“We must not keep it very long,” she observed while the man was absent. “It is to be returned to the bank in an hour’s time.”
“I am indeed fortunate,” Carne replied, and turned to the description of some curious Indian wood carving, of which he was making a special feature in his book. As he explained, he had collected his illustrations from the doors of Indian temples, from the gateways of palaces from old brass work, and even from carved chairs and boxes he had picked up in all sorts of odd corners. Her Grace was most interested.
“How strange that you should have mentioned it,” she said. “If carved boxes have any interest for you, it is possible my jewel case itself may be of use to you. As I think I told you during Lady Amberley’s dinner, it came from Benares, and has carved upon it the portraits of nearly every god in the Hindu Pantheon.”
“You raise my curiosity to fever heat,” said Carne.
A few moments later the servant returned, bringing with him a wooden box, about sixteen inches long, by twelve wide, and eight deep, which he placed upon a table beside his mistress, after which he retired.
“This is the case to which I have just been referring,” said the Duchess, placing her hand on the article in question. “If you glance at it you will see how exquisitely it is carved.”
Concealing his eagerness with an effort, Simon Carne drew his chair up to the table, and examined the box.
It was with justice she had described it as a work of art. What the wood was of which it was constructed Carne was unable to tell. It was dark and heavy, and, though it was not teak, it closely resembled it. It was literally covered with quaint carving, and of its kind was a unique work of art.
“It is most curious and beautiful,” said Carne when he had finished his examination. “In all my experience I can safely say I have never seen its equal. If you will permit me I should very much like to include a description and an illustration of it in my book.”
“Of course you may do so; I shall be only too delighted,” answered Her Grace. “If it will help you in your work I shall be glad to lend it to you for a few hours, in order that you may have the illustration made.”
This was exactly what Carne had been waiting for, and accepted the offer with alacrity.
“Very well, then,” she said. “On the day of my ball, when it will be brought from the bank again, I will take the necklace out and send the case to you. I must make one proviso, however, and that is that you let me have it back the same day.”
“I will certainly promise to do that,” replied Carne.
“And now let us look inside,” said his hostess. Choosing a key from a bunch carried in her pocket, she unlocked the casket, and lifted the lid. Accustomed as Carne had all his life been to the sight of gems, what he then saw before him almost took his breath away. The inside of the box, both sides and bottom, was quilted with the softest Russia leather, and on this luxurious couch reposed the famous necklace. The fire of the stones when the light caught them was sufficient to dazzle the eyes, so fierce was it. As Carne could see, every gem was perfect of its kind, and there were no fewer than three hundred of them. The setting was a fine example of the jeweller’s art, and last, but not least, the value of the whole affair was fifty thousand pounds, a mere fleabite to the man who had given it to his wife, but a fortune to any humbler person.
“And now that you have seen my property, what do you think of it?” asked the Duchess as she watched her visitor’s face.
“It is very beautiful,” he answered, “and I do not wonder that you are proud of it. Yes, the diamonds are very fine, but I think it is their abiding place that fascinates me more. Have you any objection to my measuring it?”
“Pray do so, if it’s likely to be of any assistance to you,” replied Her Grace.
Carne thereupon produced a small ivory rule, ran it over the box, and the figures he thus obtained he jotted down in his pocket book.
Ten minutes later, when the case had been returned to the safe, he thanked the Duchess for her kindness and took his departure, promising to call in person for the empty case on the morning of the ball.
Reaching home he passed into his study, and, seating himself at his writing table, pulled a sheet of note paper towards him and began to sketch, as well as he could remember it, the box he had seen. Then he leant back in his chair and closed his eyes.
“I have cracked a good many hard nuts in my time,” he said reflectively, “but never one that seemed so difficult at first sight as this. As far as I see at present, the case stands as follows: the box will be brought from the bank where it usually reposes to Wiltshire House on the morning of the dance. I shall be allowed to have possession of it, without the stones of course, for a period possibly extending from eleven o’clock in the morning to four or five, at any rate not later than seven, in the evening. After the ball the necklace will be returned to it, when it will be locked up in the safe, over which the butler and a footman will mount guard.
“To get into the room during the night is not only too risky, but physically out of the question; while to rob Her Grace of her treasure during the progress of the dance would be equally impossible. The Duke fetches the casket and takes it back to the bank himself, so that to all intents and purposes I am almost as far off the solution as ever.”
