The Big Book of Victorian Mysteries

by The Big Book of Victorian Mysteries (retail) (epub)

  Some years afterward, when two beautiful children had been born to them, Lady Windermere came down on a visit to Alton Priory, a lovely old place that had been the Duke’s wedding present to his son; and one afternoon as she was sitting with Lady Arthur under a lime tree in the garden, watching the little boy and girl as they played up and down the rose walk, like fitful sunbeams, she suddenly took her hostess’s hand in hers, and said, “Are you happy, Sybil?”

  “Dear Lady Windermere, of course I am happy. Aren’t you?”

  “I have no time to be happy, Sybil. I always like the last person who is introduced to me; but, as a rule, as soon as I know people I get tired of them.”

  “Don’t your lions satisfy you, Lady Windermere?”

  “Oh, dear, no! Lions are only good for one season. As soon as their manes are cut, they are the dullest creatures going. Besides, they behave very badly, if you are really nice to them. Do you remember that horrid Mr. Podgers? He was a dreadful impostor. Of course, I didn’t mind that at all, and even when he wanted to borrow money I forgave him, but I could not stand his making love to me. He has really made me hate cheiromancy. I go in for telepathy now. It is much more amusing.”

  “You mustn’t say anything against cheiromancy here, Lady Windermere. It is the only subject that Arthur does not like people to chaff about. I assure you he is quite serious over it.”

  “You don’t mean to say that he believes in it, Sybil?”

  “Ask him, Lady Windermere, here he is.” And Lord Arthur came up the garden with a large bunch of yellow roses in his hand, and his two children dancing round him.

  “Lord Arthur?”

  “Yes, Lady Windermere.”

  “You don’t mean to say that you believe in cheiromancy?”

  “Of course I do,” said the young man, smiling.

  “But why?”

  “Because I owe to it all the happiness of my life,” he murmured, throwing himself into a wicker chair.

  “My dear Lord Arthur, what do you owe to it?”

  “Sybil,” he answered, handing his wife the roses, and looking into her violet eyes.

  “What nonsense!” cried Lady Windermere. “I never heard such nonsense in all my life.”

  The Mystery of the Strong Room

  L. T. MEADE & ROBERT EUSTACE

  In the history of crime fiction, few villains are the equal of the thoroughly evil leader of an Italian criminal organization known as the Brotherhood of the Seven Kings, the beautiful and brilliant Madame Koluchy. She matches wits with Norman Head, a reclusive philosopher who had once joined her gang before realizing the nature and depth of her depravity.

  Elizabeth Thomasina Meade Smith (1844–1914), using the nom de plume Lillie Thomas Meade, wrote numerous volumes of detective fiction, several of which are historically important. Stories from the Diary of a Doctor (1894; second series 1896), written in collaboration with Dr. Edgar Beaumont pseudonym Dr. Clifford Halifax, is the first series of medical mysteries published in England.

  Other memorable books by Meade include A Master of Mysteries (1898), The Gold Star Line (1899), The Sanctuary Club (1900), which features an unusual health club in which a series of murders is committed by apparently supernatural means, all written in collaboration with Dr. Eustace Robert Barton (1863–1948), pseudonym Robert Eustace, and The Sorceress of the Strand (1903), in which Madame Sara, an utterly sinister villainess, specializes in murder.

  The Brotherhood of the Seven Kings (1899), also a collaborative effort with Barton, is the first series of stories about a female crook. In each episode, it seems that Norman Head has at last caught the evil Madame Koluchy but, although he may thwart her nefarious schemes, he misses seeing her behind bars by this much. The volume was selected by Ellery Queen for Queen’s Quorum as one of the one hundred and six most important collections of mystery short stories in the history of the genre. Curiously, only Meade’s name appears on the front cover and spine of the book, though Eustace is given credit as the cowriter on the title page.

  Robert Eustace is known mainly for his collaborations with other writers. In addition to working with Meade, Barton cowrote several stories with Edgar Jepson; a novel with the once-popular mystery writer Gertrude Warden, The Stolen Pearl: A Romance of London (1903); and, most famously, a novel with Dorothy L. Sayers, The Documents in the Case (1930).

  “The Mystery of the Strong Room” was originally published in the August 1898 issue of The Strand Magazine; it was first issued in book form in The Brotherhood of the Seven Kings (London, Ward, Lock, 1899).

  THE MYSTERY OF THE STRONG ROOM

  L. T. Meade & Robert Eustace

  Late in the autumn of that same year Mme. Koluchy was once more back in town. There was a warrant out for the arrest of Lockhart, who had evidently fled the country; but Madame, still secure in her own invincible cunning, was at large. The firm conviction that she was even now preparing a mine for our destruction was the reverse of comforting, and Dufrayer and I spent many gloomy moments as we thought over the possibilities of our future.

  On a certain evening towards the latter end of October I went to dine with my friend. I found him busy arranging his table, which was tastefully decorated, and laid for three.

  “An unexpected guest is coming to dine,” he said, as I entered the room. “I must speak to you alone before he arrives. Come into the smoking-room; he may be here at any moment.”

  I followed Dufrayer, who closed the door behind us.

