In the morning I was awakened by an impatient knocking at my bedroom
door. Going to bed at two or three I was naturally a late riser, and
this was about nine. I scrambled sleepily out of bed, and turned the
key. Hewitt was standing in my sitting-room, with a newspaper in his
hand.
"Sorry to break your morning sleep, Brett," he said, "but something
interesting has happened in regard to that business you helped me with
yesterday, and you may like to know. Crawl back into bed if you like."
But I was already in my dressing-gown, and groping for my clothes. "No,
no, come in and tell me," I said. "What is it?"
Hewitt sat on the bed. "I'll tell you in due order," he said. "First, I
saw Samuel again last night--after you had gone away. You remember I
went back to my office; I had a letter or two to write which I had set
aside in the afternoon. Well, I wrote the letters, shut up, and went
downstairs. I opened the outer door, and there was Samuel, in the act
of ringing the housekeeper's bell. He said he was very anxious, and
couldn't sleep without coming to hear if I had made any progress; he had
called before, but I was out. I half thought of taking him back to my
office, but decided that it wasn't worth while. So I walked along to the
corner of the Strand, till I got him well under the lights. Then I
stopped and talked to him. 'You ask about the progress in your case, Mr.
Samuel,' I said. 'Now, I have sometimes met people who seem to consider
me a sort of prophet, seer, or diviner. As a matter of fact, I am
nothing but a professional investigator, and even if I were possessed of
such an amazing genius as I lay no claim to, I could never succeed in a
case, nor even make progress in it, if my client started me with false
information, or only told me half the truth. More, when I find that such
is the state of affairs, and that if I am to succeed I must begin by
investigating my client before I proceed with his case, I throw that
case up on the instant--invariably. Do you understand that? Now I must
tell you that I have made no progress with your case, none; for that
very reason.'"
"He protested, of course--vowed he had told me the simple truth, and so
forth. I replied by asking him certain definite questions. First, I
asked him whose the diamonds were. He repeated that they were his own.
To that I simply replied, 'Good evening, Mr. Samuel,' and turned away.
He came after me beseechingly, and prevaricated. He said something about
another party having an interest, but the matter being confidential. To
that I responded by asking him with whom he had communicated before
sending for me, and who was the person in the brougham which he had
twice entered. That flabbergasted him. He said that he couldn't answer
those questions without bringing other parties into the matter, to which
I answered that it was just those other parties that I meant to know
about, if I were to move a step in the matter. At this he got into a sad
state--imploring, actually imploring, me not to desert him. He said he
should do something desperate--something terrible--that night if I
didn't relieve his mind, and undertake the case. What he meant he'd do
I didn't know, of course, but it didn't move me. I said finally that I
would deal only with principals, and that until I had the personal
instructions of the actual owner of the diamonds, in addition to a
complete explanation of the brougham incident, I should do nothing, and
I recommended him to go to the police; and with that I left him."
"And you got nothing more from him than that?"
"Nothing more; but it was something, you see. He admitted, to all
intents, that the diamonds were not his own. And now see here. I suppose
I left him about ten o'clock. Here is a paragraph in one of this
morning's newspapers. It is only in the one paper; the matter seems to
have occurred rather late for press."
Hewitt gave me the paper in his hand, pointing to the following
paragraph:
/#
"HORRIBLE DISCOVERY.--A shocking discovery was made just before
midnight last night, near the York column, where a police-constable
found the dead body of a man lying on the stone steps. The body,
which was fully clothed in the ordinary dress of a labouring man,
bore plain marks of strangulation, and it was evident that a brutal
murder had been committed. A singular circumstance was the presence
of a curious reddish mark upon the forehead, at first taken for a
wound, but soon discovered to be a mark apparently drawn or
impressed on the skin. At the time of going to press, no arrest had
been made, and so far the affair appears a mystery."
