Dr. Thorndyke Omnibus Vol 6

by R. Austin Freeman

  Thomas was undoubtedly prepared to sell, and said so with some emphasis; and the old lady opined that two pounds would be more useful than the clock.

  "Very well," said Mr. Toke, "then we will consider the matter settled. How am I to get the clock to my house?"

  "Where is your house?" the practical-minded Thomas demanded.

  "I live at Hartsden Manor; just outside the village."

  "I knows him," said Thomas. "A tumbledown old house just alongside the old church what is shut up. ‘Tain’t fur from here. A couple of mile. I could runth’ old clock down in my barrer."

  "When?" asked Mr. Toke.

  "Now, if yer like. I suppose yer pays on delivery?"

  "Certainly. When I receive the clock, you’ll receive the money."

  With this stimulus, Thomas awoke to strenuous activity. The clock was hauled out of its corner, and, while Mr. Toke detached the pendulum and secured the weights in a packing of spare garments, old Susan went in search of a blanket, and Thomas retired to fetch the "barrer." In a few minutes all was ready. The clock, decently swathed in the blanket, and faintly suggesting an impending inquest, was tied firmly on the barrow and Thomas signified that the procession was ready to start.

  The journey to Hartsden was, for the most part, uneventful. One or two wayfarers on the road greeted the barrow and its burden with surprised grins, and, at the entrance to the village, a group of schoolboys, just released from bondage, formed up into an orderly procession and followed the barrow, two by two, with bare and bowed beads and unseemly giggles; a proceeding that attracted unnecessary attention, and added appreciably to the gaiety of the neighbourhood for the time being.

  "Passel o’ grinnin’ fules," said Thomas, casting a resentful and contemptuous glance at the little party of smiling bystanders as he drew up at the gate of the house while Mr. Toke unfastened it to admit him to the short drive. As the gate swung open, he stooped to grasp the handles of the barrow at the moment when one of the juvenile mourners advanced, with his hand kerchief held to his eyes, to drop a dandelion on the shrouded clock.

  The business was soon concluded to mutual satisfaction. The clock was conveyed to a disused room at the back of the house and deposited on a rough table. Then Mr. Toke wrote out a receipt in such terms as amounted to a formal conveyance of the property, and, when the vendor had subscribed his sign manual, two sovereigns were laid on the table.

  "Thank ye, sir," said Thomas, transferring them to his pocket. "I hopes the clock will suit your friend. I shouldn’t like to think of it being left on your hands."

  "He’ll have to take it now that I have paid for it," replied Mr. Toke. "But you needn’t worry. He’ll be quite satisfied."

  In point of fact, the "friend" was more than satisfied. A rapid inspection showed that the case was in excellent condition under the crust of varnish; and through the latter, it was now possible to see that the dark walnut was adorned with marquetry of a richness unusual in such early work. For, in the strong light, the date was clearly legible as well as the initials, grouped in a triangle around a heart—J. H. M. 1692, the H being uppermost, and, as Mr. Toke reasonably surmised, representing the name, Hawkwood. The dial and hands, too, were of appropriate style and of the same excellent workmanship; and on the former could now be deciphered, through the paint: "Robert Cooke, Londini, fecit."

  From this general, preliminary inspection Mr. Toke proceeded to the consideration of details. He had already noticed that the case was closed at the bottom. Now, on opening the door, he observed a partition closing the interior space at an appreciably higher level. This was rather remarkable, for the position of this upper partition was such as possibly to interfere with the proper fall of the weights. But what was still more remarkable was the way in which it was secured. There were four screws; but, though the wood of the partition appeared to be old, the screws certainly did not. Their bright, clean heads seemed to shout, "Nettlefold."

  Mr. Toke was quite interested. Between those two partitions there must be a space. That space might be an ancient hiding-place. But the screws hardly supported that view. At any rate, the question could soon be set at rest. And the first turn of the screwdriver settled it. The readiness with which the screw turned suggested a touch of tallow; and a greasy stain on the wood around the hole was clear confirmation. The other three screws followed with the same ease, and then, by inserting a bradawl into one of the holes, it was possible to prise up the loose partition.

