allowed to take him back to the Hotel Majestic where he was restored
to the arms of his anxious wife; the English doctor, hastily
summoned, could not find any trace of injury about the body, only the
head appeared rather tender when touched. The doctor's theory was
that Saunders had probably been sandbagged first, and then rendered
more completely insensible by means of the chloroformed handkerchief,
and that excitement, anxiety and the blow on the head had caused
temporary loss of memory which quietude and good nursing would soon
put right.
In the meanwhile, of the fifteen thousand pound necklace there was
not the slightest trace.
§2
Unfortunately the disappearance of so valuable a piece of jewellery
was one of those cases that could not be kept from public knowledge.
The matter was of course in the hands of the French police and they
had put themselves in communication with their English confrères, and
the consternation--not to say the indignation--amongst the good
ladies who had subscribed the money for the gift to the august lady
was unbounded.
Everybody was blaming everybody else; the choice of Captain Saunders
as the accredited messenger was now severely criticised; pointed
questions were asked as to his antecedents, as to his wife's foreign
relations, and it was soon found that very little was known about
either.
Of course everybody knew that he was Sir Montague Bowden's nephew,
and that, thanks to his uncle's influence, he had obtained a
remunerative and rather important post in the office of one of the
big Insurance Companies. But what his career had been before that no
one knew. Some people said that he had fought in South Africa and
later on had been correspondent for one of the great dailies during
the Russo-Japanese war; altogether there seemed no doubt that he had
been something of a rolling stone.
Rather tardily the committee was taken severely to task for having
entrusted so important a mission to a man who was either a coward or
a thief, or both, for at first no one doubted that Saunders had met a
confederate in Paris and had handed over the necklace to him, whilst
he himself enacted a farce of being waylaid, chloroformed and robbed,
and subsequently of losing his memory.
But presently another version of the mystery was started by some
amateur detective, and it found credence with quite a good many
people. This was that Sir Montague Bowden had connived at the theft
with Mrs. Saunders's relations; that the man with the walrus
moustache did not exist at all or was in very truth a harmless old
friend of Captain Saunders, and that it was Haasberg who had induced
his brother-in-law to withdraw the necklace from the hotel
strong-room and to bring it to the Rue de Moncigny; that in fact it
was that same perfidious Swede who had waylaid the credulous
Englishman, chloroformed and robbed him of the precious necklace.
In the meanwhile the police in England had, of course, been
communicated with by their French confrères, but before they could
move in the matter or enjoin discretion on all concerned, an
enterprising young man on the staff of the _Express Post_ had
interviewed Miss Elizabeth Spicer, who was the parlour-maid at the
Saunderses' flat in Sloane Street.
That young lady, it seems, had something to say about a gentleman
named Pasquier, who was not an infrequent visitor at the flat. She
described him as a fine, tall gentleman, who wore large gold-rimmed
spectacles, and a full military moustache. It seems that the last
time Miss Elizabeth saw him was two days before her master and
mistress's departure for abroad. Mr. Pasquier called late that
evening and stayed till past ten o'clock. When Elizabeth was rung
for in order to show him out, he was saying good-bye to the captain
in the hall, and she heard him say, "in his funny foreign way," as
she put it:
"Well, I shall be in Paris as soon as you. Tink it over, my friend."
And on the top of that came a story told by Henry Tidy, Sir Montague
Bowden's butler. According to him Captain Saunders called at Sir
Montague Bowden's house in Lowndes Street on the afternoon of the
fifteenth. The two gentlemen remained closeted together in the
library for nearly an hour, when Tidy was summoned to show the
visitor out. Sir Montague, it seems, went to the front door with his
nephew, and as the latter finally wished him good-bye, Sir Montague
said to him:
"My dear boy, you can take it from me that there's nothing to worry
about, and in any case I am afraid that it is too late to make any
fresh arrangements."
"It's because of Mary," the captain rejoined. "She has made herself
quite ill over it."
"The journey will do her good," Sir Montague went on pleasantly, "but
if I were you I would have a good talk with your brother-in-law. He
must know his Paris well. Take my advice and spend the night at the
Majestic. You can always get rooms there."