  “I must tell you everything and quickly,” he began, “and I must also ask you to be guided by me. I have consulted with Tyler, and he says it is our best course.”

  “Well?” I interrupted.

  “The name of the man who is coming here to-night is Maurice Carlton,” continued Dufrayer. “His mother was a Greek, but on the father’s side he comes of a good old English stock. He inherited a place in Norfolk, Cor Castle, from his father; but the late owner lost heavily on the turf, and in consequence the present man has endeavoured to retrieve his fortunes as a diamond merchant. I met him some years ago in Athens. He has been wonderfully successful, and is now, I believe—or, at least, so he says—one of the richest men in Europe. He called upon me with regard to some legal business, and in the course of conversation referred incidentally to Mme. Koluchy. I drew him out, and found that he knew a good deal about her, but what their actual relations are I cannot say. I was very careful not to commit myself, and after consideration decided to ask him to dine here to-night in order that we both might see him together. I have thought over everything carefully, and am quite sure our only course now is not to mention anything we know about Madame. We may only give ourselves away in doing so. By keeping quiet we shall have a far better chance of seeing what she is up to. You agree with me, don’t you?”

  “Surely, we ought to acquaint Carlton with her true character?” I replied.

  Dufrayer shrugged his shoulders impatiently.

  “No,” he said, “we have played that game too often, and you know what the result has been. Believe me, we shall serve both his interests and ours best by remaining quiet. Carlton is living now at his own place, but comes up to London constantly. About two years ago he married a young English lady, who was herself the widow of an Italian. I believe they have a son, but am not quite sure. He seems an uncommonly nice fellow himself, and I should say his wife was fortunate in her husband; but, there, I hear his ring—let us go into the next room.”

  We did so, and the next moment Carlton appeared. Dufrayer introduced him to me, and soon afterwards we went into the dining-room. Carlton was a handsome man, built on a somewhat massive scale. His face was of the Greek type, but his physique that of an Englishman. He had dark eyes, somewhat long and narrow, and apt, except when aroused, to wear a sleepy expression. It needed but a glance to show that in his blood was a mixture of the fiery East, with the nonchalance and suppression of all
feeling which characterize John Bull. As I watched him, without appearing to do so, I came to the conclusion that I had seldom seen more perfect self-possession, or stronger indications of suppressed power.

  As the meal proceeded, conversation grew brisk and brilliant. Carlton talked well, and, led on by Dufrayer, gave a short résumé of his life since they had last met.

  “Yes,” he said, “I am uncommonly lucky, and have done pretty well on the whole. Diamond dealing, as perhaps you know, is one of the most risky things that any man can take up, but my early training gave me a sound knowledge of the business, and I think I know what I am about. There is no trade to which the art of swindling has been more applied than to mine; but, there, I have had luck, immense luck, such as does not come to more than one man in a hundred.”

  “I suppose you have had some pretty exciting moments,” I remarked.

  “No, curiously enough,” he replied; “I have personally never had any very exciting times. Big deals, of course, are often anxious moments, but beyond the natural anxiety to carry a large thing through, my career has been fairly simple. Some of my acquaintances, however, have not been so lucky, and one in particular is just going through a rare experience.”

  “Indeed,” I answered; “are you at liberty to tell us what it is?”

  He glanced from one of us to the other.

  “I think so,” he said. “Perhaps you have already heard of the great Rocheville diamond?”

  “No,” I remarked; “tell us about it, if you will.”

  Dinner being over, he leant back in his chair and helped himself to a cigar.

  “It is curious how few people know about this diamond,” he said, “although it is one of the most beautiful stones in the world. For actual weight, of course, many of the well-known stones can beat it. It weighs exactly eighty-two carats, and is an egg-shaped stone with a big indented hollow at the smaller end; but for lustre and brilliance I have never seen its equal. It has had a curious history. For centuries it was in the possession of an Indian Maharajah—it was bought from him by an American millionaire, and passed through my hands some ten years ago. I would have given anything to have kept it, but my finances were not so prosperous as they are now, and I had to let it go. A Russian baron bought it and took it to Naples, where it was stolen. This diamond was lost to the world till a couple of months ago, when it turned up in this country.”

  When Carlton mentioned Naples, the happy hunting-ground of the Brotherhood, Dufrayer glanced at me.

  “But there is a fatality about its ownership,” he continued; “it has again disappeared.”

  “How?” I cried.

  “I wish I could tell you,” he answered. “The circumstances of its loss are as follows: A month ago my wife and I were staying with an old friend, a relation of my mother’s, a merchant named Michael Röden, of Röden Frères, Cornhill, the great dealers. Röden said he had a surprise for me, and he showed me the Rocheville diamond. He told me that he had bought it from a Cingalese dealer in London, and for a comparatively small price.”

  “What is its actual value?” interrupted Dufrayer.

