There was nothing more to be said for the present and Haasberg sent the telegram in his sister’s name to Sir Montague Bowden because he felt that someone less busy than himself should look after the affair and be a comfort to Mary, whose mental condition appeared pitiable in the extreme. In this first interview he was able to assure Sir Montague that everything had been done to trace the whereabouts of Arthur Saunders, and also of the necklace of which the unfortunate man had been the custodian; and it was actually while the two men were talking the whole case over that Haasberg received an intimation from the police that they believed the missing man had been found: at any rate would Monsieur give himself the trouble to come round to the commissariat at once.
This, of course, Haasberg did, accompanied by Sir Montague, and at the commissariat, to their horror they found the unfortunate Saunders in a terrible condition. Briefly the commissaire explained to them that about a quarter past ten last night an agent de police, making his rounds, saw a man crouching in the angle of a narrow blind alley that leads out of the Rue de Moncigny. On being shaken up by the agent the man struggled to his feet, but he appeared quite dazed and unable to reply to any questions that were put to him. He was then conveyed to the nearest commissariat where he spent the night. He was obviously suffering from loss of memory; and could give no account of himself, nor were any papers of identification found upon him, not even a visiting card, but close beside him, on the pavement where he was crouching, the agent had picked up a handkerchief which was saturated with chloroform. The handkerchief bore the initials A. S. The man, of course, was Arthur Saunders. What had happened to him it was impossible to ascertain. He certainly did not appear to be physically hurt, although from time to time when Mr. Haasberg or Sir Montague tried to question him he passed his hand across the back of his head, and an expression of pathetic puzzlement came into his eyes.
His two friends, after the usual formalities of identification, were allowed to take him back to the Hotel Majestic where he was restored to the arms of his anxious wife; the English doctor, hastily summoned, could not find any trace of injury about the body, only the head appeared rather tender when touched. The doctor’s theory was that Saunders had probably been sandbagged first and then rendered more completely insensible by means of the chloroformed handkerchief, and that excitement, anxiety and the blow on the head had caused temporary loss of memory which quietude and good nursing would soon put right. In the meanwhile of the £15,000 necklace there was not the slightest trace.
II
Unfortunately the disappearance of so valuable a piece of jewellery was one of those cases that could not be kept out of public knowledge. The matter was of course in the hands of the French police, and they had put themselves in communication with their English confrères, and the consternation—not to say the indignation—amongst the good ladies who had subscribed the money for the gift to the august lady was unbounded. Everybody was blaming everybody else; the choice of Captain Saunders as the accredited messenger was now severely criticised; pointed questions were asked as to his antecedents, as to his wife’s foreign relations, and it was soon found that very little was known about either. Of course everybody knew that he was Sir Montague Bowden’s nephew, and that, thanks to his uncle’s influence, he had obtained a remunerative and rather important post in the office of one of the big insurance companies. But what his career had been before that no one knew. Some people said that he had fought in South Africa and later on had been correspondent for one of the great dailies during the Russo-Japanese war; altogether there seemed no doubt that he had been something of a rolling stone.
Rather tardily the committee was taken severely to task for having entrusted so important a mission to a man who was either a coward or a thief, or both, for at first no one doubted that Saunders had met a confederate in Paris and had handed over the necklace to him, whilst he himself enacted a farce of being waylaid, chloroformed and robbed, and subsequently of losing his memory.
But presently another version of the mystery was started by some amateur detective, and it found credence with quite a good many people. This was that Sir Montague Bowden had connived at the theft with Mrs. Saunders’s relations; that the man with the walrus moustache either did not exist at all or was in very truth a harmless old friend of Captain Saunders, and that it was Haasberg who had induced his brother-in-law to withdraw the necklace from the hotel strong room and to bring it to the Rue de Moncigny; that in fact it was that same perfidious Swede who had waylaid the credulous Englishman, chloroformed and robbed him of the precious necklace.
In the meanwhile the police in England had, of course, been communicated with by their French confrères, but before they could move in the matter or enjoin discretion on all concerned, an enterprising young man on the staff of the Express Post had interviewed Miss Elizabeth Spicer who was the parlourmaid at the Saunderses’ flat in Sloane Street.
That young lady it seems had something to say about a gentleman named Pasquier who was not an infrequent visitor at the flat. She described him as a fine, tall gentleman who wore large gold-rimmed spectacles and a full military moustache. It seems that the last time Miss Elizabeth saw him was two days before her master and mistress’s departure for abroad. Mr. Pasquier called late that evening and stayed till past ten o’clock. When Elizabeth was rung for in order to show him out, he was saying goodbye to the Captain in the hall, and she heard him say “in his funny foreign way,” as she put it:
“Well, I shall be in Paris as soon as you. Tink it over, my friend.”
