"You forget old Frick and Miss Frick."
The superintendent smiled, and I tried also, but it was a sorry attempt,
and a most unpleasant feeling crept over me.
The superintendent evidently took notice of this.
"Yes, I speak, of course, from quite a theoretical standpoint. It is
part of a policeman's ABC that he must suspect every one as long as the
guilty party is not discovered."
"Not every one, sir!" I felt I spoke with an earnestness which was not
in harmony with the situation, or with the genial tone of my superior;
but I could not get rid of the unpleasant feeling which the mentioning
of Sigrid's name had caused me.
"Perhaps you are right, Mr. Monk; in any case, this will not prove the
opposite. But tell me, what is really your opinion of Mr. Howell?"
It was obvious that the superintendent wanted to get away as quickly as
possible from the subject, which I had been foolish enough to discuss in
rather a disagreeable manner, and I felt not a little ashamed of my want
of tact.
"It is only right, sir, that you should direct my attention to him.
From five o'clock till ten minutes to seven he had the opportunity of
taking possession of the diamond and getting away with it from the
house. There would be no risk for him to enter the museum; if any of
the servants had seen him do it, it would have attracted no attention;
he is just like a member of the Frick family.
"That is one side of the case; the other side is that Mr. Howell in
every respect gives the impression of being a gentleman, that he is tied
by the bond of friendship to the Frick family, and finally that
pecuniarily he is so situated that he need not steal either diamonds or
anything else."
"Are you sure of this?"
"Yes; I go by what he and old Frick have said; besides, at half-past
nine this morning, I called on Wendel, the banker. I myself recommended
this highly respected firm to Mr. Howell, and I asked the chief, quite
confidentially, how Mr. Howell's account stood.
"He informed me that the latter at the present moment had from three to
four hundred pounds standing to his account. It was the remainder of a
sum of money he had brought with him in cash and deposited with the
banker; besides which, instructions had been received from Messrs.
Hambeo and Son, the London bankers, to open an account for Mr. Howell to
the amount of two thousand pounds."
"Well, I should be glad if I had such an account at the bank! It does
not seem probable that the Englishman should have taken the diamond. By
the bye, Mr. Monk, I must not detain you any longer; go on with the
matter as you yourself think best; you have, of course, not had much
time for inquiries, and I ought, perhaps, not to have been so
inquisitive at such an early stage of the investigations; but you must
rather look upon our conversation as a kind of refreshment, which I take
between the dustbins and the demonstration in the theatre. Well, good
luck to you, and let me hear from you as soon as you have anything of
interest to report."
The superintendent shook me by the hand.
"Strukstad, let the manager of the theatre come in," he said resignedly,
as I went out at the back door.
Later in the day a letter was handed me from the superintendent, marked
"Private," which read as follows:--
DEAR MR. MONK,--I have not been able to dismiss old Frick's diamond from
my mind. Couldn't it have been lost in quite an ordinary way; fallen on
the floor, put on a wrong shelf, or in some such way got astray?
One might also imagine that some one for fun has hidden it, to play old
Frick a trick.
I confess it is not likely, but it is still more unlikely that any one
should have stolen it--the most unsalable article of all the valuables
which you say lay in that cupboard.
I ask you to take this into consideration, and apply the greatest
caution in your investigations.
The disappearance of the diamond will soon be the general talk of the
town.
It is of the greatest importance that the police should not make fools
of themselves. That is to say, they must not let themselves be deceived
by people's extraordinary stupidity.
I know your good sense, and in all probability these lines are
superfluous.
Yours, etc.
*CHAPTER VI*
*A MORNING VISIT*
I did not forget the superintendent's good advice. Immediately after the
disappearance of the diamond I searched the whole of Villa Ballarat most
carefully.
The servants behaved with exemplary resignation, and offered to open all
their trunks. I even took the liberty of searching Mr. Howell's rooms.
All his drawers and trunks were open, but contained nothing of interest.
My investigations also made it clear that this gentleman had proceeded
direct to the station on the day the diamond disappeared, and from there
took the train to Elverum.
I don't know how it was, but I always had a misgiving that this young
Englishman might have had something to do with the disappearance of the
diamond. This, perhaps, was the reason that made me feel, more acutely
than ever, that not one of us really knew the young man, in spite of his
having been several months in Villa Ballarat. His manners were free and
open; but--one did not learn to know him.
I soon placed Iverson, the gardener, the cook, and the housemaid _hors
de concours_. Iverson had for many years shown himself to be a most
respectable and reliable person. He was a bachelor, had a nice little
sum in the bank, and it was easy to find out about his antecedents. He
was the son of well-to-do peasants in Smaalenene, and when quite young
had gone into the non-commissioned officers' school and followed a
military career, until he entered Frick's service. He had always borne
a most irreproachable character.
