Logotheti reached his lodgings in St. James's Place at six o'clock in
the evening of the day on which he had promised to dine with Van Torp,
and the latter's note of excuse was given to him at once. He read it,
looked out of the window, glanced at it again, and threw it into the
waste-paper basket without another thought. He did not care in the
least about dining with the American millionaire. In fact, he had
looked forward to it rather as a bore than a pleasure. He saw on his
table, with his letters, a flat and almost square parcel, which the
addressed label told him contained the Archæological Report of the
Egyptian Exploration Fund, and he had heard that the new number would
contain an account of a papyrus recently discovered at Oxyrrhynchus,
on which some new fragments of Pindar had been found. No dinner that
could be devised, and no company that could be asked to meet him at
it, could be half as delightful as that to the man who so deeply loved
the ancient literature of his country, and he made up his mind at once
that he would not even take the trouble to go to a club, but would
have a bird and a salad in his rooms.
Unhappily for his peace and his anticipated feast of poetry, he looked
through his letters to see if there were one from Margaret, and there
was only a coloured postcard from Bayreuth, with the word 'greetings'
scrawled beside the address in her large hand. Next to the card,
however, there was a thick letter addressed in a commercial writing he
remembered but could not at once identify; and though it was
apparently a business communication, and could therefore have waited
till the next morning, when his secretary would come as usual, he
opened it out of mere curiosity to know whence it came.
It was from Mr. Pinney the jeweller, and it contained a full and
conscientious account of the whole affair of the theft, from the
moment when Logotheti and Van Torp had gone out together until Mr.
Pinney had locked up the stone in his safe again, and Baraka and Spiro
had been lodged in Brixton Gaol. The envelope contained also a cutting
from the newspaper similar to the one Margaret had received from Lady
Maud.
Logotheti laid the letter on the table and looked at his watch. It was
now a quarter-past six, and old-fashioned shops like Pinney's close
rather early in the dull season, when few customers are to be expected
and the days are not so long as they have been. In the latter part of
August, in London, the sun sets soon after seven o'clock, and
Logotheti realised that he had no time to lose.
As he drove quickly up towards Bond Street, he ran over the
circumstances in his mind, and came to the conclusion that Baraka had
probably been the victim of a trick, though he did not exclude the
bare possibility that she might be guilty. With all her cleverness and
native sense, she might be little more than a savage who had picked up
European manners in Constantinople, where you can pick up any manners
you like, Eastern or Western. The merchant who had given her a letter
for Logotheti only knew what she had chosen to tell him, and connived
in her deception by speaking of her as a man; and she might have told
him anything to account for having some valuable precious stones to
dispose of. But, on the other hand, she might not be a Tartar at all.
Any one, from the Bosphorus to the Amur, may speak Tartar, and pretend
not to understand anything else. She might be nothing but a clever
half-bred Levantine from Smyrna, who had fooled them all, and really
knew French and even English. The merchant had not vouched for the
bearer's character beyond saying that 'he' had some good rubies to
sell, called himself a Tartar, and was apparently an honest young
fellow. All the rest was Baraka's own story, and Logotheti really knew
of nothing in her favour beyond his intimate conviction that she was
innocent. Against that stood the fact that the stolen ruby had been
found secreted on her person within little more than half an hour of
her having had a chance to take it from Pinney's shop.
From quite another point of view, Logotheti himself argued as Margaret
had done. Baraka knew that he possessed the ruby, since she had sold
it to him. She knew that he meant to have it cut in London. She might
easily have been watching him and following him for several days in
the hope of getting it back, carrying the bit of bottle glass of the
same size about with her, carefully prepared and wrapped in
tissue-paper, ready to be substituted for the gem at any moment. She
had watched him go into Pinney's, knowing very well what he was going
for; she had waited till he came out, and had then entered and asked
to see any rubies Mr. Pinney had, trusting to the chance that he might
choose to show her Logotheti's, as a curiosity. Chance had favoured
her, that was all. She had doubtless recognised the twist on the
counter, and the rest had been easy enough. Was not the affair of the
Ascot Cup, a much more difficult and dangerous theft, still fresh in
every one's memory?
Logotheti found Mr. Pinney himself in the act of turning the discs of
the safe before going home and leaving his shopman to shut up the
place. He smiled with grave satisfaction when Logotheti entered.
'I was hoping to see you, sir,' he said. 'I presume that you had my
letter? I wrote out the account with great care, as you may imagine,
but I shall be happy to go over the story with you if there is any
point that is not clear.'