#/
"Well," I said, "this certainly seems curious, especially in the matter
of the mark on the forehead. But what has it all to do----"
"To do with Samuel and his diamonds, you mean? I'll tell you. _That dead
man is Denson!_"
"Denson?" I exclaimed. "Denson? How?"
"I get it from the housekeeper next door. It seems that when the police
came to examine the body they found, among other things--money and a
watch, and the like--a piece of an addressed envelope, used to hold a
few pins--the pins stuck in and the paper rolled up, you know. There was
just enough of it to guess the address by--that of the office next door;
and it was the only clue they had. So they came along here at once and
knocked up the housekeeper. He went with them and instantly recognised
Denson, disguised in labourer's clothes, but Denson, he says,
unmistakably."
"And the mark on the forehead?"
"That is very odd. It is an outlined triangle, rather less than an inch
along each side. It is quite red, he says, and seems to be done in a
greasy, sticky sort of ink or colour."
"Was anything found--the diamonds?"
"No. He says there was money--two or three five-pound notes, I believe,
some small change, a watch, keys and so forth; but there's not a word
of diamonds."
I paused in my dressing. "Does that mean that the murderer has got
them?" I asked. Hewitt pursed his lips and shook his head. "It _may_
mean that," he said, "but does it look altogether like it when
five-pound notes are left? On the other hand, there is the disguise; the
only reason that we know of for that would be that he was bolting with
the diamonds. But the really puzzling thing is the mark on the forehead.
Why that? Of course, the picturesque and romantic thing to suppose is
that it is the mark of some criminal club or society. But criminal
associations, such as exist, don't do silly things like that. When
criminals rob and murder, they don't go leaving their tracks behind them
purposely--they leave nothing that could possibly draw attention to them
if they can help it; also, they don't leave five-pound notes. But I'm
off to have a look at that mark. Inspector Plummer is in charge of the
case--you remember Plummer, don't you, in the Stanway Cameo case, and
two or three others? Well, Plummer is an old friend of mine, and not
only am I interested in this matter myself, but now that it becomes a
case of murder, I must tell the police all I know, merely as a loyal
citizen. I've an idea they will want to ask our friend Mr. Samuel some
very serious questions."
"Will you go now?"
"Yes, I must waste no more time. You get your breakfast and look out for
me, or for a message."
Hewitt was off to Vine Street, and I devoted myself to my toilet and my
breakfast, vastly mystified by this tragic turn in a matter already
puzzling enough.
* * * * *
It was not a messenger, but Hewitt himself, who came back in less than
an hour. "Come," he said, "Plummer is below, and we are going next door,
to Denson's office. I've an idea that we may get at something at last.
The police are after Samuel hot-foot. They think he should be made sure
of in any case without delay; and I must say they have some reason, on
the face of it."
We joined Plummer at once--I have already spoken of Plummer in my
accounts of several of Hewitt's cases in which I met him--and we all
turned into the office next door. There we found a very frightened and
bewildered office boy, whom Denson had given a holiday yesterday, after
sending him down to Samuel. He had come to his work as usual, only to
meet the housekeeper's tale of the murder of his master and the end of
his business prospects. He had little or no information to impart. He
had only been employed for a month or six weeks, and during that time
his work had been practically nothing.
Plummer nodded at this information, and sniffed comprehensively at the
office furniture. "I know this sort o' stuff," he said. "This is the way
they fit up long firm offices and such. This place was taken for the
job, that's plain, by one or both of 'em."
The boy's address was taken, and he was given a final holiday, and asked
to send up the housekeeper as he went out. Plummer passed Hewitt a bunch
of keys.
The housekeeper entered. "Now, Hutt," said Martin Hewitt, "you were
saying yesterday, I think, that the main front door was the only
entrance and exit for this building?"
"That's so, sir--the only one as anybody can use, except me."
"Oh! then there _is_ another, then?"
