The feather slanted backward as it did in the photograph when the hat
was put on properly. But if it was turned back to front, as Clara now
had it, it slanted forward in a ridiculous manner.
There could be no mistake--the photograph had been tampered with!
"Are you both convinced?" exclaimed Clara.
"Yes," I answered, "it is all fraud and trickery."
"This is a very strange affair," said Monk, and began again to examine
the hat which Clara had put in front of him.
In the meantime I took the photograph and the magnifying glass and began
again to examine it. Perhaps there's something else to discover, I
thought to myself.
Suddenly I laid down the magnifying glass and leant back in my chair,
roaring with laughter. The other two thought, no doubt, that I had gone
mad.
"That's a bit too much!" I exclaimed. "The person who has got up this
photograph must have been audacity or ignorance personified; just
imagine that such a thing as this hasn't been found out before! Look at
Venus de Milo! ha, ha, ha, ... ha! Do you know the Venus de Milo, Monk?"
"Do you mean the little copy in ivory which stands in Frick's museum,
and which has come out in the photograph you have there?" Monk's voice
was gentle enough; but I saw by his face that he was full of excitement
and expectation.
"Let me see!" Clara rushed forward and snatched the photograph and the
magnifying glass out of my hand.
"What is the matter, then, with this Venus? As far as I can see by the
photograph the little ivory copy must be quite a work of art, but I
can't see anything remarkable about it."
"No, because she has got no hat or clothes on her. But look here--" I
turned round to Monk--"how many arms has Venus de Milo?"
"Only half an arm on the right side, and none on the left."
"But this one has half an arm on the left side and nothing on the right.
I can't understand it," remarked Clara. She had kept hold of the
picture, but now passed it on to Monk, and looked at me sceptically.
"There, you can see!" I said triumphantly. "When a woman has fixed a
feather on the wrong side of her hat, you can detect it at once; but
when a woman has her only arm placed on the left side, instead of the
right, then you don't notice it. But what is the matter with Monk?"
He had been looking at the picture for a moment through the magnifying
glass, when he suddenly let both fall and jumped up from his seat. He
placed one hand over his eyes, and kept it there for some time. Then he
let it fall and stared into space, muttering: "What a fool and an idiot
I have been! I pretend to be a detective! I am blind--completely blind!
I tried to judge others, and yet have not been able to see before my own
nose! I am not worth the dust I eat!"
"Hold hard!" I shouted, laughing, "you don't seem to eat much dust; you
live plainly, we may say, but well. I suppose you mean the dust beneath
your feet."
To my astonishment, Monk still remained standing and staring into space,
while he repeated:--
"The dust beneath my feet."
I often think of that scene, and how strangely we may act when the brain
is really at work. Monk afterward told me that he hadn't the faintest
idea what words he had uttered at the time, but that during the few
seconds which elapsed, the whole story of the affair which had taken up
so many years of his life again passed through his brain--not in its old
guise, but in quite a new form; in a new light, which helped him to see
clearly through the veil of mystery which had hitherto enveloped the
thing.
But suffice it to say that Monk soon became himself again, or, better
still, an improved edition of the depressed and resigned man we had seen
for the last few days. His eyes sparkled and his lips trembled with
joyous emotion, as he stood before Clara and me, and alternately shook
our hands.
"All is clear now! I can prove that Sigrid is innocent. It is as clear
as the day; and I can also prove who the scoundrel is"--here a dark
shadow overspread his face--"who is the author of all this wretched
treachery."
"But how?"
"It is soon explained," answered Monk. "Tell me, why was it that
Evelina was acquitted? Because it was proved that she could not be the
person who appeared in the photograph--do you remember?"
"Yes, of course! First of all, because the person in the photograph has
a ring on the third finger of the left hand, while Evelina, on account
of an injury to her finger when a child, could not get a ring on this
finger."
"Yes, quite right; and then?"
"Then the photograph showed the time to be twenty-one minutes to six;
and at the time, it was proved that Evelina was at her mother's."
"Quite so; but in the photograph, as you and your wife have shown me, a
feather appears on the right side of the hat, although it should appear
on the left, and the Venus de Milo has an arm on the side where there
should be none--but no arm where there ought to be one. If, then, the
person in the photograph in the same way has also her left arm where her
right should be, and vice versa, then the great point raised by the
prosecution falls to the ground. Isn't that so? It is her right-hand
finger which bears the ring."
"Yes, you are right; but the time? The clock in the elephant's
forehead?"
Instead of answering, Monk went over to a little alarm clock which stood
on the writing table.
He first set to work to move the hands, carefully shielding the dial
from us; then he signed to us to follow him, and he led the way over to
a long mirror at the other end of the room. He placed Clara and me in
front of the mirror, he himself standing behind us, holding up the
clock.
"Look in the mirror now, and tell me what the time is."
"Twenty-one minutes to six," answered Clara and I at the same moment.
"Now turn round and look at the clock--well, what do you say now? It is
twenty-one minutes past six, isn't it?"
It was now Clara's and my turn to make our deductions. "You mean, then,
that the picture is altogether a fraud? It is just as if everything had
been turned about, so that left becomes right and right becomes wrong."
"I mean," answered Monk, briskly, "that the photograph itself is all
right, and the person who is in the photograph is Evelina Reierson. At
the moment when she was photographed, she wore a feather on the left
side of her hat, in her left hand she held the diamond, and on the right
hand she wore a ring. The time was twenty-one minutes past six."
"But how--?"
"I'll soon tell you. The whole secret lies in the fact that _the
photograph was taken from a reflection in a mirror!_"
"In a mirror?"
"Yes, in a mirror."
