of my friend the barber down-stairs, a messenger was found and a note sent
over to Scotland Yard. I awaited, of course, for the arrival of the
police, and occupied the interval in another look round--finding nothing
important, however. When the official detective arrived, he recognized at
once the importance of the case. A large number of forged Russian notes
have been put into circulation on the Continent lately, it seems, and it
was suspected that they came from London. The Russian Government have been
sending urgent messages to the police here on the subject.
"Of course I said nothing about your business; but, while I was talking
with the Scotland Yard man, a letter was left by a messenger, addressed to
Mirsky. The letter will be examined, of course, by the proper authorities,
but I was not a little interested to perceive that the envelope bore the
Russian imperial arms above the words 'Russian Embassy.' Now, why should
Mirsky communicate with the Russian Embassy? Certainly not to let the
officials know that he was carrying on a very extensive and lucrative
business in the manufacture of spurious Russian notes. I think it is
rather more than possible that he wrote--probably before he actually got
your drawings--to say that he could sell information of the highest
importance, and that this letter was a reply. Further, I think it quite
possible that, when I asked for him by his Russian name and spoke of 'a
confidential letter,' he at once concluded that _I_ had come from the
embassy in answer to his letter. That would account for his addressing me
in Russian through the key-hole; and, of course, an official from the
Russian Embassy would be the very last person in the world whom he would
like to observe any indications of his little etching experiments. But,
anyhow, be that as it may," Hewitt concluded, "your drawings are safe now,
and if once Mirsky is caught, and I think it likely, for a man in his
shirt-sleeves, with scarcely any start, and, perhaps, no money about him,
hasn't a great chance to get away--if he is caught, I say, he will
probably get something handsome at St. Petersburg in the way of
imprisonment, or Siberia, or what not; so that you will be amply avenged."
"Yes, but I don't at all understand this business of the drawings even
now. How in the world were they taken out of the place, and how in the
world did you find it out?"
"Nothing could be simpler; and yet the plan was rather ingenious. I'll
tell you exactly how the thing revealed itself to me. From your original
description of the case many people would consider that an impossibility
had been performed. Nobody had gone out and nobody had come in, and yet
the drawings had been taken away. But an impossibility is an
impossibility, after all, and as drawings don't run away of themselves,
plainly somebody had taken them, unaccountable as it might seem. Now, as
they were in your inner office, the only people who could have got at them
besides yourself were your assistants, so that it was pretty clear that
one of them, at least, had something to do with the business. You told me
that Worsfold was an excellent and intelligent draughtsman. Well, if such
a man as that meditated treachery, he would probably be able to carry away
the design in his head--at any rate, a little at a time--and would be
under no necessity to run the risk of stealing a set of the drawings. But
Ritter, you remarked, was an inferior sort of man. 'Not particularly
smart,' I think, were your words--only a mechanical sort of tracer. _He_
would be unlikely to be able to carry in his head the complicated details
of such designs as yours, and, being in a subordinate position, and
continually overlooked, he would find it impossible to make copies of the
plans in the office. So that, to begin with, I thought I saw the most
probable path to start on.
"When I looked round the rooms, I pushed open the glass door of the
barrier and left the door to the inner office ajar, in order to be able to
see any thing that _might_ happen in any part of the place, without
actually expecting any definite development. While we were talking, as it
happened, our friend Mirsky (or Hunter--as you please) came into the outer
office, and my attention was instantly called to him by the first thing he
did. Did you notice anything peculiar yourself?"
"No, really, I can't say I did. He seemed to behave much as any traveler
or agent might."
"Well, what I noticed was the fact that as soon as he entered the place he
put his walking-stick into the umbrella-stand over there by the door,
close by where he stood, a most unusual thing for a casual caller to do,
before even knowing whether you were in. This made me watch him closely. I
perceived with increased interest that the stick was exactly of the same
kind and pattern as one already standing there, also a curious thing. I
kept my eyes carefully on those sticks, and was all the more interested
and edified to see, when he left, that he took the _other_ stick--not the
one he came with--from the stand, and carried it away, leaving his own
behind. I might have followed him, but I decided that more could be
learned by staying, as, in fact, proved to be the case. This, by the by,
is the stick he carried away with him. I took the liberty of fetching it
back from Westminster, because I conceive it to be Ritier's property."
