Mr. Golden held out his hand for it.
"Permit me for one moment, Countess."
The Countess handed him the case. Mr. Golden opened it. Mr. Ruby, leaning back in his chair, watched his partner examine the contents. The Countess watched him too. Mr. Golden took out one glittering ornament after another. Through a little microscope he peered into its inmost depths. He turned it over and over, and peered and peered, as though he would read its very heart. When he had concluded his examination he turned to the lady.
"How came you to submit these ornaments to Mr. Ahrens?"
"I don't mind telling you. Not in the least! I happened to want some money. I didn't care to ask the Earl for it. I thought of those things—you had charged me £800 for them, so I thought that he would let me have £200 upon them as a loan. When he told me that they were nothing but rubbish I thought I should have had a fit."
"Where have they been in the interval between your purchasing them from us and your taking them to Mr. Ahrens?"
"Where have they been? Where do you suppose they've been? They have been in my jewel case, of course."
Mr. Golden replaced the ornaments in their satin beds. He closed the case.
"Every inquiry shall be made into the matter, Countess, you may rest assured of that. We cannot afford to lose our money, any more than you can afford to lose your diamonds."
Directly the lady's back was turned Mr. Ruby put a question to his partner. "Well, are they false?"
"They are. It is a good imitation, one of the best imitations I remember to have seen. Still it is an imitation."
"Do you—do you think she did it?"
"That is more than I can say. Still, when a lady buys diamonds on Saturday, upon credit, and takes them to a pawnbroker on Tuesday, to raise money on them, one may be excused for having one's suspicions."
While the partners were still discussing the matter, the door was opened by an assistant. "Mr. Gray wishes to see Mr. Ruby."
Before Mr. Ruby had an opportunity of saying whether or not he wished to see Mr. Gray, rather unceremoniously Mr. Gray himself came in.
"I should think I do want to see Mr. Ruby, and while I'm about it, I may as well see Mr. Golden too." Mr. Gray turned to the assistant, who still was standing at the open door. "You can go."
The assistant looked at Mr. Ruby for instructions. "Yes Thompson, you can go."
When Thompson was gone, and the door was closed, Mr. Gray, who wore his hat slightly on the side of his head, turned and faced the partners. He was a very young man, and was dressed in the extreme of fashion. Taking from his coat tail pocket the familiar leather case, he flung it on to the table with a bang. "I don't know what you call that, but I tell you what I call it. I call it a damned swindle."
Mr. Ruby was shocked.
"Mr. Gray! May I ask of what you are complaining?"
"Complaining! I'm complaining of your selling me a thing for two thousand pounds which is not worth two thousand pence!"
"Indeed? Have we been guilty of such conduct as that?" Mr. Golden picked up the case which Mr. Gray had flung down upon the table. "Is this the diamond necklace which we had the pleasure of selling you the other day?"
Mr. Golden opened the case. He took out the necklace which it contained. He examined it as minutely as he had examined the Countess of Grinstead's ornaments. "This is—very remarkable."
"Remarkable! I should think it is remarkable! I bought that necklace for a lady. As some ladies have a way of doing, she had it valued. When she found that the thing was trumpery, she, of course, jumped to the conclusion that I'd been having her—trying to gain kudos for giving her something worth having at the cheapest possible rate. A pretty state of things, upon my word!"
"This appears to be a lady of acute commercial instincts, Mr. Gray."
"Never mind about that! If you deny that that is the necklace which you sold to me I will prove that it is—in the police court. I am quite prepared for it. Men who are capable of selling a necklace of glass beads as a necklace of diamonds are capable of denying that they ever sold the thing at all."
"Mr. Gray, there is no necessity to use such language to us. If a wrong has been done we are ready and willing to repair it."
"Then repair it!"
It took some time to get rid of Mr. Gray. He had a great deal to say, and a very strong and idiomatic way of saying it. Altogether it was a bad quarter of an hour for Messrs. Ruby and Golden. When, at last, they did get rid of him, Mr. Ruby turned to his partner.
"Golden, it's not possible that the stones in that necklace are false. Those are the stones which we got from Fungst—you remember?"