"You are right! That explains all!"
"Yes, all; and even a little more which, perhaps, you have not thought
of. Thank heaven the scales have fallen from my eyes, and I can see
once more!"
"This is no time for Biblical language, my dear Monk; let us hear what
you mean by 'even a little more.'"
"You are right! Well, we have got so far that we know the picture has
been taken in a mirror; but in what mirror?"
"Well, that is for you to find out; both Clara and I have done our
duty."
"You certainly have; and I shall manage the rest--at least I hope so.
On the wall just opposite the cupboard in the museum--the one which
appears here in the photograph--there is, right enough, a mirror, a
tolerably large one, and it is in that mirror that the photograph was
taken."
"But then, the person who took it must have stood right beside Evelina,
and he could not very well have avoided being included in the
photograph." It was Clara who made this remark.
"You are quite right, Mrs. Viller; but he stood so much to one side that
he did not come within the frame of the mirror. To prevent the frame
from showing in the photograph, he has clipped it on both sides. That
is why the picture is so narrow."
"This is all very well," I felt compelled to remark, "but there is one
thing which upsets the whole of your fine theory. Is it at all likely
that Evelina would allow any one to stand beside her and photograph her
in the mirror, while she was about to steal a diamond, or, more
correctly, would she choose the moment to steal the diamond while she
was being photographed?"
"Yes, it was just that point which I found to be the most difficult, a
little while ago, when I was building up my theory, so to speak; but I
have happily solved that question, and the solution opens up a still
larger vista to us."
"When you were building up your theory, you say? Do you mean those
seconds a little while ago, when you stood with staring eyes, and
muttering something about eating dust?"
"It is possible that I behaved rather strangely," laughed Monk; "and I
haven't an idea how long I was away from this world. But even if it was
for only a few seconds, they were, at any rate, more than sufficient to
reveal to me what had really taken place behind the scenes, and which I,
until now, have been quite deceived about. Just listen! If you
remember my description of the little house in Frick's garden, of which
the museum was a part, you will remember that from the museum there is a
door leading to the fire-proof room. This door is just at the side of
the cupboard which we have referred to so often. The only way in which
one could, by aid of the mirror, photograph a person without being
noticed in front of the cupboard, would be by standing inside the
fire-proof room, leaving the door of the museum ajar."
"Do you mean that the Englishman had been inside old Frick's fire-proof
room? The door of that surely wouldn't be open?"
"No, it is a strong iron door of which old Frick had the key; but for a
clever man, whose time was his own, it would not be a difficult matter
to procure a false key. You remember that Howell had had the entree to
the museum whenever he liked, for many months."
"But what business had the Englishman in there? He must have been a
great scoundrel; and there is no reason why he should not help himself
to what he could find. But perhaps there was not much cash there, and
besides, you have not said anything about old Frick being robbed of
any."
"You are right. I cannot yet quite see what he wanted in old Frick's
fire-proof room. But one thing you can be certain of, and that is, that
he was there for no good. In some way or other we must get old Frick's
permission to visit the room, as you call it. I fancy that is where we
shall find the key to the mystery. But how shall we be able to see him?
He won't receive me, and I am afraid he will have heard of our
friendship, and so refuse to see you, Frederick."
"I shall manage to see old Frick," said Clara, "and get you admitted, as
well. But I am ashamed of you, Monk! Have you quite forgotten Sigrid?"
"Forgotten Sigrid!" answered Monk, blushing like a peony.
"Yes, forgotten her, I say. What was the exact time by the clock when
the photograph was taken in the mirror?"
"It must have been twenty minutes past six."
"And the whole of the time between six and seven Sigrid sat with her
uncle, drinking tea with him. Wasn't that so?"
"Yes."
"Then her innocence is proved, whether the Englishman had been inside
old Frick's fire-proof room, or not. Why don't you telegraph to Sigrid
at once? Why haven't you done so half an hour ago? Rather than marry a
detective, I would see myself--"
Monk tried to answer this terrible volley, but was scornfully sent about
his business.
So it was arranged that Clara should go to old Frick, and as soon as
Monk and I had telegraphed to New York, we were to go to Villa Ballarat
and wait outside till Clara gave a signal that the siege was raised.
*CHAPTER VI*
*OLD FRICK AGAIN*
As Monk had told us, old Frick had been for many years lame, and a
prisoner to his invalid chair.
Imagine, then, Monk's and my surprise when we, on entering Villa
Ballarat, after having been sent for from our post outside, found the
master of the house standing in the middle of the room, and Clara
sitting smiling in a chair.
It is not necessary to describe the meeting between him and Clara,
although my wife, at the time, gave a full account of it.
Suffice it to say that she boldly entered the lion's den and, without
much ceremony, began upbraiding old Frick with his hard treatment of his
brother's children.
"If your nephew has erred," she said, "he was young at the time, and in
bad company--that I can vouch for." She was thinking, no doubt, of Mr.
Howell. "As far as your niece is concerned, you have judged her, as the
whole world has judged her, on suspicion, without taking into
consideration her character."
Old Frick had got red in the face at these words, and his arms and legs
had begun twitching violently.
Clara was a little afraid the old man would have a fit, but remembering
the old saying, "Joy does not kill," she continued, quite undisturbed:
"Something has, however, happened, which you have not deserved, Mr.
Frick. Monk and two friends, my husband and myself, have discovered, as
we shall prove, that she has had nothing whatever to do with the
disappearance of the diamond; it is the scoundrel Mr. Howell who is at
the bottom of it all. In fact, in a short time you may have your niece
back again, and for the remainder of your life you'll have an
opportunity of making amends for your mistake."