Logotheti did not care to hear it; he wished to see the ruby. Mr.
Pinney turned the discs again to their places, stuck the little key
into the secret keyhole which then revealed itself, turned it three
times to the left and five times to the right, and opened the heavy
iron door. The safe was an old-fashioned one that had belonged to his
father before him. He got out the japanned tin box, opened that, and
produced the stone, still in its paper, for it was too thick to be put
into one of Mr. Pinney's favourite pill-boxes.
Logotheti undid the paper, took out the big uncut ruby, laid it in the
palm of his hand, and looked at it critically, turning it over with
one finger from time to time. He took it to the door of the shop,
where the evening light was stronger, and examined it with the
greatest care. Still he did not seem satisfied.
'Let me have your lens, Mr. Pinney,' he said, 'and some electric light
and a sheet of white paper.'
Mr. Pinney turned up a strong drop light that stood on the counter,
and produced the paper and a magnifier.
'It's a grand ruby,' he said.
'I see it is,' Logotheti answered rather curtly.
'Do you mean to say,' asked the surprised jeweller, 'that you had
bought it without thoroughly examining it, sir--you who are an
expert?'
'No, that's not what I mean,' answered the Greek, bending over the
ruby and scrutinising it through the strong magnifier.
Mr. Pinney felt himself snubbed, which had not happened to him for a
long time, and he drew himself up with dignity. A minute passed, and
Logotheti did not look up; another, and Mr. Pinney grew nervous; a few
seconds more, and he received a shock that took away his breath.
'This is not my ruby,' said Logotheti, looking up, and speaking with
perfect confidence.
'Not--your--ruby!' Mr. Pinney's jaw dropped. 'But----' He could get no
further.
'I'm sorry,' Logotheti said calmly. 'I'm very sorry, for several
reasons. But it's not the stone I brought you, though it's just as
large, and most extraordinarily like it.'
'But how do you know, sir?' gasped the jeweller.
'Because I'm an expert, as you were good enough to say just now.'
'Yes, sir. But I am an expert too, and to the best of my expert belief
this is the stone you left with me to be cut, the day before
yesterday. I've examined it most thoroughly.'
'No doubt,' answered the Greek. 'But you hadn't examined mine
thoroughly before it was stolen, had you? You had only looked at it
with me, on the counter here.'
'That is correct, sir,' said Mr. Pinney nervously. 'That is quite
true.'
'Very well. But I did more than merely look at it through a lens or
weigh it. I did not care so much about the weight, but I cared very
much for the water, and I tried the ruby point on it in the usual way,
but it was too hard, and then I scratched it in two places with the
diamond, more out of curiosity than for any other reason.'
'You marked it, sir? There's not a single scratch on this one!
Merciful Providence! Merciful Providence!'
'Yes,' Logotheti said gravely. 'The girl spoke the truth. She had two
stones much larger than the rest when she first came to me in Paris,
this one and another. They were almost exactly alike, and she wanted
me to buy both, but I did not want them, and I took the one I thought
a little better in colour. This is the other, for she still had it;
and, so far as I know, it is her legal property, and mine is gone. The
thief was one of those two young fellows who came in just when Mr. Van
Torp and I went out. I remember thinking what nice-looking boys they
were!'
He laughed rather harshly, for he was more annoyed than his
consideration for Mr. Pinney made him care to show. He had looked
forward to giving Margaret the ruby, mounted just as she wished it;
and the ruby was gone, and he did not know where he was to find
another, except the one that was now in Pinney's hands, but really
belonged to poor Baraka, who could certainly not sell it at present. A
much larger sum of money was gone, too, than any financier could lose
with equanimity by such a peculiarly disagreeable mishap as being
robbed. There were several reasons why Logotheti was not pleased.
So far as the money went, he was not sure about the law in such a
case, and he did not know whether he could claim it of Pinney, who had
really been guilty of gross carelessness after a lifetime of
scrupulous caution. Pinney was certainly very well off, and would not
suffer nearly as much by the loss of a few thousand pounds as from the
shame of having been robbed in such an impudent fashion of a gem that
was not even his, but had been entrusted to his keeping.
'I am deeply humiliated,' said the worthy old jeweller. 'I have not
only been tricked and plundered, but I have been the means of sending
innocent people to prison.'
