"And then there was that wretched actor," continued Clara; "he left, I
understand, just before Evelina committed suicide. Have you heard
anything of him since? It was of course on his account that the young
girl killed herself. I believe he first of all got her to steal the
diamond, and then left her. That was the reason of the poor girl
committing suicide."
"I also thought of that," was Monk's answer, "and I had him watched
after he left Christiania. He went first to Gothenburg and later to
Copenhagen. But it is not probable that the money which Jurgens paid
for the diamond has at any time been in his hands. He lived the whole
time from hand to mouth, and often in the greatest misery."
"Are you quite certain of this?" I asked. "If the actor didn't get the
money, all my theories are upset."
"Yes, isn't that so?" said Monk, smiling again, in the same resigned
way. "And you would have had the same experience, not only in one, but
in ten points of the case, if you had weighed them and turned them over
in your head as long as I have done."
"But there must be one theory which is right," I exclaimed. "Some one
must have stolen the diamond!"
"Yes, that's the dreadful part of it all!" groaned Monk. "There is only
one theory which can be applied to all that has happened in this
dreadful affair, and that is--" here his voice sank almost to a
whisper,--"and that is, that--that Sigrid took the diamond to help her
brother, was photographed by Mr. Howell, and then sold the diamond to
Mr. Jurgens. No, don't say what you want to say, Mrs. Viller. Rather
bear in mind that it is my fixed determination, in a few days to go to
America, and again offer Sigrid my hand. Can I better show my faith in
her?"
Clara did not answer.
"Where is the actor now?" I asked.
"He died in delirium tremens, in a public hospital in Denmark. I had an
agent there for some time, who tried to get something out of him, but it
was of no use. The agent was under the impression that the actor knew
nothing of the diamond robbery,--nothing of any importance to us, at
least."
"And Mrs. Reierson--have you tried her?"
"By all possible means, through a third person. She will not see me. If
I show myself to her, she swears and curses me for having brought about
her daughter's death. Old Frick gives her a yearly pension; but as she
has completely given herself over to drink, it does not last very long,
and between each quarterly payment she lives in the greatest
destitution."
"And Mr. Howell?"
"I have not lost sight of him, although it is often difficult enough to
keep an eye on him. He leads the life of so many rich Englishmen. He
spends the season in London, the autumn in the country, and the rest of
the year in travelling. He has a yacht, and has several times visited
Norway in the summer. He has, however, been only three or four times in
Christiania all these years, and then only for a short time. He has on
these occasions stayed at Villa Ballarat with old Frick. My agent in
England informs me that he is well known as a gambler and as a man who
spends more money than he can afford. He has for many years paid
frequent visits to a country house in Yorkshire,--Ashton
Hall,--belonging to a rich gentleman, Mr. Ashton. They say it will end
in his marrying the gentleman's eldest daughter, a lady who is no longer
young. The reason for this long courtship no one can explain. They
think he'll not swallow the bitter pill until he is obliged. Here,
people believe that he will inherit old Frick's money. Very likely that
is the reason he goes on courting so long. Very likely, too, the old
man's death might put him on his legs again, and save him from marrying
the lady in Yorkshire."
"You seem no longer to like the Englishman!"
"I have never liked him particularly, and, as I have told you earlier,
his conduct frequently appeared to me to be suspicious. Yet I cannot
very well account for the reason of my distrust for him. I have an idea
that he played a part in the drama, which I do not comprehend. I
believe your wife's instinct tells her the same."
"_Instinct!_" repeated Clara, witheringly. "We women must always hear,
when we in some way or other hit upon a right solution, that it is our
instinct which has come to our aid--never a word is said about logical
deduction! Look here, Mr. Monk. What I mean to say is, that I am sure
that Mr. Howell tampered with the photograph in order to ruin Sigrid.
This result I arrive at from the following reasoning. If the photograph
is to be relied upon, Sigrid must have had the diamond in her hand that
day; but she denied this absolutely. No, don't try to avoid it, Monk!
