after I had taken an inventory of them, Sir Frederick himself placed
them in an inner compartment, and I locked the door. I little thought
what a dance those confounded diamonds should lead me!
A few days after this, at a large garden-party I met Lady O’Connor,
young, pretty, and happy-looking. She shook hands cordially, expressed
pleasure at meeting again, and asked if I thought the season would be
a gay one. ‘By-the-by,’ she said, ‘it is very kind of you, Mr Blake,
to take care of my valuables. Sir Frederick was quite in despair
about them, until a happy thought suggested you as their protector.
I am going to trouble you for some of them to-morrow. Fred will call
for them; and do not be surprised if you see him bristling with
bowie-knives and revolvers, for he has a fixed idea that the Nice
ruffian has a keener nose for other people’s property than any other
ruffian in the world.’
I answered that her lovely jewels were worthy of an escort armed to the
teeth, and that I was very glad indeed to be of use to Sir Frederick
and herself in any way.
The morning after this garden-party—it must have been about half-past
four or five—my sleepy senses were completely scattered by my door
being thrown violently open, and Roscoe, my combined valet and
commissionaire, a quiet and respectful treasure, landing beside me as
if shot out of a catapult. I knew at once that something very dreadful
must have happened. Roscoe’s face of horror and despair would have made
a valuable study for an artist.
‘Get up, sir, at once, and come down to the office. The safe has
been broken open, and cleaned out, sir, quite empty!’ gasped Roscoe
breathlessly, pale with excitement.
I cannot recollect what followed during the few minutes in which I
hurriedly dressed, and Roscoe is far too considerate to have ever
reminded me of that short scene. The first thing I _do_ remember is,
finding myself in my office, clothed in a sketchy and uncomfortable
manner, the victim of one of the most audacious burglaries that
had taken place in Nice for a very long time. I stood gazing at my
ransacked safe and rummaged drawers, and at the floor, strewn with
papers, among which, here and there, I noticed a few gold pieces, which
seemed as if the robbers had been interrupted or startled in some way
or other. I was afraid to move from the spot on which I stood until the
detective, whom I had sent Roscoe off in a _fiacre_ to fetch, should
arrive, lest I might unwittingly destroy some small but important piece
of evidence, which his experienced eyes would discover at a glance.
In a very short time he appeared, and after a friendly word or two,
commenced his investigations. He carefully examined the safe, the
window, and the door. Nothing seemed to escape him. He took voluminous
notes; measured a footmark which he discovered on the floor; but the
footmark on further inquiry was found to be his own, which rather put
him out.
I told him of the jewels which had been placed in my care so lately.
‘Your man informed me, monsieur, as we came, that you had diamonds of
great value in your iron safe.’
A clammy dew broke out suddenly on my forehead, as I remembered that
Lady O’Connor was counting on appearing in those same jewels at the
prefecture ball that night.
‘On the strength of what your servant told me, monsieur,’ continued the
detective, ‘I have already telegraphed to Marseilles, Genoa, and Turin,
and have directed some of my most trustworthy men to be on the alert at
the railway station and the port. I will send and let monsieur know the
moment we get any trace of the stolen property.’
I made out a careful list of all I had lost, gave it to the detective,
and then returned to my rooms to dress in a rather less superficial
manner. The awful business of breaking the loss of the jewels to
Sir Frederick and Lady O’Connor was now staring me in the face, and
as I walked to their hotel I became a prey to the most paralysing
nervousness I hope it will ever be my lot to endure. I was shown into
a charming sitting-room, facing the sea, and though I did not look
at anything round me, except the two people I had come to see, I
remembered afterwards every detail of the scene.
They were at breakfast. The refreshing, sun-warmed morning air breathed
softly in through the open window, scented by the mignonette, which
grew thickly in boxes on the balcony outside. Lady O’Connor looked very
graceful and pretty in a long loose gown of some soft Indian silk,
trimmed with lace. Sir Frederick, also in comfortable unconventional
garments, was reading aloud a letter, over which they were both
laughing merrily as I was announced. They welcomed me warmly, looking
as if early and unexpected visitors were quite a common occurrence,
and between them, carried on the usual preliminary chit-chat about the
lovely weather, the delight of being able to breakfast with the window
open in the month of November, the view, &c., as long as the servant
remained in the room, while I stood looking from one to the other,
solemnly bowing my head in silent answer to their cheerful remarks. It
is not necessary to relate what passed; suffice it to say that both
Sir Frederick and Lady O’Connor possessed an unusual share of kindness
of heart and of sympathy with other people’s misfortunes, and they
endeavoured to make my unpleasant position as easy for me as possible.
