Quitting his room, Poignand set out to find Sir Frederick, and came upon him in the entrance hall at the foot of the grand staircase, where he was engaged in reading the barometer. He looked up at the sound of footsteps, and nodded coldly. Something in the baronet’s manner in the drawing-room on the previous evening had given Poignand an impression of want of sympathy, which he attributed rather to a general dislike of the profession of ‘gentleman detective’ than to antipathy to his present errand. It was a feeling that he had had to encounter before, and he quite understood it.
‘The glass is falling steadily; we are to have rain, I suppose,’ said Sir Frederick in a tone of annoyance.
‘I hope not – at any rate till I have gone over the ground,’ replied Poignand. ‘It might obliterate possible traces, you see. By the way, I was going to ask you to be good enough to accompany me, so that there may be no chance of my missing the exact course of the chase.’
‘Oh, very well,’ was the reply; ‘I have personally conducted four parties – of police and servants from the house – over the ground already. One more won’t make any difference.’
The antagonistic ring in his voice was so unmistakable that Poignand’s thoughts unconsciously reverted to Kala Persad sitting alone in his watch tower. If, instead of to the American heiress, the old man’s finger had pointed to this ill-tempered captain of Hussars, who was so chary of his help, while of all others able to be most helpful, he would have felt more sure of his clue. As it was, he began to think that, after all, there might be lower depths in this apparently simple case.
‘In the course of the morning I may avail myself of your assistance,’ said Poignand. ‘In the meanwhile just a question or two, please. Did you lose sight of the thieves at any point in the pursuit – long enough, I mean, to give them a chance to conceal the jewel-case?’
‘That’s a funny thing to ask,’ said Sir Frederick, regarding him with a queer look of suspicion. ‘It almost implies that I may have seen them hide the case, and know where it is.’
‘Come, come,’ said Poignand; ‘that is your suggestion – not mine, remember.’
‘Well, then,’ proceeded the other, ‘I had them well in view across the open stretch of park, and in the road leading up to the village and station. In the belt of wood that lies between the park and the road it was different. Without ever really losing them I saw them of course less distinctly, and once or twice may have been guided rather by the sound of their scrunching through the bushes than by sight. They never stopped, though. Of that I am quite certain.’
‘In that open stretch across the park did you notice the jewel-case?’
‘The third man was carrying a square box, which from Lady Hertslet’s description must have been the case.’
‘And when you emerged from the wood into the road, had he it still?’ asked Poignand.
‘I can only say that I did not see it,’ returned Sir Frederick; ‘and what is more, I haven’t seen it since, if, as I believe, that is what you are trying to get at,’ he added with a sudden rush of petulance, as he turned into the adjacent billiard-room and slammed the door behind him.
Poignand stood where he was left, whistling softly to himself, and staring round with a vacant gaze that took in nothing of the antlers and the armour and the old oak panelling upon which it rested. The strange behaviour of the baronet filled him with a suspicion which it was hard to reconcile with the probabilities of the case. Had it not been for the obvious desire of Sir Frederick Cranstoun to become connected by marriage with the Hertslets, Poignand would have concluded at once that he knew the whereabouts of the jewels, and meant to preserve them for his own use; but, on the other hand, it was extremely unlikely that a man would want to rob the lady to whose daughter’s hand he aspired. Putting it on no higher grounds, he would be taking goods which, if his hopes were realised, would fall into his hand in the ordinary course of events, for was not Mildred Hertslet her mother’s only child?
Poignand was suddenly delivered from the deadlock in his ruminations by a lively voice at his elbow, and turning, he saw the elegant figure of Miss Stella Hicks posed on the bottom stair. She had changed her dress since her stroll in the park, and wore a morning toilette that was one of Worth’s happiest efforts. Her gracious smile was in striking contrast to the sulkiness with which he had just been met, and she greeted him with a frank familiarity that was quite refreshing.
‘Well, reader of the inscrutable,’ she said, ‘I suppose it isn’t fair to pump you on your all-important quest, but I should dearly like to know – have you got an inkling yet?’
‘Not the very faintest,’ was the reply. ‘I have no more idea of where the jewels are than you have, Miss Hicks. I don’t despair, though, for I have not begun my search yet, and it is even possible that it may not take the form of a search in the ordinary sense of the word.’
He watched her narrowly as he said this, and got his reward. She had been leaning idly against the wall at the foot of the staircase, but she started forward now and eyed him keenly.
‘Why, how else could you find them?’ she asked eagerly. ‘I am so interested in anything like detective work,’ she added apologetically, as though anxious to furnish a reason for her curiosity.
‘Ah! But this is a very uninteresting case, you see,’ said Poignand, with intentional levity. ‘What you ladies enjoy is the excitement of mystery, and of hunting down and fixing the guilt on some unhappy wretch. That has all been done for me by Sir Frederick Cranstoun, though he might have finished the job while he was about it by not losing sight of the jewel-case.’
‘H’m – yes!’ ejaculated the fair American, in a tone which made Poignand wonder whether it was only her native drawl or intended to be significant. ‘But you haven’t answered my question yet: if you ain’t going to look for these diamonds, how do you reckon to find them?’