You are afraid to tell me that now I am illogical--isn't that what you
call it?--like all women, and so you won't even look at me. But I
haven't finished yet. Suppose Sigrid could and would tell a lie, what
could have been easier for her than to admit she had that afternoon been
into the museum, had taken out the diamond and looked at it for a
moment, and then put it back in its place again? No one could have said
a word against this explanation as to how the photograph was taken. No!
Sigrid was not a fool; and you must admit that if she wanted to tell a
lie, she would not do it in such a foolish way. Admit that I am right,
Monk! All probabilities go to prove that Sigrid spoke the truth. She
had not set foot in Mr. Frick's museum that day between five and
half-past seven, and--the photograph was tampered with."
Monk could not help smiling; but it was the same smile--the hopeless
smile with which the giant who has in vain attempted to lift a burden
watches the dwarf endeavouring to lift it for him.
He went across to a small iron safe in the corner of the room, and came
back at once with a little object which he laid on the table before us.
It was a small photograph placed between glass plates, which were held
together by india-rubber bands.
"This is the photograph."
Both Clara and I stretched out our hands at the same moment, and Monk
laid it on the table between us, together with an oblong magnifying
glass of unusual size.
"Now you can look at it for yourselves. What cannot be seen with the
naked eye can be easily discerned through the magnifying glass."
Clara and I used it in turn.
"I have to thank my old friend, the chief superintendent, that I am in
possession of the photograph," continued Monk.
"At my earnest request he gave it up to me, but not till two years after
the trial. He made me promise, however, that I should keep it in a
fire-proof safe, and take the greatest care of it. Heavens! it was
hardly necessary to request me to do that."
The photograph answered to the brief description which Monk had already
given of it. It was three or four inches in height, but very narrow, so
much so that little was to be seen but the girlish figure in front of
the open cupboard with the shelves. These shelves were filled with all
sorts of curiosities, which appeared most distinctly on the plate. On
the whole, the photograph was unusually clear and distinct.
"Look at the girl's left hand," said Monk.
I held the magnifying glass over the photograph. "Yes, I see, she has a
ring on the ring finger."
"Yes; and the finger is quite normal--not at all deformed."
"No, it is quite well shaped."
"You see the little elephant on the shelf over the cupboard, and the
clock in its forehead? What time does it show?"
"Let me see! It is twenty-one minutes to six. The figures are not easy
to distinguish, but the position of the hands is plain enough."
"Yes, although the elephant is scarcely three inches high, that and the
other small things on the shelf over the cupboard are the masterpieces
of an ivory carver in Naples. Do you see, for example, a little copy of
Venus de Milo at the side of it?"
"Yes, I see it. But tell me, Monk, who does the girl in the photograph
resemble, Miss Frick or Evelina?"
"Oh, Evelina! I was, of course, accustomed to see Sigrid in that
costume--the braided jacket and the little hat with the bird's wing on
it--so at first glance I might have doubted; but after a more careful
inspection I should never have hesitated in saying that it was
Evelina,--she and no one else, if only this question of the finger
hadn't cropped up."
"The photograph was examined, wasn't it?"
"If any photograph in this world has been examined, this is the one. As
you may remember, the photographer Rodin and another expert gave their
opinion upon it at the first trial. Later on it was examined at the
physical laboratory of the university. All were of one mind in saying
that no attempt had been made either to tamper with or to make any
alteration in it,--neither by retouching nor by any other means."
While I continued to converse with Monk, Clara took possession of the
picture. I handed her the magnifying glass, but she pushed it aside,
and continued studying the photograph without once looking up.
"You must be quite tired," I said to Monk, "with all our questioning,
but if it will not be too tedious to you to answer me, I should like to
examine you a little."
"On the contrary, I would prefer nothing better than listening to your
remarks. What I wish is to get out of this vicious circle in which my
thoughts have run during the last six years."
"Have you any guarantee that this photograph was taken that
afternoon--the 10th of May--between five and half-past seven?"