Then followed a week of restless activity. I haunted the police bureau;
if I was not there two or three times a day myself, I sent Roscoe to
find out for me if any telegrams had arrived on the all-important
subject, any clue been found to throw the smallest light upon it.
One lovely afternoon, I was walking down the Promenade des Anglais in
anything but a cheerful frame of mind, indeed I do not think I ever
felt so utterly depressed before. Nothing whatever had been heard of
the missing jewels; and during a long consultation that morning with
Aigunez the detective, he had told me that he firmly believed that
the robbery was the work of one man, and that the jewels were still
in Nice. I had been calling at one of the pretty villas beyond the
Var, and was now making my way down the side of the Promenade next
the houses, to the _Hôtel de la Mediterranée_, to talk over Aigunez’s
last suggestion with Sir Frederick O’Connor. As I was passing the high
solid walls of the now quite unused cemetery, I noticed that the door
was ajar; and expecting to find there old Baroni the care-taker, whom
I knew, I pushed open the door and entered. Nobody was there: all was
silent and solitary. Here and there were untidy heaps of rubbish;
tangled, overgrown bushes; and propped against the walls were two
or three gravestones that had covered graves from which the remains
had been removed to some family vault elsewhere. I could not help
wondering how much Baroni received for the amount of care and labour
he bestowed on the old English burial-ground. When my eyes, which were
uncommonly sharp ones, had become accustomed to the dark shadows thrown
by the walls, and the brilliant glare where the shadow-line ended, I
noticed that a gravestone lying in rather a retired spot appeared,
by the fresh-looking footmarks round it, to have been lately moved.
I do not think that this circumstance would have roused my curiosity
in the then preoccupied state of my mind, had it not been that close
beside it a large branch of a neighbouring tree had been bent down
and fastened firmly to the ground by means of a stone. This arrested
my attention, it was so evidently intended to mark the spot. Exerting
all my strength, I pushed the heavy stone sufficiently to one side to
enable me to see that it concealed a small pit, recently dug, by the
look of the mould round it. It was empty! I managed to replace the
gravestone, and left the cemetery, carefully closing the door behind
me, and glancing round to see if my actions had been observed.
I hurried on to the hotel, wondering and conjecturing as to the
possible meaning of the curious little mystery I had just discovered.
That small oblong pit, for what purpose could it have been prepared?
My first idea was that a murder had been or was about to be committed,
and in this way it was intended to get rid of the victim’s body; but
the hole was certainly not large enough for a grown person. Was it
possible that it was to be the unblessed, unadorned tomb of some little
one, done to death by pitiless earthly guardians, who found its frail
helpless life a burden to them? That was too hideous a fancy. Suddenly,
the thought struck me that it might be a hiding-place for property! By
Jove, the diamonds!
At that moment I reached the _Mediterranée_, and going up the broad
stairs three at a time in my excitement, I knocked at the door of the
O’Connors’ sitting-room. Sir Frederick was alone, smoking, with the
last number of the _World_ in his hand.
‘I felt sure that you would come in this afternoon,’ he said, as he
pushed his cigar case towards me, ‘so I put off going to the club.—What
is the latest intelligence?’
I first told him of Aigunez’s opinion, that the jewels were still in
Nice, an opinion which had now gained for me a double significance.
Then I unfolded my own budget, and told him of all I had seen in the
old cemetery which had been closed for so many years.
This put Sir Frederick into the wildest spirits. ‘We’ve got them now,
Blake!’ he exclaimed, ‘and no mistake about it. They’ve run themselves
into a nice trap. Of _course_, these are the rascals we’re after.—What
do you say?—Don’t set my heart upon it, in case of disappointment.