'You had better be the means of getting them out again as soon as
possible,' said Logotheti. 'You know what to do here in England far
better than I. In my country a stroke of the pen would free Baraka,
and perhaps another would exile you to Bagdad, Mr. Pinney!'
He spoke lightly, to cheer the old man, but Mr. Pinney shook his head.
'This is no jesting matter, sir,' he said. 'I feel deeply humiliated.'
He really did, and it was evidently a sort of relief to him to repeat
the words.
'I suppose,' said Logotheti, 'that we shall have to make some kind of
sworn deposition, or whatever you call it, together, and we will go
and do it at once, if you please. Lock up the ruby in the safe again,
Mr. Pinney, and we will start directly. I shall not go back to my
lodgings till we have done everything we can possibly do to-night.'
'But you will dine, sir?' Mr. Pinney put that point as only a
well-regulated Englishman of his class can.
'I shall not dine, and you will not dine,' answered Logotheti calmly,
'if our dinner is at all likely to keep those people in prison an hour
longer than is inevitable.'
Mr. Pinney looked graver than ever. He was in the habit of dining
early, and it is said that an Englishman does not fight on an empty
stomach, and will eat an excellent breakfast before being hanged.
'You can eat sandwiches in the hansom,' said the Greek coldly.
'I was thinking of you, sir,' Mr. Pinney answered gloomily, as he
finished the operation of shutting the safe; he did not like
sandwiches, for his teeth were not strong.
'You must also make an effort to trace those two young men who stole
the ruby,' said Logotheti.
'I most certainly shall,' replied the jeweller, 'and if it is not
found we will make it good to you, sir, whatever price you set upon
it. I am deeply humiliated, but nobody shall say that Pinney and Son
do not make good any loss their customers sustain through them.'
'Don't worry about that, Mr. Pinney,' said Logotheti, who saw how much
distressed the old jeweller really was.
So they went out and hailed a hansom, and drove away.
It would be tiresome to give a detailed account of what they did. Mr.
Pinney had not been one of the principal jewellers in London for forty
years without having been sometimes in need of the law; and
occasionally, also, the law had been in need of him as an expert in
very grave cases, some of which required the utmost secrecy as well as
the greatest possible tact. He knew his way about in places where
Logotheti had never been; and having once abandoned the idea of
dinner, he lost no time; for the vision of dinner after all was over
rose softly, as the full moon rises on a belated traveller, very
pleasant and companionable by the way.
Moreover, as the fact that Baraka and Spiro were really innocent has
been kept in view, the manner in which they were proved so is of
little importance, nor the circumstances of their being let out of
Brixton Gaol, with a vague expression of regret on the part of the law
for having placed faith in what Mr. Pinney had testified 'to the best
of his belief,' instead of accepting a fairy story which a Tartar
girl, caught going about in man's clothes, told through the broken
English of a Stamboul interpreter. The law, being good English law,
did not make a fuss about owning that it had been mistaken; though it
reprimanded Mr. Pinney openly for his haste, and he continued to feel
deeply humiliated. It was also quite ready to help him to find the
real thieves, though that looked rather difficult.
For law and order, in their private study, with no one looking on, had
felt that there was something very odd about the case. It was strange,
for instance, that the committed person should have a large bank
account in Paris in his, or her, own name, and should have made no
attempt to conceal the latter when arrested. It was queer that 'Barak'
should be known to a number of honourable Paris jewellers as having
sold them rubies of excellent quality, but that there should never
have been the least suspicion that he, or she, took any that belonged
to other people. It was still more extraordinary that 'Barak' should
have offered an enormous ruby, of which the description corresponded
remarkably well with the one that had appeared in evidence at the
Police Court, to two French dealers in precious stones, who had not
bought it, but were bearing it in mind for possible customers, and
were informed of Barak's London address, in case they could find a
buyer. In the short time since Baraka had been in prison, yards of
ciphered telegrams had been exchanged between the London and Paris
police; for the Frenchmen maintained that if the Englishmen had not
made a mistake, there must have been a big robbery of precious stones
somewhere, to account for those that Baraka was selling; but that, as
no such robbery, or robberies, had been heard of anywhere in Europe,
America, India, or Australia, the Englishmen were probably wrong and
had locked up the wrong person. For the French jewellers who had
bought the stones all went to the Paris Chief of Police and laid the
matter before him, being much afraid that they had purchased stolen
goods which had certainly not been offered for sale in 'market overt.'
