AHMM, September 2007

by Dell Magazine Authors

On this day two or three loiterers, having heard of the robbery, extracted what gratification they might from staring at nothing between the railings guarding the windows. Within, Mr. Claridge, a brisk, stout, little old man, was talking earnestly to a stout police inspector in uniform, and Mr. Cutler, who had seized the opportunity to attempt amateur detective work on his own account, was groveling perseveringly about the floor among old porcelain and loose pieces of armor in the futile hope of finding any clue that the thieves might have considerately dropped.

  Mr. Claridge came forward eagerly.

  "The leather case has been found, I am pleased to be able to tell you, Lord Stanway, since you left."

  "Empty, of course?"

  "Unfortunately, yes. It had evidently been thrown away by the thief behind a chimney-stack a roof or two away, where the police have found it. But it is a clue, of course."

  "Ah, then this gentleman will give me his opinion of it,” Lord Stanway said, turning to Hewitt. “This, Mr. Claridge, is Mr. Martin Hewitt, who has been kind enough to come with me here at a moment's notice. With the police on the one hand, and Mr. Hewitt on the other, we shall certainly recover that cameo, if it is to be recovered, I think."

  Mr. Claridge bowed, and beamed on Hewitt through his spectacles. “I'm very glad Mr. Hewitt has come,” he said. “Indeed, I had already decided to give the police till this time tomorrow, and then, if they had found nothing, to call in Mr. Hewitt myself."

  Hewitt bowed in his turn, and then asked, “Will you let me see the various breakages? I hope they have not been disturbed."

  "Nothing whatever has been disturbed. Do exactly as seems best—I need scarcely say that everything here is perfectly at your disposal. You know all the circumstances, of course?"

  "In general, yes. I suppose I am right in the belief that you have no resident housekeeper?"

  "No,” Claridge replied, “I haven't. I had one housekeeper who sometimes pawned my property in the evening, and then another who used to break my most valuable china, till I could never sleep or take a moment's ease at home for fear my stock was being ruined here. So I gave up resident housekeepers. I felt some confidence in doing it, because of the policeman who is always on duty opposite."

  "Can I see the broken desk?"

  Mr. Claridge led the way into the room behind the shop. The desk was really a sort of work-table, with a lifting top and a lock. The top had been forced roughly open by some instrument which had been pushed in below it and used as a lever, so that the catch of the lock was torn away. Hewitt examined the damaged parts and the marks of the lever, and then looked out at the back window.

  "There are several windows about here,” he remarked, “from which it might be possible to see into this room. Do you know any of the people who live behind them?"

  "Two or three I know,” Mr. Claridge answered, “but there are two windows—the pair almost immediately before us—belonging to a room or office which is to let. Any stranger might get in there and watch."

  "Do the roofs above any of those windows communicate in any way with yours?"

  "None of those directly opposite. Those at the left do—you may walk all the way along the leads."

  "And whose windows are they?"

  Mr. Claridge hesitated. “Well,” he said, “they're Mr. Woollett's—an excellent customer of mine. But he's a gentleman and—well, I really think it's absurd to suspect him."

  "In a case like this,” Hewitt answered, “one must disregard nothing but the impossible. Somebody—whether Mr. Woollett himself or another person—could possibly have seen into this room from those windows, and equally possibly could have reached this roof from that one. Therefore, we must not forget Mr. Woollett. Have any of your neighbors been burgled during the night? I mean that strangers anxious to get at your trap-door would probably have to begin by getting into some other house close by, so as to reach your roof."

  "No,” Mr. Claridge replied, “there has been nothing of that sort. It was the first thing the police ascertained."

  Hewitt examined the broken door and then made his way up the stairs, with the others. The unscrewed lock of the door of the top back room required little examination. In the room, below the trap-door, was a dusty table on which stood a chair, and at the other side of the table sat Detective-Inspector Plummer, whom Hewitt knew very well, and who bade him “good-day,” and then went on with his docket.

  "This chair and table were found as they are now, I take it?” Hewitt asked.

  "Yes,” said Mr. Claridge; “the thieves, I should think, dropped in through the trap-door, after breaking it open, and had to place this chair where it is to be able to climb back."