Nonsense! my dear fellow. Don’t you see they cannot get rid of diamonds
like those in a hurry; and not being able to leave the town puts them
in a regular fix? It is very dangerous for them to keep such valuable
things about them, and now, they flatter themselves that they have
found an uncommonly safe hiding-place. Why, Fate must have led you by
the very nose to that door this afternoon!’
I laughed. ‘It is as well for us, perhaps, that I did not feel her
fingers, or things might have turned out differently. We had better
settle our plan of action for to-night, as it won’t do to let this
chance slip. How fortunate there is no moon. It will be as black as
Erebus inside those high walls.’
‘Our best plan,’ said Sir Frederick, ‘is, I think, to hide ourselves
there as soon as it is dark. We may have a long time to wait; but then,
again, we may not, and we are much less likely to be observed if we
slip in early in the evening.’
‘Then I will call for you, Sir Frederick, as soon as it is dark
enough,’ I answered. ‘And allow me to suggest that we do not take
Aigunez into our confidence, for it will be a triumph indeed to cut out
the far-famed French detective in his own line of business.’
I left the hotel with a lighter heart than I had carried about with
me for some time. Though I had cautioned Sir Frederick not to be too
sanguine, I was myself convinced that we should have the diamonds in
our possession before morning. I went back to my rooms, wrote some
letters, dined, and then tried to quiet my excited mind by pacing up
and down the sitting-room, smoking my usual post-prandial cigar, till
I thought it was sufficiently dark to venture forth. The church clocks
were striking ten as I arrived at the _Mediterranée Hôtel_, and I found
Sir Frederick performing the same restless quarter-deck constitutional
on the pavement outside.
‘So glad you’ve come, Blake; I’m anxious to be off now.—What is that in
your hand?’
‘A small lantern,’ I answered. ‘We shall find it useful.’
‘Got a revolver?’ inquired Sir Frederick in a solemn whisper.
‘No,’ said I, in an equally sepulchral voice; ‘fists are my weapons.’
‘Pooh!’ returned he. ‘Of what use are English fists when you have an
Italian knife in your ribs?—Here we are!’
The door was exactly as I had left it. There was not a sign of anybody
near us, so we went quickly through, closing it again behind us. We,
stood for a minute silent and still, until our eyes had become more
accustomed to the intense darkness round us; then we groped our way,
with two or three stumbles against tombstones and over mounds of earth,
to the spot where I fancied the marked stone must be, and in a few
seconds I discovered it without doubt, by falling over it. As I was
collecting myself and my scattered senses together again, after this
sudden and unpleasant downfall, I heard close beside me a volley of
muttered execrations from Sir Frederick, who declared, in an agitated
whisper, that he was sure he had caught a ghost or something very like
it. At the risk of discovery, I opened the lantern, and for one second
threw the light on the object he held in his hands. It was an unusually
large bat, which, disturbed by our intrusion on its own domain, must
have flown or dropped on to Sir Frederick from the tree under which he
was standing. He quickly shook it off; and without further adventure
we concealed ourselves in some thick bushes near the grave. It would
have required the eyes of a lynx to discover us, hidden as we were
in the midst of a mass of evergreens, overgrown with a network of
tangled creepers, and the high black wall behind. There we waited,
keenly watchful. Not a leaf stirred. A perfectly dead silence lay
over everything, as if the fairy of the Sleeping Beauty story of our
childhood held nature bound under her spell. A mouldy, damp, earthy
vapour rose from the ground at my feet, and seemed to weigh me down as
if it were something solid.
The clock of Notre-Dame struck eleven. Another long weary hour went
slowly by, and then the clock struck midnight. I believe I had sunk
into a sort of doze, when every faculty was suddenly roused by hearing
a soft movement at the door, which was very gently opened. There was
a pause, as if the new-comers were listening; the door was shut, and
a lantern shed its narrow streak of light over the graves at their
feet. One, two, three dark forms, two of whom carried between them what
seemed to be a box. Sir Frederick gently nudged me—of course _that_
contained the jewels. They came quietly to the side of the mysterious
tombstone, and, setting their burden down on another one close by, they
set to work, and quickly moved it to one side. I then discovered, to my
surprise, that the one that held the lantern was a woman. Their faces
were deep in shadow; I did not once get a glimpse of their features.
