The Black Lizard Big Book of Locked-Room Mysteries

by Otto Penzler

  “As it happens, I can,” I was able to reply. And I need not explain that a sixty horse-power Centuria does take a bit of handling!

  “Good. Come down to the library, Meredith.”

  A little puzzled at his abruptness, I followed him downstairs into a long narrow book-lined room. It was divided into two portions by an archway hung with crimson curtains, and there were many filing-cabinets around the walls. Raphael jerked out a drawer.

  “Here’s some of the material for the book I’m compiling. I work a lot at night. If you come here, you’ll have to sleep when you get the chance, and I can’t say you’ll have much time to yourself.”

  At my eager response, his white teeth were revealed in a quick smile. He stood for a time with his eyes half-closed in thought. “I like you, Meredith,” he said at last. “How soon could you start?”

  “To-night if you like, sir.”

  “To-night? That will suit me admirably,” he said, to my surprise. “I’ll be glad of your help.” He gave a quick nod. “Paine will see that your room is ready. Why not go now and bring what you require for the night? Be back here by nine o’clock, Meredith—I have a rather curious case on hand, and I want you to take some notes.” He paused and shot a glance at me. “Will the sight of a dead body make you feel squeamish? I have to examine one to-night—the corpse of a murdered man.”

  For a moment I wondered if he was pulling my leg.

  “I can’t say I’m exactly familiar with corpses,” I replied with a laugh, “but taking notes on a post-mortem will be quite a novel experience.”

  “A novelty that will soon wear off, Meredith! All pathology is dull—except criminal pathology. It is crime that is fascinating—the impulse to steal, to kill!” His dark eyes gleamed. “The oldest impulses in the world! They lurk in the heart of every man, of every saint.… Impulses that are curbed but not extinct.” He looked at me through curling wreaths of cigarette smoke. “Ever heard of the Kestar diamond?”

  “There was something about it in the morning newspapers,” I replied. “Hasn’t some Hatton Garden man bought it?”

  Raphael nodded. “It came over from Paris this forenoon, and it was stolen—half an hour ago.”

  “Stolen! Fifty thousand pounds’ worth——”

  “Only one man knows who the thief is—and he’s dead. Murdered in Jacob Bluthner’s office in Hatton Garden. Bluthner was the dealer who’d bought the stone—a flawless blue-white of five hundred carats.… But we won’t go into that now.” He turned aside with a yawn. “I’m expecting Inspector Hanson from Scotland Yard at nine o’clock. I’ll look for you at that hour, Meredith. Until then, good-bye.”

  Dr. Raphael closed the front door behind me and I drove in a taxi-cab to my rooms in Marylebone, where I packed a suitcase for the night, and left the rest of my things ready to be moved on the morrow. As I looked around my old lodgings, I could scarcely believe my good fortune. After coming down from Oxford, I had fooled about in London for nearly a year enjoying myself and vaguely hoping to make my way in Literature, but in the end I had decided to take the first suitable job that came my way—and, thanks to my father’s old friend, Latimer of Harley Street, this one had tumbled into my hands, a job that promised experiences of the most novel kind, to say nothing of my contacts with a most unusual man. I knew it wasn’t going to be easy to work for Dr. Raphael, but it was going to be devilishly interesting!

  As nine o’clock struck I was back at Temple House; and Paine, the manservant, led me straight upstairs to show me my bedroom.

  “Dr. Raphael asked me to mention that he is waiting for you in the library, sir,” he said; and handing over the key of my suitcase, I hurried downstairs at once.

  Raphael was standing in front of the electric fire, his hands in the pockets of his dressing-gown. “You’re punctual, Meredith,” he said with a nod, “and I like punctuality above all things. I think Inspector Hanson is just arriving—you can set your watch by that man.”

  A motor had drawn up outside, there was a voice in the hall, and the library door opened.

  “Any further news?” enquired Raphael at once.

  “Nothing of much account, doctor,” replied the newcomer, a short square-faced man with a black moustache. He had a slightly pompous manner, and he gave me a curt nod when Raphael introduced us. “We’ve brought along the body,” he continued. “The police ambulance is at the side door. How long do you expect to be over the job, doctor?”

