The Alcester Emeralds (A Jules Poiret Mystery Book 33)

by Frank Howell Evans

  “Monsieur,” said Poiret after standing up and looking through the window at the yacht, “the man with the black beard, he is still with you?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “By Jove!” cried Watkins and struck the table. “So we have him!”

  But before he could rush out of the room to catch his quarry, the captain, who had hesitantly turned his cap about in his hands for a few moments, said, “I’m not sure that the first passenger went overboard of his own accord. When the police hailed us…”

  “Ah, so you knew it was the police, then?”

  “Look I was afraid. You see, when the bargain was made with the American, I was supposed to receive five hundred Pounds if I reached Gravesend at a certain time, so I was anxious to get along as quickly as I could. After the policeman called to us the man with the small box became excited, and demanded to be put ashore, which I refused to do. The yacht is just too big. The other man appeared to be watching him, never letting him get out of his sight. When I heard the splash in the water I ran aft, and I saw the other man putting the box, which the other had held into his handbag.”

  “I say!” I said.

  “I said nothing of it at the time,” continued the captain. “I looked at the spot, where the other man had gone overboard, but saw nothing more of him. Then I decided to give information about what I had seen as soon as we had reached Gravesend. That is all I know of the matter, sir.”

  “The man, who had the jewels, Monsieur, was he English?”

  “What jewels, sir?”

  “Listen here, the man with the small box,” added Watkins.

  “Oh, yes, sir. He was English alright.”

  Watkins now turned the captain over to one of his men, and ordered the vessel to be searched from top to bottom. Soon one of his men came in with the suspect. He was still carrying his bag and wearing his bogus black whiskers. Before questioning him the inspector ordered him to open the handbag, which he did with evident reluctance. It was filled with false whiskers, false moustaches, and various bottles, but on top of them all lay the jewel case. Watkins raised the lid and displayed the necklace. I looked up at the man, who stood there calmly enough, saying nothing in spite of the overwhelming evidence against him.

  “Will you oblige me, sir, by removing your false beard?” said Watkins mockingly.

  The suspect did so at once, throwing it into the open bag. We could now see that he was not the American buyer of the emeralds. Informing him who he was, and cautioning him to speak the truth, Watkins asked him how he came in possession of the jewels.

  “Am I under arrest?” the man asked calmly.

  “But of course,” cried Watkins.

  “Of what am I accused, sir?” the man continued.

  “You are accused, sir, in the first place, of being in possession of property, which does not belong to you.”

  “I plead guilty to that,” the man said, leaving all in the room gasping for air. “What is the second accusation?”

  “Murder!” exclaimed Watkins, beating the table with his fist.

  The man remained calm. “I’m certainly innocent of the second charge, sir. The man jumped overboard.”

  “Oh, there come the lies,” screamed Watkins. “If that is true, why did he scream as he went over?”

  “Well, because, as he fell I grabbed his hands, but all I could get a hold of was this box.”

  “You pushed him!”

  “No, he jumped.”

  “Why should he jump overboard?”

  “I don’t know,” came the calm answer. “He seemed rather panicked after the policeman ordered us to shore. He begged the captain to put him ashore, but the captain refused to beach the yacht. He remained standing at the rail, with his eyes turned toward the shore, trying, as I imagined, to see through the darkness and estimate the distance. Then suddenly he climbed on the rail and was about to jump, when I tried to grab his hands. Regretfully I was only able to catch the box from his hand. Then with a scream, he went down shoulders first into the water. It all happened within a second.”

  “You admit yourself, then, indirectly maybe, being responsible for his drowning?”

  “I see no reason to suppose that the man is dead. It was dark, but he could easily have reached the river bank.”

  “Not if he couldn’t swim,” I said.

  “If unable to swim, why should he attempt to jump overboard with a box in his hands?” the man replied.

  “Monsieur, you believe he escaped?” A strange expression entered Poiret’s eyes.

  “Yes, sir, I think so.”

  “It will be lucky for you should that prove to be the case,” said Watkins.

  “Certainly, sir.”

  “I don’t believe anything you say.” Watkins sat down. “How did you come to be in the yacht at all?”

  Poiret stood up and moved his chair back to the wall. He sat down again and intently regarded the man on the other side of the table.

  “I shall give you a full account of the case, and conceal nothing,” said the man. “I’m an insurance investigator.”

  “I say!” I looked at Poiret. He said nothing, but kept looking intently at the man.

  “I work in Liverpool and London. I have offices in both places. I was certain that some attempt would be made to rob this necklace. I came over to London determined to keep an eye on the emeralds.”

  “So someone engaged you?” asked Watkins.

  “Yes, Lloyds of London. I thought to myself, if the jewels are stolen the crime is bound to be one of the most celebrated in criminal history and if I can resolve the crime...”

  “You’re after fame and fortune,” said Watkins, glancing at Poiret. “I know your kind.”

  “I was present during the sale, and made sure to see the buyer of the necklace. Then I followed the Government official to the bank, and learned that the check was cleared. I was waiting outside, in the hallway for the buyer to appear, so I could follow him. When he walked out of the auction room he held the case in his hand, and...”