And on the top of that came the story told by Henry Tidy, Sir Montague Bowden’s butler. According to him Captain Saunders called at Sir Montague Bowden’s house in Lowndes Street on the afternoon of the 15th. The two gentlemen remained closeted together in the library for nearly an hour when Tidy was summoned to show the visitor out. Sir Montague, it seems, went to the front door with his nephew, and as the latter finally wished him goodbye Sir Montague said to him:
“My dear boy, you can take it from me that there’s nothing to worry about, and in any case I am afraid that it is too late to make any fresh arrangements.”
“It’s because of Mary,” the Captain rejoined; “she has made herself quite ill over it.”
“The journey will do her good,” Sir Montague went on pleasantly, “but if I were you I would have a good talk with your brother-in-law. He must know his Paris well. Take my advice and spend the night at the Majestic; you can always get rooms there.”
This conversation Tidy heard quite distinctly, and he related the whole incident both to the journalist and to the police. After that the amateur investigators of crime were divided into two camps: there were those who persisted in thinking that Pasquier and Saunders, and probably Mrs. Saunders also, had conspired together to steal the necklace, and that Saunders had acted the farce of being waylaid and robbed and losing his memory; they based their deductions on Elizabeth Spicer’s evidence and on Mary Saunders’s extraordinary persistence in trying to shield the mysterious Pasquier. But other people, getting hold of Henry Tidy’s story, deduced from it that it was indeed Sir Montague Bowden who had planned the whole thing in conjunction with Haasberg, since it was he who had persuaded Saunders to spend the night in Paris, thus giving his accomplice the opportunity of assaulting Saunders and stealing the necklace. To these wiseacres “old Pasquier” was indeed a harmless old pal of Arthur’s, whose presence that evening at the Majestic was either a fable invented by Haasberg, or one quite innocent in purpose. In vain did Sir Montague try to explain away Tidy’s evidence. Arthur, he said, had certainly called on him that last afternoon, but what he seemed worried about was his wife’s health; he feared that she would not be strong enough to undertake the long journey without a break, so Sir Montague advised him to spend the night in Paris and in any case to talk the matter over with Mary’s brother.
The conversation overheard by Tidy could certainly admit of this explanation, but it did not satisfy the many amateur detec
tives who preferred to see a criminal in the chairman of the committee rather than a harmless old gentleman, as eager as themselves to find a solution of the mystery. And while people argued and wrangled there was no news of the necklace, and none of the man with the walrus moustache. No doubt that worthy had by now shaved off his hirsute adornment and grown a beard. He had certainly succeeded in evading the police; whether he had gone to Brussels or succeeded in crossing the German frontier no one could say, but his disappearance certainly bore out the theory of his being the guilty party with the connivance of Saunders, as against the Bowden-Haasberg theory.
As for the necklace it had probably been already taken to pieces and the pearls would presently be disposed of one by one to unscrupulous continental dealers, when the first hue and cry after them had died away.
Captain Saunders was said to be slowly recovering from his loss of memory and subsequent breakdown. Every one at home was waiting to hear what explanation he would give of his amazing conduct in taking the necklace out of the hotel strong room late that night and sallying forth with it into the streets of Paris at that hour. The explanation came after about a fortnight of suspense in a letter from Mary to her friend Mrs. Berners.
Arthur, she said, had told her that on the fateful evening, after he parted from Mr. Haasberg in the Rue de Moncigny, he had felt restless and anxious about what the latter had told him on the subject of foreign hotels, and he was suddenly seized with the idea that the necklace was not safe in the care of the management of the Majestic, because there would come a moment when he would have to claim the tin box and this would probably be handed over to him when the hall of the hotel was crowded, and the eyes of expert thieves would then follow his every movement. Therefore he went back to the hotel, claimed the tin box, and as the latter was large and cumbersome, he got rid of it in one of the cloakrooms of the hotel, slipped the necklace in its velvet case in the pocket of his overcoat and went out with the intention of asking Haasberg to take care of it for him, and only to hand it back to him when on the following evening the train de luxe was on the point of starting. He had been in sight of Haasberg’s lodgings when, without the slightest warning, a dull blow on the back of his head coming he knew not whence, robbed him of consciousness.
This explanation, however, was voted almost unanimously to be very false, and it was, on the whole, as well that the Saunderses had decided to remain abroad for a time. The ladies especially—and above all those who had put their money together for the necklace—were very bitter against him. At best, they averred, he had proved himself a despicable coward as well as a fool, and in any case he had failed in his trust. On the other hand Sir Montague Bowden was having a very rough time of it; he had already had one or two very unpleasant word-tussles with some outspoken friends of his, and there was talk of a slander action that would certainly be a cause célèbre when it came on. Thus the arguments went on in endless succession until one day—well do I remember the excitement that spread throughout the town as soon as the incident became known—there was a terrible row in one of the big clubs in Piccadilly. Sir Montague Bowden was insulted by one of his fellow members: he was called a thief, and asked what share he was getting out of the sale of the necklace. Of course the man who spoke in this unwarrantable fashion was drunk at the time, but nevertheless it was a terrible position for Sir Montague, because as his opponent grew more and more abusive and he himself more and more indignant, he realised that he had practically no friends who would stand by him in the dispute. Some of the members tried to stop the row and others appeared indifferent, but no one sided with him, or returned abuse for abuse on his behalf.