  “Tell the ambulance to wait,” said Raphael. “We’ll go through to the laboratory now. To save time, Mr. Meredith will take notes for me.”

  He led the way through the hall; and, throwing open a door, he switched on the lights. I found myself in a long wide chamber with powerful daylight lamps illuminating the rows of test-tubes, retorts, Bunsen burners, and other scientific apparatus on the benches. The walls were lined with shelves and cabinets, containing jars and bottles of many sizes and colours, and a big microscope stood in the corner.

  Raphael opened the door on the left, and glanced into the room beyond. “They’ve already brought it in,” he said, stripping off his dressing-gown and donning white overalls. “Come along, Meredith. This poor devil can’t hurt anybody now.”

  On a metal table in the middle of the room there lay the body of a man. The white face was peaceful, the head was turned a little to one side, and on the forehead there was a trickle of congealed blood from a bruise on the temple.

  “The work of the Lucian gang,” said Inspector Hanson decisively.

  “Think so?” Raphael was examining the pale hands through a magnifying glass. “Where’s the divisional surgeon’s report, Hanson?”

  The Inspector pulled a sheet of paper from his pocket. “A deputy was on duty to-night. His report says this man Oakley died of shock following a blow on the head. That’s simple enough. What isn’t so simple is how the thief escaped. From the moment the diamond arrived in Jacob Bluthner’s office at Hatton Garden, a plain-clothes man was detailed to keep watch——”

  “Why was there a plain-clothes man on duty?” interrupted Raphael. “It isn’t usual. Was there a special request for protection?”

  “Request by Mr. Bluthner, head of the firm,” nodded the Inspector. “But we had a reason of our own for keeping a look-out. We had word that the Lucian gang were after this stone. It’s uncut, and can be broken up easily.”

  He went on to explain what had happened in the diamond-merchant’s office. By six o’clock everyone had gone home except Oakley, the dead man, who had been Bluthner’s confidential clerk. After six, nobody had entered the office, except the charwoman, and nobody had left it. The plain-clothes man, posted in the room beside the front door, was confident of this. At six-thirty he heard the telephone ring in Oakley’s room.

  “He knew Oakley was still there,” continued the Inspector, “but the bell kept on ringing, and then our man found Oakley’s door had been locked on the inside! He could get no reply, so he burst his way in. Oakley was dead in his chair. The safe in the corner was open—and the Kestar diamond gone.”

  “That’s more or less what I was told by telephone,” remarked Raphael absent-mindedly. He was peering closely into the dead man’s eyes with a strong flash-light, and then he looked up. “I’m going to take a blood-film,” he said. “Get me a glass slide, Meredith—you’ll find one out there in the box beside the microscope.”

  “I fancy it’s a waste of time, doctor. We know how Oakley met his death. What we don’t know is how a member of the Lucian gang got into the place—and got away.”

  Raphael straightened up. “I doubt if the Lucian gang had the brains to pull off a job like that. They’re gunmen pure and simple—not artists. This is more like the ‘Baron’s’ work.”

  “Perhaps it is,” admitted Hanson. “The ‘Baron’ was the smartest jewel-thief in England once. We didn’t even know his identity, though we believe he once called himself William Baron, and we have his finger-prints at the Yard. But we’ve had no trouble from him
for two years. They say he’s left the country.”

  “I wonder,” murmured Raphael, bending again over the body on the table. With the point of a lancet he made a tiny incision in the wrist, smeared a speck of blood upon the glass-slide I had brought him, and then he hurried through to the microscope. When he returned I could see in his eye an expression which I soon learned to recognise—a dreamy look which concealed intense activity of thought. He again picked up the tiny flash-lamp and examined the bloodless lips and nostrils, then he looked across to Hanson.

  “This isn’t so simple as it looks, Inspector,” he said slowly. “Tell your ambulance-men to go away. This body must remain here for the night. I want to examine it more carefully.”

  Inspector Hanson nodded. “It did occur to me that some dope had been used. Our plain-clothes man heard no sound of a struggle. But I don’t see that the point can help us much.”