This conversation Tidy heard quite distinctly, and he related the
whole incident both to the journalist and to the police. After that
the amateur investigators of crime were divided into two camps: there
were those who persisted in thinking that Pasquier and Saunders, and
probably Mrs. Saunders also, had conspired together to steal the
necklace, and that Saunders had acted the farce of being waylaid and
robbed, and losing his memory; they based their deductions on
Elizabeth Spicer's evidence and on Mary Saunders's extraordinary
persistence in trying to shield the mysterious Pasquier.
But other people, getting hold of Henry Tidy's story, deduced from it
that it was indeed Sir Montague Bowden who had planned the whole
thing in conjunction with Haasberg, since it was he who had persuaded
Saunders to spend the night in Paris, thus giving his accomplice the
opportunity of assaulting Saunders and stealing the necklace. To
these wise-acres "old Pasquier" was indeed a harmless old pal of
Arthur's, whose presence that evening at the Majestic was either a
fable invented by Haasberg, or one quite innocent in purpose. In
vain did Sir Montague try to explain away Tidy's evidence. Arthur,
he said, had certainly called upon him that last afternoon, but what
he seemed worried about was his wife's health; he feared that she
would not be strong enough to undertake the long journey without a
break, so Sir Montague advised him to spend the night in Paris and in
any case to talk the matter over with Mary's brother.
The conversation overheard by Tidy could certainly admit of this
explanation, but it did not satisfy the many amateur detectives who
preferred to see a criminal in the chairman of the committee rather
than a harmless old gentleman, as eager as themselves to find a
solution to the mystery. And while people argued and wrangled there
was no news of the necklace, and none of the man with the walrus
moustache. No doubt that worthy had by now shaved off his hirsute
adornment and grown a beard. He had certainly succeeded in evading
the police; whether he had gone to Brussels or succeeded in crossing
the German frontier no one could say, his disappearance certainly
bore out the theory of his being the guilty party with the connivance
of Saunders, as against the Bowden-Haasberg theory.
As for the necklace it had probably been already taken to pieces and
the pearls would presently be disposed of one by one to some
unscrupulous Continental dealers, when the first hue and cry after
them had died away.
Captain Saunders was said to be slowly recovering from his loss of
memory and subsequent breakdown. Every one at home was waiting to
hear what explanation he would give of his amazing conduct in taking
the necklace out of the hotel strong-room late that night and
sallying forth with it into the streets of Paris at that hour. The
explanation came after about a fortnight of suspense in a letter from
Mary to her friend Mrs. Berners.
Arthur, she said, had told her that on the fateful evening, after he
parted from Mr. Haasberg in the Rue de Moncigny, he had felt restless
and anxious about what the latter had told him on the subject of
foreign hotels, and he was suddenly seized with the idea that the
necklace was not safe in the care of the management of the Majestic,
because there would come a moment when he would have to claim the tin
box, and this would probably be handed over to him when the hall of
the hotel was crowded, and the eyes of expert thieves would then
follow his every movement. Therefore he went back to the hotel,
claimed the tin box, and as the latter was large and cumbersome he
got rid of it in one of the cloak-rooms of the hotel, slipped the
necklace, in its velvet case, in the pocket of his overcoat, and went
out with the intention of asking Haasberg to take care of it for him,
and only to hand it back to him when on the following evening the
train de luxe was on the point of starting. He had been in sight of
Haasberg's lodgings when, without the slightest warning, a dull blow
on the back of his head, coming he knew not whence, robbed him of
consciousness.
This explanation, however, was voted almost unanimously to be very
lame, and it was, on the whole, as well that the Saunderses had
decided to remain abroad for a time. The ladies especially--and
above all those who had put their money together for the
necklace--were very bitter against him. On the other hand Sir
Montague Bowden was having a very rough time of it; he had already
had one or two very unpleasant word-tussles with some outspoken
friends of his, and there was talk of a slander action that would
certainly be a _cause célèbre_ when it came on.