There is no doubt Clara was most successful in her appeal; for instead
of old Frick having a fit, he suddenly rose from his chair, stumbled
across to Clara, and in a trembling voice asked her for a fuller
explanation. The excitement had cured his lameness; and though he never
entirely regained the full use of his legs, yet from that moment he was,
at any rate, able to move about by himself.
I shall not dwell on the meeting between old Frick and Monk and myself.
Many minutes had not elapsed before we seemed to have known each other
for many years. He had gained a respect for Clara which, I think, will
last to the end of his life.
Only the most necessary explanations were given,--happily Monk was a man
who expressed himself briefly and clearly,--and so it was decided to
adjourn to the museum in the garden. Old Frick took with him a large
bunch of keys which lay on the table beside his invalid chair, at which
he now cast a scornful glance, as well as at the servant who came
forward to wheel his master. There was no necessity for more witnesses,
so the servant, greatly to his surprise, was dismissed, and with Frick
leaning upon Monk's and my arm, we set out for the museum.
It was with very mixed feelings that Clara and I saw the scene of the
events which had for three days entirely engrossed our thoughts. I do
not doubt that Monk and old Frick were just as much affected, even if
their feelings were of quite another kind.
We entered the pavilion in the garden and proceeded through the museum.
Everything was in exactly the same state, old Frick and Monk said, as it
was six years before.
Old Frick pulled out a key and opened the door into the fire-proof room.
As if by a tacit understanding Clara went across and stood in front of
the cupboard in which the black tortoise glistened--which was opened by
old Frick--while we others went into the room and pulled the door almost
to, after us. There, sure enough, through the opening, our gaze
involuntarily fell on the large mirror just opposite, and in the glass
we saw the reflection of the cupboard and the shelf above it, with the
little elephant and the Venus de Milo, and Clara's figure with her back
to us.
"Confound it all!" shouted old Frick, "it is just as Monk says. The
rascal has been standing in here and photographing her!"
Clara said she must also see it; she went into the room, while I took
her place.
But Monk did not allow us to lose any more time.
"Have you missed anything from the fire-proof room, Mr. Frick?" he
asked. "The Englishman must have had some reason for providing himself
with a key to fit it."
"No," answered old Frick, after having considered a moment, "I keep
nothing in here but documents and papers, which only concern me. Money
I always kept in the iron safe in the office."
"There are two iron safes here," said Monk.
"Yes," answered old Frick, "in the larger safe I keep family papers,
etc., which are of no value to any one. In the small one over
there--which is of course nothing but an iron box, but is provided with
an unusually ingenious lock--I keep my will, and a list of what I
possess."
The large safe was opened, and a lamp was brought in from the museum.
The safe, with its contents, was carefully examined, but nothing unusual
could be discovered.
"Now comes the turn of the box," said Monk. "Will you help me to bring
it out into the museum, Frederick?"
Although the whole thing was not more than sixteen or twenty inches
square, it was so massive that we had to use all our strength to move it
out into the daylight.
It was a handsome steel box, the four sides and the lid being ornamented
with chased arabesques.
Old Frick brought out a key of unusual shape.
"Wait a bit, Mr. Frick," said Monk, holding up his arm; "when was the
last time this box was opened?"
"Six years ago," said Frick, slowly, "when I altered my will--God be
praised that I can alter it yet once again!"
"Did Mr. Howell know anything about the will?"
"Yes, of course. I made him my heir to all which does not go to
charities, and legacies, and suchlike. It is about L30,000. At first I
had divided it equally between Sigrid, Einar, and him, but
then--then--well I don't think it necessary to explain the rest; but
then came this business, and I struck Sigrid's and Einar's names out."
"And he knew where you kept it?"
"Yes; a day or two before he left, I read it to him, here in the museum,
and put it in the box, while he was looking."
Monk was all the time examining the box most carefully, and some time
passed before he spoke.
"I thought as much!" he exclaimed, with his old genial smile. "Look
here!"
We stooped down to see the better. He had turned the box over so that
the side which had stood against the wall in the fire-proof room was
uppermost. A number of artistically interwoven spirals were chased in
the steel. With a penknife he scraped away the rust and dirt from one
of them,--it was about five or six inches in diameter. A number of
small, round spots could then be seen. He took a pin, placed its point
on one of the spots, and pressed it, when, to our great surprise, the
needle appeared to sink into the steel.
"Is there a hammer here?" He looked around, and his eye rested on an old
axe from the bronze age. "That will do."
A strong blow in the centre of the circle--and to our great astonishment
the round steel dial disappeared into the box.
"Well, hang it all!" shouted old Frick; "but how in all the world--?"
"It is simple enough, but none the less ingeniously done," answered
Monk, dryly. "Mr. Howell couldn't manage the lock, and so he bored a
number of small holes in one of the spirals, and afterward, with a
watch-saw, he sawed through the space between them. He has shown
himself to be a clever craftsman--that can't be denied. When he had
done what he wanted to do with the contents, he replaced the piece,
filled the holes with putty, and smeared them over with rust and dirt."
"Then he must have stolen the deeds!" said old Frick, pressing forward
and putting his big fist through the hole in the box. "No; here are
both the envelopes, at any rate!"
He managed, though perhaps with some difficulty, in dragging out two
envelopes--one was very thick, the other somewhat thinner.
"No, here is the will," he muttered, pointing to the thin packet, "and
here are the deeds. Both with my seal unbroken."
"A seal is easily broken and put right again," answered Monk; "but tell
me one thing before we examine the packets. Has any one else except Mr.
Howell seen the will and list of your possessions?"