  Raphael bit his lip. “What time did you arrange for me to meet Mr. Bluthner and the others at the office in Hatton Garden?”

  “Ten o’clock. We haven’t got much time in hand. I’ve to call back at the Yard first, so I’d better slip along. I’ll come right back here, doctor.”

  “Good,” said Raphael. “Meredith, you might take the Inspector to Scotland Yard in my car. I’ll be ready when you return. Look, I’ll show you the garage.”

  He opened a door on the other side of the ante-room, and I stepped out into an alley that ran down beside the house. The garage was half a dozen yards away, and I ran out to Dr. Raphael’s big Centuria. The two men were talking about finger-prints, and with a final word the Inspector got into the car beside me.

  I waited in the big dismal entrance-hall of Scotland Yard until he had completed his business, and he returned with a small attaché-case in his hand.

  “I’ve brought the stuff,” he said as Dr. Raphael stepped into the car beside us at the front door of Temple House; and as I drove along the Embankment and turned northward, I could hear from their talk that they were back on the subject of finger-prints. Under Hanson’s directions, I drew up by the kerb in Hatton Garden, and followed the two men upstairs.

  At the top of the building, a plain-clothes man let us in to the dingy offices of Jacob Bluthner, Diamond Merchant, and Inspector Hanson went along the passage.

  “This is Oakley’s room,” he said. “Everything has been left as it was when the patrol burst in the door at half-past six and found Oakley dead and the diamond gone. As you know, doctor, it was locked on the inside—and nobody entered the office after six o’clock.”

  “Except the charwoman,” added Raphael, his dark eyes making a slow survey of the room. In one corner, a big safe stood open, and the door of a smaller safe was ajar.

  “I’ve seen the charwoman,” declared Hanson. “We can count her out of it.”

  “We can count nobody out of it,” said Raphael. “Not even Jacob Bluthner himself.” He went over to the window and looked down to the street. “Four floors up,” he murmured.

  “No cat-burglar could have done this job, doctor!” And then Hanson’s eyes followed Raphael’s glance to the open ventilator in the glass partition that lit the next room. “I thought of that, doctor,” he said quickly. “It’s a mighty thin man who could wriggle through that hole.”

  “But it could be done. No finger-prints in the dust up there?”

  “No marks at all,” asserted Hanson. “This is the smartest thing the Lucian gang has ever pulled off. I don’t generally admit I’m beaten, and I’m not admitting it just yet.” He flung down his hat on the desk and mopped his forehead. “Hullo, that sounds like Bluthner.”

  There was a loud voice in the corridor, and a stout man pushed open the door. He had a heavy sallow face, and was breathing quickly. With a glance at Dr. Raphael and myself, he turned to Hanson. “Well, Inspector, any nearer to solving this damned business yet?”

  “Leave that to us, Mr. Bluthner,” said Hanson confidently. “We have it well in hand. We’ll probably pull in some of the Lucian gang before morning—there’s little doubt it was their job. This is Dr. Raphael, who is giving me the benefit of his help.”

  “It’s a serious matter for me,” said the diamond merchant.

  “Just exactly how serious, Mr. Bluthner?” asked Raphael quickly. “Was the stone covered by insurance?”

  Bluthner looked a little startled. “Oh, yes,” he admitted. “I had it covered until ten o’clock to-morrow morning, when it was to be handed over to a client of mine.”

  “Then, in actual hard cash, you lose little or nothing by the theft?”

  Bluthner shrugged his shoulders. “Put it that way if you like. I was thinking of the poor fellow who’s lost his life. He was a good man, was Oakley—a man you could trust. He’ll be difficult to replace.”

  Raphael sat down at the dead man’s desk and stared moodily at the blotting-pad. “Apart from Oakley, who was the last to leave the office this evening?” he enquired of Bluthner.

  “I was,” said the other. “The junior clerk and Miss Symons went at their usual hour—half-past five. I brought the diamond in here and placed it in the safe. The combination? I wrote it down on a piece of paper, and Oakley put it between the leaves of a ledger in that other safe. Even if a thief knew that a note of the combination was in there, he’d have had a hard job to find it.”

  “You seem to have taken every precaution, Mr. Bluthner,” said Raphael dryly, “and yet—the worst happened.”

