the Château de Chaumont was a
historical monument, and the property of France, there could be no
question regarding the ownership of the necklace. The Government at
once claimed it, and ordered it to be sent by a trustworthy military
man to Paris. It was carried safely and delivered promptly to the
authorities by Alfred Dreyfus, a young captain of artillery, to whom
its custody had been entrusted.
In spite of its fall from the tall tower neither case nor jewels were
perceptibly damaged. The lock of the box had apparently been forced by
Droulliard's hatchet, or perhaps by the clasp knife found on his body.
On reaching the ground the lid had flown open, and the necklace was
thrown out.
I believe there was some discussion in the Cabinet regarding the fate
of this ill-omened trophy, one section wishing it to be placed in a
museum on account of its historical interest, another advocating the
breaking up of the necklace and the selling of the diamonds for what
they would fetch. But a third party maintained that the method to get
the most money into the coffers of the country was to sell the
necklace as it stood, for as the world now contains so many rich
amateurs who collect undoubted rarities, regardless of expense, the
historic associations of the jewelled collar would enhance the
intrinsic value of the stones; and, this view prevailing, it was
announced that the necklace would be sold by auction a month later in
the rooms of Meyer, Renault and Co., in the Boulevard des Italiens,
near the Bank of the Crédit-Lyonnais.
This announcement elicited much comment from the newspapers of all
countries, and it seemed that, from a financial point of view at
least, the decision of the Government had been wise, for it speedily
became evident that a notable coterie of wealthy buyers would be
congregated in Paris on the thirteenth (unlucky day for me!) when the
sale was to take place. But we of the inner circle were made aware of
another result somewhat more disquieting, which was that the most
expert criminals in the world were also gathering like vultures upon
the fair city. The honour of France was at stake. Whoever bought that
necklace must be assured of a safe conduct out of the country. We
might view with equanimity whatever happened afterwards, but while he
was a resident of France his life and property must not be endangered.
Thus it came about that I was given full authority to ensure that
neither murder nor theft nor both combined should be committed while
the purchaser of the necklace remained within our boundaries, and for
this purpose the police resources of France were placed unreservedly
at my disposal. If I failed there should be no one to blame but
myself; consequently, as I have remarked before, I do not complain of
my dismissal by the Government.
The broken lock of the jewel-case had been very deftly repaired by an
expert locksmith, who in executing his task was so unfortunate as to
scratch a finger on the broken metal, whereupon blood poisoning set
in, and although his life was saved, he was dismissed from the
hospital with his right arm gone and his usefulness destroyed.
When the jeweller Boehmer made the necklace he asked a hundred and
sixty thousand pounds for it, but after years of disappointment he was
content to sell it to Cardinal de Rohan for sixty-four thousand
pounds, to be liquidated in three instalments, not one of which was
ever paid. This latter amount was probably somewhere near the value of
the five hundred and sixteen separate stones, one of which was of
tremendous size, a very monarch of diamonds, holding its court among
seventeen brilliants each as large as a filbert. This iridescent
concentration of wealth was, as one might say, placed in my care, and
I had to see to it that no harm came to the necklace or to its
prospective owner until they were safely across the boundaries of
France.
The four weeks previous to the thirteenth proved a busy and anxious
time for me. Thousands, most of whom were actuated by mere curiosity,
wished to view the diamonds. We were compelled to discriminate, and
sometimes discriminated against the wrong person, which caused
unpleasantness. Three distinct attempts were made to rob the safe, but
luckily these criminal efforts were frustrated, and so we came
unscathed to the eventful thirteenth of the month.
The sale was to begin at two o'clock, and on the morning of that day I
took the somewhat tyrannical precaution of having the more dangerous
of our own malefactors, and as many of the foreign thieves as I could
trump up charges against, laid by the heels, yet I knew very well it
was not these rascals I had most to fear, but the suave, well-groomed
gentlemen, amply supplied with unimpeachable credentials, stopping at
our fine hotels and living like princes. Many of these were foreigners
against whom we could prove nothing, and whose arrest might land us
into temporary international difficulties. Nevertheless, I had each of
them shadowed, and on the morning of the thirteenth if one of them had
even disputed a cab fare I should have had him in prison half an hour
later, and taken the consequences, but these gentlemen are very shrewd
and do not commit mistakes.