"No," exclaimed old Frick, with decision; "lawyers have only been sent
into the world by the devil, to do mischief. I wouldn't have anything
to do with them. I went to the sheriff and got him to draw up the
formula for me, and then I wrote the will myself. Howell knew that, as
well, confound him! That such a father should have such a son!" he
muttered, in quite another tone of voice.
"Well, let us open the packets, then," said Monk; "we shall perhaps find
more traces of Mr. Howell's fingers."
The small packet was opened, and we all leant over to look at the will.
It was drawn in the usual legal form, and told briefly that Frick
bequeathed his curiosities and collections to the state, all his movable
property--ready money, bank shares, etc., etc.,--to Mr. Reginald Howell;
house property, mortgages, etc., to the university, the Royal Society
for Science, and other institutions.
Everything was fully specified, and the sums either given exact, or
reference was made to a list appended.
"Well, everything here seems all right; it is exactly as I wrote it
myself. The coachman and gardener have signed as witnesses. I gave
them each five thousand kroners cash, to avoid including them among the
legatees."
"Are you quite sure, Mr. Frick?" said Monk, as he leant over the paper.
"Here is a figure which looks as if it had been erased."
"Let me see! Yes--what the devil is this? My house, property, shares,
etc.," he read, "which, according to the list, amount to about 1,000,000
kroners,--but, bless me! I possess nearer 1,900,000, which is nearly
the double, and that was what I wrote--"
"There you are! We shall get at it, little by little," said Monk, with
his most genial smile. I hadn't seen him in such a good humour for a
long time.
"But I don't understand," grumbled old Frick. "What motive can he have
in making me out to be poorer than I am? He doesn't get the 900,000
kroners which have been erased!"
"Let us look at the list and the mortgages," answered Monk, just as
genially. "We shall be sure to find the solution."
The other envelope was opened.
I read out the list, and old Frick opened the mortgages and deeds in the
order I read:--
"No. 177 Drammen Road, 'deed.'"
"Yes, here it is."
"Karl Johans Street, 77, 'deed.'"
"Yes, that's all right."
Etc., etc.
"Mortgages to the amount of 27,000 kroners, in the farm Hoff, in
Hedemarken."
"Yes, here it is."
And so we went on.
"It was a long business," I said; "but we've come to the end at last."
"End!" shouted old Frick. "But it hasn't come to an end! The plum is
always at the bottom, and a fine plum it is too!"
"What do you mean? There's nothing more on the list."
Old Frick fumbled about in the empty envelope.
"And nothing more here, either! He has stolen the mortgage deed in
Ashton Abbey, and--" Old Frick tore the list out of my hand. "Just
look here! Confound him! If he hasn't cut off the bottom part of the
list, so that the last item is missing! But bless me, if I can
understand what satisfaction he can get out of this mortgage."
"Nor I," I muttered; "mortgages are not papers payable to bearer, so any
one can make them into ready money. You need only write to England to
get a new copy of the mortgage."
"Monk knows very well what it all means," exclaimed Clara; "he is only
raising our curiosity. If I had known that you would so soon begin with
your superior detective ways, I wouldn't have helped you so quickly with
the photograph,--that you may be quite sure about."
She glanced with comic exasperation at Monk, who, in return, only smiled
pleasantly.
"I must admit that at this moment all is clear to me; but the last knot
has only been unloosened two minutes ago. Tell me, Mr. Frick, what
mortgage is it that you now speak of, and what was the amount of it?"
"Don't you remember," answered Frick, testily, "I once told you of an
old rascal, Davis by name, and how I was lucky enough at last to get at
him and make him pay me my share of the money which he had stolen?"
"Yes, of course I remember."
"Yes; and I, also."
"And I, also."
Old Frick looked at Clara and me in astonishment.
"I have told them all about the affair," remarked Monk. "Let us just
hear some more about Mr. Davis."
"Well, there isn't much more to say about it. He was to pay me L50,000,
but he had no ready money, as he had invested all his funds in a large
estate, and was quite willing to take a mortgage on it. It suited me
just as well as ready money, for the estate was worth more than double
that. This is the mortgage which has been stolen and cut off the list."
"Well, then, the total sum of 1,000,000 kroners would be right, instead
of 1,900,000 kroners," said Monk; "for L50,000 is just 900,000 kroners."
"Yes, that is true; but he can't do much with it. As Mr. Viller says, he
can't sell the mortgage without my signature."
"Did any one know you were in possession of that mortgage?" asked Monk.
"No, no one in this country: those rascally lawyers I have always kept
at a distance, and no one has had a chance of meddling with my papers."
"No one except Mr. Howell," was Monk's dry reply. "But listen here, my
friends! I will put a question to you. But excuse me, Mr. Frick, if I
first ask you to answer me. If all this had not happened to-day, do you
think you would ever have opened these envelopes again?"
"No," said old Frick, decidedly; "when my last hours approached, I might
perhaps have had the iron box opened to see that the envelopes were
there and the seals in order, but nothing more. I should have been
satisfied that all was as it should be."
"Very well. Now let me put my question to you two. If Mr. Frick had
died without having discovered the theft of this mortgage, no one, of
course, would have known of the existence of such a mortgage, and the
owner of Ashton Abbey would not be obliged to pay any interest.
Wouldn't that be a clear saving for Davis, or his heirs, of about L2500
a year?"
"By Jove, so it would!" exclaimed old Frick; "but why young Howell
should help Davis to L2500 a year, I cannot understand. He may be a big
rascal,--that I now can very easily see, although his father was the
best man under the sun,--but he isn't exactly stupid."
