THE ROBBERY IN PHILLIMORE TERRACE
Whether Miss Polly Burton really did expect to see the man in the corner
that Saturday afternoon, 'twere difficult to say; certain it is that
when she found her way to the table close by the window and realized
that he was not there, she felt conscious of an overwhelming sense of
disappointment. And yet during the whole of the week she had, with more
pride than wisdom, avoided this particular A.B.C. shop.
"I thought you would not keep away very long," said a quiet voice close
to her ear.
She nearly lost her balance--where in the world had he come from? She
certainly had not heard the slightest sound, and yet there he sat, in
the corner, like a veritable Jack-in-the-box, his mild blue eyes staring
apologetically at her, his nervous fingers toying with the inevitable
bit of string.
The waitress brought him his glass of milk and a cheese-cake. He ate it
in silence, while his piece of string lay idly beside him on the table.
When he had finished he fumbled in his capacious pockets, and drew out
the inevitable pocket-book.
Placing a small photograph before the girl, he said quietly:
"That is the back of the houses in Phillimore Terrace, which overlook
Adam and Eve Mews."
She looked at the photograph, then at him, with a kindly look of
indulgent expectancy.
"You will notice that the row of back gardens have each an exit into the
mews. These mews are built in the shape of a capital F. The photograph
is taken looking straight down the short horizontal line, which ends, as
you see, in a _cul-de-sac_. The bottom of the vertical line turns into
Phillimore Terrace, and the end of the upper long horizontal line into
High Street, Kensington. Now, on that particular night, or rather early
morning, of January 15th, Constable D 21, having turned into the mews
from Phillimore Terrace, stood for a moment at the angle formed by the
long vertical artery of the mews and the short horizontal one which, as
I observed before, looks on to the back gardens of the Terrace houses,
and ends in a _cul-de-sac_.
"How long D 21 stood at that particular corner he could not exactly say,
but he thinks it must have been three or four minutes before he noticed
a suspicious-looking individual shambling along under the shadow of the
garden walls. He was working his way cautiously in the direction of the
_cul-de-sac_, and D 21, also keeping well within the shadow, went
noiselessly after him.
"He had almost overtaken him--was, in fact, not more than thirty yards
from him--when from out of one of the two end houses--No. 22, Phillimore
Terrace, in fact--a man, in nothing but his night-shirt, rushed out
excitedly, and, before D 21 had time to intervene, literally threw
himself upon the suspected individual, rolling over and over with him on
the hard cobble-stones, and frantically shrieking, 'Thief! Thief!
Police!'
"It was some time before the constable succeeded in rescuing the tramp
from the excited grip of his assailant, and several minutes before he
could make himself heard.
"'There! there! that'll do!' he managed to say at last, as he gave the
man in the shirt a vigorous shove, which silenced him for the moment.
'Leave the man alone now, you mustn't make that noise this time o'
night, wakin' up all the folks.' The unfortunate tramp, who in the
meanwhile had managed to get onto his feet again, made no attempt to
get away; probably he thought he would stand but a poor chance. But the
man in the shirt had partly recovered his power of speech, and was now
blurting out jerky, half--intelligible sentences:
"'I have been robbed--robbed--I--that is--my master--Mr. Knopf. The desk
is open--the diamonds gone--all in my charge--and--now they are stolen!
That's the thief--I'll swear--I heard him--not three minutes ago--rushed
downstairs--the door into the garden was smashed--I ran across the
garden--he was sneaking about here still--Thief! Thief! Police!
Diamonds! Constable, don't let him go--I'll make you responsible if you
let him go--'
"'Now then--that'll do!' admonished D 21 as soon as he could get a word
in, 'stop that row, will you?'
"The man in the shirt was gradually recovering from his excitement.
"'Can I give this man in charge?' he asked.
"'What for?'
"'Burglary and housebreaking. I heard him, I tell you. He must have Mr.
Knopf's diamonds about him at this moment.'
"'Where is Mr. Knopf?'
"'Out of town,' groaned the man in the shirt. 'He went to Brighton last
night, and left me in charge, and now this thief has been and--'
"The tramp shrugged his shoulders and suddenly, without a word, he
quietly began taking off his coat and waistcoat. These he handed across
to the constable. Eagerly the man in the shirt fell on them, and turned
the ragged pockets inside out. From one of the windows a hilarious voice
made some facetious remark, as the tramp with equal solemnity began
divesting himself of his nether garments.
"'Now then, stop that nonsense,' pronounced D 21 severely, 'what were
you doing here this time o' night, anyway?'
"'The streets o' London is free to the public, ain't they?' queried the
tramp.
"'This don't lead nowhere, my man.'
"'Then I've lost my way, that's all,' growled the man surlily, 'and
p'raps you'll let me get along now.'
