The Big Book of Female Detectives

by The Big Book of Female Detectives (retail) (epub)

  “One fact—and one fact alone. On the very day that we were at Hampton Mr. Charrington, the barrister, returned to town. He arrived in the afternoon, and seemed worried and out of sorts. His wife had made up her mind to tell him everything, but he was so irritable that she hesitated.

  “Yesterday she had an extraordinary story to tell me. When her husband had gone to his chambers in the morning she began to worry about not having told him. She felt that she really ought to do so now he had come back. She went to her jewel case to go over everything once more in order to be quite sure nothing else was missing before she told him her trouble, and there, to her utter amazement, was all the missing property, the bracelet, the pendant, and the diamond lizard.”

  “Then,” I said with a gasp, “Claude Charrington must have redeemed them and put them back!”

  “Not at all. The diamond lizard is still in Miss Dolamore’s possession, and the diamond bracelet and pendant are still at Attenborough’s.”

  I stared at Dorcas Dene for a moment in dumb amazement. When at last I could find words to speak my thoughts I exclaimed: “What does this mean? What can it mean? We shall never know, because Mrs. Charrington has her jewels again and your task is ended.”

  “No—my task is a double one now. Mrs. Charrington engaged me to find out who stole her jewels. When I can tell her that I shall be able to tell her also who endeavoured to conceal the robbery by putting a similar set back in their place. This is no common case of jewel stealing. There is a mystery and a romance behind it—a tangled skein which a Lecoq or a Sherlock Holmes would have been proud to unravel—and I think I have a clue.”

  PART II

  The Prick of a Pin

  When Dorcas told me that she had a clue to the mystery of the Charrington jewels, I pressed her to tell me what it was.

  “All in good time,” she said; “meanwhile you can help me if you will. There is a club in —— Street, Soho, of which most of the members are foreigners. It is called ‘The Camorra.’ Carlo Rinaldi, the landlord of the house in which Miss Dolamore is staying, spends his evenings there. It is a gambling club. Visitors are admitted, and the members by no means object to female society. I want you to take me there tomorrow night.”

  “But, my dear Dorcas—I—I’m not a member.”

  “No, but you can be a visitor.”

  “But I don’t know a member.”

  “Oh, nonsense,” said Dorcas, “you know a dozen. Ask your favourite waiter at any foreign restaurant, and he will be pretty sure to be able to tell you of one of his fellow-employés who can take you.”

  “Yes,” I said, after I had thought for a moment. “If that is so, I think I can arrange it.”

  “That’s a bargain, then,” she said. “I will meet you and your friend the member outside Kettner’s, in Church Street, tomorrow night at ten o’clock. Till then, good-bye.”

  “One question more,” I said, retaining the hand that was placed in mine. “I assume that your object in going to this club is to watch Miss Dolamore’s landlord; but if you have taken his second floor, won’t he recognize you and be suspicious?”

  Dorcas Dene smiled. “I’ll take care there is no danger of his recognizing the lady of the second floor at the Camorra tomorrow night. And now, good afternoon. The Charringtons dine at eight, and I have to wait at table tonight.”

  Then, with a little nod of adieu, she walked quickly away and left me to think out my plans for capturing a member of the Camorra.

  * * *

  —

  I had very little difficulty in finding a waiter who was a member. He turned up in a very old acquaintance, Guiseppe, of a well-known Strand café and restaurant. Guiseppe easily obtained an evening off, but he demurred when I told him that I wanted him to introduce a lady friend of mine as well as myself to the club. He was nervous. Was she a lady journalist? I pacified Guiseppe, and the preliminaries were satisfactorily arranged, and at ten o’clock, leaving Guiseppe round the corner, I strolled on to Kettner’s, and looked for Dorcas Dene.

  There was no trace of her, and I was beginning to think she had been detained, when a stout, rather elderly-looking woman came towards me. She was dressed in a black silk dress, the worse for wear, a shabby black velvet mantle, and a black bonnet, plentifully bedecked with short black ostrich plumes, upon which wind and weather had told their tale. At her throat was a huge cameo brooch. As she came into the light she looked like one of the German landladies of the shilling table d’hôte establishments in the neighbourhood. The woman looked at me searchingly, and then asked me in guttural broken English if I was the gentleman who had an appointment there with a lady.