Thus the arguments went on in endless succession until one day--well
do I remember the excitement that spread throughout the town as soon
as the incident became known--there was a terrible row in one of the
big clubs in Piccadilly. Sir Montague Bowden was insulted by one of
his fellow members: he was called a thief, and asked what share he
was getting out of the sale of the necklace. Of course the man who
spoke in this unwarranted fashion was drunk at the time, but
nevertheless it was a terrible position for Sir Montague, because as
his opponent grew more and more abusive and he himself more and more
indignant, he realised that he had practically no friends who would
stand by him in the dispute. Some of the members tried to stop the
row, and others appeared indifferent, but no one sided with him, or
returned abuse for abuse on his behalf.
It was in the very midst of this most unedifying scene--one perhaps
unparalleled in the annals of London club life--that a club servant
entered the room, and handed a telegram to Sir Montague Bowden.
Even the most sceptical there, and those whose brains were almost
fuddled with the wrangling and the noise, declared afterwards that a
mysterious Providence had ordained that the telegram should arrive at
that precise moment. It had been sent to Sir Montague's private
house in Lowndes Street; his secretary had opened it and sent it on
to the club. As soon as Sir Montague had mastered its contents he
communicated them to the members of the club, and it seems that there
never had been such excitement displayed in any assembly of sober
Englishmen as was shown in that club room on this momentous occasion.
The telegram had come all the way from the other end of Europe, and
had been sent by the august lady in whose hands the priceless
necklace, about which there was so much pother in England and France,
had just been safely placed. It ran thus:
"Deeply touched by exquisite present just received through kind
offices of Captain Saunders, from English ladies. Kind thoughts and
beautiful necklace equally precious. Kindly convey my grateful
thanks to all subscribers."
Having read out the telegram, Sir Montague Bowden demanded an apology
from those who had impugned his honour, and I understand that he got
an unqualified one. After that, male tongues were let loose; the
wildest conjectures flew about as to the probable solution of what
appeared a more curious mystery than ever. By evening the papers had
got hold of the incident, and all those who were interested in the
affair shook their heads and looked portentously wise.
But the hero of the hour was certainly Captain Saunders. From having
been voted either a knave or a fool, or both, he was declared all at
once to be possessed of all the qualities which had made England
great: prudence, astuteness, and tenacity. However, as a matter of
fact, nobody knew what had actually happened; the august lady had the
necklace and Captain Saunders was returning to England without a
stain on his character, but as to how these two eminently
satisfactory results had come about not even the wise-acres could
say. Captain and Mrs. Saunders arrived in England a few days later;
every one was agog with curiosity, and the poor things had hardly
stepped out of the train before they were besieged by newspaper men
and pressed with questions.
The next morning the _Express Post_ and the _Daily Thunderer_ came
out with exclusive interviews with Captain Saunders, who had made no
secret of the extraordinary adventure which had once more placed him
in possession of the necklace. It seems that he and his wife on
coming out of the Madeleine Church on Easter Sunday were hustled at
the top of the steps by a man whose face they did not see, and who
pushed past them very hastily and roughly. Arthur Saunders at once
thought of his pockets, and looked to see if his notecase had not
disappeared. To his boundless astonishment his hand came in contact
with a long, hard parcel in the outside pocket of his overcoat, and
this parcel proved to be the velvet case containing the missing
necklace.
Both he and his wife were flabbergasted at this discovery, and,
scarcely believing in this amazing piece of good luck, they managed
with the help of Mr. Haasberg, despite its being Easter Sunday, to
obtain an interview with one of the great jewellers in the Rue de la
Paix, who, well knowing the history of the missing necklace, was able
to assure them that they had indeed been lucky enough to regain
possession of their treasure. That same evening they left by the
train de luxe, having been fortunate enough to secure seats; needless
to say that the necklace was safely stowed away inside Captain
Saunders's breast pocket.
All was indeed well that ended so well. But the history of the
disappearance and reappearance of the pearl necklace has remained a
baffling mystery to this day. Neither the Saunderses nor Mr.
Haasberg ever departed one iota from the circumstantial story which
they had originally told, and no one ever heard another word about
the man with the walrus moustache and the gold-rimmed spectacles: the
French police are still after him in connection with the assault on
le Capitaine Saunders, but no trace of him was ever found.