"All the same, he resembles his father in that--"
"Stop!" I cried. "Now I can see it all. Ashton Abbey! Ashton Abbey!
Now I understand! Young Howell must be the son of old Davis!"
"Yes, that is also my opinion," answered Monk, not at all offended that
I had taken the word out of his mouth. "He must have travelled from
Australia with the real young Howell. All must have lost their lives
except young Davis, who must have possessed himself of young Howell's
papers, and later on, played his role in the old world. That, I think,
explains all."
"Yes, he is the son of old Davis, there's no mistake about that!"
exclaimed Frick in great spirits. "Upon my soul it was the best
discovery of all, for now I need not mourn that my old friend had such a
son. But what was it you said about Ashton Hall? It is the
neighbouring estate to Ashton Abbey. Once they were both one estate."
"Monk told us earlier to-day that his agent had informed him that Mr.
Howell, or rather Davis junior, often visited that estate. It was, of
course, in order to confer with his worthy father, old Davis. I suppose
that was what set you on the track, Monk."
"Just so!"
*CHAPTER VII*
*THE YACHT "DEERHOUND"*
Monk kept his word. The following Friday he sailed for America; but our
hope that he would soon return was not fulfilled.
When he arrived in New York he found Sigrid laid up with a dangerous
illness. Sorrow, and over-exertion in nursing her brother, had
completely prostrated her. I believe Monk's telegram, which we sent
directly the discovery about the photograph was made, saved her life.
She had made great progress toward recovery by the time Monk arrived,
but she was still exceedingly weak.
It was a month afterward before they were able to get married; but the
crossing over the Atlantic was not to be thought of during the stormy
winter months.
At last, in the beginning of May, we heard from them. They had sailed.
And fourteen days afterward we welcomed them in Christiania.
The lady we saw on Monk's arm on the steamer's deck was remarkably
pretty, and looked exceedingly happy; although sorrow and trouble had
imparted a sad and serious expression to her face, which is never likely
to leave it.
Before the gangway could be properly adjusted, Clara had jumped on board
and taken her in her arms, a proceeding which seemed to both to be the
most natural thing in the world, although they had never seen each other
before.
Old Frick hobbled restlessly about on the quay, like a large dog which
has done something wrong, and is not quite sure whether it will be
forgiven or no.
He could not speak a word when his niece clasped her arm round his neck
and sprinkled his white hair with joyous tears. But his eloquence was
the greater, when we were all gathered in the evening at Villa Ballarat.
It was there that the newly married couple were to stay for the present.
* * * * *
About a week after their return home, Monk came to me with a face more
serious than usual. "I have still a duty to fulfil in the matter of the
black tortoise," he said. "You won't come with me to Stavanger
to-morrow, I suppose? I hope to meet Mr. Howell there, or more
correctly speaking, Mr. Davis, junior."
"Monk, Monk!" I exclaimed threateningly. "Is the detective on the
warpath again? Will you desert your wife already?"
Monk blushed slightly.
"No, this time it is not the detective. But it is my duty to justice
and to my wife to get at the bottom of the diamond affair. Remember
that more than half of what we believe we have discovered is only the
fruits of guesswork and putting two and two together."'
"You are right. I shall come with you. May I ask how you intend to
proceed in the matter against the Englishman? There are not, I suppose,
sufficient proofs to get a warrant of arrest?"
"No, I am afraid not; and I haven't got my plans quite ready yet. But I
fancy we must content ourselves with compelling him to give us a
complete proof of Sigrid's innocence, and letting him off from any
further unpleasantness. It is hard; but Sigrid is now very nervous, and
shudders at the thought of appearing before the court, and all that kind
of thing, you know."
"Well, let us start to-morrow evening on the west coast steamer. I
shall be ready. But are you sure to meet him there?"
"Yes, my agent in London writes that he has already sailed from England
in his yacht _Deerhound_, and is bound for the Ryfylke fjord to fish for
salmon, but in Stavanger he'll await a party which will arrive here by
the mail steamer in a few days."
* * * * *
It was on a morning in the beginning of June that the steamer glided
into Stavanger harbour. We had had rain and southerly wind the whole
way, and the night outside Jaedren had been anything but pleasant,
although neither Monk nor I suffered from seasickness.
Toward the morning, the wind sprung around to the north, and drove rain,
fog, and clouds in front of it, out into the North Sea. The sun shone
on the small rippling billows, which merrily splashed against the
gaudily painted coasting vessels and warehouses in the harbour.
Among the ships in the harbour, there were two which attracted our
attention. One was a pretty English cutter--her blue flag flying at her
stern. She had only one mast, although her tonnage must have been about
fifty; but the lofty lower mast and the big boom betrayed that she, on
this one mast, could carry a sail, the mainsheet of which would be no
easy matter to haul in, when the wind had filled it. She seemed to have
a numerous crew in proportion to her size--for six or eight men were
seen busily engaged in hoisting the wet sails to be dried. She was
riding by one of her anchors, and had boats hanging on their davits;
while only a small jolly-boat was lying at her stern.
The other ship was painted light grey, and had a large yellow funnel.
The Norwegian naval flag waved at the stern, and on the bow could be
seen the name, "Viking."
"We are in luck!" exclaimed Monk. "There is the gunboat, _Viking_. The
commander on board is Captain Holst; you know him, of course, Trygive
Holst?"
"Yes, I know him; but how can he help? Surely you don't want to get him
to sink the Englishman?"
"Not exactly that; but none the less he will be of use to us."
Monk had again taken the lead. I had sunk down into my modest role of
historian, and allowed him to have his way.
Our first business, after leaving the steamer, was to visit the gunboat
and pay our respects to the officers.