  Now, whether this had or had not been an ancient hiding-place, it was quite clear that the contents were modern; consisting of a parcel wrapped in undeniable newspaper. Mr. Toke lifted it out, and, having cut the string, carefully opened it. And then he got the surprise of his life. There were several layers of paper, the innermost being of clean tissue paper; and, when the last of these was turned back, there was revealed to Mr. Toke’s astonished gaze a magnificent diamond necklace and a still more magnificent pendant.

  For some moments he stood staring at the gorgeous bauble, lost in amazement. Then a slow grin stole over his face. Now he understood how it was that the "tinkerings" of the plumber and gas-fitter had failed to make the clock go. "My darter’s husband" had had other fish to fry. But that estimable artisan seemed to have taken unnecessary risks, for the door had a lock. Apparently it was not in working order, and the key was missing (perhaps in the plumber’s possession). Common prudence would have suggested a repair to the lock. But, possibly, it had been left for fear of attracting attention. Thomas was not, it had seemed, gifted with a peculiarly enquiring mind. Perhaps the plumber had adopted the more prudent course.

  But the obvious question arose, What was to be done? Mr. Toke believed that he recognized the necklace. He thought that he recalled a daring daylight robbery at a great London house when the thief had entered a bedroom by way of a stack-pipe while the family were at dinner and got away unseen with a diamond necklace—presumably this very one—said to be worth £20,000. There would therefore be no difficulty in discovering the owner. Indeed, there was no need for him to do anything of the kind. All that was necessary was to report the discovery to the police. And this was what occurred to Mr. Toke as the obvious thing to do.

  But was it so very obvious, after all? Mr. Toke looked at the necklace, and somehow the obviousness of that course of action seemed to grow less. In the course of his rather varied life, Mr. Toke had been connected for a year or two with the diamond and gem trade. That tended strongly to influence his point of view. It was not that he was a great judge of gems. He was not; though, of course, he could price a stone approximately. But the vital fact, in regard to the present transaction, was that he knew the ropes. The man who had stolen this jewel had been reduced to the necessity of hiding it until such time as he should find a "fence" who would take the incriminating treasure off his hand and ask no questions. And what would that fence pay him for it? No more than a paltry fraction of its real value. Now he, Mr. Toke, could dispose of it at something like its market price.

  He looked at it with a calculating eye. It was a fine necklace. Probably report had not greatly over estimated its value. Every stone in it was a valuable stone. But there was no one of those fine brilliants that was of spectacular value. Not one of them was of a size that would involve questions or possibly lead to identification. He could safely deal with any of them in the ordinary market.

  And, after all, why not? He had not stolen the necklace. So far as he was concerned, it was a case of treasure trove, pure and simple. So he told himself, casuistically trying to smother his not very lively scruples. Of course, he knew quite well that he was contemplating a theft. But, although, up to this time, he had been at least conventionally honest, he was, if not actually avaricious, highly acquisitive by nature, as is apt to be the case with collectors. He had the passion to possess; and, even if he had been unable to dispose of these diamonds, he would still have been reluctant to give them up.

  The conflict in his mind was not a long one. There were the diam
onds—ten thousand pounds’ worth of them, at a moderate estimate—staring him in the face and inviting him to accept the gifts of Fortune. There was absolutely no danger. The transaction was as simple and safe as an ordinary commercial deal. Suppose the plumber should denounce him to the police. It was wildly improbable; but suppose he did? Well, who was going to prove that the diamonds were ever there? The plumber’s unsupported testimony would go for nothing; and apart from him, there was, presumably, no one who had any knowledge of their whereabouts—unless it was "my darter." But neither of these was in a position to swear that the diamonds were in the clock-case when it was removed from its late owner’s custody. Mr. Toke’s position was impregnable. He simply knew nothing about the matter.

