“I wish a word with you,” I said. “Follow me.”
I took him into the lock-keeper’s house and closed the door.
“Where are you going?”
“To Havre.”
“Where did you come from?”
“Paris.”
“From what quay?”
“From the Pont de Neuilly.”
“When did you leave there?”
“At five minutes to four o’clock this afternoon.”
“Yesterday afternoon, you mean?”
“Yesterday afternoon.”
“Who engaged you to make this voyage?”
“An American; I do not know his name.”
“He paid you well, I suppose?”
“He paid me what I asked.”
“Have you received the money?”
“Yes, sir.”
“I may inform you, captain, that I am Eugène Valmont, chief detective of the French Government, and that all the police of France at this moment are under my control. I ask you, therefore, to be careful of your answers. You were ordered by a policeman at Denouval to return. Why did you not do so?”
“The lock-keeper ordered me to return, but as he had no right to order me, I went on.”
“You knew very well it was the police who ordered you, and you ignored the command. Again I ask you why you did so.”
“I did not know it was the police.”
“I thought you would say that. You knew very well, but were paid to take the risk, and it is likely to cost you dear. You had two passengers aboard?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Did you put them ashore between here and Denouval?”
“No, sir; but one of them went overboard, and we couldn’t find him again.”
“Which one?”
“The short man.”
“Then the American is still aboard?”
“What American, sir?”
“Captain, you must not trifle with me. The man who engaged you is still aboard?”
“Oh, no, sir; he has never been aboard.”
“Do you mean to tell me that the second man who came on your launch at the Pont de Neuilly is not the American who engaged you?”
“No, sir; the American was a smooth-faced man; this man wore a black beard.”
“Yes, a false beard.”
“I did not know that, sir. I understood from the American that I was to take but one passenger. One came aboard with a small box in his hand; the other with a small bag. Each declared himself to be the passenger in question. I did not know what to do, so I left Paris with both of them on board.”
“Then the tall man with the black beard is still with you?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Well, captain, is there anything else you have to tell me? I think you will find it better in the end to make a clean breast of it.”
The captain hesitated, turning his cap about in his hands for a few moments, then he said—
“I am not sure that the first passenger went overboard of his own accord. When the police hailed us at Denouval—”
“Ah, you knew it was the police, then?”
“I was afraid after I left it might have been. You see, when the bargain was made with me the American said that if I reached Havre at a certain time a thousand francs extra would be paid to me, so I was anxious to get along as quickly as I could. I told him it was dangerous to navigate the Seine at night, but he paid me well for attempting it. After the policeman called to us at Denouval the man with the small box became very much excited, and asked me to put him ashore, which I refused to do. The tall man appeared to be watching him, never letting him get far away. When I heard the splash in the water I ran aft, and I saw the tall man putting the box which the other had held into his handbag, although I said nothing of it at the time. We cruised back and forward about the spot where the other man had gone overboard, but saw nothing more of him. Then I came on to Meulan, intending to give information about what I had seen. That is all I know of the matter, sir.”
“Was the man who had the jewels a Frenchman?”
“What jewels, sir?”
“The man with the small box.”
“Oh, yes, sir; he was French.”
“You have hinted that the foreigner threw him overboard. What grounds have you for such a belief if you did not see the struggle?”
“The night is very dark, sir, and I did not see what happened. I was at the wheel in the forward part of the launch, with my back turned to these two. I heard a scream, then a splash. If the man had jumped overboard as the other said he did, he would not have screamed. Besides, as I told you, when I ran aft I saw the foreigner put the little box in his handbag, which he shut up quickly as if he did not wish me to notice.”
“Very good, captain. If you have told the truth it will go easier with you in the investigation that is to follow.”
I now turned the captain over to one of my men, and ordered in the foreigner with his bag and bogus black whiskers. Before questioning him I ordered him to open the handbag, which he did with evident reluctance. It was filled with false whiskers, false moustaches, and various bottles, but on top of them all lay the jewel case. I raised the lid and displayed that accursed necklace. I looked up at the man, who stood there calmly enough, saying nothing in spite of the overwhelming evidence against him.
“Will you oblige me by removing your false beard?”
He did so at once, throwing it into the open bag. I knew the moment I saw him that he was not the American, and thus my theory had broken down, in one very important part at least. Informing him who I was, and cautioning him to speak the truth, I asked how he came in possession of the jewels.
“Am I under arrest?” he asked.
“But certainly,” I replied.
“Of what am I accused?”
“You are accused, in the first place, of being in possession of property which does not belong to you.”
“I plead guilty to that. What in the second place?”
“In the second place, you may find yourself accused of murder.”