Last of all, we now come to the lady's-maid, Evelina; and should you
have a suspicion that she is likely to play an important part in the
lamentable events which now followed, one upon the other, you will not
be far wrong.
From the first, or, more correctly, from the second day I entered old
Frick's house, this young girl had struck me as being strange. There
was something mysterious about her, perhaps on account of her reserved
and even sulky manners.
Sigrid also considered her unusually silent, more so by nature than most
young girls are. She thought that she was a girl of strong character,
and liked her, in spite of her reticent ways.
During the latter days she had been still more reserved than before, and
had not given one the impression of being in good health, although there
was little change noticeable in her appearance on account of her
naturally pale complexion.
The afternoon of the disappearance of the diamond, Evelina had spent in
the following manner (her explanation tallied exactly with that of
others): She had, soon after dinner, when the family had retired to the
museum, served the coffee there. When that was finished, she had left
Villa Ballarat to visit her sick mother, just before the time Jurgens
had left the house. At six o'clock she had returned to the villa again
to fetch something she had forgotten, and had, at the same time, put on
another dress on account of a change in the weather; but she had been
scarcely half an hour in the house.
It struck me as strange that Evelina had suddenly become more lively
than I had ever seen her, and Sigrid also thought that she looked better
and more cheerful since the day when the diamond disappeared.
As regards Evelina's mother, Madame Reierson, I found out that she made
her living by washing and ironing, and by letting a couple of her rooms;
but it was said that she was fond of drink, and that her principal
income evidently consisted in what her daughter allowed her. Miss
Frick's generosity no doubt enabled Evelina to give her mother
considerable help.
Madame Reierson's specialty lay in talking of times gone by, when
Reierson was alive and was a well-to-do turner in Groenland; "she too
had had her own house and a horse and trap."
As you see, I had not gained much by my investigations, but my opinion
regarding the loss of the diamond had, however, begun to take shape,
which made it desirable that I should make Madame Reierson's
acquaintance.
* * * * *
At half-past nine the next morning, when the May sun was shining warmly,
a gentleman entered the courtyard of 44 Russeloek Street.
The gentleman was not very elegantly dressed; his coat was somewhat
shabby, and his trouser-bottoms a little the worse for wear, but still
he might pass as quite a respectable person; for instance, as a poor
theological student of middle age.
I hoped, at least, that my appearance was something like this, for this
was the role I intended to play.
In the courtyard a woman was standing rinsing clothes under a pump. I
asked for Madame Reierson, and learned that she was living in the fourth
story on the right-hand side of the staircase.
"I mean the woman who takes in washing."
"Well, I don't think there's much washing done, but there's only one
Madame Reierson in this house, at any rate," was the surly answer.
"I think you're right about the washing. In any case, the clothes I
last got home were only half washed," I remarked.
My depreciatory remark about her neighbour's work evidently appealed to
the woman; she deigned to let go the wet clothes she had in her hand,
and turned round to me.
"Ah, indeed! Really! So she has been washing for you, has she, and you
don't like her washing? Well, you're not the first as says that. It's a
shame that such a drunken wretch should take the bread out of other
people's mouths, and live in grand style, and enjoy herself."
"Well, I, for my part, have been thinking of giving her up as my
washerwoman."
"Ha! ha! you give her up?" said the worthy woman, with a scornful laugh.
"A lot she'll care about that! As long as she's got that fine daughter
of hers in service at old Frick's, in the Drammen Road, she can live in
grand style, and enjoy herself without washing a rag. But I should say
it'll all come to a terrible end some day; when people begin to run
after them actors I wouldn't give you a thank you for 'em!"
And with that our short but pleasant conversation ended.
I tried to find out a little more about the actor who had suddenly been
introduced upon the scene, but I was sharply sent about my business by
the woman, who "did not go about telling tales, let alone to strangers."
There was nothing more to be done, so I mounted up to the fourth story.
On a door with glass panes were fastened two visiting-cards. I read:
Ludwig Frederiksen, actor; Tho. Herstad, medical student.
To the left I found an ordinary kitchen door. As I knocked at this a
stout woman appeared. Madame Reierson was clad in what I would call a
simple morning toilet. I can hardly describe the various articles of
her dress; all of them, however, appeared to be too tight-fitting for
her buxom figure, and to have seen better days.
I lifted my large, broad-brimmed, low-crowned, clerical hat to her, and
then explained that the object of my visit was to ask madame to do some
washing for me.
She seemed greatly surprised that any one, unsolicited, should intrust
his clothes to her to wash, and asked rather suspiciously who had
recommended her.
"Perhaps we might go inside," said I. "I would like to sit down a
little. I'm not quite well, and the stairs trouble me."
She mumbled something about "_she_ didn't mind," and showed me through
the kitchen into a disorderly room, filled with foul air. This served
as her parlour and her bedroom.