  But he was not going to leave it at that. No sooner had he taken the fateful resolution to treat this gorgeous derelict as treasure trove than the inevitable psychological effect began to manifest itself. The contemplation of a criminal act immediately began to generate the criminal mentality. Safe as the enterprise was, he was going to make it safer. The tracks, already confused, must be further confounded. His intention had been to clean the case himself. He was a fairly expert french polisher. Not that he had contemplated french polishing this old case. On the contrary, his intention had been to un-french-polish it. But now he realized the inexpediency of meddling with it at all. It should go, just as it was, for treatment to some third party. Thus would the issues be further confused.

  Having made his decision, he acted promptly. The very next day he conveyed the clock to a roomy closed car that he had lately adopted, and bore it up to town. There he deposited the movement at the premises of a reliable "chamber worker" in Clerkenwell for a careful overhaul, and then carried the case to Curtain Road and handed it to a skilful cabinet-maker with the instruction that it was to be cleaned and wax-polished, but left structurally intact, with the exception of any trifling repairs that might be unavoidable. The lock was to be repaired and fitted with a key of the correct pattern according to the date on the panel.

  When he had done this, Mr. Toke felt that he had made his position unassailable. He allowed himself to hope that he would be left in undisputed possession of his treasure trove. But his hopes were tempered by a suspicion that he had not heard the last of the worthy Thomas’s too-ingenious son-in-law. And subsequent events justified his suspicions.

  II. ENTER MR. HUGHES

  It was a little over a week after his acquisition of the clock that Mr. Toke’s forebodings began to be realized. On that day, about eleven in the forenoon, his house keeper, Mrs. Gibbins, came to him as he sat in his study writing letters, and announced with something of an air of mystery that a man wished to see him.

  "A man?" Mr. Toke repeated. "Do you mean a gentleman?"

  Mrs. Gibbins made it extremely clear that she did not.

  "Did he say what his business was?"

  "No, sir. I asked him, but he said he wanted to see you on private business. He wouldn’t say what it was. He is waiting in the hall. I told Margaret to keep an eye on him." (Margaret was Mrs. Gibbins’s niece and functioned as housemaid.)

  "Well," said Mr. Toke, "I suppose you had better bring him in here. But I can’t imagine who he can be"; which was not perfectly candid on Mr. Toke’s part. He had a strong suspicion that the visitor would turn out to be an exponent of the plumbing and gas-fitting arts. And even so it befell. When Mrs. Gibbins returned, she was accompanied by a somewhat seedy stranger of truculent aspect, whose appearance suggested a Labour agitator or a working man of strongly political leanings.

  "Well," said Mr. Toke, when the housekeeper had retired, "what is it that you want to see me about?"

  His visitor crept towards him with an air of mystery and secrecy, and replied impressively:

  "It’s about a clock what you bought off of my father-in-law, Mr. Hobson."

  "Yes," said Mr. Toke, "I remember. An old clock, a good deal out of repair. Yes. What about it?"

  "Well, you see, Mr. Hobson hadn’t got no right for to sell you that clock. ‘Twasn’t his for to sell. That clock belongs to my wife. It was give to her as a wedding present."

  Mr. Toke reflected rapidly. It would be perfectly practicable to restore the clock, since its contents were now securely concealed in an undiscoverable hiding-place. The clock, itself, valuable as it was, had become, by comparisons negligible. Nevertheless, Mr. Toke’s strongly acquisitive temperament made him reluctant to disgorge. Besides, to what purpose should he restore the clock? Its return, empty, would not dispose of the business. It was not the clock but the necklace that this worthy craftsman was seeking. And then there was the practical certainty that his statement was a barefaced untruth. No; there was nothing to be gained by an attempt to compromise.

  "This is very unfortunate," said Mr. Toke; "but I am afraid you will have to settle the matter with Mr. Hobson. He has the money. I have no doubt that, if you put it to him, he will hand it over to you."

  "But my wife don’t want to sell the clock, nor more don’t I."

  "Ha," said Mr. Toke, "that is a pity; because, you see, the clock has been sold. I bought it in a perfectly regular manner, and I have Mr. Hobson’s receipt for the price of it."

  "But don’t I keep telling yer that old Hobson hadn’t no right for to sell it?"

  Mr. Toke admitted that the matter had been mentioned. "But," he continued, "that is really not my concern. You must settle the affair with your father-in-law."