I made up a list of all the men in the world who were able or likely
to purchase the necklace. Many of them would not be present in person
at the auction rooms; their bidding would be done by agents. This
simplified matters a good deal, for the agents kept me duly informed
of their purposes, and, besides, an agent who handles treasure every
week is an adept at the business, and does not need the protection
which must surround an amateur, who in nine cases out of ten has but
scant idea of the dangers that threaten him, beyond knowing that if he
goes down a dark street in a dangerous quarter he is likely to be
maltreated and robbed.
There were no less than sixteen clients all told, whom we learned were
to attend personally on the day of the sale, any one of whom might
well have made the purchase. The Marquis of Warlingham and Lord Oxtead
from England were well-known jewel fanciers, while at least half a
dozen millionaires were expected from the United States, with a
smattering from Germany, Austria, and Russia, and one each from Italy,
Belgium, and Holland.
Admission to the auction rooms was allowed by ticket only, to be
applied for at least a week in advance, applications to be accompanied
by satisfactory testimonials. It would possibly have surprised many of
the rich men collected there to know that they sat cheek by jowl with
some of the most noted thieves of England and America, but I allowed
this for two reasons: first, I wished to keep these sharpers under my
own eye until I knew who had bought the necklace; and, secondly, I was
desirous that they should not know they were suspected.
I stationed trusty men outside on the Boulevard des Italiens, each of
whom knew by sight most of the probable purchasers of the necklace. It
was arranged that when the sale was over I should walk out to the
boulevard alongside the man who was the new owner of the diamonds, and
from that moment until he quitted France my men were not to lose sight
of him if he took personal custody of the stones, instead of doing the
sensible and proper thing of having them insured and forwarded to his
residence by some responsible transit company, or depositing them in
the bank. In fact, I took every precaution that occurred to me. All
police Paris was on the _qui vive_, and felt itself pitted against the
scoundrelism of the world.
For one reason or another it was nearly half-past two before the sale
began. There had been considerable delay because of forged tickets,
and, indeed, each order for admittance was so closely scrutinised that
this in itself took a good deal more time than we anticipated. Every
chair was occupied, and still a number of the visitors were compelled
to stand. I stationed myself by the swinging doors at the entrance end
of the hall, where I could command a view of the entire assemblage.
Some of my men were placed with backs against the wall, whilst others
were distributed amongst the chairs, all in plain clothes. During the
sale the diamonds themselves were not displayed, but the box
containing them rested in front of the auctioneer and three policemen
in uniform stood guard on either side.
* * * * *
Very quietly the auctioneer began by saying that there was no need for
him to expatiate on the notable character of the treasure he was
privileged to offer for sale, and with this preliminary, he requested
those present to bid. Someone offered twenty thousand francs, which
was received with much laughter; then the bidding went steadily on
until it reached nine hundred thousand francs, which I knew to be less
than half the reserve the Government had placed upon the necklace. The
contest advanced more slowly until the million and a half was touched,
and there it hung fire for a time, while the auctioneer remarked that
this sum did not equal that which the maker of the necklace had been
finally forced to accept for it. After another pause he added that, as
the reserve was not exceeded, the necklace would be withdrawn, and
probably never again offered for sale. He therefore urged those who
were holding back to make their bids now. At this the contest livened
until the sum of two million three hundred thousand francs had been
offered, and now I knew the necklace would be sold. Nearing the three
million mark the competition thinned down to a few dealers from
Hamburg and the Marquis of Warlingham, from England, when a voice that
had not yet been heard in the auction room was lifted in a tone of
some impatience:--
'One million dollars!'