To some people this was a conclusive proof of guilt, but then, having
stolen the necklace, why should he have restored it? Though the
pearls were very beautiful and there were a great number of them
beautifully matched, there was nothing abnormal about them either in
size or colour; there never could be any difficulty for an expert
thief to dispose of the pearls to Continental dealers. The same
argument would of course apply to Mr. Haasberg, whom some wiseacres
still persisted in accusing. If he stole the necklace why should he
have restored it? Nothing could be easier than for a business man
who travelled a great deal on the Continent to sell a parcel of
pearls. And there always remained the unanswered question: Why did
Saunders take the pearls out of the strong-room, and where was he
taking them to when he was assaulted and robbed?
Did the man with the walrus moustache really call at the Majestic
that night? And if he was innocent, why did he disappear? Why, why,
why?
§3
The case had very much interested me at the time, but the mystery was
a nine days' wonder as far as I was concerned, and soon far more
important matters than the temporary disappearance of a few rows of
pearls occupied public attention.
It was really only last year when I renewed my acquaintance with the
Old Man in the Corner, that I bethought myself once more of the
mystery of the pearl necklace, and I felt the desire to hear what the
spook-like creature's theory was upon the subject.
"The pearl necklace?" he said with a cackle. "Ah, yes, it caused a
good bit of stir in its day. But people talked such a lot of
irresponsible nonsense that thinking minds had not a chance of
arriving at a sensible conclusion."
"No," I rejoined amiably. "But you did."
"Yes, you are right there," he replied, "I knew well enough where the
puzzle lay, but it was not my business to put the police on the right
track. And if I had I should have been the cause of making two
innocent and clever people suffer more severely than the guilty
party."
"Will you condescend to explain?" I asked, with an indulgent smile.
"Why should I not?" he retorted, and once again his thin fingers
started to work on the inevitable piece of string. "It all lies in a
nutshell, and is easily understandable if we realise that 'old
Pasquier,' the man with the walrus moustache, was not the friend of
the Saunderses, but their enemy."
I frowned. "Their enemy?"
"An old pal shall we say?" he retorted, "who knew something in the
past history of one or the other of them that they did not wish their
newest friends to know: really a blackmailer who, under the guise of
comradeship, sat not infrequently at their fireside, watching an
opportunity for extorting a heavy price for his silence and his
good-will. Thus he could worm himself into their confidence; he knew
their private life; he heard about the necklace, and decided that
here was the long sought for opportunity at last.
"Think it all over and you will see how well the pieces of that
jig-saw puzzle fit together and make a perfect picture. Pasquier
calls on the Saunderses a day or two before their departure and
springs his infamous proposal upon them then. For the time being
Arthur succeeds in giving him the slip, his journey is not yet ...
the necklace is not yet in his possession ... but he knows the true
quality of the blackmailer now, and he is on the alert.
"He begins by going to Sir Montague Bowden and begging him to entrust
the mission to somebody else. Judging by the butler's evidence, he
even makes a clean breast of his troubles to Sir Montague who,
however, makes light of them and advises consultation with Mr.
Haasberg, who perhaps would undertake the journey. In any case it is
too late to make fresh arrangements at this hour. Very reluctantly
now, and hoping for the best, the Saunderses make a start. But the
blackmailer, too, is on the alert, he has succeeded in spying upon
them and in tracing them to the Majestic in Paris. The situation now
has become terribly serious, for the blackmailer has thrown off the
mask and demands the necklace under threats which apparently the
Saunderses did not dare defy.
"But they are both clever and resourceful, and as soon as Haasberg's
arrival rids them temporarily their tormentor, they put their heads
together and invent a plot which was destined to free them for ever
from the threats of Pasquier and at the same time would enable them
to honour the trust which had been placed in them by the committee.
In any case, they had until the morrow to make up their minds.
Remember the words which Mr. Haasberg overheard on the part of
Pasquier: 'S'long, old man. I'll wait till to-morrow!' Anyway,
Pasquier must have gone off that evening confident that he had
Captain Saunders entirely in his power, and that the wretched man
would on the morrow hand over the necklace without demur.