"Well, not exactly to say an entrance, sir. There's a small private door
at the back into the court behind, but that's only opened to take in
coals and such, and I always have the key. This house isn't like yours,
sir; you have no back way into the court as we have. It's a convenience,
sometimes."
"Ah, I've no doubt. Do you happen to have the key with you?"
"It's on the bunch hanging up in my box, sir. Shall I fetch it?"
"I should like to see it, if you will."
The housekeeper disappeared, and presently returned with a large bunch
of keys.
"This is the one, Mr. Hewitt," he explained, lifting it from among the
rest.
Hewitt examined it closely, and then placed beside it one from the bunch
Plummer had given him. "It seems you're not the only person who ever had
a key exactly like that, Hutt," he said. "See here--this was found in
Mr. Denson's pocket."
Plummer nodded sagaciously. "All in the plant," he said. "See--it's
brand new; clean as a new pin, and file marks still on it."
"Take us to this back door, Hutt," Hewitt pursued. "We'll try this key.
Is there a back staircase?"
There _was_ a small back staircase, leading to the coal-cellars, and
only used by servants. Down this we all went, and on a lower landing we
stopped before a small door. Hewitt slipped the key in the lock and
turned it. The door opened easily, and there before us was the little
courtyard which I think I have mentioned in one of my other
narratives--the courtyard with a narrow passage leading into the next
street.
Martin Hewitt seemed singularly excited. "See there," he said, "that is
how Denson left the building without passing the housekeeper's box! And
now I'm going to make another shot. See here. This key on Denson's bunch
attracted my attention because of its noticeable newness compared with
most of the others. _Most_ of the others, I say, because there is one
other just as bright--see! This small one. Now, Hutt, do you happen to
have a key like that also?"
Hutt turned the key over in his hand and glanced from it to his own
bunch. "Why, yes, sir!" he said presently. "Yes, sir! It's the same as
the key of the fire-hose cupboards!"
"Does that key fit them all? How many fire-hose cupboards are there?"
"Two on each floor, sir, one at each end, just against the mains. And
one key fits the lot."
"Show us the nearest to this door."
A short, narrow passage led to the main ground-floor corridor, where a
cupboard lettered "Fire Hose" stood next the main and its fittings. "We
have to keep the hose-cupboards locked," the housekeeper explained
apologetically, "'cause o' mischievous boys in the offices."
This key fitted as well as the other. A long coil of brown leather hose
hung within, and in a corner lay a piece of chamois leather evidently
used for polishing the brass fittings. This Hewitt pulled aside, and
there beneath it lay another and cleaner piece of chamois leather,
neatly folded and tied round with cord. Hewitt snatched it up. He
unfastened the cord; he unrolled the leather, which was sewn into a sort
of bag or satchel; and when at last he spread wide the mouth of this
satchel, light seemed to spring from out of it, for there lay a
glittering heap of brilliants!
"What!" cried Plummer, who first got his speech. "Diamonds! Samuel's
diamonds!"
"Diamonds, at any rate," replied Hewitt, "whether Samuel's or somebody
else's. But they can't have been there long. How often is this cupboard
opened?"
"Every Saturday reg'lar, sir," replied the housekeeper; "just to dust it
out and see things is right."
"Now, see here!" said Martin Hewitt, "I've had luck in my conjectures as
yet, and I'll try again. Here is what I believe has happened. Every word
that Samuel told me about the theft of those diamonds was true, except
as to their ownership. Denson has planned all along to rob him of as
big a collection of diamonds as he could prompt him to get together,
and he has played up to this for months. His smaller dealings one way
and another were ground-bait. Very artfully he let Samuel take the
diamonds safely away once, in order that he should be less watchful and
less suspicious the second time. This second time he does the trick
exactly as we see. He hangs up the imaginary American's hat, he escapes
by the fanlight, and he goes out by the back way to avoid the
housekeeper's observation. He has arranged beforehand for this, too. He
has seized an opportunity when the housekeeper has been out of his box
to get wax impressions of these two keys, and he has made copies of
them. And here we come on a curious thing. It is easy enough to
understand why he should foresee and get himself a key for the back
door, in order to make his escape. But why the key of the hose-cupboard?