"I remember very well indeed. They were the stones which we got from Fungst. They are not now. The gems which are at present in this necklace are paste, covered with a thin veneer of real stones. It is an old trick, but I never saw it better done. The workmanship, both in Mr. Gray's necklace and in the Countess of Grinstead's ornaments, is, in its way, perfection."
While Mr. Ruby was still staring at his partner, the door opened and again Mr. Thompson entered. "The Duchess of Datchet."
"Let's hope," muttered Mr. Golden, "that she's not come to charge us with selling any more paste diamonds."
But the Duchess had come to do nothing of the kind. She had come on a much more agreeable errand, from Messrs. Ruby and Golden's point of view—she had come to buy. As it was Mr. Ruby's special rôle to act as salesman to the great—the very great—ladies who patronised that famed establishment, Mr. Golden left his partner to perform his duties.
Mr. Ruby found the Duchess, on that occasion, difficult to please. She wanted something in diamonds, to present to Lady Edith Linglithgow on the occasion of her approaching marriage. As Lady Edith is the Duke's first cousin, as all the world knows, almost, as it were, his sister, the Duchess wanted something very good indeed. Nothing which Messrs. Ruby and Golden had seemed to be quite good enough, except one or two things which were, perhaps, too good. The Duchess promised to return with the Duke himself to-morrow, or, perhaps, the day after. With that promise Mr. Ruby was forced to be content.
The instant the difficult very great lady had vanished, Mr. Golden came into the room. He placed upon the table some leather cases.
"Ruby what do you think of those?"
"Why, they're from stock, aren't they?" Mr. Ruby took up some of the cases which Mr. Golden had put down. There was quite a heap of them. They contained rings, bracelets, necklaces, odds and ends in diamond work. "Anything the matter with them, Golden?"
"There's this the matter with them—that they're all paste."
"Golden!"
"I've been glancing through the stock. I haven't got far, but I've come upon those already. Somebody appears to be having a little joke at our expense. It strikes me, Ruby, that we're about to be the victims of one of the greatest jewel robberies upon record."
"Golden!"
"Have you been showing this to the Duchess?"
Mr. Golden picked up a necklace of diamonds from a case which lay open on the table, whose charms Mr. Ruby had been recently exhibiting to that difficult great lady. "Ruby!—Good Heavens!"
"Wha-what's the matter?"
"They're paste!"
Mr. Golden was staring at the necklace as though it were some hideous thing.
"Paste!—G-G-Golden!" Mr. Ruby positively trembled. "That's Kesteeven's necklace which he brought in this morning to see if we could find a customer for it."
"I'm quite aware that this was Kesteeven's necklace. Now it would be dear at a ten-pound note."
"A ten-pound note! He wants ten thousand guineas! It's not more than an hour since he brought it—no one can have touched it."
"Ruby, don't talk nonsense! I saw Kesteeven's necklace when he brought it, I see this thing now. This is not Kesteeven's necklace—it has been changed!"
"Golden!"
"To whom have you shown this necklace?"
"To the Duchess of Datchet."
"To whom else?"
"To no one."
"Who has been in this room?"
"You know who has been in the room as well as I do."
"Then—she did it."
"She?—Who?"
"The Duchess!"
"Golden! you are mad!"
"I shall be mad pretty soon. We shall be ruined! I've not the slightest doubt but that you've been selling people paste for diamonds for goodness knows how long."
"Golden!"
"You'll have to come with me to Datchet House. I'll see the Duke—I'll have it out with him at once." Mr. Golden threw open the door. "Thompson, Mr. Ruby and I are going out. See that nobody comes near this room until we return."
To make sure that nobody did come near that room Mr. Golden turned the key in the lock, and pocketed the key.
Chapter II
When Messrs. Ruby and Golden arrived at Datchet House they found the Duke at home. He received them in his own apartment. On their entrance he was standing behind a writing table.
"Well, gentlemen, to what am I indebted for the honour of this visit?"
Mr. Golden took on himself the office of spokesman.