All their movements were quiet and free from haste; they evidently
had not the smallest notion that discovery was possible. The two men
carefully laid the box in the hole prepared for it, covered it with
mould, and, after replacing the stone stretched themselves, and held
the lantern aloft, the better to survey their handiwork. It seemed very
satisfactory to their female companion, for I distinctly heard her
breathe a sigh of unmistakable relief. They left the place as quietly
as they had come to it, not having, as far as we knew, spoken a word to
each other the whole time.
It was our turn now. As soon as we were quite sure that we again
had this dismal solitude to ourselves, we emerged from our damp
hiding-place and shook ourselves into shape, for naturally we both felt
very stiff and numb after our long weird vigil. I opened my lantern,
and we began eagerly to undo the work we had just seen so neatly
accomplished. It did not take long to remove the stone and scatter the
thin layer of mould. In a few minutes we had the box—a boy’s oblong
deal play-box, clamped with iron—lying on a tombstone before us.
‘Open it, Blake,’ said Sir Frederick.
‘Locked,’ I answered as I shook the lid.
‘Take my knife,’ continued the baronet, as he drew from his pocket one
of the formidable weapons at which his wife had laughed.
It was a common lock, and easily forced. As I threw back the lid, Sir
Frederick held up the lantern. ‘Take them out, Blake, and see if they
are all there; it will be a wonderful thing if none are missing.—What
on earth is that?’
‘It looks to me like a dog-collar,’ I answered, as I shook out a black
Cashmere shawl in which was wrapped a silver curb chain with a small
silver bell attached to it.
‘Stolen from somebody else,’ cried Sir Frederick. ‘Get on with the
rest.’
‘This beats everything,’ said I, and drew forth a small pale-blue
garment fashioned like a horse’s body-cloth, with a monogram in gold
thread at one side. ‘It is a dog’s coat.—And what the deuce is this?’
‘A dog!’ we exclaimed simultaneously.
Carefully folded in a piece of soft linen lay the body of a small silky
white, long-haired terrier—to judge by all its surroundings, a lady’s
cherished pet. For a few seconds, disgust and disappointment kept us
silent; then Sir Frederick broke out into a series of execrations more
amusing than effective.
We had been befooled by our own enthusiasm as amateur detectives, and
at first were angry, but by-and-by came to see the situation in its
more grotesque aspect. After giving vent to our feelings in a burst
of suppressed laughter, we put the little pet back into his play-box
coffin, being careful to see that everything was just as we had found
it; and quickly shovelling the mould and pushing the tombstone over it,
we crept out of the old cemetery. Our feelings were very different from
those with which we had entered it. We were greatly cheered, however,
on reaching the hotel to find a line from Aigunez, which had come
during Sir Frederick’s absence; ‘I am on the right track.’
We heard no more for two days, when the detective reappeared with
a captive, a valet whom Sir Frederick had dismissed before leaving
England, who, knowing the great value of the jewels which Lady O’Connor
was taking with her, had thought it worth his while to follow them, and
being a clever hand at that sort of work, had succeeded as we have seen.
OCCASIONAL NOTES.
THE WEST AUSTRALIAN GOLD-FIELDS.
For some years, the government of Western Australia has offered
a reward of five thousand pounds for the discovery of a payable
gold-field within three hundred miles of a declared port. From recent
news from Perth, it would almost appear that a profitable gold-field
has at last been discovered. We learn that Messrs Malet and M‘Ewen, who
were sent by the government to explore the Kimberley District, in the
extreme north of the colony, have returned, after an expedition which
nearly proved disastrous to the explorers. They lost their horses;
and having consumed all their provisions, only escaped starvation by
coming unexpectedly to a settler’s hut, where they obtained assistance.