Monk went below into the captain's cabin, where they spent a quarter of
an hour together.
I knew they were good friends of old, and I could very well understand
he wished to be alone with his friend and inform him of the turn events
had taken.
Then we went on land, and gave ourselves good time to visit the
remarkable cathedral and one or two other places of interest.
"Shall we visit Mr. Howell now?" I asked.
"Yes, but not before twelve o'clock," was Monk's reply.
"Why not?"
"Isn't it a fact that you love a bit of excitement?"
"Yes, but--"
"Then you had better not ask any further questions, and you will
probably have plenty of it."
At last it was twelve o'clock, and a one-eyed, weather-beaten boatman
rowed us out to the yacht. Abaft the mast stood a tall, handsome man,
with a heavy black mustache.
Monk was the first to go on board. He went right up to the owner of the
yacht--for it was he. I followed behind.
Mr. Howell---we must still call him so--did not appear particularly
pleased at the visit. He stepped back involuntarily, and his face
became dark, but only for a moment; then he smiled and exclaimed in good
Norwegian:--
"What a surprise! Have I at last the pleasure of seeing you, after so
many years, Mr. Monk?"
"Yes, the world contains many surprises, Mr. Howell," was Monk's dry
reply, while he did not appear to notice the hand which the Englishman
stretched out to him. "Allow me to present an engineer friend, Mr.
Frederick Viller, Mr. Howell."
The Englishman bowed stiffly, and gave me a searching look. "Engineer?"
he repeated inquiringly. In his own mind he no doubt added, "Probably a
police official."
"Yes, an engineer. Here in Norway we must all be something, we cannot
only be gentlemen."
The Englishman did not seem to appreciate Monk's humour. He frowned,
and made no reply.
"We have a few words to say to you," said Monk, quietly; "will it be
convenient to take us down to your cabin?" He cast a glance full of
significance at the two sailors who were busy near us.
The Englishman seemed to consider for a moment. He looked out over the
sea and up at the rigging; then he put a little silver whistle to his
mouth, and a man who appeared to be the steward appeared.
"Show these gentlemen down into the saloon--I am coming directly. I
have just a word or two to say to the captain. He has to keep a lookout
for the English steamer, and to fetch my party on board here."
His expression appeared to me to be somewhat strained and peculiar, and
I cast a questioning glance at Monk; but as he seemed to be quite
unconcerned, I had nothing else to do but to follow him and the steward
below.
We went first along a corridor with two cabins on each side, then
through a small saloon, which took up the whole width of the yacht, and
then into a smaller one with a cabin on each side. The place was
lighted by a skylight of opaque glass.
This was apparently the owner's private cabin. The size of the yacht did
not admit of any large dimensions, but the cabin was luxuriously fitted,
and four or five people could sit down in it very comfortably.
The owner of the yacht came down soon after; his face wore a friendly
smile.
"May I offer you anything to drink, gentlemen? Shall I get my steward to
make you a cocktail? I can assure you, he is a master of the art. Or
would you prefer a glass of champagne?"
We refused any refreshments, and the Englishman smiled resignedly.
"We shall not keep you long," began Monk, looking the Englishman in the
face. "It will rest with yourself whether the proceedings are long or
short."
"You have, perhaps, come to bring me a greeting from dear old Mr. Frick,
his charming niece, or the gay Einar?"
"Yes, I have come with greetings from them all, but--"
"Have a cigar?" The Englishman rose, took a box from a shelf, and
handed it to us. "Not even a cigar? Then you will, at any rate, allow
me to light one. Tell me, you who are Norwegians, and who understand
the weather here, do you think we shall have good weather for the next
few days? I and my friends think of going to the Ryfylke fjord, and--"
"It will be all the worse for yourself if you waste time," said Monk, in
a sharp and threatening voice. "You had better listen to what I have to
say, and answer quickly."
"Ho, ho! Have you come on board to threaten me? You, Mr. Viller, who
seem to be a gentleman, ought to tell your friend that he should not
make himself unpleasant to an Englishman on board his own yacht."
I wisely left it to Monk to answer for himself, and only glanced
contemptuously at him; the thought of what he had done filled me with
disgust. I would rather have taken him by the neck and given him a good
thrashing.
"You can't get away from us, Mr. Howell," continued Monk, undisturbed.
"We are come to settle an account with you, and we don't intend to leave
here before it is done."
A peculiar smile passed over Howell's face at Monk's last words.
"Go on, then," he said. "I must, at any rate, know what it is all
about. I don't know that I have any business with Mr. Monk, the private
detective,--for you are, I understand, no longer in the service of the
police."
"What I am or am not has nothing to do with the case. You remember the
diamond robbery at Mr. Frick's, in Christiania, six years ago? Well, by
a shameful deception, you succeeded in throwing suspicion on Miss Frick.
She is now my wife--"
The Englishman interrupted with a long, low whistle. Monk's face
crimsoned, and for the moment I thought he would have thrown himself
upon the rascal; but he continued quietly: "No, it is not necessary for
you to fumble about in your drawer for the revolver. I am not so stupid
as to give you an opportunity of shooting me in self-defence. It would
suit you too well."
The Englishman uttered a horrible oath, and we heard a heavy object fall
back into the drawer.
"Go on with your business, then," he shouted; "but I shall teach you
what it costs to insult me on board my own yacht. Do you hear? Go on!"
I got the impression that his noisy anger was to a great extent assumed,
and while Monk continued, he seemed to be listening to something quite
different.
"We demand of you," said Monk, "that you give a full account of the
deception which was practised on the occasion which I refer to and that
you enable me to prove my wife's innocence."
