Basinghall House, Moorgate Street, is built around a courtyard. You
enter under an archway, and find offices before you, offices to right
and offices to left. As a matter of fact, Basinghall House was
designed for a hotel, but subsequently let off in suites of chambers.
The offices of Messrs. Anderson & Brothers are on the left, as you
enter, and from the window of the principal’s sanctum you may look
down into the courtyard.
The room chosen for the meeting on Wednesday morning, however, was one
opening off this. In common with the adjoining office--as I have said,
that of the principal--it had a second door, opening on a corridor.
This latter door, however, was never used and was always kept
double-locked. Thus, the doorway from the other office was really its
only means of entrance or egress. A large window offered a prospect of
the courtyard.
At a quarter to eleven on Wednesday morning, Mr. Anderson (one of the
City Aldermen) entered his own private office from the corridor. He
was accompanied by Sir John Carron, Mr. Gautami Chinje, and Inspector
Grimsby. These three had come with him from the safe deposit vaults.
Mr. Anderson had possession of the case containing the diamond.
In the office, already awaiting the party, were Sir Michael Cayley
(the Lord Mayor); Mr. Morrison Dell, of the Goldsmiths & Silversmiths
Company; Sir Vernon Rankin (ex-Lord Mayor); Mr. Werner, of the great
engineering firm; and Mr. Anderson, junior. These constituted the
Presentation Committee duly appointed by the City of London
(excluding, of course, Sir John Carron, of the India Office; Mr.
Chinje, representing the vendor of the jewel; and Mr. Grimsby,
representing New Scotland Yard).
“We are all present, gentlemen,” said Mr. Anderson. “But before we
proceed to the business which brings us here, we will enter the inner
room, where we shall be quite private.”
Accordingly the party of eight passed through the doorway; and Mr.
Anderson, senior, entering last, relocked the door behind him.
Inspector Grimsby remained alone in the private office.
Eight oaken chairs and a small oaken table bearing a pewter inkpot,
two pens, and a blotting pad represent, with a square of red carpet
and a framed photograph bearing the legend: “Jagersfontein Diamond
Workings, Orange Free State, 1909,” an inventory of the furniture.
The company being seated, Mr. Anderson, by the table, rose and said:
“Gentlemen, our business this morning can be briefly dealt with. I
have here”--he produced a leather case, opened it, and placed it on
the table before him--“the diamond known as the Blue Rajah. Its
history may be summarized thus: It appeared in the year 1680 and is
supposed to have been found in the Kollur Mine, on the Kostna. It had
a weight of 254½ carats in the rough, but was reduced to 132 carats
in the cutting. It has been successively owned by Nadîr Shah,
Princess de Lambelle, the Sultan Abdúl Hámid, Mr. Simon Rabstein of
New York, and, finally, the Gaekwar of Nizam. It has no flaws; in
fact, two of the original facets were retained when the stone passed
through the cutter’s hands. It is rose cut and its colour is of the
finest water, having the rare blue tint.”
He paused, raising the diamond from its receptacle, and holding it in
his hand. The sunlight, pouring in through the window, struck
flame-spears from the wonderful thing.
“In fact, gentlemen,” he concluded, “the Blue Rajah is a fitting
offering for the City of London to make to the Crown.”
“Hear, hear!” chorused the others; and the diamond was passed from
hand to hand. The formal business of making over the stone to the
Committee was then transacted. A huge check was placed in the
pocket-case of Mr. Gautami Chinje, autographs were affixed to two
formidable documents; and the Blue Rajah became the property of the
loyal City of London.
“You see,” said Sir John Carron, holding the stone daintily between
thumb and forefinger, and pointing, lecturer-fashion, “the diamond is
perfectly proportioned, being a full three fifths as deep as it is
broad.”
“Quite so,” agreed Mr. Morris Dell, looking over his shoulder.
“It is the most perfectly proportioned stone I have ever handled, Sir
John,” said the younger Mr. Anderson--and he stood back surveying the
gem with the caressing glance of a connoisseur.
Sir John turned and tenderly laid the diamond in its case. At which
moment, exactly, arose a blood-curdling scream in the courtyard below.
“Good Lord!” cried Mr. Werner. “What is that?”
There was a crowded rush to the window--those in the second rank
peering over the heads and shoulders of those in the first. The horrid
cries continued, in a choking yet shrill crescendo.
“Ah! God in Heaven! You are killing me! No! No! Mercy!… Mercy!…
Mercy!…”
“It is someone in the archway,” said Sir Vernon Rankin, excitedly.
“Can any of you see him?”
No one could, though all craned necks vigorously.
“Unfortunately, the window cannot be opened,” cried Mr. Anderson. “The
catch has jammed in some way. I am having it removed immediately.”
The cries ceased. People were running about below, and the blue
uniform of a city constable showed among the group in the archway.
“I’ll run down and see what has happened,” said Mr. Chinje, stepping
to the door which opened on the corridor. “Hullo! it is locked!”
Young Mr. Anderson turned to him with a smile.
“Both doors are locked, Mr. Chinje,” he said. “For the time being we
are virtually prisoners.”
“Give me the case,” said his father, selecting the key of the door
communicating with his private office. “There is no occasion for
further delay.”
The Lord Mayor turned from the window, through which he had still been
vainly peering, and stepped to the table.
“Mr. Anderson!”
“Yes?” said the latter, glancing back, keys in hand.
“Have you the diamond?”
“Certainly not!”
“Then who has it?”
No one had it. But the case was empty!