"We have called, your Grace, upon a very delicate matter." The Duke inclined his head—he also took a seat. "The Duchess of Datchet has favoured us this morning with a visit."
"The Duchess!"
"The Duchess."
Mr. Golden paused. He was conscious that this was a delicate matter. "When her Grace quitted our establishment she accidentally"—Mr. Golden emphasised the adverb; he even repeated it—"accidentally left behind some of her property in exchange for ours."
"Mr. Golden!" The Duke stared. "I don't understand you."
Mr. Golden then and there resolved to make the thing quite plain.
"I will be frank with your Grace. When the Duchess left our establishment this morning she took with her some twenty thousand pounds worth of diamonds—it may be more, we have only been able to give a cursory glance at the state of things—and left behind her paste imitations of those diamonds instead."
The Duke stood up. He trembled—probably with anger.
"Mr. Golden, am I—am I to understand that you are mad?"
"The case, your Grace, is as I stated. Is not the case as I state it, Mr. Ruby?"
Mr. Ruby took out his handkerchief to relieve his brow. His habit of showing excessive deference to the feelings and the whims of very great people was almost more than he could master.
"I—I'm afraid, Mr. Golden, that it is. Your—your Grace will understand that—that we should never have ventured to—to come here had we not been most—most unfortunately compelled."
"Pray make no apology, Mr. Ruby. Allow me to have a clear understanding with you, gentlemen. Do I understand that you charge the Duchess of Datchet—the Duchess of Datchet!"—the Duke echoed his own words, as though he were himself unable to believe in the enormity of such a thing—"with stealing jewels from your shop?"
"If your Grace will allow me to make a distinction without a difference—we charge no one with anything. If your Grace will give us your permission to credit the jewels to your account, there is an end of the matter."
"What is the value of the articles which you say have gone?"
"On that point we are not ourselves, as yet, accurately informed. I may as well state at once—it is better to be frank, your Grace—that this sort of thing appears to have been going on for some time. It is only an hour or so since we began to have even a suspicion of the extent of our losses."
"Then, in effect, you charge the Duchess of Datchet with robbing you wholesale?"
Mr. Golden paused. He felt that to such a question as this it would be advisable that he should frame his answer in a particular manner.
"Your Grace will understand that different persons have different ways of purchasing. Lady A. has her way. Lady B. has her way, and the Duchess of Datchet has hers."
"Are you suggesting that the Duchess of Datchet is a kleptomaniac?"
Mr. Golden was silent.
"Do you think that that is a comfortable suggestion to make to a husband, Mr. Golden?" Just then someone tapped at the door. "Who's there?"
A voice—a feminine voice—enquired without, "Can I come in?"
Before the Duke could deny the right of entry, the door opened and a woman entered. A tall woman, and a young and a lovely one. When she perceived Messrs. Ruby and Golden she cast an enquiring look in the direction of the Duke. "Are you engaged?"
The Duke was eyeing her with a somewhat curious expression of countenance. "I believe you know these gentlemen?"
"Do I? I ought to know them perhaps, but I'm afraid I don't."
Mr. Ruby was all affability and bows, and smiles and rubbings of hands.
"I have not had the honour of seeing the lady upon a previous occasion."
The Duke of Datchet stared. "You have not had the honour? Then what—what the dickens do you mean? This is the Duchess!"
"The Duchess!" cried Messrs. Ruby and Golden.
"Certainly—the Duchess of Datchet."
Messrs. Ruby and Golden looked blue. They looked more than blue—they looked several colours of the rainbow all at once. They stared as though they could not believe the evidence of their eyes and ears. The Duke turned to the Duchess. He opened the door for her.
"Duchess, will you excuse me for a moment? I have something which I particularly wish to say to these gentlemen."
The Duchess disappeared. When she had gone the Duke not only closed the door behind her, but he stood with his back against the door which he had closed. His manner, all at once, was scarcely genial.
"Now, what shall I do with you, gentlemen? You come to my house and charge the Duchess of Datchet with having been a constant visitor at your shop for the purpose of robbing you, and it turns out that you have actually never seen the Duchess of Datchet in your lives until this moment."