There was an instant hush, followed by the scribbling of pencils, as
each person present reduced the sum to its equivalent in his own
currency--pounds for the English, francs for the French, marks for the
German, and so on. The aggressive tone and the clear-cut face of the
bidder proclaimed him an American, not less than the financial
denomination he had used. In a moment it was realised that his bid was
a clear leap of more than two million francs, and a sigh went up from
the audience as if this settled it, and the great sale was done.
Nevertheless the auctioneer's hammer hovered over the lid of his desk,
and he looked up and down the long line of faces turned towards him.
He seemed reluctant to tap the board, but no one ventured to compete
against this tremendous sum, and with a sharp click the mallet fell.
'What name?' he asked, bending over towards the customer.
'Cash,' replied the American; 'here's a cheque for the amount. I'll
take the diamonds with me.'
'Your request is somewhat unusual,' protested the auctioneer mildly.
'I know what you mean,' interrupted the American; 'you think the
cheque may not be cashed. You will notice it is drawn on the
Crédit-Lyonnais, which is practically next door. I must have the
jewels with me. Send round your messenger with the cheque; it will
take only a few minutes to find out whether or not the money is there
to meet it. The necklace is mine, and I insist on having it.'
The auctioneer with some demur handed the cheque to the representative
of the French Government who was present, and this official himself
went to the bank. There were some other things to be sold and the
auctioneer endeavoured to go on through the list, but no one paid the
slightest attention to him.
Meanwhile I was studying the countenance of the man who had made the
astounding bid, when I should instead have adjusted my preparations to
meet the new conditions now confronting me. Here was a man about whom
we knew nothing whatever. I had come to the instant conclusion that he
was a prince of criminals, and that a sinister design, not at that
moment fathomed by me, was on foot to get possession of the jewels.
The handing up of the cheque was clearly a trick of some sort, and I
fully expected the official to return and say the draft was good. I
determined to prevent this man from getting the jewel box until I knew
more of his game. Quickly I removed from my place near the door to
the auctioneer's desk, having two objects in view; first, to warn the
auctioneer not to part with the treasure too easily; and, second, to
study the suspected man at closer range. Of all evil-doers the
American is most to be feared; he uses more ingenuity in the planning
of his projects, and will take greater risks in carrying them out than
any other malefactor on earth.
From my new station I saw there were two men to deal with. The
bidder's face was keen and intellectual; his hands refined, lady-like,
clean and white, showing they were long divorced from manual labour,
if indeed they had ever done any useful work. Coolness and
imperturbability were his beyond a doubt. The companion who sat at his
right was of an entirely different stamp. His hands were hairy and
sun-tanned; his face bore the stamp of grim determination and
unflinching bravery. I knew that these two types usually hunted in
couples--the one to scheme, the other to execute, and they always
formed a combination dangerous to encounter and difficult to
circumvent.
There was a buzz of conversation up and down the hall as these two men
talked together in low tones. I knew now that I was face to face with
the most hazardous problem of my life.
I whispered to the auctioneer, who bent his head to listen. He knew
very well who I was, of course.
'You must not give up the necklace,' I began.
He shrugged his shoulders.
'I am under the orders of the official from the Ministry of the
Interior. You must speak to him.'
'I shall not fail to do so,' I replied. 'Nevertheless, do not give up
the box too readily.'
'I am helpless,' he protested with another shrug. 'I obey the orders
of the Government.'
Seeing it was useless to parley further with the auctioneer, I set my
wits to work to meet the new emergency. I felt convinced that the
cheque would prove to be genuine, and that the fraud, wherever it lay,
might not be disclosed in time to aid the authorities. My duty,
therefore, was to make sure we lost sight neither of the buyer nor the
thing bought. Of course I could not arrest the purchaser merely on
suspicion; besides, it would make the Government the laughing-stock of
the world if they sold a case of jewels and immediately placed the
buyer in custody when they themselves had handed over his goods to
him. Ridicule kills in France. A breath of laughter may blow a
Government out of existence in Paris much more effectually than will a
whiff of cannon smoke. My duty then was to give the Government full
warning, and never lose sight of my man until he was clear of France;
then my responsibility ended.