It was in the very midst of this most unedifying scene—one perhaps unparalleled in the annals of London club life—that a club servant entered the room, and handed a telegram to Sir Montague Bowden.
Even the most sceptical there, and those whose brains were almost fuddled with the wrangling and the noise, declared afterwards that a mysterious Providence had ordained that the telegram should arrive at that precise moment. It had been sent to Sir Montague’s private house in Lowndes Street; his secretary had opened it and sent it on to the club. As soon as Sir Montague had mastered its contents he communicated them to the members of the club, and it seems that there never had been such excitement displayed in any assembly of sober Englishmen as was shown in that club-room on this momentous occasion.
The telegram had come all the way from the other end of Europe, and had been sent by the august lady in whose hands the priceless necklace, about which there was so much pother in England and France, had just been safely placed. It ran thus:
“Deeply touched by exquisite present just received through kind offices of Captain Saunders, from English ladies! Kind thoughts and beautiful necklace equally precious. Kindly convey my grateful thanks to all subscribers.”
Having read out the telegram Sir Montague Bowden demanded an apology from those who had impugned his honour, and I understand that he got an unqualified one. After that, male tongues were let loose; the wildest conjectures flew about as to the probable solution of what appeared a more curious mystery than ever. By evening the papers had got hold of the incident, and all those who were interested in the affair shook their heads and looked portentously wise. But the hero of the hour was certainly Captain Saunders. From having been voted either a knave or a fool or both, he was declared all at once to be possessed of all the qualities which had made England great: prudence, astuteness and tenacity. However, as a matter of fact, nobody knew what had actually happened; the august lady had the necklace and Captain Saunders was returning to England without a stain on his character, but as to how these two eminently satisfactory results had come about, not even the wiseacres could say.
Captain and Mrs. Saunders arrived in England a few days later; every one was agog with curiosity, and the poor things had hardly stepped out of the train before they were besieged by newspapermen and pressed with questions. The next morning the Express Post and the Daily Thunderer came out with exclusive interviews with Captain Saunders who had made no secret of the extraordinary adventure which had once more placed him in possession of the necklace. It seems that he and his wife on coming out of the Madeleine Church on Easter Sunday were hustled at the top of the steps by a man whose face they did not see, and who pushed past them very hastily and roughly. Arthur Saunders at once thought of his pockets and looked to see if his note-case had not disappeared. To his boundless astonishment his hand came in contact with a long, hard parcel in the outside pocket of his overcoat, and this parcel proved to be the velvet case containing the missing necklace. Both he and his wife were flabbergasted at this discovery, and, scarcely believing in this amazing piece of good luck, they managed with the help of Mr. Haasberg, despite its being Easter Sunday, to obtain an interview with one of the great jewellers in the Rue de la Paix, who, well knowing the history of the missing necklace, was able to assure them that they had indeed been lucky enough to regain possession of their treasure. That same evening they left by the train de luxe, having been fortunate enough to secure seats; needless to say that the necklace was safely stowed away inside Captain Saunders’s breast pocket.
All was indeed well that ended so well. But the history of the disappearance and re-appearance of the pearl necklace has remained a baffling mystery to this day. Neither the Saunderses nor Mr. Haasberg ever departed one iota from the circumstantial story which they had originally told and no one ever heard another word about the man with the walrus moustache and the gold-rimmed spectacles: the French police are still after him in connection with the assault on le Capitaine Saunders, but no trace of him was ever found.
To some people this was a conclusive proof of guilt, but then, having stolen the necklace, why should he have restored it? Though the pearls were very beautiful and there were a great number of them beautifully matched, there was nothing abnormal about them either in size or colour; there never could be any difficulty for an expert thief to dispose of them t
o continental dealers. The same argument would of course apply to Mr. Haasberg whom some wiseacres still persisted in accusing. If he stole the necklace why should he have restored it? Nothing could be easier than for a businessman who travelled a great deal on the continent to sell a parcel of pearls.
And there always remained the unanswered question: Why did Saunders take the pearls out of the strong room, and where was he taking them to when he was assaulted and robbed? Did the man with the walrus moustache really call at the Majestic that night? And if he was innocent why did he disappear. Why? Why? Why?
III
The case had very much interested me at the time, but the mystery was a nine days’ wonder as far as I was concerned, and soon far more important matters than the temporary disappearance of a few rows of pearls occupied public attention.
It was really only last year when I had renewed my acquaintance with the Man in the Corner that I bethought myself once more of the mystery of the pearl necklace, and I felt the desire to hear what the spook-like creature’s theory was upon the subject.
“The pearl necklace?” he said with a cackle. “Ah, yes, it caused a good bit of stir in its day. But people talked such a lot of irresponsible nonsense that thinking minds had not a chance of arriving at a sensible conclusion.”
Unravelled Knots Page 6