Why, indeed, should he leave the diamonds behind him at all? It is plain
that he meant to come back for them--probably at night. He would have
been wholly free from observation in that quiet courtyard, and he could
let himself in, get the diamonds, and leave again without exciting the
smallest alarm or suspicion. But why take all the trouble? Why not stick
to the plunder from the beginning? The plain inference is that he
feared somebody or something. He feared being stopped and searched, or
he feared being waylaid _sometime during yesterday_. By whom? There's
the puzzle, and I can't see the bottom of it, I confess. If I could,
perhaps I might know something of last night's murder.
"As to Samuel's prevarications, there is only one explanation that will
fit, now that the rest is made clear. He must have been entrusted with
these diamonds by a private owner, for sale--secretly. Some lady of
conspicuous position in difficulties, probably--perhaps unknown to her
husband. Such things occur every day. A common expedient is to sell the
stones and have good paste substituted, in the same settings. Samuel
would be just the man to carry through a transaction of that sort. That
would account for everything. The jewels are _en suite_, cut, but
unset--taken from a set of jewellery, and paste substituted. Samuel
arranges it all for the lady, finds a customer--Denson--who treats him
exactly as he has told us. When he realises the loss Samuel doesn't know
what to do. He mustn't call the police, being bound to secrecy on the
lady's behalf. He sends her a hasty message, and remains keeping watch
by Denson's office. She hurries to him with all possible secrecy,
keeping her carriage blinds down; he dashes into the brougham to
describe the disaster, taking his case with him in his frantic desire to
explain things fully. The lady fears publicity, and won't hear of the
police--she instructs him to consult me: and consequently, of course,
when I recommend communicating with the police he won't listen to the
suggestion. Samuel has arranged with the lady to hurry off and report
progress as soon as he has consulted me, and this he does, the lady
having appointed Manchester Square for the interview. Perhaps she hints
some suspicion of Samuel's honesty--rather natural, perhaps, in the
circumstances. That terrifies him more than ever, and leads to his
frantic appeals to me when I throw the case up. Come, there's my guess
at the facts of the case, and I'll back it with twopence and a bit more.
Eh, Plummer?"
"I don't take your bet," answered Plummer. "The thing's plain enough;
except the murder. There's something deeper there."
Hewitt became grave. "That's true," he said, "and something I can see
no way into, as yet. But come--you take this parcel of diamonds, as
representing the law. And here comes one of your men, I think."
We had been approaching the front door during this talk, and now a
police constable appeared, and saluted Plummer. "Samuel's just been
brought in, sir," he reported. "He's half dead with fright, and he's
sent a message to Lady H---- in P---- Square; and he says he wants Mr.
Martin Hewitt to come and speak for him."
"Poor Samuel!" Hewitt commented. "Come, we'll go and make him happy.
Here are the diamonds, and, those safely accounted for, there's no
evidence to connect him with the murder. We'll get him out of the mess
as soon as possible."
And so they did. Hewitt's reading of the case was correct to a tittle,
as it turned out, and with very little delay Samuel was released. But
with the message from the police station, the fat was in the fire as
regarded Lady H----. Her husband necessarily became acquainted with
everything, and there was serious domestic trouble.
Samuel was glad enough to get quit of the business with no worse than a
bad fright, as may well be supposed. He showed himself most grateful to
Hewitt in after times, giving him excellent confidential advice and
information more than once in matters connected with the diamond trade.
He is still in business, I believe, in a much larger way, and I have no
doubt he is the wiser for his experience, and for the lesson which
Hewitt did not forget to rub well in: that it is useless and worse to
place a confidential matter in the hands of a man of Hewitt's
profession, and at the same time withhold particulars of the case,
however unessential they may appear to be.
