Some few minutes subsequent to retiring--or so it seemed to me; a
longer time actually had elapsed--I was aroused by the ringing of my
telephone bell. I scrambled sleepily out of bed and ran to the
instrument.
Coram was the caller. And now, fully awake, I listened with an
ever-growing wonder to his account of that which had prompted him to
ring me up. Briefly, it amounted to this: some mysterious incident,
particulars of which he omitted, had aroused Paxton from his sleep.
Seeking the cause of the disturbance, the artist had unlocked the
studio door and gone out into the garden. He was absent but a moment
and never out of earshot of the door; yet, upon his return, _the
statue of Nicris had vanished!_
“I have not hesitated to ’phone through to Wapping,” concluded Coram,
“and get a special messenger sent to Moris Klaw. You see, the matter
is urgent. If the statue cannot be recovered, its loss may spell ruin
for Paxton. He had heard me speak of Moris Klaw and of the wonders he
worked in the Greek Room mysteries, and, accordingly, called me up. I
knew, if Klaw came, you would be anxious to be present.”
“Certainly,” I replied, “I wouldn’t miss one of his inquiries for
anything. Shall I meet you at Paxton’s?”
“Yes.”
I lost little time in dressing. From Coram’s brief account, the
mystery appeared to be truly a dark one. Would Moris Klaw respond to
this midnight appeal? There was little chance of a big fee, for Paxton
was not a rich man; but in justice to the remarkable person whom it is
my privilege to present to you in these papers, I must add that
monetary considerations seemingly found no place in Klaw’s philosophy.
He acted, I believe, from sheer love of the work; and this affair,
with its bizarre details--the ancient girdle of the dancing girl--the
fear of the model, who had declared that the statue moved--was such, I
thought, as must appeal to him.
Ten minutes later I was at Paxton’s house. He and Coram were in the
hall, and Coram admitted me.
“Do you mean,” he asked of Paxton, pursuing a conversation which my
advent had interrupted, “that the statue melted into the empty air?”
“The double doors opening on to the street were securely locked and
barred; that of the garden was also locked; I was in the garden and
not ten yards from the studio,” was Paxton’s reply. “Nevertheless,
Nicris had vanished, leaving no trace behind!”
Incredible though the story appeared, its confirmation was to be found
in the speaker’s face. I was horrified to see how haggard he looked.
“It will ruin me!” he said, and reiterated the statement again and
again.
“But, my dear fellow,” I cried, “surely you have not given up hope of
recovering the statue? After all, such a robbery as this can scarcely
have been perpetrated without leaving some clue behind.”
“Robbery!” repeated Paxton, looking at me strangely; “you would be
less confident that it is a case of robbery, Searles, if you had heard
what I heard!”