"Yes, I'll give you a full account,--you may take your oath on that, you
wretched police spy, trying to threaten a gentleman! You haven't yet
mentioned how much money you intend to blackmail me for."
He got up and struck the table so that the cigar boxes and ash trays
jumped about.
"Why do you make all this noise?"
"Noise? May I not do what I like on board my own yacht? Wait a bit,
and you'll see something which will perhaps astonish you."
The Englishman laughed triumphantly, and got up.
I also got up. I had a suspicion that our host, if I may call him so,
was evilly disposed toward us. I had for some time felt that the ship
was in motion; first, I thought it was the effect of the small waves
which the passing steamers caused; but the last few minutes made it
clear to me that the yacht was steadily leaning over on one side, and
when both the Englishman and I got up, we could clearly hear the
rippling sound that water makes when it is being forced aside by a ship
in motion. "What do you think now, gentlemen?" The Englishman threw
open the door to the cabin on the starboard side, opened the port-hole,
and pointed out.
It was as I had suspected. The yacht had got under way, and was sailing
out of the harbour to eastward, between the islands, as the wind did not
admit of steering in a northerly direction. We were already about a
quarter of a mile away from the anchorage.
"On our next tack we shall clear Tungendess," continued Mr. Howell, "and
then you know for yourselves how far it is out to sea."
I looked at Monk, and I must confess my heart beat quicker than usual;
but Monk smiled back in a manner which plainly said that nothing
unexpected had happened.
Presently a great whining sound cut through the air and forced its way
through the open porthole in the cabin. Monk, with a friendly nod to
the Englishman, asked:--
"What do you think that is?"
"It is the grey gunboat, which is trying her steam whistle; but I
promise we shall not be long troubled by her infernal noise; the wind
freshens."
The Englishman threw himself comfortably into a chair.
"This won't do any longer, Mr. Howell," said Monk, and this time his
voice was again sharp and stern. "I suspected you would try and play us
this trick, and so make your position worse, and so I allowed you to try
it."
"What the devil do you mean?"
"Be silent, and listen to me. It is time we came to the serious part of
the business. The noise we heard comes, as you say, from the gunboat,
and it was the signal which to me means that at this moment she is
getting under way and making for this yacht. When she is alongside us,
she will, by persuasion or force, compel you to turn back to Stavanger
harbour. With this wind the yacht makes five or six knots, while the
gunboat makes sixteen; so you can calculate for yourself how long it
will take before she is alongside us."
It was a study to watch the Englishman's face as Monk spoke; it became
pale and green with anger and disappointment. But he still tried to
hold the position.
"Do you mean to tell me that a Norwegian gunboat dares stop an English
yacht which has done nothing unlawful? It will cost the captain his
position, if no more; you know that, as well as I do."
"This morning, at nine o'clock," answered Monk, quietly, "I was on board
the gunboat, and after having stated my case, the captain gave orders to
fire up. At twelve the steam would be up, and until then I postponed my
visit to your yacht. I informed the captain that I had business on
board here, but that it was not improbable we might be exposed to
violent treatment. It was arranged that if we did not leave the yacht
within two hours, the captain was to send a boat and fetch us; and if
the yacht weighed anchor without our having left, the gunboat was to
follow and compel the yacht to return. Do you think the captain, will
hesitate at stopping the yacht, when he knows that two Norwegian
subjects are retained on board by force? Give orders to tack about, and
let the yacht again anchor, and the gunboat will not trouble us. That's
the only way in which you can avoid a scandal. Do you understand me?"
The Englishman did not at first answer a word, but he made a wry face.
After a short pause he violently pulled a bell rope, which hung beside
his chair, and the captain of the yacht entered, with his gold-braided
cap in hand.
"Let her tack about again and anchor where she was lying, Captain
Watkins. These gentlemen have forgotten something: we must put off our
little cruise till to-morrow."
"I am glad to see you have come back to your senses, Mr. Howell; you
know your attempt to carry me and my friend away has made your case
still worse. I will openly admit that I have no warrant of arrest
against you, but the result of this little escapade will be that neither
the captain of the gunboat nor the police will hesitate in detaining you
here until such a warrant can be obtained from Christiania."
"What do you demand of me?"
"I have told you once before--a clear and concise account of all you
know about the diamond robbery in Mr. Frick's house six years ago."
There was again a pause for some seconds. The Englishman then threw his
cigar on the floor with an oath. "You can put the questions, and I will
answer. But it must be also understood that you take no proceedings
against me for any part in the case."
"It is very wise of you to make that condition. You have deceived the
court, and committed perjury. It would cost you many years of your
liberty if the arm of the law reached you. But we undertake not to
proceed against you, if you will provide us with proof that Miss Frick,
as she was then, had nothing to do with the robbery."
"Very well, I am willing. Ask, and I will reply."
"Who was it you photographed in the museum in front of the cupboard with
the black diamond in her hand? I mean the photograph which you later on
handed over to the court."
"It was the maid,--Evelina Reierson; wasn't that her name?"
"And you saw that she took the diamond and went away with it?"
"Yes."
"Was it quite accidentally that you happened to take the photograph? It
was taken from the reflection in a mirror, was it not?"
"Yes, it was taken in a mirror. I came quite by accident into the
museum, and she was so taken up with examining the diamond, that she did
not notice my presence until I had already photographed her. I knew she
was doing something wrong, and thought there would be no harm in
photographing her."
"Why did you turn toward the glass, instead of taking the photograph
direct? You stood behind her, did you not?"
"Well, yes," said the Englishman, looking suspiciously at Monk, whose
face was immovable. "Yes, I did. It was by mere chance I turned my
apparatus toward the glass."