The result was that the English police had begun to feel rather
nervous about it all, and were extremely glad to have matters cleared
up, and to say so, and to see about the requisite order to set the
prisoners at large.
Also, Mr. Pinney restored the ruby to her, and all her other
belongings were given back to her, even including the smart grey suit
of men's clothes in which she had been arrested; and her luggage and
other things which the manager of the hotel where she had been
stopping had handed over to the police were all returned; and when
Spiro appeared at the hotel to pay the small bill that had been left
owing, he held his head as high as an Oriental can when he has got
the better of any one, and that is pretty high indeed. Furthermore,
Mr. Pinney insisted on giving Logotheti a formal document by which
Messrs. Pinney and Son bound themselves to make good to him, his
heirs, or assigns, the loss of a ruby, approximately of a certain
weight and quality, which he had lost through their carelessness.
All these things were arranged with as little fuss and noise as might
be; but it was not possible to keep the singular circumstances out of
the newspapers; nor was it desirable, except from Mr. Pinney's point
of view, for Baraka had a right to be cleared from all suspicion in
the most public manner, and Logotheti insisted that this should be
done. It was done, and generously too; and the girl's story was so
wonderfully romantic that the reporters went into paroxysms of
adjectivitis in every edition of their papers, and scurried about town
like mad between the attacks to find out where she was and to
interview her. But in this they failed; and the only person they could
lay hands on was Logotheti's private secretary, who was a middle-aged
Swiss with a vast face that was as perfectly expressionless as a
portrait of George the Fourth on the signboard of an English country
inn, or a wooden Indian before the door of an American tobacconist's
shop. He had been everywhere and spoke most known languages, for he
had once set up a little business in Constantinople that had failed;
and his power of knowing nothing, when he had a secret to keep for his
employer, was as the combined stupidity of ten born idiots.
He knew nothing. No, he did not know where Baraka was; he did not know
what had become of her servant Spiro; he did not know where Logotheti
was; he did not know anything; if the reporters had asked him his own
name, he would very likely have answered that he did not know that
either. The number of things he did not know was perfectly
overwhelming. The reporters came to the conclusion that Logotheti had
spirited away the beautiful Tartar; and they made some deductions, but
abstained from printing them yet, though they worked them out on
paper, because they were well aware that Logotheti was engaged to
marry the celebrated Cordova, and was too important a personage to be
trifled with, unless he had a fall, which sometimes happens to
financiers.
On the day following Baraka's liberation, Lady Maud received
Margaret's pressing telegram begging her to go to Bayreuth. The
message reached her before noon, about the time when Margaret and her
companions had come back from their morning walk, and after hesitating
for half-an-hour, she telegraphed that she would come with pleasure,
and would start at once, which meant that evening.
She had just read the official account of the ruby case in its new
aspect, and she did not believe a word of the story. To her mind it
was quite clear that Logotheti was still infatuated with the girl,
that he had come to London as fast as he could, and that he had
deliberately sworn that the ruby was not his, but another one, in
order to get her out of trouble. If it was not his it had not been
stolen from Pinney's, and the whole case fell through at once. If she
was declared innocent the stone must be given back to her; he would
take it from her as soon as they were alone and return it to his own
pocket; and being an Oriental, he would probably beat her for robbing
him, but would not let her out of his sight again till he was tired of
her. Lady Maud had heard from her late husband how all Turks believed
that women had no souls and should be kept under lock and key, and
well fed, and soundly beaten now and then for the good of their
tempers. This view was exaggerated, but Lady Maud was in a humour to
recall it and accept it without criticism, and she made up her mind
that before leaving town to join Margaret she would make sure of the
facts. No friend of hers should marry a man capable of such outrageous
deeds.
If she had not been an impulsive woman she could never have done so
much good in the world; and she had really done so much that she
believed in her impulses, and acted on them without taking into
consideration the possibility that she might be doing harm. But the
damage which very actively good people sometimes do quite
unintentionally is often greater and more lasting than that done by
bad people, because the good ones carry with them the whole resistless
weight of real goodness and of real good works already accomplished.
Perhaps that is why honestly convinced reformers sometimes bring about
more ruin in a few months than ten years of bribery and corruption
have wrought before them.
Lady Maud was a reformer, in a sense, and she was afraid of nothing
when she thought she was doing right. She went to Logotheti's lodgings
and asked to see him, as regardless of what any one should think of
her, if she were recognised, as she had been in the old days when she
used to go to Van Torp's chambers in the Temple in the evening.