Again he studied her closely as he made answer: ‘I am thinking of having a shot at the burglars themselves. It might be possible to induce one of them to split, on the promise of being let down lightly, and, at any rate, it seems worthwhile getting an order to see them in gaol for the purpose of trying.’
‘Oh! That’s your plan, is it?’ she murmured softly. ‘Do you know, I don’t think much of it; for if I was a burglar, I am quite sure I should keep my knowledge to myself;’ and she passed on, rather abruptly, to the morning-room, whence the sound of Mildred’s piano floated through the hall.
Poignand stood looking after her with half-closed eyes. ‘So you don’t think much of my plan, do you, my lady?’ he soliloquised. ‘In that case I wonder why that shade of anxiety shot across your fascinating features when I mentioned it. Well, you needn’t alarm yourself in that direction, for my plan, as you call it, doesn’t happen to be the first item in the programme. There’s something in the air that puzzles me, and I’m inclined to believe that, after all, there’s more here than a mere hunt among hedgerows and fern coppices. Yes, I’ll play old Kala’s card first and have a look at that Kodak.’
He turned and retraced his steps up the broad staircase to the main landing, whence to the right and left branched the corridors, flanked by the principal bedrooms. Lady Hertslet, in showing him over the scene of the robbery, had informed him as to the occupation of the different rooms, and he knew that Miss Hicks was accommodated in the first room in the left passage. Lady Hertslet’s apartments and those of her daughter opened on to the landing itself, while his own and Sir Frederick’s rooms were in the passage running to the right.
Poignand went straight to his own room and stood for a few minutes listening intently inside the open doorway. There was no sound audible nearer than the strains of the piano far away on the ground floor. The music had changed to a duet, and he knew that for the present Miss Hicks was safely accounted for. He went out into the passage, and the silence near at hand still prevailed.
Looking up and down the length of both the passag
es, he could see no sign of a living creature, and it became evident that the housemaids having finished their morning work in that part of the house had retired to the regions below. There was no cause for hesitation. Gliding across the thickly carpeted landing into the further passage, he boldly opened the door of the American’s room and entered.
Poignand’s eyes roved over the dainty luxury of the room, passing by the glittering gold and silver toilet accessories and costly paraphernalia, which stamped Lady Hertslet’s guest as a wealthy woman, without fastening on anything in particular till he caught sight of the Kodak. It stood on a small table at the head of the bed amid a number of requisites for developing and fixing, of which, as the possessor of a Kodak himself and an amateur photographer of no mean order, he thoroughly understood the uses. In an instant the camera was in his hands, and the briefest of inspections proved that, taken literally, Kala Persad’s imputation was unfounded. There was nothing in the Kodak beyond its own mechanism, and the spool of film on which the pictures were taken.
‘No jewels here,’ murmured Poignand to himself. ‘Strange, too, that there should be absolutely nothing, for the old man is never wholly at fault. By the way, he did not say definitely that I should find the jewels in the Kodak, but only “the secret of our desires”. I wonder whether there is anything on this film of a compromising nature. It might be as well to develop it, and see what artistic effects the fair Stella has been after.’
He glanced quickly at the photographic requisites on the table, and found what he wanted in a box of spare film spools. One of these he substituted for the spool in the camera, placing the latter in his pocket. The automatic register on the instrument told him that only one film on this spool had been used, and having readjusted the register at that number, he left the Kodak as he had found it, and quietly regained his own room.
He had brought his own Kodak with him, and was well supplied with the necessary chemicals for developing negatives. All that remained was to shut the shutters, light his portable red lamp, and set to work in the extemporised dark-room to bring into being the as yet latent image secured by the American heiress.
Gradually, under his skilful treatment, the pale cream colour of the film began to change into fantastic shapes, assuming momentarily fresh forms and shades which in that dim light gave no idea of the subject beyond an indistinct blur of waving foliage and rustic scenery. But a plunge in the fixing bath soon cleared the cloudiness away, and it was safe to admit the daylight again. Hastily unfastening the shutters, Poignand held the developed film up to the sunny sky, devoured every detail of the negative, and burst into a low chuckle of triumph.
The picture represented a woodland glade. In the centre was an aged oak, and some ten feet up where the boughs began to branch, clung Sir Frederick Cranstoun! He had thrust one arm into a hollow that ran downwards from the fork of the trunk, and there was an agonised expression on his face which said, ‘I can’t reach it,’ as plain as words could speak.
Poignand hastily washed the dishes, hustled the chemicals into a drawer, and taking the negative with him, went downstairs again. The click of balls in the billiard-room and the notes of the piano told him that he might safely leave the castle without meeting those he wished to avoid, and a couple of minutes later he was speeding across the park towards the belt of wood on the far side.
When he reached the shelter of the trees he went more leisurely, noting the different landmarks, and comparing them from time to time with the picture. The wood was about a quarter of a mile broad, and it was not till he came to about the centre that he reached the object of his search in the form of a large oak tree standing a little apart in the middle of a clearing. There was no doubt about it; the tree was the original of the one portrayed in the negative.