  For a moment I hesitated. It might be a trap.

  “Who told you to ask me?”

  “Dorcas Dene.”

  “Indeed,” I said, still suspicious, “and who is Dorcas Dene?”

  “I am,” replied the German frau. “Come, do you think Rinaldi will recognize his second floor?”

  “My dear Dorcas,” I gasped, as soon as I had recovered from my astonishment, “why did you leave the stage?”

  “Never mind about the stage,” said Dorcas. “Where’s the member of the Camorra?”

  “He’s waiting at the corner.”

  I had all my work to keep from bursting into a roar of laughter at Guiseppe’s face when I introduced him to my lady friend, “Mrs. Goldschmidt.” He evidently didn’t think much of my choice of a female companion, but he bowed and smiled at the stout, old-fashioned German frau, and led the way to the club. After a few rough-and-ready formalities at the door, Guiseppe signed for two guests in a book which lay on the hall table, and we passed into a large room at the back of the premises, in which were a number of chairs and small tables, a raised platform with a piano, and a bar. A few men and women, mostly foreigners, were sitting about talking or reading the papers, and a sleepy-looking waiter was taking orders and serving drinks.

  “Where do they play cards?” I said.

  “Upstairs.”

  “Can I play?”

  “Oh, yes, if I introduce you as my friend.”

  “May ladies play?”

  Guiseppe shrugged his shoulders. “If they have money to lose—why not?”

  I went to Dorcas. “Is he here?” I whispered.

  “No; he’s where the playing is, I expect.”

  “That’s where we are going,” I said.

  Dorcas rose, and she and I and Guiseppe made our way to the upstairs room together.

  On the landing we were challenged by a big, square-shouldered Italian. “Only members pass here,” he said, gruffly.

  Guiseppe answered in Italian, and the man growled out, “All right,” and we entered a room which was as crowded as the other was empty.

  One glance at the table was sufficient to show me that the game was an illegal one.

  Dorcas stood by me among a little knot of onlookers. Presently she nudged my elbow, and I followed her glance. A tall, swarthy Italian, the wreck of what must once have been a remarkably handsome man, sat scowling fiercely as he lost stake after stake. I asked her with my eyebrows if she meant this was Rinaldi, and she nodded her head in assent.

  A waiter was in the room taking orders, and bringing the drinks up from the bar below.

  “Order two whiskies and seltzers,” whispered Dorcas.

  Then Dorcas sat down at the end of the room away from the crowd, and I joined her. The waiter brought the whiskies and seltzers and put them down. I paid unchallenged.

  A dispute had arisen over at the big table, and the players were shouting one against the other. Dorcas took advantage of the din, and said, close to my ear, “Now you must do as I tell you—I’m going back to the table. Presently Rinaldi will leap up; when he does, seize him by the arms, and hold him—a few seconds will do.”

  “B
ut——”

  “It’s all right. Do as I tell you.”

  She rose, taking her glass, still full of whisky and seltzer, with her. I wondered how on earth she could tell Rinaldi was going to jump up.

  The stout old German frau pushed in among the crowd till she was almost leaning over Rinaldi’s shoulder. Suddenly she lurched and tilted the entire contents of her glass into the breast pocket of his coat. He sprang up with a fierce oath, the rest of the company yelling with laughter. Instantly I seized him by the arms, as though to prevent him in his rage striking Dorcas. The German woman had her handkerchief out. She begged a thousand pardons, and began to mop up the liquid which was dripping down her victim. Then she thrust her hand into his inner pocket.

  “Oh, the pocket-book! Ah, it must be dried!”

  Quick as lightning she opened the book, and began to pull out the contents and wipe them with her handkerchief.