"Yes, only too positive proof; but the report in the _Morning News_ is
perhaps not sufficiently clear. The facts are these: The snap-shot
apparatus used by Mr. Howell had a roll of prepared paper sufficient to
take ten photographs. I suppose you have seen these apparatus. For
every new picture you want to take you turn a little screw outside,
which is connected with the roller, until a new number appears on the
indicator. When all the paper on the roll has been used, it is taken
out, in order to get the pictures developed, and a new roll is inserted.
On the back of this photograph you will find number ten printed. Number
nine, which was also produced in court, was a group which Mr. Howell had
taken in the museum before Jurgens left. The next, that is to say,
number ten, must therefore have been taken in the interval before the
roll was handed over to the photographer,--in other words, between five
and seven o'clock. You will at once see that even if Mr. Howell had
wanted to deceive us, it would not have been possible."
"Yes, I fear, it is only too true. I have now nothing else to ask,
except whether the hands of the watch in the elephant's forehead might
not have been moved backward, or forward, by some one, either
accidentally or purposely?"
"You ask the same question which I have been asking myself for many
years. What we do know is that the watch was right at five o'clock, and
again at half-past seven. It is impossible that it could have been
altered in the meantime. It appears that the glass which covers the
dial is not movable. If the watch has to be regulated, the whole of the
clockwork must be exposed by removing a small metal plate under the
stomach of the elephant. On examining the elephant, two days after
Evelina's acquittal, it was found that there were no marks whatever to
be found in the thin layer of dust which had settled in the joint
between the ivory and this plate."
"But then we have the question of the time to settle," I said. "It
proves that Miss Frick could not have returned from the pawnbroker at
the time which the watch in the photograph shows. As far as I
understand you, it was this circumstance alone which saved her at the
trial."
"I'll tell you exactly what I think. It was that fact which saved her
as far as it gave the jury a pretext to answer 'No' to the question
whether she was guilty or not--or, more correctly, an excuse for not
answering 'Yes' to it. I do not believe there was a person in the court
who, in their heart of hearts, did not believe that Sigrid was guilty.
But her counsel very cleverly laid stress on the obscurity which
enveloped the whole matter, and the possibility that they might give an
unjust verdict and that the truth afterward might transpire. They, or,
more correctly, five of them, chose, therefore, so the rumour goes, and
I think it is correct, to answer 'No,' as the discrepancy with regard to
the time gave them the opportunity to do. You understand what I mean?"
"Yes, I understand; but what is your personal opinion with regard to the
discrepancy in the time?"
"Well, for my own part, I cannot deny that those who believed in
Sigrid's guilt were right in saying: Supposing that the driver had
driven rather more quickly than ordinarily, then the discrepancy in the
time would not be greater than five minutes. It might easily happen that
this difference in the time was due to the fact that the clocks in the
different parts of the town did not tally."
"May I take the photograph home with me?"
It was Clara who interrupted us. She had sat staring hard at the
picture, and now she stood before Monk with it hidden in her hand.
Monk reflected a moment.
"If you will promise me to keep it in Frederick's safe when you have not
got it in your hand."
"I promise everything," was Clara's answer; "and among other things,
that the photograph has been tampered with!!!"
There was such conviction in my wife's voice that Monk's cheeks flushed
with excitement. This time I saw nothing of the hopeless smile. He did
not have a chance of replying, however, for Clara began hurriedly to put
on her hat and cape.
"Come now, Frederick, it is past three in the morning, and to-morrow we
have still another day's work."
"Goodnight, Monk."
"Goodnight."
"Stop a minute; two things I must ask you before we go. Where does Mrs.
Reierson live?"
"She lives in her old den in Russeloek Street, No. 44."
"Where could one find the clothes which Evelina had on that day when the
robbery was committed? I mean the hat and jacket which she wears in the
photograph."
"Very probably Mrs. Reierson still has them, if she hasn't sold them.
They were produced in court, but were later on naturally given back to
the unhappy girl's mother. But why do you ask about them? You know, of
course, that--"
"That is my business for the present; good night, once more."
The last conversation was carried on between Clara and Monk. I listened
to them in astonishment. What in all the world did Clara mean by these
questions?