  Hewitt scrambled up through the trap-way and examined it from the top. The door was hung on long external barn-door hinges, and had been forced open in a similar manner to that practiced on the desk. A jimmy had been pushed between the frame and the door near the bolt, and the door had been pried open, the bolt being torn away from the screws in the operation.

  Presently, Inspector Plummer, having finished his docket, climbed up to the roof after Hewitt, and the two together went to the spot, close under a chimney-stack on the next roof but one, where the case had been found. Plummer produced the case, which he had in his coat-tail pocket, for Hewitt's inspection.

  "I don't see anything particular about it; do you?” he said. “It shows us the way they went, though, being found just here."

  "Well, yes,” Hewitt said; “if we kept on in this direction we should be going towards Mr. Woollett's house, and his trap-door, shouldn't we?"

  The inspector pursed his lips, smiled, and shrugged his shoulders. “Of course; we haven't waited till now to find that out,” he said.

  "No, of course. And, as you say, I didn't think there is much to be learned from this leather case. It is almost new, and there isn't a mark on it.” And Hewitt handed it back to the inspector.

  "Well,” said Plummer, as he returned the case to his pocket, “what's your opinion?"

  "It's rather an awkward case."

  "Yes, it is. Between ourselves, I don't mind telling you, I'm having a sharp look-out kept over there"—Plummer jerked his head in the direction of Mr. Woollett's chambers—"because the robbery's an unusual one. There's only two possible motives—the sale of the cameo or the keeping of it. The sale's out of the question, as you know; the thing's only salable to those who would collar the thief at once, and who wouldn't have the thing in their places now for anything. So that it must be taken to keep—and that's a thing nobody but the maddest of collectors would do—just such persons as—” and the inspector nodded again towards Mr. Woollett's quarters. “Take that with the other circumstances,” he added, “and I think you'll agree it's worth while looking a little farther that way. Of course, some of the work—taking off the lock and so on—looks rather like a regular burglar, but it's just possible that any one badly wanting the cameo would hire a man who was up to the work."

  "Yes, it's possible."

  "Do you know anything of Hahn, the agent?” Plummer asked, a moment later.

  "No, I don't. Have you found him yet?"

  "I haven't yet, but I'm after him. I've found he was at Charing Cross a day or two ago, booking a ticket for the Continent. That and his failing to turn up today seem to make it worth while not to miss him if we can help it. He isn't the sort of man that lets a chance of drawing a bit of money go for nothing."

  They returned to the room. “Well,” said Lord Stanway, “what's the result of the consultation? We've been waiting here very patiently while you two clever men have been discussing the matter on the roof."

  On the wall just beneath the trap-door a very dusty old tall hat hung on a peg. This Hewitt took down and examined very closely, smearing his fingers with the dust from the inside lining. “Is this one of your valuable and crusted old antiques?” he asked, with a smile, of Mr. Claridge.

  "That's only an old hat that I used to keep here for use in bad weather,” Mr. Claridge said, with s
ome surprise at the question. “I haven't touched it for a year or more."

  "Oh, then it couldn't have been left here by your last night's visitor,” Hewitt replied, carelessly replacing it on the hook. “You left here at eight last night, I think?"

  "Eight exactly—or within a minute or two."

  "Just so. I think I'll look at the room on the opposite side of the landing, if you'll let me."

  "Certainly, if you'd like to,” Claridge replied; “but they haven't been there—it is exactly as it was left. Only a lumber-room, you see,” he concluded, flinging the door open.

  A number of partly broken-up packing-cases were littered about this room, with much other rubbish. Hewitt took the lid of one of the newest-looking packing-cases, and glanced at the address label. Then he turned to a rusty old iron box that stood against a wall. “I should like to see behind this,” he said, tugging at it with his hands. “It is heavy and dirty. Is there a small crowbar about the house, or some similar lever?"

  Mr. Claridge shook his head. “Haven't such a thing in the place,” he said.

  "Never mind,” Hewitt replied, “another time will do to shift that old box, and perhaps after all there's little reason for moving it. I will just walk round to the police station, I think, and speak to the constables who were on duty opposite during the night. I think, Lord Stanway, I have seen all that is necessary here."