Hewitt produced the stick. It was an ordinary, thick Malacca cane, with a
buck-horn handle and a silver band. Hewitt bent it across his knee and
laid it on the table.
"Yes," Dixon answered, "that is Ritter's stick. I think I have often seen
it in the stand. But what in the world----"
"One moment; I'll just fetch the stick Mirsky left behind." And Hewitt
stepped across the corridor.
He returned with another stick, apparently an exact fac-simile of the
other, and placed it by the side of the other.
"When your assistants went into the inner room, I carried this stick off
for a minute or two. I knew it was not Worsfold's, because there was an
umbrella there with his initial on the handle. Look at this."
Martin Hewitt gave the handle a twist and rapidly unscrewed it from the
top. Then it was seen that the stick was a mere tube of very thin metal,
painted to appear like a Malacca cane.
"It was plain at once that this was no Malacca cane--it wouldn't bend.
Inside it I found your tracings, rolled up tightly. You can get a
marvelous quantity of thin tracing-paper into a small compass by tight
rolling."
"And this--this was the way they were brought back!" the engineer
exclaimed. "I see that clearly. But how did they get away? That's as
mysterious as ever."
"Not a bit of it! See here. Mirsky gets hold of Ritter, and they agree to
get your drawings and photograph them. Ritter is to let his confederate
have the drawings, and Mirsky is to bring them back as soon as possible,
so that they sha'n't be missed for a moment. Ritter habitually carries
this Malacca cane, and the cunning of Mirsky at once suggests that this
tube should be made in outward fac-simile. This morning Mirsky keeps the
actual stick, and Ritter comes to the office with the tube. He seizes the
first opportunity--probably when you were in this private room, and
Worsfold was talking to you from the corridor--to get at the tracings,
roll them up tightly, and put them in the tube, putting the tube back into
the umbrella-stand. At half-past twelve, or whenever it was, Mirsky turns
up for the first time with the actual stick and exchanges them, just as he
afterward did when he brought the drawings back."
"Yes, but Mirsky came half an hour after they were--Oh, yes, I see. What a
fool I was! I was forgetting. Of course, when I first missed the tracings,
they were in this walking-stick, safe enough, and I was tearing my hair
out within arm's reach of them!"
"Precisely. And Mirsky took them away before your very eyes. I expect
Ritter was in a rare funk when he found that the drawings were missed. He
calculated, no doubt, on your not wanting them for the hour or two they
would be out of the office."
"How lucky that it struck me to jot a pencil-note on one of them! I might
easily have made my note somewhere else, and then I should never have
known that they had been away."
"Yes, they didn't give you any too much time to miss them. Well, I think
the rest pretty clear. I brought the tracings in here, screwed up the sham
stick and put it back. You identified the tracings and found none missing,
and then my course was pretty clear, though it looked difficult. I knew
you would be very naturally indignant with Ritter, so, as I wanted to
manage him myself, I told you nothing of what he had actually done, for
fear that, in your agitated state, you might burst out with something that
would spoil my game. To Ritter I pretended to know nothing of the return
of the drawings or _how_ they had been stolen--the only things I did know
with certainty. But I _did_ pretend to know all about Mirsky--or
Hunter--when, as a matter of fact, I knew nothing at all, except that he
probably went under more than one name. That put Ritter into my hands
completely. When he found the game was up, he began with a lying
confession. Believing that the tracings were still in the stick and that
we knew nothing of their return, he said that they had not been away, and
that he would fetch them--as I had expected he would. I let him go for
them alone, and, when he returned, utterly broken up by the discovery that
they were not there, I had him altogether at my mercy. You see, if he had
known that the drawings were all the time behind your book-case, he might
have brazened it out, sworn that the drawings had been there all the time,
and we could have done nothing with him. We couldn't have sufficiently
frightened him by a threat of prosecution for theft, because there the
things were in your possession, to his knowledge.
"As it was he answered the helm capitally: gave us Mirsky's address on the
envelope, and wrote the letter that was to have got him out of the way
while I committed burglary, if that disgraceful expedient had not been
rendered unnecessary. On the whole, the case has gone very well."
"It has gone marvelously well, thanks to yourself. But what shall I do
with Ritter?"
"Here's his stick--knock him down-stairs with it, if you like. I should
keep the tube, if I were you, as a memento. I don't suppose the
respectable Mirsky will ever call to ask for it. But I should certainly
kick Ritter out of doors--or out of window, if you like--without delay."