  “Was it not in his pocket?” I asked as that was what both Poiret and Watkins had told me. I myself was outside.

  “No, he had it in his hand, when I saw him,” said the insurance investigator. “Then, outside, the man who jumped overboard approached him, took the case without a word, held up his hand for a cab, and when one approached the curb he stepped in, shouting, “Leicester Square.”

  Poiret slapped his forehead. “Mon Dieu!” he said and looked at me.

  “I hailed a cab, instructed the cabdriver to follow the first cab, and then set about changing my appearance to look like the man in the other cab.”

  “But why?” asked Watkins.

  “It’s standard practice for a detective,” the other man answered, shrugging his shoulders.

  Poiret added, “Monsieur wished to resemble the other man, so that if necessity arose he could pretend that he was the person commissioned to carry the jewel case.”

  “Correct,” said the insurance investigator, nodding to Poiret. “As a matter of fact, the crisis arose, when we arrived at the yacht. The captain did not know who was his real passenger, and so let us both aboard the yacht.”

  Watkins stood up. “Do you expect me to believe this poppycock?”

  The man stood up. “I quite agree with you there,” he replied, with great nonchalance. He took a card from his pocket-book, and handed it to the inspector. “That is my Liverpool address. You may make inquiries with the local police. I’m quite famous in my own town.”

  Watkins walked to the door to check the story of the suspect. Poiret stood up and opened the jewel box. He put on his glasses. He took the necklace out of its silk bed and looked at it for a while. He then held them close to his eyes. Then, with a gesture of contempt, threw them in the dustbin at the other side of the room.

  I sprang up. “I say!”

  “What are you doing?” asked Watkins angrily. He rushed to the dustbin and fished out the necklace.

  “T
he fakes!” Poiret said.

  Watkins looked at the glimmering green stones. “If these are fakes, then…”

  “The buyer!”

  “Now, that’s nonsense. We know the check cleared,” said Watkins, shaking his head.

  “The answers, Watkins, they are in London.”

  “Not in Dover?” I asked.

  “Non, mon ami,” Poiret replied, putting his hat on his head and walking to the door. “The villains, they do not wish to leave England. The insurance fraud, it has to be finalized by the owner of the stolen necklace.”

  It was now a quarter after three. We left the yacht in charge of the river master, with orders to send it to London as soon as it was daylight. I, Poiret, Watkins, the captain and the insurance investigator drove back to London.

  As soon as we entered the headquarters of Scotland Yard, we could hear the cries of indignation and anger. The source was a short, rotund man, with grey hair, who was demanding to speak to inspector Watkins.

  “Now listen here,” said Watkins, loudly. “What’s with all this noise?”

  “Are you Watkins?” the red-faced man asked him.

  “Yes! Now what is all this about?”

  “I’m the director of Lloyds of London. One of our clients has been robbed of a priceless necklace and your men stood by and did nothing.”

  Watkins glanced at Poiret. “It has started,” he mumbled.

  “Monsieur,” asked Poiret, “who is your client?”

  “It’s Mr. Daniel Amethyst of New York.”

  “The American buyer,” I said.

  “Can we speak to Mr. Amethyst?” asked Watkins. “Where is he?”

  “At his hotel. He’s extremely distraught. He bought the emerald necklace only yesterday and from the Government for Goodness sake. How could this have happened?”

  “We’ll find out!” answered Watkins, leading the whole group into his office, where there weren’t enough chairs, so I had to remain standing.

  In the meanwhile it took Watkins’s sergeant about an hour to arrive back at the headquarters with the distraught buyer and indeed it was the tall American gentleman, we had all seen at the auction house. He explained that after he had taken possession of the box with the collar, he went into the hallway and gave it to his assistant outside, who was supposed to take it to his yacht.

  At these words Watkins sprang up.

  “You have a yacht, sir?” he demanded.

  “Yes, it’s moored here in London.”

  Watkins left and returned with the captain, whose mouth opened in surprise as he saw the buyer.

  Mr. Amethyst sprang up and said, “McCririk, where is my assistant and where is my necklace?”

  “Wait a minute,” said Watkins. “I ask the questions. McCririk, who is this man?”

  The captain looked sheepishly at the tall American. “That’s the owner of the yacht.”

  “And he is the man, who told to you to sail to Gravesend, Monsieur,” asked Poiret.

  “Uh, no! I’m afraid not. It was another American.”

  “What other American,” bellowed the American.

  The captain gave us a description of a man we immediately recognized as the bandit, who had pulled the guns on us after the purchaser of the emeralds had left the auction room.

  “That reminds me,” said Watkins. “Who was that man?”

  “I don’t know,” said Mr. Amethyst. “I only met him yesterday at the auction house.”

  “No!” said Watkins.

  “I swear it is so!” said the American.

  “Monsieur,” said Poiret, “how do you know something it has happened to your assistant and your emeralds? The news, of the loss of both, it has not yet appeared in the newspapers.”

  For a moment Amethyst stared at Poiret. It was the stare of chess masters over a chess board. For a moment it looked as if they saw no one except each other.

  “My assistant told me,” the American said, looking at Poiret, but speaking to the inspector.