"By this time a couple of constables had appeared upon the scene. D 21
had no intention of losing sight of his friend the tramp, and the man in
the shirt had again made a dash for the latter's collar at the bare idea
that he should be allowed to 'get along.'
"I think D 21 was alive to the humour of the situation. He suggested
that Robertson (the man in the night-shirt) should go in and get some
clothes on, whilst he himself would wait for the inspector and the
detective, whom D 15 would send round from the station immediately.
"Poor Robertson's teeth were chattering with cold. He had a violent fit
of sneezing as D 21 hurried him into the house. The latter, with another
constable, remained to watch the burglared premises both back and
front, and D 15 took the wretched tramp to the station with a view to
sending an inspector and a detective round immediately.
"When the two latter gentlemen arrived at No. 22, Phillimore Terrace,
they found poor old Robertson in bed, shivering, and still quite blue.
He had got himself a hot drink, but his eyes were streaming and his
voice was terribly husky. D 21 had stationed himself in the dining-room,
where Robertson had pointed the desk out to him, with its broken lock
and scattered contents.
"Robertson, between his sneezes, gave what account he could of the
events which happened immediately before the robbery.
"His master, Mr. Ferdinand Knopf, he said, was a diamond merchant, and a
bachelor. He himself had been in Mr. Knopf's employ over fifteen years,
and was his only indoor servant. A charwoman came every day to do the
housework.
"Last night Mr. Knopf dined at the house of Mr. Shipman, at No. 26,
lower down. Mr. Shipman is the great jeweller who has his place of
business in South Audley Street. By the last post there came a letter
with the Brighton postmark, and marked 'urgent,' for Mr. Knopf, and he
(Robertson) was just wondering if he should run over to No. 26 with it,
when his master returned. He gave one glance at the contents of the
letter, asked for his A.B.C. Railway Guide, and ordered him (Robertson)
to pack his bag at once and fetch him a cab.
"'I guessed what it was,' continued Robertson after another violent fit
of sneezing. 'Mr. Knopf has a brother, Mr. Emile Knopf, to whom he is
very much attached, and who is a great invalid. He generally goes about
from one seaside place to another. He is now at Brighton, and has
recently been very ill.
"'If you will take the trouble to go downstairs I think you will still
find the letter lying on the hall table.
"'I read it after Mr. Knopf left; it was not from his brother, but from
a gentleman who signed himself J. Collins, M.D. I don't remember the
exact words, but, of course, you'll be able to read the letter--Mr. J.
Collins said he had been called in very suddenly to see Mr. Emile Knopf,
who, he added, had not many hours to live, and had begged of the doctor
to communicate at once with his brother in London.
"'Before leaving, Mr. Knopf warned me that there were some valuables in
his desk--diamonds mostly, and told me to be particularly careful about
locking up the house. He often has left me like this in charge of his
premises, and usually there have been diamonds in his desk, for Mr.
Knopf has no regular City office as he is a commercial traveller.'
"This, briefly, was the gist of the matter which Robertson related to
the inspector with many repetitions and persistent volubility.
"The detective and inspector, before returning to the station with their
report, thought they would call at No. 26, on Mr. Shipman, the great
jeweller.
"You remember, of course," added the man in the corner, dreamily
contemplating his bit of string, "the exciting developments of this
extraordinary case. Mr. Arthur Shipman is the head of the firm of
Shipman and Co., the wealthy jewellers. He is a widower, and lives very
quietly by himself in his own old-fashioned way in the small Kensington
house, leaving it to his two married sons to keep up the style and
swagger befitting the representatives of so wealthy a firm.
"'I have only known Mr. Knopf a very little while,' he explained to the
detectives. 'He sold me two or three stones once or twice, I think; but
we are both single men, and we have often dined together. Last night he
dined with me. He had that afternoon received a very fine consignment of
Brazilian diamonds, as he told me, and knowing how beset I am with
callers at my business place, he had brought the stones with him,
hoping, perhaps, to do a bit of trade over the nuts and wine.
"'I bought £25,000 worth of him,' added the jeweller, as if he were
speaking of so many farthings, 'and gave him a cheque across the dinner
table for that amount. I think we were both pleased with our bargain,
and we had a final bottle of '48 port over it together. Mr. Knopf left
me at about 9.30, for he knows I go very early to bed, and I took my new
stock upstairs with me, and locked it up in the safe. I certainly heard
nothing of the noise in the mews last night. I sleep on the second
floor, in the front of the house, and this is the first I have heard of
poor Mr. Knopf's loss--'
"At this point of his narrative Mr. Shipman very suddenly paused, and
his face became very pale. With a hasty word of excuse he
unceremoniously left the room, and the detective heard him running
quickly upstairs.
"Less than two minutes later Mr. Shipman returned. There was no need for
him to speak; both the detective and the inspector guessed the truth in
a moment by the look upon his face.
"'The diamonds!' he gasped. 'I have been robbed.'"