Mirsky was caught, and, after two remands at the police-court, was
extradited on the charge of forging Russian notes. It came out that he had
written to the embassy, as Hewitt had surmised, stating that he had
certain valuable information to offer, and the letter which Hewitt had
seen delivered was an acknowledgment, and a request for more definite
particulars. This was what gave rise to the impression that Mirsky had
himself informed the Russian authorities of his forgeries. His real intent
was very different, but was never guessed.
* * * * *
"I wonder," Hewitt has once or twice observed, "whether, after all, it
would not have paid the Russian authorities better on the whole if I had
never investigated Mirsky's little note factory. The Dixon torpedo was
worth a good many twenty-ruble notes."
V.
THE QUINTON JEWEL AFFAIR.
It was comparatively rarely that Hewitt came into contact with members of
the regular criminal class--those, I mean, who are thieves, of one sort or
another, by exclusive profession. Still, nobody could have been better
prepared than Hewitt for encountering this class when it became necessary.
By some means, which I never quite understood, he managed to keep abreast
of the very latest fashions in the ever-changing slang dialect of the
fraternity, and he was a perfect master of the more modern and debased
form of Romany. So much so that frequently a gypsy who began (as they
always do) by pretending that he understood nothing, and never heard of a
gypsy language, ended by confessing that Hewitt could _rokker_ better than
most Romany _chals_ themselves.
By this acquaintance with their habits and talk Hewitt was sometimes able
to render efficient service in cases of especial importance. In the
Quinton jewel affair Hewitt came into contact with a very accomplished
thief.
The case will probably be very well remembered. Sir Valentine Quinton,
before he married, had been as poor as only a man of rank with an old
country establishment to keep up can be. His marriage, however, with the
daughter of a wealthy financier had changed all that, and now the Quinton
establishment was carried on on as lavish a scale as might be; and,
indeed, the extravagant habits of Lady Quinton herself rendered it an
extremely lucky thing that she had brought a fortune with her.
Among other things her jewels made quite a collection, and chief among
them was the great ruby, one of the very few that were sent to this
country to be sold (at an average price of somewhere about twenty thousand
pounds apiece, I believe) by the Burmese king before the annexation of his
country. Let but a ruby be of a great size and color, and no equally fine
diamond can approach its value. Well, this great ruby (which was set in a
pendant, by the by), together with a necklace, brooches, bracelets,
ear-rings--indeed, the greater part of Lady Quinton's collection--were
stolen. The robbery was effected at the usual time and in the usual way in
cases of carefully planned jewelry robberies. The time was early
evening--dinner-time, in fact--and an entrance had been made by the window
to Lady Quinton's dressing-room, the door screwed up on the inside, and
wires artfully stretched about the grounds below to overset anybody who
might observe and pursue the thieves.
On an investigation by London detectives, however, a feature of
singularity was brought to light. There had plainly been only one thief at
work at Radcot Hall, and no other had been inside the grounds. Alone he
had planted the wires, opened the window, screwed the door, and picked the
lock of the safe. Clearly this was a thief of the most accomplished
description.
Some few days passed, and, although the police had made various arrests,
they appeared to be all mistakes, and the suspected persons were released
one after another. I was talking of the robbery with Hewitt at lunch, and
asked him if he had received any commission to hunt for the missing
jewels.
"No," Hewitt replied, "I haven't been commissioned. They are offering an
immense reward however--a very pleasant sum, indeed. I have had a short
note from Radcot Hall informing me of the amount, and that's all. Probably
they fancy that I may take the case up as a speculation, but that is a
great mistake. I'm not a beginner, and I must be commissioned in a regular
manner, hit or miss, if I am to deal with the case. I've quite enough
commissions going now, and no time to waste hunting for a problematical
reward."
But we were nearer a clue to the Quinton jewels than we then supposed.
We talked of other things, and presently rose and left the restaurant,
strolling quietly toward home. Some little distance from the Strand, and
near our own door, we passed an excited Irishman--without doubt an
Irishman by appearance and talk--who was pouring a torrent of angry
complaints in the ears of a policeman. The policeman obviously thought
little of the man's grievances, and with an amused smile appeared to be
advising him to go home quietly and think no more about it. We passed on
and mounted our stairs. Something interesting in our conversation made me
stop for a little while at Hewitt's office door on my way up, and, while I
stood there, the Irishman we had seen in the street mounted the stairs. He
was a poorly dressed but sturdy-looking fellow, apparently a laborer, in a
badly-worn best suit of clothes. His agitation still held him, and without
a pause he immediately burst out:
"Which of ye jintlemen will be Misther Hewitt, sor?"