As we wandered homeward in the moonlight, with Clara on my arm, I tried
to find out what her purpose had been with regard to her last questions
to Monk.
"You surely don't intend to visit Mrs. Reierson?"
"I don't intend to tell you," was the reply; "but even if I do, what
harm is there in that?"
"No, of course there's no harm; but according to Monk's description,
there was nothing very prepossessing about Mrs. Reierson six years ago,
and in the course of these years she is not likely to have changed for
the better."
"Don't let us talk about it any more. Remember I have been to less
prepossessing houses before in my life, on mysterious errands. Do you
remember that time when I paid my fruitless visit to the pawnbroker,
and, in my despair, had to go to Monk?"
"Yes, you were lucky that time," I answered gayly. "If you hadn't gone
that day to Monk, you would never have met me, and then perhaps you
would never have been married."
"Of course I do not want to keep any secrets from you, either big or
small," said Clara. "It is my intention to go to Mrs. Reierson
to-morrow morning. But you shall not go with me; first, because I
consider it will serve my purpose better if I go alone. Men are such
blunderers, you know. She is naturally suspicious about men, and would
perhaps recognize you as a friend of Monk's, and secondly, I am very
anxious to carry out my little plan all by myself. Fancy, if I can help
him, as he once helped me,--wouldn't that be a triumph!"
*CHAPTER V*
*THE MOST IMPORTANT CHAPTER IN THE BOOK.
CLARA ACTS THE DETECTIVE*
"It's time to get up, sir. Missus said as 'ow I must get you up by
half-past nine."
I looked up in astonishment. In the doorway stood our red-faced country
servant girl nodding good-humouredly at me.
"Where is your mistress gone?"
"Missus went out at half-past eight, and said as 'ow I must wake you up
and have the breakfast ready by ten o'clock."
There was no mistaking this order, so I hurried up, a little ashamed at
having slept so long.
No sooner was I dressed, than there was a ring at the front doorbell,
and in stepped Monk with a very serious face.
He was not one of those who are much affected by one or even two nights
of sleeplessness, but to-day he looked unusually tired and weary.
"I'm afraid you haven't had a good night. It was dreadfully late when
we left you; we shouldn't have kept you up so long!"
"It was rather I who kept both of you up so late. But where is your wife
gone?"
"Clara went out at half-past eight, the girl says; but she is sure to be
home soon. Why do you ask?"
"She telephoned to me a quarter of an hour ago. She told me to come here
at once, as she had something of importance to tell me."
"She must have telephoned from some place in town," I answered, somewhat
surprised.
"Your wife made some very sensible remarks about the photograph,
yesterday," said Monk, hesitatingly. "Has she said anything more on the
subject?"
"Hullo, Monk," I answered, laughing; "so you've come to consult Clara
Viller, the private detective!"
Monk hadn't time to answer, for in came the very person we spoke of.
Her cheeks were rosy with the sharp morning air. In her hand she
carried an untidy, badly packed, brown paper parcel.
"Please excuse me, Mr. Monk, for keeping you waiting; but I was obliged
to call in at the charcuterie establishment and get something tasty for
Frederick's breakfast. Such a gourmand as he is! For you, I have got
something else. But take a seat at the table and have a cup of coffee;
I will just run and slip off my things--I shan't be gone a minute."
She vanished from the room just as suddenly as she had appeared.
Monk and I sat down at the breakfast table, and Clara soon joined us.
Both she and I did good justice to the viands, but Monk only played with
his knife and fork.
When we were finished, Clara asked me for the key to the safe in my
office.
She returned with the photograph and the magnifying glass, and laid them
beside Monk on the table. Monk and I looked at her in astonishment. She
also placed the brown paper parcel near.
"Yesterday I promised to show you that the photograph had been tampered
with. I could have done it at the time, but I was anxious to refute all
the objections which I knew you and Frederick would bring forward, and
that is why I waited until to-day. The matter is soon settled; the lady
who stands in the photograph has on a little hat with a feather in it.
On which side is the feather?"