“I am innocent of the second charge. The man jumped overboard.”
“If that is true, why did he scream as he went over?”
“Because, too late to recover his balance, I seized this box and held it.”
“He was in rightful possession of the box; the owner gave it to him.”
“I admit that; I saw the owner give it to him.”
“Then why should he jump overboard?”
“I do not know. He seemed to become panic-stricken when the police at the last lock ordered us to return. He implored the captain to put him ashore, and from that moment I watched him keenly, expecting that if we drew near to the land he would attempt to escape, as the captain had refused to beach the launch. He remained quiet for about half an hour, seated on a camp chair by the rail, with his eyes turned toward the shore, trying, as I imagined, to penetrate the darkness and estimate the distance. Then suddenly he sprung up and made his dash. I was prepared for this, and instantly caught the box from his hand. He gave a half turn, trying either to save himself or to retain the box; then with a scream went down shoulders first into the water. It all happened within a second after he leaped from his chair.”
“You admit yourself, then, indirectly responsible for his drowning, at least?”
“I see no reason to suppose that the man was drowned. If able to swim he could easily have reached the river bank. If unable to swim, why should he attempt it encumbered by the box?”
“You believe he escaped, then?”
“I think so.”
“It will be lucky for you should that prove to be the case.”
“Certainly.”
“How did you come to be in the yacht at all?”
“I shall give you a full account of the affair, concealing nothing. I am a private detective, with an office in London. I was certain that some attempt would be made, probably by the most expert criminals at large, to rob
the possessor of this necklace. I came over to Paris, anticipating trouble, determined to keep an eye upon the jewel case if this proved possible. If the jewels were stolen the crime was bound to be one of the most celebrated in legal annals. I was present during the sale, and saw the buyer of the necklace. I followed the official who went to the bank, and thus learned that the money was behind the cheque. I then stopped outside and waited for the buyer to appear. He held the case in his hand.”
“In his pocket, you mean?” I interrupted.
“He had it in his hand when I saw him. Then the man who afterwards jumped overboard approached him, took the case without a word, held up his hand for a cab, and when an open vehicle approached the curb he stepped in, saying, “The Madeleine.” I hailed a closed cab, instructed the cabman to follow the first, disguising myself with whiskers as near like those the man in front wore as I had in my collection.”
“Why did you do that?”
“As a detective you should know why I did it. I wished as nearly as possible to resemble the man in front, so that if necessity arose I could pretend that I was the person commissioned to carry the jewel case. As a matter of fact, the crisis arose when we came to the end of our cab journey. The captain did not know which was his true passenger, and so let us both remain aboard the launch. And now you have the whole story.”
“An extremely improbable one, sir. Even by your own account you had no right to interfere in this business at all.”
“I quite agree with you there,” he replied, with great nonchalance, taking a card from his pocket-book, which he handed to me.
“That is my London address; you may make inquiries, and you will find I am exactly what I represent myself to be.”
The first train for Paris left Meulan at eleven minutes past four in the morning. It was now a quarter after two. I left the captain, crew, and launch in charge of two of my men, with orders to proceed to Paris as soon as it was daylight. I, supported by the third man, waited at the station with our English prisoner, and reached Paris at half-past five in the morning.
The English prisoner, though severely interrogated by the judge, stood by his story. Inquiry by the police in London proved that what he said of himself was true. His case, however, began to look very serious when two of the men from the launch asserted that they had seen him push the Frenchman overboard, and their statement could not be shaken. All our energies were bent for the next two weeks on trying to find something of the identity of the missing man, or to get any trace of the two Americans. If the tall American were alive, it seemed incredible that he should not have made application for the valuable property he had lost. All attempts to trace him by means of the cheque on the Crédit-Lyonnais proved futile. The bank pretended to give me every assistance, but I sometimes doubt if it actually did so. It had evidently been well paid for its services, and evinced no impetuous desire to betray so good a customer.
We made inquiries about every missing man in Paris, but also without result.
The case had excited much attention throughout the world, and doubtless was published in full in the American papers. The Englishman had been in custody three weeks when the chief of police in Paris received the following letter:—
“Dear Sir—On my arrival in New York by the English steamerLucania, I was much amused to read in the papers accounts of the exploits of detectives, French and English. I am sorry that only one of them seems to be in prison; I think his French confrère ought to be there also. I regret exceedingly, however, that there is the rumour of the death by drowning of my friend Martin Dubois, of 375 Rue aux Juifs, Rouen. If this is indeed the case he has met his death through the blunders of the police. Nevertheless, I wish you would communicate with his family at the address I have given, and assure them that I will make arrangements for their future support.