"This is Mr. Hewitt," I said. "Do you want him?"
"It's protecshin I want, sor--protecshin! I spake to the polis, an' they
laff at me, begob. Foive days have I lived in London, an' 'tis nothin' but
battle, murdher, an' suddhen death for me here all day an' ivery day! An'
the polis say I'm dhrunk!"
He gesticulated wildly, and to me it seemed just possible that the police
might be right.
"They say I'm drunk, sor," he continued, "but, begob, I b'lieve they think
I'm mad. An' me being thracked an' folleyed an' dogged an' waylaid an'
poisoned an' blandandhered an' kidnapped an' murdhered, an' for why I do
not know!"
"And who's doing all this?'
"Sthrangers, sor--sthrangers. 'Tis a sthranger here I am mesilf, an' fwy
they do it bates me, onless I do be so like the Prince av Wales or other
crowned head they thry to slaughter me. They're layin' for me in the
sthreet now, I misdoubt not, and fwat they may thry next I can tell no
more than the Lord Mayor. An' the polis won't listen to me!"
This, I thought, must be one of the very common cases of mental
hallucination which one hears of every day--the belief of the sufferer
that he is surrounded by enemies and followed by spies. It is probably the
most usual delusion of the harmless lunatic.
"But what have these people done?" Hewitt asked, looking rather
interested, although amused. "What actual assaults have they committed,
and when? And who told you to come here?"
"Who towld me, is ut? Who but the payler outside--in the street below! I
explained to 'um, an' sez he: 'Ah, you go an' take a slape,' sez he; 'you
go an' take a good slape, an' they'll be all gone whin ye wake up.' 'But
they'll murdher me,' sez I. 'Oh, no!' sez he, smilin' behind av his ugly
face. 'Oh, no, they won't; you take ut aisy, me frind, an' go home!' 'Take
it aisy, is ut, an' go home!' sez I; 'why, that's just where they've been
last, a-ruinationin' an' a-turnin' av the place upside down, an' me strook
on the head onsensible a mile away. Take ut aisy, is ut, ye say, whin all
the demons in this unholy place is jumpin' on me every minut in places
promiscuous till I can't tell where to turn, descendin' an' vanishin'
marvelious an' onaccountable? Take ut aisy, is ut?' sez I. 'Well, me
frind,' sez he, 'I can't help ye; that's the marvelious an' onaccountable
departmint up the stairs forninst ye. Misther Hewitt ut is,' sez he, 'that
attinds to the onaccountable departmint, him as wint by a minut ago. You
go an' bother him.' That's how I was towld, sor."
Hewitt smiled.
"Very good," he said; "and now what are these extraordinary troubles of
yours? Don't declaim," he added, as the Irishman raised his hand and
opened his mouth, preparatory to another torrent of complaint; "just say
in ten words, if you can, what they've done to you."
"I will, sor. Wan day had I been in London, sor--wan day only, an' a low
scutt thried to poison me dhrink; next day some udther thief av sin shoved
me off av a railway platform undher a train, malicious and purposeful;
glory be, he didn't kill me! but the very docther that felt me bones
thried to pick me pockut, I du b'lieve. Sunday night I was grabbed
outrageous in a darrk turnin', rowled on the groun', half strangled, an'
me pockuts nigh ripped out av me trousies. An' this very blessed mornin'
av light I was strook onsensible an' left a livin' corpse, an' my lodgin's
penethrated an' all the thruck mishandled an' bruk up behind me back. Is
that a panjandhery for the polis to laff at, sor?"
Had Hewitt not been there I think I should have done my best to quiet the
poor fellow with a few soothing words and to persuade him to go home to
his friends. His excited and rather confused manner, his fantastic story
of a sort of general conspiracy to kill him, and the absurd reference to
the doctor who tried to pick his pocket seemed to me plainly to confirm my
first impression that he was insane. But Hewitt appeared strangely
interested.
"Did they steal anything?" he asked.
"Divil a shtick but me door-key, an' that they tuk home an' lift in the
door."
Hewitt opened his office door.