  “Roughly, I should think about fifteen thousand pounds, but I believe Röden secured it for ten. Well, poor chap, he has now lost both the stone and his money. My firm belief is that what he bought was an imitation, though how a man of his experience could have done such a thing is past knowledge. This is exactly what happened. Mrs. Carlton and I, as I have said, were staying down at his place in Staffordshire, and he had the diamond with him. At my wife’s request, for she possesses a most intelligent interest in precious stones, he took us down to his strong room, and showed it to us. He meant to have it set for his own wife, who is a very beautiful woman. The next morning he took the diamond up to town, and Mrs. Carlton and I returned to Cor Castle. I got a wire from Röden that same afternoon, begging me to come up at once. I found him in a state of despair. He showed me the stone, to all appearance identically the same as the one we had looked at on the previous evening, and declared that it had just been proved to be an imitation. He said it was the most skilful imitation he had ever seen. We put it to every known test, and there was no doubt whatever that it was not a diamond. The specific gravity test was final on this point. The problem now is: Did he buy the real diamond which has since been stolen or an imitation? He swears that the Rocheville diamond was in his hands, that he tested it carefully at the time; he also says that since it came into his possession it was absolutely impossible for anyone to steal it, and yet that the theft has been committed there is very little doubt. At least one thing is clear, the stone which he now possesses is not a diamond at all.”

  “Has anything been discovered since?” I asked.

  “Nothing,” replied Carlton, rising as he spoke, “and never will be, I expect. Of one thing there is little doubt. The shape and peculiar appearance of the Rocheville diamond are a matter of history to all diamond dealers, and the maker of the imitation must have had the stone in his possession for some considerable time. The facsimile is absolutely and incredibly perfect.”

  “Is it possible,” said Dufrayer, suddenly, “that the strong room in Röden’s house could have been tampered with?”

  “You would scarcely say so if you knew the peculiar make of that special strong room,” replied Carlton. “I think I can trust you and your friend with a somewhat important secret. Two strong rooms have been built, one for me at Cor Castle, and one for my friend Röden at his place in Staffordshire. These rooms are constructed on such a peculiar plan, that the moment any key is inserted in the lock electric bells are set ringing within. These bells are connected in each case with the bedroom of the respective owners. Thus you will see for yourselves that no one could tamper with the lock without immediately giving such an alarm as would make any theft impossible. My friend Röden and I invented these special safes, and got them carried out on plans of our own. We both believe that our most valuable stones are safer in our own houses than in our places of business in town. But, stay, gentlemen, you shall see for yourselves. Why should you not both come down to my place for a few days’ shooting? I shall then have the greatest possible pleasure in showing you my strong room. You may be interested, too, in seeing some of my collection—I flatter myself, a unique one. The weather is perfect just now for shooting, and I have plenty of pheasants, also room enough and to spare. We are a big, cheerful party, and the lioness of the season is with us, Mme. Koluchy.”

  As he said the last words both Dufrayer and I could not refrain from starting. Luckily it was not noticed—my heart beat fast.

  “It is very kind of you,” I said. “I shall be charmed to come.”

  Dufrayer glanced at me, caught my eye, and said, quietly:—

  “Yes, I think I can get away. I will come, with pleasure.”

  “That is right. I will expect you both next Monday, and will send to Durbrook Station to meet you, by any train you like to name.”

  We promised to let him know at what time we should be likely to arrive, and soon afterwards he left us. When he did so we drew our chairs near the fire.

  “Well, we are in for it now,” said Dufrayer. “Face to face at last—what a novel experience it will be! Who would believe that we were living in the dreary nineteenth century? But, of course, she may not stay when she hears we are coming.”

  “I expect she will,” I answered; “she has no fear. Halloa! who can this be now?” I added, as the electric bell of the front door suddenly rang.

  “Perhaps it is Carlton back again,” said Dufrayer; “I am not expecting anyone.”

  The next moment the door was opened, and our principal agent, Mr. Tyler himself, walked in.

  “Good evening, gentlemen,” he said. “I must apologize for this intrusion, but important news has just reached me, and the very last you would expect to hear.” He chuckled as he spoke. “Mme. Koluchy’s house in Welbeck Street was b
roken into a month ago. I am told that the place was regularly sacked. She was away in her yacht at the time, after the attempt on your life, Mr. Head; and it is supposed that the place was unguarded. Whatever the reason, she has never reported the burglary, and Ford at Scotland Yard has only just got wind of it. He suspects that it was done by the same gang that broke into the jeweller’s in Piccadilly some months ago. It is a very curious case.”

  “Do you think it is one of her own gang that has rounded on her?” I asked.

  “Hardly,” he replied; “I do not believe any of them would dare to. No, it is an outside job, but Ford is watching the matter for the official force.”

  “Mr. Dufrayer and I happen to know where Madame Koluchy is at the present moment,” I said.

  I then gave Tyler a brief résumé of our interview with Carlton, and told him that it was our intention to meet Madame face to face early in the following week.

  “What a splendid piece of luck!” he cried, rubbing his hands with ill-suppressed excitement. “With your acumen, Mr. Head, you will be certain to find out something, and we shall have her at last. I only wish the chance were mine.”

  “Well, have yourself in readiness,” said Dufrayer; “we may have to telegraph to you at a moment’s notice. Be sure we shall not leave a stone unturned to get Madame to commit herself. For my part,” he added, “although it seems scarcely credible, I strongly suspect that she is at the bottom of the diamond mystery.”