She was told that Logotheti was out of town. Where? The servant did
not know that. The lady could see the secretary, who might, perhaps,
tell her. He received every one who had business with Monsieur
Logotheti.
She went up one flight and was admitted to a very airy sitting-room,
simply furnished. There were several large easy-chairs of different
shapes, all covered with dark wine-coloured leather, and each
furnished with a different appliance for holding a book or writing
materials. There was a long bookcase full of books behind glass. There
was a writing-table, on which were half-a-dozen monstrously big
implements of an expensive kind, but handsome in their way: a
paper-cutter hewn from at least a third of an elephant's tusk, and
heavy enough to fell a man at a blow; an enormous inkstand, apparently
made of a solid brick of silver, without ornament, brightly polished,
and having a plain round hole in the middle for ink; a blotting-case
of the larger folio size, with a Greek inscription on it in raised
letters of gold; a trough of imperial jade, two feet long, in which
lay a couple of gold penholders fitted with new pens, and the thickest
piece of scarlet sealing-wax Lady Maud had ever seen. They were
objects of the sort that many rich men receive as presents, or order
without looking at them when they are furnishing a place that is to be
a mere convenience for a few days in the year. There was nothing
personal in what Lady Maud saw, except the books, and she could not
have examined them if she had wished to.
The one thing that struck her was a delicate suggestion of sweetness
in the fresh air of the room, something that was certainly not a
scent, and yet was not that of the perfumes or gums which some
Orientals like to burn where they live. She liked it, and wondered
what it was, as she glanced about for some one of the unmistakable
signs of a woman's presence.
The Swiss secretary had risen ponderously to receive her, and as she
did not sit down he remained standing. His vast face was fringed with
a beard of no particular colour, and his eyes were fixed and blue in
his head, like turquoises set in pale sole leather.
'I am Countess Leven,' she said, 'and I have known Monsieur Logotheti
some time. Will you kindly tell me where he is?'
'I do not know, madam,' was the answer.
'He is not in London?'
'At present I do not know, madam.'
'Has he left no address? Do you not forward his letters to him?'
'No, madam. I do not forward his letters to him.'
'Then I suppose he is on his yacht,' suggested Lady Maud.
'Madam, I do not know whether he is on his yacht.'
'You don't seem to know anything!'
'Pardon me, madam, I think I know my business. That is all I know.'
Lady Maud held her beautiful head a little higher and her lids drooped
slightly as she looked down at him, for he was shorter than she. But
the huge leathern face was perfectly impassive, and the still,
turquoise eyes surveyed her without winking. She had never seen such
stolidity in a human being. It reminded her of those big Chinese
pottery dogs with vacant blue eyes that some people keep beside a
fireplace or a hall door, for no explicable reason.
There was clearly nothing to be done, and she thought the secretary
distinctly rude; but as that was no reason why she should be, she bade
him good-morning civilly and turned to go. Somewhat to her surprise,
he followed her quickly across the room, opened the door for her and
went on into the little hall to let her out. There was a small table
there, on which lay some of Logotheti's hats, and several pairs of
gloves were laid out neatly before them. There was one pair, of a
light grey, very much smaller than all the rest, so small indeed that
they might have fitted a boy of seven, except that they looked too
narrow for any boy. They were men's gloves as to length and buttons,
but only a child could have worn them.
Lady Maud saw them instantly, and remembered Baraka's disguise; and as
she passed the big umbrella jar to go out, she saw that with two of
Logotheti's sticks there was a third, fully four inches shorter; just
a plain crook-handled stick with a silver ring. That was enough.
Baraka had certainly been in the lodgings and had probably left in
them everything that belonged to her disguise. The fact that the
gloves and the stick were in the hall, looked very much as if she had
come in dressed as a man and had left them there when she had gone
away in woman's attire. That she was with Logotheti, most probably on
his yacht, Lady Maud had not the least doubt, as she went down the
stairs.
The Swiss secretary stood at the open door on the landing till she was
out of sight below, and then went in again, and returned to work over
a heap of business papers and letters. When he had worked half an
hour, he leaned back in his leathern chair to rest, and stared fixedly
at the bookcase. Presently he spoke aloud in English, as if Lady Maud
were still in the room, in the same dull, matter-of-fact tone, but
more forcibly as to expression.
'It is perfectly true, though you do not believe me, madam. I do not
know anything. How the dickens should I know where they are, madam?
But I know my business. That is all.'