"Come in," he said, "and tell me all about this. You come, too, Brett."
The Irishman and I followed him into the inner office, where, shutting the
door, Hewitt suddenly turned on the Irishman and exclaimed sharply: "_Then
you've still got it_?"
He looked keenly in the man's eyes, but the only expression there was one
of surprise.
"Got ut?" said the Irishman. "Got fwhat, sor? Is ut you're thinkin' I've
got the horrors, as well as the polis?"
Hewitt's gaze relaxed. "Sit down, sit down!" he said. "You've still got
your watch and money, I suppose, since you weren't robbed?"
"Oh, that? Glory be, I have ut still! though for how long--or me own head,
for that matter--in this state of besiegement, I can not say."
"Now," said Hewitt, "I want a full, true, and particular account of
yourself and your doings for the last week. First, your name?"
"Leamy's my name, sor--Michael Leamy."
"Lately from Ireland?"
"Over from Dublin this last blessed Wednesday, and a crooil bad
poundherin' tit was in the boat, too--shpakin'av that same."
"Looking for work?"
"That is my purshuit at prisint, sor."
"Did anything noticeable happen before these troubles of yours
began--anything here in London or on the journey?"
"Sure," the Irishman smiled, "part av the way I thraveled first-class by
favor av the gyard, an' I got a small job before I lift the train."
"How was that? Why did you travel first-class part of the way?"
"There was a station fwhere we shtopped afther a long run, an' I got down
to take the cramp out av me joints, an' take a taste av dhrink. I
over-shtayed somehow, an', whin I got to the train, begob, it was on the
move. There was a first-class carr'ge door opin right forninst me, an'
into that the gyard crams me holus-bolus. There was a juce of a foine
jintleman sittin' there, an' he stares at me umbrageous, but I was not
dishcommoded, bein' onbashful by natur'. We thravelled along a heap av
miles more, till we came near London. Afther we had shtopped at a station
where they tuk tickets we wint ahead again, an' prisintly, as we rips
through some udther station, up jumps the jintleman opposite, swearin'
hard undher his tongue, an' looks out at the windy. 'I thought this train
shtopped here,' sez he."
"Chalk Farm," observed Hewitt, with a nod.
"The name I do not know, sor, but that's fwhat he said. Then he looks at
me onaisy for a little, an' at last he sez: 'Wud ye loike a small job, me
good man, well paid?'
"'Faith,' sez I, ''tis that will suit me well.'
"'Then, see here,' sez he, 'I should have got out at that station, havin'
particular business; havin' missed, I must sen' a telegrammer from Euston.
Now, here's a bag,' sez he, 'a bag full of imporrtant papers for my
solicitor--imporrtant to me, ye ondershtand, not worth the shine av a
brass farden to a sowl else--an' I want 'em tuk on to him. Take you this
bag,' he sez, 'an' go you straight out wid it at Euston an' get a cab. I
shall stay in the station a bit to see to the telegrammer. Dhrive out av
the station, across the road outside, an' wait there five minuts by the
clock. Ye ondershtand? Wait five minuts, an, maybe I'll come an' join ye.
If I don't 'twill be bekase I'm detained onexpected, an' then ye'll dhrive
to my solicitor straight. Here's his address, if ye can read writin',' an'
he put ut on a piece av paper. He gave me half-a-crown for the cab, an' I
tuk his bag."
"One moment--have you the paper with the address now?"
"I have not, sor. I missed ut afther the blayguards overset me yesterday;
but the solicitor's name was Hollams, an' a liberal jintleman wid his
money he was, too, by that same token."
"What was his address?"
"'Twas in Chelsea, and 'twas Gold or Golden something, which I know by the
good token av fwhat he gave me; but the number I misremember."
Hewitt turned to his directory. "Gold Street is the place, probably," he
said, "and it seems to be a street chiefly of private houses. You would be
able to point out the house if you were taken there, I suppose?"
"I should that, sor; indade, I was thinkin' av goin' there an' tellin'
Misther Hollams all my throubles, him havin' been so kind."
"Now tell me exactly what instructions the man in the train gave you, and
what happened?"
"He sez: 'You ask for Misther Hollams, an' see nobody else. Tell him ye've
brought the sparks from Misther W.'"
I fancied I could see a sudden twinkle in Hewitt's eye, but he made no
other sign, and the Irishman proceeded.