  "Ho, must I? Fat lot of good it ‘ud be talking to him. No, Mister, I’m going to settle with you, I am. You’ve got my clock, and you’re going to hand it over. I’ve got the barrer outside."

  Mr. Toke complimented him on his providence, but declined to consider the demand.

  "Look here," the stranger exclaimed in a threatening tone, "if you don’t want any trouble, you just hand that clock over. I’m going to have it, you know. I’m going to make you hand it over. See? You think I can’t, but I tell you I can."

  "I am sure you can," Mr. Toke agreed. "That is just my point. If the clock is yours, you can compel me to return it. All you have to do is to go to your solicitor, give him proof of your title to the property and instruct him to recover it in the ordinary way. He will make no trouble about it."

  "Gawd!" exclaimed the other. "I don’t want all that trouble and fuss. And I don’t want no solicitors. I shall just inform the police."

  "Yes," said Mr. Toke, "you could do that. If your father-in-law did actually sell a clock that was not his property, he undoubtedly was guilty of a criminal act. You might prosecute him. So might I, for obtaining money from me by false pretences. But you would have to prove that the clock was yours, in any case. It would be less trouble to instruct a solicitor, and you would avoid the scandal."

  Mr. Toke’s calm, detached attitude seemed rather to nonplus his visitor, for the latter stood for some time gazing at him, breathing hard but uttering no word. At length he resumed, in a milder, even pacific tone:

  "I don’t want to make no trouble for old Hobson, seeing as he is my wife’s father. And I don’t want no truck with solicitors. I’ll tell you what I’ll do. You hand me back that clock, and I’ll give you the two quid what you paid for it. I can’t say no fairer than that."

  But Mr. Toke shook his head regretfully. "I am sorry, Mr.— I didn’t quite catch your name—"

  "My name is Dobey, Charles Dobey, if you want to know."

  "Thank you. I was saying that I am extremely sorry that I can’t accept your offer. But, to begin with, the clock is not here; and as I have already spent a substantial sum of money on it, I should not be prepared to sell it at the price that I gave for it."

  "What do you mean about spending money on it?" Mr. Dobey asked with evident uneasiness.

  "Well, you see," said Mr. Toke, "in the first place, I had to send the case to a cabinet-maker’s—"

  "What!" gasped Dobey. Then, controlling himself, he demanded, huskily: "What was the cabinet maker going to do to it? There wasn’t nothing
the matter with the case."

  "Nothing structural," Mr. Toke agreed. "But it wanted a clean up. I told him to clean off all the old varnish and put on a slight wax polish. That was all. And I have had the movement put in order. So you see, the clock is now worth a good deal more than I gave for it."

  "And where is it now?" Mr. Dobey asked, gloomily.

  "I have sent it to Messrs. Moore and Burgess, the eminent auctioneers, arid I understand that it will be put up for sale next Thursday—a week from to-day."

  Mr. Dobey reflected on this statement with an expression compounded of dejection and bewilderment. And, meanwhile, Mr. Toke looked him over, critically. He was not much to look at. He presented none of those interesting "stigmata" that distinguish the criminal countenance in the plates of Lombroso’s treatises. He was just a common "low-grade" man of the type that may be seen by the dozen, taking the air in the exercise yard of any local prison; with darkish red hair and—not unusually—a nose to match; hands suggestive of deficient washing rather than excessive labour and a noticeably shifty and furtive cast of countenance.

  At length be pulled himself together for a final effort.

  "This is all very well, you know, Mister, but I can’t allow you to put up my clock to auction just as if it was your own. You’ll have to get it back; and I’ll make you an allowance for what you’ve spent on it."

  "I’m afraid I can’t agree to that." said Mr. Toke. "You seem to be forgetting that, at present, I am the legal owner of that clock. The receipt that I hold establishes my ownership; and if you claim that the clock is yours, it is for you to produce evidence of ownership. You haven’t done that, you know; and, if you haven’t any papers to prove that it was given to your wife, I don’t think you would be able to do it."

  "I could swear a affidavit," said Mr. Dobey.