  "I suppose,” asked Mr. Claridge, “it is too soon yet to ask if you have formed any theory in the matter?"

  "Well—yes, it is,” Hewitt answered. “But perhaps I may be able to surprise you in an hour or two; but that I don't promise. By the by,” he added suddenly, “I suppose you're sure the trap-door was bolted last night?"

  "Certainly,” Mr. Claridge answered, smiling. “Else how could the bolt have been broken? As a matter of fact, I believe the trap hasn't been opened for months. Mr. Cutler, do you remember when the trap-door was last opened?"

  Mr. Cutler shook his head. “Certainly not for six months,” he said.

  "Ah, very well; it's not very important,” Hewitt replied.

  As they reached the front shop, a fiery-faced old gentleman bounced in at the street door, stumbling over an umbrella that stood in a dark corner, and kicking it three yards away.

  "What the deuce do you mean,” he roared at Mr. Claridge, “by sending these police people smelling about my rooms and asking questions of my servants? What do you mean, sir, by treating me as a thief? Can't a gentleman come into this place to look at an article without being suspected of stealing it, when it disappears through your wretched carelessness? I'll ask my solicitor, sir, if there isn't a remedy for this sort of thing. And if I catch another of your spy fellows on my staircase, or crawling about my roof, I'll—I'll shoot him!"

  "Really, Mr. Woollett,” began Mr. Claridge, somewhat abashed; but the angry old man would hear nothing.

  "Don't talk to me, sir; you shall talk to my solicitor. And am I to understand, my lord"—turning to Lord Stanway—"that these things are being done with your approval?"

  "Whatever is being done,” Lord Stanway answered, “is being done by the police on their own responsibility, and entirely without prompting, I believe, by Mr. Claridge—certainly without a suggestion of any sort from myself. I think that the personal opinion of Mr. Claridge—certainly my own—is that anything like a suspicion of your position in this wretched matter is ridiculous. And if you will only consider the matter calmly—"

  "Consider it calmly? Imagine yourself considering such a thing calmly, Lord Stanway. I won't consider it calmly. I'll—I'll—I won't have it. And if I find another man on my roof, I'll pitch him off.” And Mr. Woollett bounced into the street again.

  "Mr. Woollett is annoyed,” Hewitt observed, with a smile. “I'm afraid Plummer has a clumsy assistant somewhere."

  Mr. Claridge said nothing, but looked rather glum. For Mr. Woollett was a most excellent customer.

  Lord Stanway and Hewitt walked slowly down the street, Hewitt staring at the pavement in profound thought. Once or twice Lord Stanway glanced at his face, but refrained from disturbing him. Presently, however, he observed, “You seem at least, Mr. Hewitt, to have noticed something that has set you thinking. Does it look like a clue?"

  Hewitt came out of his cogitation at once. “A clue?” he said; “the case bristles with clues. The extraordinary thing to me is that Plummer, usually a smart man, doesn't seem to have seen one of them. He must be out of sorts, I'm afraid. But the case is decidedly a most remarkable one."

  "Remarkable in what particular way?"

  "In regard to motive. Now it would seem, as Plummer was saying to me just now on the roof, that there were only two possible motives for such a robbery. Either the man who took all this trouble and risk to break into Claridge's place must have desired to sell the cameo at a good price, or he must have desired to keep it for himself, being a lover of such things. But neither of these has been the actual motive."

  "Perhaps he thinks he can extort a good sum from me by way of ransom?"

  "No, it isn't that. Nor is it jealousy, nor spite, nor anything of that kind. I know the motive, I think—but I wish we could get hold of Hahn. I will shut myself up alone and turn it over in my mind for half an hour presently."

  "Meanwhile, what I want to know is, apart from all your professional subtleties—which I confess I can't understand—can you get back the cameo?"

  "That,” said Hewitt, stopping at the corner of the street, “I am rather afraid I cannot—nor anybody else. But I am pretty sure I know the thief."

  "Then surely that will lead you to the cameo?"

  "It may, of course; but then it is just possible that by this evening you may not want to have it back after all."

  Lord Stanway stared in amazement.