The party arrived barefooted, their boots having fallen to pieces
on the tramp of one hundred miles. Mr M‘Ewen nearly succumbed to the
hardships of the journey. A quantity of the new gold has already
found its way to England. According to advices from Derby, the port
of the country—named after the present Lord Derby, and situated at
the head of King’s Sound—large numbers of people, who were totally
unfitted for the work, were starting for the Kimberley gold-fields. As
the roads are rough, and provisions scarce and dear, with an absence
of water, it goes without saying that no one need venture in search
of wealth without being supplied with plenty of money and an ample
supply of provisions. The country is described as closely resembling
the Peak Down District in Queensland. The gold is much scattered, but
the gullies are numerous. It is expected that so soon as the alluvial
gold is worked out, productive reefs will be laid bare. The Kimberley
District, contrary to what many have supposed, is a country about four
and a half times the size of Scotland, with splendid rivers, and with
millions of acres of pastoral and agricultural land. The climate has
been commended by Captain Grey and other explorers as one of the finest
and healthiest in the tropics. Last year, the population numbered only
about one hundred white men; the blacks, who are not numerous, are
tractable. Sheep, cattle, and horses thrive well, so that, whether or
not the gold-fields fulfil the expectations of those who seek their
fortune at the gold-fields, there is a fine country to develop. Derby,
the capital of this district, at the mouth of the Fitzroy River,
consisted lately of but a few huts and tents, and is the station of a
government resident. Should the ‘rush’ to the gold-fields continue,
doubtless all this will soon be changed.
ROYAL VETERINARY COLLEGE.
The horse fills so large a place in human affairs, that a few words
descriptive of an institution devoted to its welfare must interest
more or less every one. The Royal Veterinary College—situated in Great
College Street, Camden Town, London, N.W.—discharges the twofold
function of a hospital and a school; that is to say, it is there the
sick or maimed horse—or for the matter of that, the sick or maimed
sheep, ox, dog, &c.—is taken to be doctored; and it is there the young
man goes for the education and diploma which are to qualify him for
the vocation of a veterinary surgeon. The scope of the present series
of papers, however, only justifies our considering the institution in
its curative capacity. Horse-owners, then, come, in relation to the
College, under two heads—subscribers and non-subscribers. If elected by
the Governing Body, or General Purposes Committee, a person becomes a
yearly subscriber by paying two guineas per annum; or a life subscriber
either by paying twenty guineas in one sum, or sixteen guineas
after making the annual payment for not less than two consecutive
years—certain exceptional conditions applying to firms and companies.
The privileges of a subscriber are—(1) To have the gratuitous opinion
of the professors as to the treatment to be applied to any animal of
his brought for the purpose to the College, but which he may desire to
retain in his own keeping. (2) To have admitted into the infirmary,
for medical and surgical treatment, any number of his own horses and
other animals for which there may be room, at a charge only for their
‘keep.’ (3) To have in the course of any year five horses, his actually
or prospective property, examined gratuitously as to soundness, either
before or after purchase; and to have any further number examined at
a fee of ten shillings and sixpence per head. (4) To be supplied with
medicines for animals at a fixed charge. (5) To have, at a fixed rate,
a chemical analysis made by the Professor of Chemistry at the College
of any water, provender, oilcake, or other feeding-matter, and of the
viscera of any animal suspected of being poisoned. (6) In cases of
extensive or serious outbreaks of disease, to have an investigation
made into its nature and causes, on payment of the fixed charges. And
(7) To have a post-mortem examination of any animal, or parts of an
animal, sent to the College, and receive an opinion of the probable
cause of death, on payment of a fixed charge. As regards outsiders or
non-subscribers, the treatment and examination of their animals by the
staff of the College are subject to a higher tariff of charges. Another
disability under which they labour is that their animals may not be
received into the infirmary for treatment. ‘Accidents’ and other urgent
cases are received into the institution at all times of the day and
night, special vehicles being kept at hand for their transportation.
A singular by-law of the College is the following: ‘Credit will be
given for all animals which may die in the infirmary according to
the amount received for the carcase; but all diseased parts shall be
considered to be the property of the College.’ Such ‘diseased parts’
are useful vehicles in the dissecting-room for conveying knowledge to
the minds of the students.
A SONG OF REST.
O weary Hands! that, all the day,
Were set to labour hard and long,
Now softly fall the shadows gray,
The bells are rung for evensong.
An hour ago, the golden sun
Sank slowly down into the west;
Poor, weary Hands, your toil is done;
’Tis time for rest!—’tis time for rest!
O weary Feet! that many a mile
Have trudged along a stony way,
At last ye reach the trysting stile;
No longer fear to go astray.
The gently bending, rustling trees
Rock the young birds within the nest,
And softly sings the quiet breeze:
‘’Tis time for rest!—’tis time for rest!’