It was not many days after my solution of the Missing Diamond of the
Nizam of Jigamaree Mystery that I was called upon to take up a case
which has baffled at least one person for some ten or eleven centuries.
The reader will remember the mystery of the missing diamond--the largest
known in all history, which the Nizam of Jigamaree brought from India to
present to the Queen of England, on the occasion of her diamond jubilee.
I had been dead three years at the time, but, by a special dispensation
of his Imperial Highness Apollyon, was permitted to return incog to
London for the jubilee season, where it so happened that I put up at the
same lodging-house as that occupied by the Nizam and his suite. We
sat opposite each other at table d'hote, and for at least three weeks
previous to the losing of his treasure the Indian prince was very
morose, and it was very difficult to get him to speak. I was not
supposed to know, nor, indeed, was any one else, for that matter, at the
lodging-house, that the Nizam was so exalted a personage. He like myself
was travelling incog and was known to the world as Mr. Wilkins, of
Calcutta--a very wise precaution, inasmuch as he had in his possession a
gem valued at a million and a half of dollars. I recognized him at once,
however, by his unlikeness to a wood-cut that had been appearing in the
American Sunday newspapers, labelled with his name, as well as by the
extraordinary lantern which he had on his bicycle, a lantern which to
the uneducated eye was no more than an ordinary lamp, but which to an
eye like mine, familiar with gems, had for its crystal lens nothing more
nor less than the famous stone which he had brought for her Majesty
the Queen, his imperial sovereign. There are few people who can tell
diamonds from plate-glass under any circumstances, and Mr. Wilkins,
otherwise the Nizam, realizing this fact, had taken this bold method of
secreting his treasure. Of course, the moment I perceived the quality of
the man's lamp I knew at once who Mr. Wilkins was, and I determined to
have a little innocent diversion at his expense.
“It has been a fine day, Mr. Wilkins,” said I one evening over the pate.
“Yes,” he replied, wearily. “Very--but somehow or other I'm depressed
to-night.”
“Too bad,” I said, lightly, “but there are others. There's that poor
Nizam of Jigamaree, for instance--poor devil, he must be the bluest
brown man that ever lived.”
Wilkins started nervously as I mentioned the prince by name.
“Wh-why do you think that?” he asked, nervously fingering his
butter-knife.
“It's tough luck to have to give away a diamond that's worth three or
four times as much as the Koh-i-noor,” I said. “Suppose you owned a
stone like that. Would you care to give it away?”
“Not by a damn sight!” cried Wilkins, forcibly, and I noticed great
tears gathering in his eyes.
“Still, he can't help himself, I suppose,” I said, gazing abruptly at
his scarf-pin. “That is, he doesn't KNOW that he can. The Queen expects
it. It's been announced, and now the poor devil can't get out of
it--though I'll tell you, Mr. Wilkins, if I were the Nizam of Jigamaree,
I'd get out of it in ten seconds.”