  "Not want to have it back!” he exclaimed. “Why, of course I shall want to have it back. I don't understand you in the least; you talk in conundrums. Who is the thief you speak of?"

  "I think, Lord Stanway,” Hewitt said, “that perhaps I had better not say until I have quite finished my inquiries, in case of mistakes. The case is quite an extraordinary one, and of quite a different character from what one would at first naturally imagine, and I must be very careful to guard against the possibility of error. I have very little fear of a mistake, however, and I hope I may wait on you in a few hours at Piccadilly with news. I have only to see the policemen."

  "Certainly, come whenever you please. But why see the policemen? They have already most positively stated that they saw nothing whatever suspicious in the house or near it."

  "I shall not ask them anything at all about the house,” Hewitt responded. “I shall just have a little chat with them—about the weather.” And with a smiling bow he turned away, while Lord Stanway stood and gazed after him, with an expression that implied a suspicion that his special detective was making a fool of him.

  In rather more than an hour Hewitt was back in Mr. Claridge's shop. “Mr. Claridge,” he said, “I think I must ask you one or two questions in private. May I see you in your own room?"

  They went there at once, and Hewitt, pulling a chair before the window, sat down with his back to the light. The dealer shut the door, and sat opposite him, with the light full in his face.

  "Mr. Claridge,” Hewitt proceeded slowly, “when did you first find that Lord Stanway's cameo was a forgery?"

  Claridge literally bounced in his chair. His face paled, but he managed to stammer sharply, “What—what—what d'you mean? Forgery? Do you mean to say I sell forgeries? Forgery? It wasn't a forgery!"

  "Then,” continued Hewitt in the same deliberate tone, watching the other's face the while, “if it wasn't a forgery, why did you destroy it and burst your trap-door and desk to imitate a burglary?"

  The sweat stood thick on the dealer's face, and he gasped. But he struggled hard to keep his faculties together, and ejaculated hoarsely, “Destroy it? What—what—I didn't—didn't destroy it!"

  "Threw it into the river, then�
��don't prevaricate about details."

  "No—no—it's a lie! Who says that? Go away. You're insulting me!” Claridge almost screamed.

  "Come, come, Mr. Claridge,” Hewitt said more placably, for he had gained his point; “don't distress yourself, and don't attempt to deceive me—you can't, I assure you. I know everything you did before you left here last night—everything."

  Claridge's face worked painfully. Once or twice he appeared to be on the point of returning an indignant reply, but hesitated, and finally broke down altogether.

  "Don't expose me, Mr. Hewitt!” he pleaded; “I beg you won't expose me. I haven't harmed a soul but myself. I've paid Lord Stanway every penny back, and I never knew the thing was a forgery till I began to clean it. I'm an old man, Mr. Hewitt, and my professional reputation has been spotless till now. I beg you won't expose me."

  Hewitt's voice softened. “Don't make an unnecessary trouble of it,” he said. “I see a decanter on your sideboard—let me give you a little brandy and water. Come, there's nothing criminal, I believe, in a man's breaking open his own desk, or his own trap-door, for that matter. Of course, I'm acting for Lord Stanway in this affair, and I must, in duty, report to him without reserve. But Lord Stanway is a gentleman, and I'll undertake he'll do nothing inconsiderate of your feelings, if you're disposed to be frank. Let us talk the affair over; tell me about it."

  "It was that swindler Hahn who deceived me in the beginning,” Claridge said. “I have never made a mistake with a cameo before, and I never thought so close an imitation was possible. I examined it most carefully, and was perfectly satisfied, and many experts examined it afterwards, and were all equally deceived. I felt as sure as I possibly could feel that I had bought one of the finest, if not actually the finest cameo known to exist. It was not until after it had come back from Lord Stanway's, and I was cleaning it, the evening before last, that in course of my work it became apparent that the thing was nothing but a consummately clever forgery. It was made of three layers of molded glass, nothing more nor less. But the glass was treated in a way I had never before known of, and the surface had been cunningly worked on till it defied any ordinary examination. Some of the glass imitation cameos made in the latter part of the last century, I may tell you, are regarded as marvelous pieces of work, and, indeed, command very fair prices; but this was something quite beyond any of those.