"Whether Arthur Saunders confided in Haasberg or not is doubtful.
Personally I think not. I believe that he and Mary did the whole
thing between them. Arthur having parted from his brother-in-law
went back to the hotel, took the necklace out of the strong-room and
then left it in Mary's charge. He threw the tin box away, there
where it would surely be found again. Then he went as far as the Rue
de Moncigny and crouched, seemingly unconscious, in the blind alley,
having previously taken the precaution of saturating his handkerchief
with chloroform.
"Thus the two clever conspirators cut the ground from under the
blackmailer's feet, for the latter now had the police after him for
an assault, which he might find very difficult to disprove, even if
he cleared himself of the charge of having stolen the necklace.
Anyway he would remain a discredited man, and his threats would in
the future be defied, because if he dared come out in the open after
that, public feeling would be so bitter against him for a crime which
he had not committed that he would never be listened to if he tried
to do Captain Saunders an injury. And it was with a view of keeping
public indignation at boiling pitch against the supposed thief that
the Saunderses kept up the comedy for so long. To my mind that was a
very clever move. Then they came out with the story of the
restoration of the necklace and became the heroes of the hour.
"Think it over," the funny creature went on, as he finally stuffed
his bit of string back into his pocket and rose from the table,
"think it over and you will realise at once that everything happened
just as I have related, and that it is the only theory that fits in
with the facts that are known; you'll also agree with me, I think,
that Captain and Mrs. Saunders chose the one way of ridding
themselves effectually of a dangerous blackmailer. The police were
after him for a long time, as they still believed that he had
something to do with the theft of the necklace and with the assault
on M. le Capitaine Saunders. But presently 1914 came along and what
became of the man with the walrus moustache no one ever knew. What
his nationality was was never stated at the time, but whatever it
was, it would, I imagine, be a bar against his obtaining a visa on
his passport for the purpose of visiting England and blackmailing
Arthur Saunders.
"But it was a curious case."
IV
THE MYSTERY OF THE RUSSIAN PRINCE
§1
There had been a great deal of talk about that time, in newspapers
and amongst the public, of the difficulty an inexperienced criminal
finds in disposing of the evidences of his crime--notably of course
of the body of his victim. In no case perhaps was this difficulty so
completely overcome--at any rate as far as was publicly known--as in
that of the murder of the individual known as Prince Orsoff. I am
thus qualifying his title because as a matter of fact the larger
public never believed that he was a genuine Prince--Russian or
otherwise--and that even if he had not come by such a violent and
tragic death the Smithsons would never have seen either their ten
thousand pounds again or poor Louisa's aristocratic bridegroom.
I had been thinking a great deal about this mysterious affair, indeed
it had been discussed at most of the literary and journalistic clubs
as a possible subject for a romance or drama, and it was with
deliberate intent that I walked over to Fleet Street one afternoon,
in order to catch the Old Man in the Corner in his accustomed
teashop, and get him to give me his views on the subject of the
mystery that to this very day surrounds the murder of the Russian
Prince.
"Let me just put the whole case before you," the funny creature began
as soon as I had led him to talk upon the subject, "as far as it was
known to the general public. It all occurred in Folkestone, you
remember, where the wedding of Louisa Smithson, the daughter of a
late retired grocer, to a Russian Prince whom she had met abroad, was
the talk of the town.
"It was on a lovely day in May, and the wedding ceremony was to take
place at Holy Trinity Church. The Smithsons--mother and
daughter--especially since they had come into a fortune, were very
well known in Folkestone, and there was a large crowd of relatives
and friends inside the church and another out in the street to watch
the arrival of guests and to see the bride. There were camera men
and newspaper men, and hundreds of idlers and visitors, and the
police had much ado to keep the crowd in order.
"Mrs. Smithson had already arrived looking gorgeous in what I
understand is known as amethyst crêpe-de-chine, and there was a
marvellous array of Bond Street gowns and gorgeous headgears, all of
which kept the lookers-on fully occupied during the traditional
quarter of an hour's grace usually accorded to the bride.