* * * * *
But meantime, on the way to Vine Street I asked Hewitt what led him to
suppose that the new key on Denson's bunch fitted a lock in that
particular office building.
"Call it a lucky guess, if you like," Hewitt answered; "but as a matter
of fact it was prompted by pure common sense. Plummer showed me the
things found on the body, and I saw at once that the keys offered the
only chance of immediate information. I went through them one by one.
There was his latchkey--the key with which he had gone into his lodgings
to fetch away the disguise. There was another largish key, equally
old--probably the key of his office door. There were other smaller keys,
also old--plainly belonging to bags and trunks and drawers and so forth.
And then there was the large, perfectly new key. What was that? It was
not the key of any bag or drawer, clearly--it was the key of a door--a
door with a lever lock. What door? Had Denson some other office? Perhaps
he had, but first it was best to begin by trying it on places we were
already acquainted with. At once I thought of Denson's disappearance
unobserved by the housekeeper. Could this be the key of some private
exit from the office building? I resolved to test that conjecture first,
and it turned out to be the right one. Being successful so far, of
course I turned to the other new key and tried that, as you saw."
"But what of that triangular mark on the man's forehead?"
Martin Hewitt became deeply thoughtful. "That," he said, "is a matter
wholly beyond me at present, as indeed is the whole business of the
murder. Whether we shall ever know more I can't guess, but the matter is
deep--deep and difficult and dark. As to the mark itself, that seems to
have been impressed from an engraved stamp of some sort. It is a plain
equilateral triangle in red outline, measuring about an inch on each
side. It is in a greasy, sticky sort of red ink, which may be smeared,
but is very difficult, if not impossible, to rub away. What it means I
can't at present conjecture. I have told you my reasons for not thinking
it the sign of any gang of criminals. But whose sign is it? Surely not
that of some self-constituted punisher of crime? For such a person, with
no risk to himself, could have handed Denson over to the police, if he
knew of his offence. Can he have been murdered by an accomplice? But he
used no accomplice; if one thing is plain in all that story of the
stolen diamonds it is that Denson did the thing wholly by himself.
Besides, an accomplice would have taken the keys and have gone and
secured the diamonds for himself; else why the murder at all? But no
keys were taken--nothing was taken, as far as we can tell. And why was
the body placed in that conspicuous position? It is pretty certain that
the crime cannot have happened where the body was found--somebody must
have heard or seen a struggle in such a place as that. As it is, I
should say, the body was probably brought quietly to the spot in a cab,
or some such conveyance.
"But mystery envelops this crime everywhere. So far as I can see, there
is no clue whatever beyond the Red Triangle, which, as yet, I cannot
understand. The strangling points to the murder being committed by a
powerful man, certainly, and it is a form of crime that may have been
perpetrated silently. But beyond that I can see nothing. The apparent
motivelessness of the thing makes the mystery all the darker, and the
circumstances we are acquainted with, instead of helping us, seem to
complicate the puzzle.
"What was it that Denson feared when he left those diamonds behind him,
when he might have carried them away? And why should he fear it in
daytime and not at night, since it would seem plain that he meant to
have returned for the stones at night? Where did he go to disguise
himself yesterday--we know it was not in his lodgings--and where has he
left the clothes he discarded?"
All these doubts and mysteries were destined to be cleared up, in more
or less degree; but it was not till Hewitt and I had witnessed other
singular adventures that the answer came to the problem, the real
meaning of the Red Triangle was made apparent, and its connection with
the theft of Samuel's diamonds grew clear. For indeed the connection
proved in the end to be very intimate indeed. Once, a little later, we
were allowed to see a shade farther into the mystery, as I shall tell in
the proper place; but even then the real secret remained hidden from us
till the appointed end.
So ended the case of Samuel's diamonds, so far as concerned Samuel
himself and the owner; but the case of the Red Triangle had only begun.