  “What?” asked Watkins, springing up. “The man, who fell overboard?”

  “Yes, sir. He’s at my hotel, recuperating.”

  Watkins rushed out of the room and a half hour later, it was breakfast time by now, his sergeant walked into the room with the bearded assistant.

  “That’s the man, who fell overboard,” said the captain.

  “I concur!” said the insurance investigator, who was brought into the room. “That’s the man.”

  “Please allow me to introduce Mr. Dwight Freeney to you. He arrived in London from the Isle of Man only two days ago, just to be robbed and thrown into the river violently.”

  There was silence for a moment. “Monsieur,” said Poiret, “but the necklace, it was not stolen.”

  Watkins frowned and looked at Poiret, but did not speak.

  “Not?” said Mr. Amethyst.

  “Non, Monsieur,” said Poiret. “Monsieur Watkins, please to show Monsieur Amethyst the emeralds.”

  Still somewhat hesitant, Watkins walked to his desk and took the box from the drawer. He offered it to Poiret, but he did not take it.

  “Monsieur,” Poiret said, “your emeralds.”

  Mr. Amethyst also didn’t make any attempt at grabbing the box.

  “That is wonderful news,” he said, calmly. “I will call an expert to inspect them, right away.”

  He stood up.

  “Pourquoi, Monsieur?” asked Poiret calmly. “Have you the reason to suspect that they are the imitations, without looking at them?”

  The American sat down again. Poiret opened the box and held up the necklace, then threw it on the table.

  “It is the fake.”

  “What? Fake?” bellowed the American. “In that case I will hold your government responsible and demand the return of my money.”

  “Ah, now Poiret, he understands. Monsieur, the plan, it was the good one. You wished to create the illusion of the robbery for the police, when all the time, you wished to claim that the necklace it was the fake and to demand the return of your check.”

  “That is not true!” said the tall American, springing up. “The government of this country sold me an imitation emerald necklace. I demand to receive my money back or else the genuine article.”

  “What do you mean, genuine article?” asked the director of Lloyds of London.

  “The necklace, there, is the necklace I received from the auctioneer. There are dozens of witnesses, from the auction room to the yacht, from the auctioneer’s hands into mine, into my assistant’s and then it came into the hands of the investigator for Lloyds of London.”

  “Mais, c’est ne pas vrai, Monsieur,” said Poiret. “The insurance investigator, he saw you with the box in your hand, when he saw you leave the auction room and enter the hallway, where he was standing. Poiret saw you with the box in your coat pocket, when you left the auction room.”

  “Lies!” said the American.

  “Non, Monsieur!” Poiret went to the door and held his cigarette case and a box of matches in the air. “Please to look,” he said and he put the cigarette case in the chest pocket of his coat, while the box of matches remained in his hand. He turned to face the door, opened it wide, then closed it with his body close to the door and when he turned around he held up the cigarette case, which was now in his hand and theatrically took the box of matches from his chest pocket. “That is how the switch, it was done.”

  “Lies! I will tell every newspaper in America what kind of Government is running this place. They sell you fake emeralds and then threaten you with accusations of fraud.”

  “Monsieur, you cannot talk to the newspapers, while you are in the jail cell.”

  “Imprison me? On what charges?” said the man angrily.

  “Fraud,” said Watkins and took handcuffs from his desk drawer and threw them on the table in front of the American.

  “This is unjust! No one will believe this! I demand to see a lawyer.”

  “We’re a civilized nation, sir. We’ll m
ake sure you get to see a solicitor. In the meantime, we will search your room at the hotel.”

  The American laughed.

  “We will find your accomplice.”

  The American laughed again.

  Poiret said calmly to Watkins, putting his cigarette case and box of matches away, “If you do not mind, mon ami, Poiret, he will go home, have the breakfast and the good night’s rest. The emeralds, they are with the accomplice and as soon as he finds out that Monsieur Amethyst, he is in jail and will not be released for a year, he will be out of the money and go to Antwerp to sell the emeralds.”

  Poiret turned his back on the American and winked at Watkins.

  Watkins said, “Indeed!”

  Poiret continued, “Monsieur, the check, it was genuine. That tells to Poiret that you are the man to be taken seriously, the man, who calculates his risk and the reward. The gunmen, they do not have the brains of the masterminds, so the jewelers in Antwerp, they will cheat your accomplice and give him nothing for the emeralds and soon the Alcester Necklace, it will be broken up and sold and be lost forever.”

  “Indeed!’ said Watkins.

  Poiret added, putting his hat on his head and slowly pulling on his gloves, “If Monsieur Amethyst was able to present the genuine emeralds to the police, he could only be charged with the elaborate attempt to defraud the Government of England. If he cannot present the emeralds, he will have to pay for the loss of the stolen emeralds with the charges of robbery and more years added to his sentence.”

  “That’s right,” replied Watkins, dutifully.

  The American stood up and looked at Poiret. He towered over the barely five foot tall Frenchman. His hands became huge fists and for a moment I feared for my friend’s wellbeing. The little man, however, did not back down and held the big man’s gaze, until the fists slowly loosened and the man’s head lowered itself. He sighed.