THE FIRST DISCOVERY
"I was up and was dressing before dawn, and from my window watched
the great walls of yew turn from black to green, and their shadows,
across the frost-covered lawns, slowly shorten, as the sun's globe
rose from the eastern woods. I heard the keepers whistle, and saw
the four fawn-coated hounds gallop slowly and lurchingly toward the
sound. As they went they left their footprints on the white rime
which lay on turf, paths, and flower beds. It was going to be a
glorious day, and presently the sun, in a cloudless sky, would draw
up the slight hoar frost. I went down and went out. I could hear
the snorting of the motor in the stable-yard where I had told
Macgregor to wait for me, but I would go round, first, by the
conservatory under Mrs. Townley's and my windows, and take a survey
of the ground. I could see for myself how, through the flat roof of
the conservatory, half glass, half lead, the burglar had made his
way, and how, from the roof, he had climbed by the thick stem of a
wistaria to the window of the corridor--a bold and difficult feat,
and one that only a master of his craft could attempt. How had a
man, doing all this at night, escaped the bloodhounds which were at
large every night? It puzzled me. And the explanation only came
later.
"I walked along a broad stone-paved path that leads from the
conservatory, and looked back at the house. Every blind was down and
every shutter closed. The path leads to the lawn tennis ground. I
reached a grassy plot of turf beyond where the few ruins of the
ancient Abbey are visible, ruined bits of walls and archways rising
sheer from level well-shorn turf. The ground all round was at
present one level sheet of hoar frost, dazzlingly white in the red
rays of the rising sun.
"My eye was caught suddenly by a curious break in the whiteness, a
little circular patch of green, no larger across than the palm of a
man's hand, close to a ruined archway that rose out of the ground and
broke the level monotony of white. Clearly a piece of wood, probably
the top of some half-rotted post, just under the surface, had raised
the temperature and prevented the deposition of frost crystals in
that particular spot.
"Though quite satisfied with my explanation, the fancy took me to
examine into the thing more closely. I went down on my knees, and
perceived at once that the circle was artificially made, probably by
a gardener's trowel. I perceived that the tool had cut deep all
round the little circle. I took hold of the grass and pulled at it,
but the slight frost had frozen all together. I took a pen-knife
from my pocket and passed the longest blade deep round the circle and
pulled again at the blades of grass. The bit of turf lifted as the
top of a box lifts up and revealed the hole in the ground, entirely
filled by a brown paper parcel a little larger than a man's fist.
"The jewels? No! Only their gold settings.
"I put the parcel half opened in my pocket, filled in the hole with a
clod of earth, replaced the turfy covering, stamped all down smooth,
and knew that, in half an hour, when the sun should have melted the
hoar frost, not a trace would be left of my morning's work.
"Who had done this? Who had detached the gems from their setting and
deposited them in this hiding-place? And why had it been done? To
answer the last question first: The settings were clearly removed to
lessen the chance of detection, and to make the jewels more easy to
pass or send away. Who had taken the stones from the setting?
Clearly not the burglar. It was a two hours' job for an expert,
working with pliers and pincers. He would not have had the time.
Clearly it was the work of his confederate, the inmate of the house,
and he, or she, had hidden the gold settings in a place where they
might reasonably be expected to lie, lost to man's cognizance,
forever. The place of concealment was admirably chosen--it was a
secluded, unfrequented part of the grounds, where the Abbey ruins
lay--and a person engaged in making the cache in such a spot could
safely count on not being observed by guests or gardeners.
"I communicated my discovery to Macgregor as we motored to Pangford,
where I desired to see the chief of our agents who were there to
watch the suspected Coggins.
"'It's growing warm, sir,' said Macgregor, when I showed him the
jewel settings. 'It's growing warm!'
"I thought so too, yet we were as far as ever from bringing the thing
home to the man we were morally sure was the real author of the
crime--'Gentleman Coggins.'"