"But," gasped Mr. Ruby, "that—that is not the lady who came to our establishment, and—and called herself the Duchess of Datchet."
"Well, sir, and what has that to do with me? Am I responsible for the proceedings of every sharper who comes to your shop and chooses to call herself the Duchess of Datchet? I should advise you, in future, before advancing reckless charges, to make some enquiries into the bona fides of your customers, Mr. Ruby. Now, gentlemen, you may go."
The Duke held the door wide open, invitingly. Mr. Golden caught his partner by the sleeve, as though he feared that he would, with undue celerity, accept the invitation.
"Hardly, your Grace, there is still something which we wish to say to you." The Duke of Datchet shut the door again.
"Then say it. Only say it, if possible, in such a manner as not to compel me to—kick you, Mr. Golden."
"Your Grace will believe that in anything I have said, or in anything which I am to say, nothing is further from my wish than to cause your Grace annoyance. But, on the other hand, surely your Grace is too old, and too good a customer of our house, to wish to see us ruined."
"I had rather, Mr. Golden, see you ruined ten thousand times over than that you should ruin my wife's fair fame."
Mr. Golden hesitated; he seemed to perceive that the Duke's retort was not irrelevant. He turned to Mr. Ruby.
"Mr. Ruby, will you be so good as to explain what reasons we had for believing that this person was what she called herself—the Duchess of Datchet? Because your Grace must understand that we did not entertain that belief without having at least some grounds to go upon."
Mr. Ruby, thus appealed to, began to fidget. He did not seem to relish the office which his partner had imposed upon him. The tale which he told was rather lame—still, he told it.
"Your Grace will understand that I—I am acquainted, at least by sight, with most of the members of the British aristocracy, and—and, indeed, of other aristocracies. But it so happened that, at the period of your Grace's recent marriage, I happened to be abroad, and—and, not only so, but—but the lady your Grace married was—was a lady
—from—from the country."
"I am perfectly aware, Mr. Ruby, whom I married."
"Quite so, your Grace, quite so. Only—only I was endeavouring to explain how it was that I—I did not happen to be acquainted with her Grace's personal appearance. So that when a carriage and pair drove up to our establishment with your Grace's crest upon the panel—"
"My crest upon the panel!"
"Your Grace's crest upon the panel"—as Mr. Ruby continued, the Duke of Datchet bit his lip—"and a lady stepped out of it and said, 'I am the Duchess of Datchet; my husband tells me that he is an old customer of yours,' I was only too glad to see her Grace, because, as your Grace is aware, we have the honour of having your Grace as an old customer of ours. 'My husband has given me this cheque to spend with you.' When she said that she took a cheque out of her purse, one of your Grace's own cheques drawn upon Messrs. Coutts, 'Pay Messrs. Ruby and Golden, or order, one thousand pounds,' with your Grace's signature attached. I have seen too many of your Grace's cheques not to know them well. She purchased goods to the value of a thousand pounds, and she gave us your Grace's cheque to pay for them."
"She gave you that cheque, did she?"
Mr. Golden interposed, "We presented the cheque, and it was duly honoured. On the face of such proof as that, what could we suppose?"
The Duke was moving about the room—it seemed, a little restlessly.
"It didn't necessarily follow, because a woman paid for her purchases with a cheque of mine that that woman was the Duchess of Datchet."
"I think, under the peculiar circumstances of the case, that it did. At least, the presumption was strong upon that side. May I ask to whom your Grace's cheque was given?"
"You may ask, but I don't see why I should tell you. It was honoured, and that is sufficient."
"I don't think it is sufficient, and I don't think that your Grace will think so either, if you consider for a moment. If it had not been for the strong presumptive evidence of your Grace's cheque, we should not have been robbed of many thousand pounds."
The Duke of Datchet paced restlessly to and fro. Messrs. Ruby and Golden watched him. At last he moved towards his writing table. He sat down on the chair behind it. He stretched out his legs in front of him. He thrust his hands into his trousers pockets.
Between the Dark and the Daylight Page 7