He went forward and examined the trunk. To his surprise there were indications that it had been scaled as far as the first fork, not once, but several times – or, at any rate, by several people. The chipping of the bark told that tale unerringly. Looking again, he saw that the height of the hollow from the ground was not so great that anyone passing could not have tossed the jewel-case in with a vigorous heave, and the idea came to him that Sir Frederick must have seen the action. But why had he concealed his knowledge, and, above all, were the jewels hidden in the hollow of the oak still?
Five minutes spent in arduous clambering, and five more in straining to the extremity of his reach, solved the latter question in a triumphant affirmative. Poignand’s arms were longer than Sir Frederick’s by the necessary couple of inches, and when he touched ground Lady Hertslet’s jewel-case, intact and heavy laden, was safe in his clutch. His first and obvious duty was to restore it to its owner, but the most difficult part of his task lay in explaining the means by which the result had been obtained. Though he had solved the main issue, the heart of the mystery was untouched. Sir Frederick’s knowledge or suspicion of the burglars’ hiding-place, his unwillingness to help, his secret attempt to secure the jewels, and, above all, the strange action of Miss Hicks in following him to indelibly record that attempt, and her concealment of her discovery, all seemed inexplicable.
He recrossed the park, and mounted the steps to the terrace. The castle was basking in the hot rays of the autumn noonday sun, for the rain which Sir Frederick had feared – doubtless, lest the soft ground should betray his next visit to the oak – still held off. Poignand was passing along the front of the mansion towards the morning-room, where he expected to find Lady Hertslet, when, on nearing one of the French windows of the billiard-room, the sound of voices brought him to a halt. The speakers, Sir Frederick and Miss Hicks, though they conversed in guarded tones, were plainly quarrelling, and the first words he heard thrilled the listener with the prescience of coming revelation.
‘You have no proof of my knowledge’ said the baronet passionately.
‘The fact that I have taxed you with it, and that you do not deny it, is proof enough for me,’ replied the American, with an emphasis on the last word.
‘And, assuming that it is so, you have no proof that it is a guilty knowledge – that I wanted the things for myself,’ said Sir Frederick.
‘Don’t you fall into any such error,’ retorted Miss Hicks, lapsing into Yankeeism in her excitement. ‘I spotted you in the wood this morning, and snapped you with my Kodak. I’ve got a counterfeit presentment of you groping for those diamonds quite good enough for my purpose, I reckon, when it’s developed.’
‘Good Heavens, woman! and what is your object in all this suspicion and espionage?’ exclaimed the baronet, evidently restraining himself with difficulty. ‘What is the price of your silence? For anyone who would act as you have acted is to be bought; of that I am very sure.’
‘And you are right,’ was the reply, ‘though the price is not such a very terrible one. What you have to do to secure me as an ally is to give up all idea of marrying Mildred Hertslet, and make me Lady Cranstoun. Apart from this awkward fix you’ve got yourself into, I’ve got dollars enough to make it quite worth your while.’
Poignand waited breathlessly for the reply. There was a short pause, the sound of a choking sob of rage, and then Sir Frederick said:
‘Infamous creature! So the motive of all this is a paltry title. You may ruin my happiness, but you shall never reap the fruits of your scheming. I shall go at once to Lady Hertslet, and tell her the whole truth – how, without being positive, I thought I saw one of the thieves hurl the case into the hollow of the tree as he rushed by; and how, foolishly enough, I conceived the idea of gaining her favour, and furthering my suit, by restoring the jewel-case myself into her hands. When, in the evil of your own nature, you suspected me of evil design, and followed me into the wood, I was endeavouring to forestall this man Poignand, having been prevented by the police search from making the attempt yesterday. If Lady Hertslet believes me – well and good; if not, I have lost Mildred; but in any case you shall not profit by my folly.’
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Every word, every inflexion of voice, proved the sincerity of his statement, and Poignand read the situation like a book. The American had thought it possible that Sir Frederick suspected the hiding-place, and either placing her own base construction on his conduct, or, more probably divining his real motive, had seized the opportunity for getting him into her power and securing the coveted title. How would she take her defeat? Fiendishly, maliciously, it seemed.
‘Don’t make any mistake!’ she cried. ‘When I have circulated my print of “the baronet after the jewel-case, or Sir Frederick Cranstoun up a tree” you won’t have much reputation left, I guess. Your story may avail with your friends, but the mud will stick in public.’
Poignand walked in through the window and ostentatiously laid the jewel-case on the billiard table. Sir Frederick, who was fuming out of the room, paused in perplexity, and Miss Hicks gave a scream of surprise.
‘Yes, I’ve found the missing jewels,’ said Poignand cheerily. ‘And I have also heard the interesting conversation that has just taken place. Miss Hicks, I should advise you to drop it. You have given yourself away in the presence of a witness, you see. You are likely to come off, socially, a good deal worse than Sir Frederick, if I tell of the pretty bargain you tried to make. And I shouldn’t advise you to place any reliance on the proof you thought you had got, for I am open to prophesy, without making any admissions, that when you develop the film in your Kodak, you will find it a failure.’
More Rivals of Sherlock Holmes Page 29