  A few minutes later the junior clerk arrived, a lean little man of about thirty-five who stood uneasily fingering the rim of his hat. “You sent for me?” he said to Inspector Hanson. “I’ve already told you everything I know.”

  “Which wasn’t much, Mr. Winch,” nodded the Inspector.

  “No, indeed. Practically nothing at all,” agreed the clerk. “I only saw the stone for two minutes this forenoon. I——”

  “You were on quite friendly terms with the dead man, Mr. Winch?” enquired Raphael.

  Mr. Winch hesitated. “As a matter of fact, Oakley and I didn’t exactly hit it off.… Not that I bore him any ill will,” he added quickly. “I’m as sorry as everyone else.…”

  “We all are,” put in Mr. Bluthner. “We all are. It’s a shocking business.”

  At the sound of a woman’s voice outside, Inspector Hanson had stepped to the door. “Come right in, Miss Symons. Now that we’re all here, we can get down to business.” He stood aside to let a young woman enter the room.

  She was smartly dressed, and carried herself with confidence. For a moment she seemed surprised; then tucking her bronze curl into place with a neatly gloved hand, she turned her large brown eyes inquiringly towards Inspector Hanson. “You asked me to come here at ten o’clock,” she said in a low voice. “I’m afraid I’m a little unpunctual.”

  “I’m sorry to bring you out at so late an hour, Miss Symons,” replied the Inspector. “I think you can be of some further help to us. This is Dr. Raphael, who is helping in this case. We already have your statement, of course. But several points cropped up later. Please sit down. Go right ahead, Dr. Raphael.”

  Raphael sat back in his chair and lit one of his plump Egyptian cigarettes.

  “Inspector Hanson spoke just now about the Lucian gang,” he said thoughtfully. “As we all know, they have pulled off several big jewel-thefts in the last few years. I don’t think I’m giving away any secret when I say that Scotland Yard knows one or two members of that gang by sight. But to know that a man’s a criminal is a different thing from being able to prove it. Am I right, Inspector?”

  “Quite right. But we’ll rope in that whole crowd one day.… If luck’s on our side, this will be their last job,” declared the Inspector.

  “You are still convinced it was the Lucian gang?” asked Raphael, letting the cigarette smoke trickle in tiny spirals from his lips.

  “I certainly am,” said Inspector Hanson confidently.

  “And so am I,” added Bluthner, dropping into an armchair at the windo
w. “It’s the general opinion in Hatton Garden.”

  “The opinion in Hatton Garden doesn’t interest me,” murmured Raphael, and then he shot a glance at the junior clerk. “But your opinion does, Mr. Winch! You’ve had time to think matters over. Have you come to any conclusion?”

  Winch cleared his throat. “No, sir. I’m completely beaten. When a man’s found dead, and the door locked on the inside …”

  “Ever heard of a certain gentleman who used to be called the ‘Baron’?”

  “Oh, yes, sir. Who hasn’t! But he faded out two years ago. Cleared out to the States, they say.”

  “So you know something of his career, eh?”

  Winch gave a shrug. “Most people in Hatton Garden do. He was a bit of a terror hereabout at one time——”

  “Listen, Mr. Winch. I wonder if this is news to you. The ‘Baron’ was employed in Hatton Garden——he mixed with the diamond people on friendly terms. That’s how he got his inside information about all the big stones long before they came into this country. Is that news to you? Let me tell you something more. There was a blood-feud between him and the Lucian gang. He queered their pitch as often as he could, and they swore to finish him if they discovered his identity. Ever heard that before, Mr. Winch?”

  The clerk moved back half a pace, his haggard eyes darting towards the figure of his employer in the arm-chair. “N-no, I hadn’t heard that, sir.”

  “Is it true?” cut in Jacob Bluthner harshly.

  “Quite true, Mr. Bluthner. The Inspector can bear me out. The ‘Baron’ and the Lucian gang were always deadly enemies. But I can correct Mr. Winch on one point. The ‘Baron’ did not clear out to the States. He remained quietly in Hatton Garden. Unless I’m very far wrong, he’s in London to-night.”