"How did the diabolical idea enter your head to make use of the
photograph as evidence against Miss Frick?"
"Diabolical or not diabolical, she had offended me, no matter how, and I
revenged myself. I had never taken a photograph in a mirror before, and
so I examined the picture with the magnifying glass. You know how
interested I am in snap-shots."
"Oh, yes; and then you observed all that about the clock--the right and
left hands, and all the rest of it?"
"Exactly; it occurred to me that it might turn out unpleasant enough for
Miss Frick. So I waited till the case came before the court, and then I
sent a note to the counsel for the defence, which told him how he could
get his client off."
"How did you know Miss Frick had been to the pawnbroker's? Speak out;
for the sooner this is over, the better."
"Well, I knew young Frick had got into difficulties--the young greenhorn
would insist on playing high with me and my friends--and I knew, too,
that he had written his uncle's name on a bill for four thousand
kroners."
"And you did not help him? It would have been an easy matter for you."
"That's nothing to do with the matter. The sooner we are finished, the
better. Wasn't that what you said? Well, he wrote from Hamburg to his
sister, and begged her to pay in the four thousand kroners to a
well-known bill-discounter. That is why she tried to raise money on her
jewels. That failed, and so the bill-discounter applied to old Frick,
who, without saying a word, paid the bill. He guessed at once that his
nephew had forged his name."
"How did you get to know all this?"
"Well, that's nothing to do with the matter. It is enough for you to
know that I had my interests to look after, and that one always finds
helpers when one has got money."
"And then what about your relation with Evelina? How do you explain
that?"
"To hell with you and your questions! Is it necessary for you to know
any more? Well, never mind! I got to know of her relations with the
actor; I surprised them once in the garden at Ballarat. After the
arrest I sent her a letter wherein I professed deep sympathy with her
case, and told her if she would deny everything and keep silent I would
do my best to get her acquitted so that she could marry her lover.
"It was, then, to get money for him that she stole the diamond?"
"The actor, as you may guess, had seduced her, but refused to marry her
unless she would provide money so that they could leave the country. He
made a fool of her twice. I fancy, however, it was more for the sake of
giving the child a father, than anything else, that made her so anxious
to marry that fellow."
"He got the five thousand kroners, then? What did he do with them?"
"He succeeded in depositing them with a friend in Gothenburg, before he
was arrested; but when he came there again his friend had vanished. In
any case, he wrote to that effect, when he afterward tried to get money
out of me. I told him, of course, to go to the devil."
"Will you write down what you have told us, and put your name to it?
Remember, we must have a positive proof of my wife's innocence. That was
the condition upon which we were to let you go, without mixing up the
police in the matter."
We heard the noise and trample of feet on the deck, and the rattling of
the chain cable when the anchor fell.
We were again in Stavanger harbour. Soon after a grating sound, was
heard alongside the yacht, and the sound of many oars which were
shipped.
"There is the boat from the gunboat," exclaimed Monk. "You have not
much time for considering."
"You shall have the proof. I have something which is just as good as a
written declaration."
"Wait a bit," said Monk, quickly. "I must go up on deck and tell the
boat to wait. If the quartermaster does not see we are safe, he will no
doubt search the yacht. If I know my good friend, Captain Holst,
rightly, he must have already given some such order."
Monk went up on deck.
"Your friend, the detective, seems to think he is a devil of a fellow,
since he has got the better of me this time," grumbled the Englishman,
when we were alone; "but we shall meet again sometime, perhaps, when we
are more equally placed, and then I shall pay him out."
"Monk knows well enough how to take care of himself," I answered
reluctantly. I felt disgusted with the cold-blooded scoundrel. "You
ought rather to hope you will never see him again."
The subject of our conversation appeared again at this moment.
"Now, Mr. Howell, where is the proof you speak of? You will no doubt
agree that the sooner this interview comes to an end, the better."
The Englishman opened a cupboard, rummaged awhile in a drawer, and came
back to the table with something which looked like a folded letter in
his hand.
"Everything may be of use in time--that is the reason I did not burn it.
Here is a letter from Evelina, written the same day she hanged herself.
It will be more than sufficient for you. But it's understood that no
difficulty will be placed in my way to leave, if I give up the letter?"
"You have our word of honour that no information will be given to the
police, and that nothing shall hinder your departure if you furnish us
with sufficient proofs of my wife's innocence."
The Englishman threw the letter across the table. Monk opened it and
read it aloud:--
DEAR MR. HOWELL,--You are the only one who has shown any kindness to me
in my misfortune, but all your kindness is wasted on a creature who is
doomed to destruction. You warned me, long ago, against the wretch whom
I believed in so blindly, but more than that was necessary to open my
eyes.
He first persuaded me to steal in order to find the means for our
marriage, and then he deserted me with the fruits of my crime. All the
same, I was glad of your offer to get me acquitted, and thus enable me
to marry the man I loved, not so much for my own sake, as for--
Then he deceived me again. I know that yesterday he left the country,
and at the same time I learnt that my benefactress, Miss Frick, is
accused of the crime which I have committed.
I know of course you will not let her suffer--you, who are her friend,
and that of her family. But how can you prove her innocence without
revealing that you deceived the court in order to help me, a poor girl
whom you pitied?
I do not understand much of this kind of thing; but I see that my life
is useless, and that there is one way in which I can prove Miss Frick's
innocence without being imprisoned myself.
When you get to hear I am no longer alive, then cut off the lowest slip
of this letter and send it to the authorities. I cannot rely on my
mother. She has a suspicion it was I who took the diamond, and worries
me every day to tell her what has become of the money.