  Carlo Rinaldi, who had been bellowing like a bull, struggled from me with an effort, and made a grab at the book. Dorcas, pretending to fear he was going to strike her, flung the book to him, and, giving me a quick glance, ran out of the room and down the stairs, and I followed, the fierce oaths of Rinaldi and the laughter of the members of the Camorra still ringing in my ears.

  I hailed a taxi and dragged Dorcas into it.

  “Phew!” I said, “that was a desperate game to play, Dorcas. What did you want to see in his pocket-book?”

  “What I found,” said Dorcas quietly. “A pawnticket for a diamond and ruby bracelet and a diamond and ruby pendant, pawned in the name of Claude Charrington. I imagined from the description given me at the pawnbroker’s that the man was Rinaldi. Now I know that he pawned them on his own account, because he still has the ticket.”

  “How did he get them? Did Claude Charrington give them to him or sell them to him, or——”

  “No. The person who gave them to Rinaldi is the person who put the new set back in their place.”

  “Do you know who that is?”

  “Yes, now. The fact of Rinaldi having the ticket in his possession supplied the missing link. You remember my telling you how Mrs. Charrington discovered just as she was going to tell her husband of her loss that the jewels were no longer missing?”

  “Yes; she found them the day after her husband’s return.”

  “Exactly. Directly she told me, I asked her to let me examine the drawer in which the jewel-case was kept. It lay at the bottom of the left-hand top drawer of a chest near the bed. It was locked, and the keys were carried about by Mrs. Charrington and put on the dressing-table at night after the bedroom door had been bolted.

  “As soon as possible I went with Mrs. Charrington to the bedroom. Then I took the keys and opened the drawer. The box she told me was where it was always kept, at the bottom of the drawer underneath layers of pocket-handkerchiefs and several cardboard boxes of odds and ends which she kept there.

  “I turned the things over carefully one by one, and on a handkerchief which lay immediately on the top of the jewel-case I saw something which instantly attracted my attention. It was a tiny red spot, which looked like blood. Opening the jewel-case, I carefully examined the jewellery inside, and I found that the pin of the diamond lizard extended slightly beyond the brooch and was very sharp at the point.

  “I then examined the keys, and upon the handle of the key of the jewel-box I found a tiny red smear. What had happened was as clear as noonday. Whoever had put the jewels back had pricked his or her finger with the pin of the lizard. The pricked finger had touched the handkerchief and left the little blood-mark. Still bleeding slightly, the finger had touched the key in turning it in the lock of the jewel-case.

  “Saying nothing to Mrs. Charrington, who was in the room with me, I cast my eyes searchingly in every direction. Suddenly I caught sight of a tiny mark on the sheet which was turned over outside the counterpane. It was a very minute little speck, and I knew it to be a bloodstain.

  “ ‘Who sleeps on this side near the chest of drawers?’ I asked Mrs. Charrington, and she replied that her husband did.

  “ ‘Did he hear no noise in the night?’

  “ ‘In the night!’ she exclaimed with evident astonishment. ‘Good gracious! no one could have come into the room last night without our hearing them. Whoever put my jewels back did it in the daytime.’

  “I didn’t attempt to undeceive her, but I was certain that Mr. Charrington himself had replaced the jewels. He had probably done it in the night when his wife was fast asleep. A night-light burnt all night—she was a heavy sleeper—he had risen cautiously—the matter was a simple one. Only he had pricked his finger with the brooch-pin.”

  “But what was his motive?” I cried.

  “His motive! That was what I wanted to make sure tonight, and I did so when I found the pawnticket in the name of Claude Charrington in the pocket-book of Carlo Rinaldi—Claude Charrington is the father’s name as well as the son’s.”

  “Then you think Rinaldi pawned the original jewels for Mr. Charrington? Absurd!”

  “It would be absurd to think that,” said Dorcas, “but my theory is not an absurd one. I have ascertained the history of Carlo Rinaldi from sources at my command. Rinaldi was a valet at the West End. He married a rich man’s cast-off mistress. The rich man gave his mistress a sum of money as a marriage portion. He gave her up not only because he had ceased to care for her, but because he had fallen in love and was about to marry again. He was a widower. He lost his first wife when their only child, a son, was a few months old, and he himself quite a young man. The mistress was Madame Rinaldi, the rich man was Claude Charrington.”