“I beg to inform you that I am a manufacturer of imitation diamonds, and through extensive advertising succeeded in accumulating a fortune of many millions. I was in Europe when the necklace was found, and had in my possession over a thousand imitation diamonds of my own manufacture. It occurred to me that here was the opportunity of the most magnificent advertisement in the world. I saw the necklace, received its measurements, and also obtained photographs of it taken by the French Government. Then I set my expert friend Martin Dubois at work, and, with the artificial stones I gave him, he made an imitation necklace so closely resembling the original that you apparently do not know it is the unreal you have in your possession. I did not fear the villainy of the crooks as much as the blundering of the police, who would have protected me with brass-band vehemence if I could not elude them. I knew that the detectives would overlook the obvious, but would at once follow a clue if I provided one for them. Consequently, I laid my plans, just as you have discovered, and got Martin Dubois up from Rouen to carry the case I gave him down to Havre. I had had another box prepared and wrapped in brown paper, with my address in New York written thereon. The moment I emerged from the auction room, while my friend the cowboy was holding up the audience, I turned my face to the door, took out the genuine diamonds from the case and slipped it into the box I had prepared for mailing. Into the genuine case I put the bogus diamonds. After handing the box to Dubois, I turned down a side street, and then into another whose name I do not know, and there in a shop with sealing wax and string did up the real diamonds for posting. I labelled the package “Books”, went to the nearest post office, paid letter postage, and handed it over unregistered as if it were of no particular value. After this I went to my rooms in the Grand Hotel where I had been staying under my own name for more than a month. Next morning I took train for London, and the day after sailed from Liverpool on the Lucania. I arrived before the Gascoigne, which sailed from Havre on Saturday, met my box at the Customs house, paid duty, and it now reposes in my safe. I intend to construct an imitation necklace which will be so like the genuine one that nobody can tell the two apart; then I shall come to Europe and exhibit the pair, for the publication of the truth of this matter will give me the greatest advertisement that ever was.
“Yours truly,
“John P Hazard.”
I at once communicated with Rouen and found Martin Dubois alive and well. His first words were:—“I swear I did not steal the jewels.”
He had swum ashore, tramped to Rouen, and kept quiet in great fear while I was fruitlessly searching Paris for him. It took Mr. Hazard longer to make his imitation necklace than he supposed, and several years later he booked his passage with the two necklaces on the ill-fated steamer Burgoyne, and now rests beside them at the bottom of the Atlantic.
Full many a gem of purest ray serene,
The dark unfathomed caves of ocean bear.
THE GREAT PEGRAM MYSTERY, by Robert Barr
With apologies to Dr. Conan Doyle, and our mutual and lamented friend the late Sherlock Holmes
I dropped in on my friend, Sherlaw Kombs, to hear what he had to say about the Pegram mystery, as it had come to be called in the newspapers. I found him playing the violin with a look of sweet peace and serenity on his face, which I never noticed on the countenances of those within hearing distance. I knew this expression of seraphic calm indicated that Kombs had been deeply annoyed about something. Such, indeed, proved to be the case, for one of the morning papers had contained an article, eulogizing the alertness and general competence of Scotland Yard.
So great was Sherlaw Kombs’s contempt for Scotland Yard that he never would visit Scotland during his vacations, nor would he ever admit that a Scotchman was fit for anything but export.
He generously put away his violin, for he had a sincere liking for me, and greeted me with his usual kindness.
“I have come,” I began, plunging at once into the matter on my mind, “to hear what you think of the great Pegram mystery.”
“I haven’t heard of it,” he said quietly, just as if all London were not talking of that very thing. Kombs was curiously ignorant on some subjects, and abnormally learned o
n others. I found, for instance, that political discussion with him was impossible, because he did not know who Salisbury and Gladstone were. This made his friendship a great boon.
“The Pegram mystery has baffled even Gregory, of Scotland Yard.”
“I can well believe it,” said my friend, calmly. “Perpetual motion, or squaring the circle, would baffle Gregory. He’s an infant, is Gregory.”
This was one of the things I always liked about Kombs. There was no professional jealousy in him, such as characterizes so many other men.
He filled his pipe, threw himself into his deep-seated arm-chair, placed his feet on the mantel, and clasped his hands behind his head.
“Tell me about it,” he said simply.
“Old Barrie Kipson,” I began, “was a stockbroker in the City. He lived in Pegram, and it was his custom to—”
“Come in!” shouted Kombs, without changing his position, but with a suddenness that startled me. I had heard no knock.
The Victorian Mystery Megapack: 27 Classic Mystery Tales Page 46