  “Well, where does that lead you?”

  “To this. During the time that Mrs. Charrington is sure that the jewels were not in her case I trace them. I find the diamond lizard in the possession of a young lady who lodges in the house of Madame Rinaldi. I find the pendant and bracelet at Attenborough’s, and tonight I have seen the pawnticket for them in the possession of Madame Rinaldi’s husband. Therefore, there is no doubt in my mind that whoever took the jewels out of Mrs. Charrington’s case gave them to the Rinaldis. I have proved by the prick of the finger and the bloodstain that Mr. Charrington put a similar set of jewels to those abstracted back into the empty cases in his wife’s jewel-box, therefore he must have been aware that they were missing. Mrs. Charrington has not breathed a word of her loss to any one but myself, therefore he must have been privy to their abstraction, and it is only reasonable to conclude that he abstracted them himself.”

  “But the lizard in Miss Dolamore’s possession must have been given her by Claude, her sweetheart, and he was suddenly flush of money just after the theft—remember that!”

  “Yes; I have ascertained how he got that money. Johnson, the footman, told me that the young fellow had given him a tip for the Leger. ‘And he gets good information sometimes from a friend of his,’ said Johnson. ‘Why, only last week he backed a thirty-three to one chance, and won a couple of hundred. But don’t say anything to the missis,’ said Johnson. ‘She might tell the governor, and Mr. Claude isn’t in his good books just at present.’ ”

  I agreed with Dorcas that that would account for the young fellow’s confusion when his step-mother saw the notes, but I urged there was still the lizard to get over.

  “I think that is pretty clear. The Irish housemaid tells me that Madame is very friendly with Miss Dolamore. I shouldn’t be surprised if she went down to Richmond with her that day to show Claude the lizard and get him to buy it for more than it was worth. I know the Rinaldis were pressed at the time for ready money.”

  I confessed to Dorcas that her theory cleared Claude Charrington of suspicion, but it in no way explained why Mr. Charrington, senior, should send his former mistress his present wife’s jewels.

  At that moment the cab stopped. We were at
Elm Tree Road. Dorcas got out and put out her hand. “I can’t tell you why Mr. Charrington stole his wife’s jewellery,” she said, “because he hasn’t told me.”

  “And isn’t likely to,” I replied with a laugh.

  “You are mistaken,” said Dorcas. “I am going to his chambers tomorrow to ask him, and then my task will be done. If you want to know how it ends, come to Eastbourne on Sunday. I am going to spend the day there with Paul.”

  * * *

  —

  The sunshine was streaming into the pretty seaside apartments occupied by the Denes, the midday Sunday meal was over, and Paul and Dorcas were sitting by the open window.

  I had only arrived at one o’clock, and Dorcas had postponed her story until the meal was over.

  “Now,” said Dorcas, as she filled Paul’s pipe and lighted it for him, “if you want to know the finish of the ‘Romance of the Charrington Jewels,’ smoke and listen.”

  “Did you go to Mr. Charrington as you said you would?” I asked as I lit my cigar.

  “Smoke and listen!” said Dorcas with mock severity in her tone of command. “Of course I went. I sent up my card to Mr. Charrington.

  “Ushered into his room he gave me a searching glance and his face changed.

  “ ‘This card says “Dorcas Dene, Detective”?’ he exclaimed. ‘But surely—you—you are very like some one I have seen lately!’

  “ ‘I had the pleasure of being your wife’s parlour-maid, Mr. Charrington,’ I replied quietly.

  “ ‘You have dared to come spying in my house!’ exclaimed the barrister angrily.

  “ ‘I came to your house, Mr. Charrington, at your wife’s request. She had missed some jewellery which you presented to her a day or two before you went into the country. Circumstances pointed to your son Claude as the thief, and your wife, anxious to avoid a scandal, called me in instead of the police.’