Half-an-hour went by and found him still seated at his desk, staring at the drawing on the paper, then an hour. The traffic of the streets rolled past the house unheeded. Finally Jowur Singh announced his carriage, and, feeling that an idea might come to him with a change of scene, he set off for a drive in the Park.
By this time his elegant mail phaeton, with its magnificent horses and Indian servant on the seat behind, was as well-known as Her Majesty’s state equipage, and attracted almost as much attention. To-day, however, the fashionable world noticed that Simon Carne looked preoccupied. He was still working out his problem, but so far without much success. Suddenly something, no one will ever be able to say what, put an idea into his head. The notion was no sooner born in his brain than he left the Park and drove quickly home. Ten minutes had scarcely elapsed before he was back in his study again, and had ordered that Wajib Baksh should be sent to him.
When the man he wanted put in an appearance, Carne handed him the paper upon which he had made the drawing of the jewel case.
“Look at that,” he said, “and tell me what thou seest there.”
“I see a box,” answered the man, who by this time was well accustomed to his master’s ways.
“As thou say’st, it is a box,” said Carne. “The wood is heavy and thick, though what wood it is I do not know. The measurements are upon the paper below. Within, both the sides and bottom are quilted with soft leather, as I have also shown. Think now, Wajib Baksh, for in this case thou wilt need to have all thy wits about thee. Tell me, is it in thy power, oh most cunning of all craftsmen, to insert such extra sides within this box that they, being held by a spring, shall lie so snug as not to be noticeable to the ordinary eye? Can it be so arranged that, when the box is locked, they shall fall flat upon the bottom, thus covering and holding fast what lies beneath them, and yet making the box appear to the eye as if it were empty. Is it possible for thee to do such a thing?”
Wajib Baksh did not reply for a few moments.
His instinct told him what his master wanted, and he was not disposed to answer hastily, for he also saw that his reputation as the most cunning craftsman in India was at stake.
“If the Heaven-born will permit me the night for thought,” he said at last, “I will come to him when he rises from his bed and tell him what I can do, and he can then give his orders.”
“Very good,” said Carne. “Then to-morrow morning I shall expect thy report. Let the work be good, and there will be many rupees for thee to touch in return. As to the lock and the way it shall act, let that be the concern of Hira
m Singh.”
Wajib Baksh salaamed and withdrew, and Simon Carne for the time being dismissed the matter from his mind.
Next morning, while he was dressing, Belton reported that the two artificers desired an interview with him. He ordered them to be admitted, and forthwith they entered the room. It was noticeable that Wajib Baksh carried in his hand a heavy box, which he placed upon the table.
“Have ye thought over the matter?” he asked, seeing that the men waited for him to speak.
“We have thought of it,” replied Hiram Singh, who always acted as spokesman for the pair. “If the Presence will deign to look, he will see that we have made a box of the size and shape as he drew upon the paper.”
“Yes, it is certainly a good copy,” said Carne condescendingly, after he had examined it.
Wajib Baksh showed his white teeth in appreciation of the compliment, and Hiram Singh drew closer to the table.
“And now, if the Sahib will open it, he will in his wisdom be able to tell if it resembles the other that he has in his mind.”
Carne opened the box as requested, and discovered that the interior was an exact counterfeit of the Duchess of Wiltshire’s jewel case, even to the extent of the quilted leather lining which had been the other’s principal feature. He admitted that the likeness was all that could be desired.
“As he is satisfied,” said Hiram Singh, “it may be that the Protector of the Poor will deign to try an experiment with it. See, here is a comb. Let it be placed in the box, so—now he will see what he will see.”
The broad, silver-backed comb, lying upon his dressing-table, was placed on the bottom of the box. the lid was closed, and the key turned in the lock. The case being securely fastened, Hiram Singh laid it before his master.
“I am to open it, I suppose?” said Carne, taking the key and replacing it in the lock.
“If my master pleases,” replied the other.
Carne accordingly turned it in the lock, and, having done so, raised the lid and looked inside. His astonishment was complete. To all intents and purposes the box was empty. The comb was not to be seen, and yet the quilted sides and bottom were, to all appearances, just the same as when he had first looked inside.
“This is most wonderful,” he said. And indeed it was as clever a conjuring trick as any he had ever seen.
“Nay, it is very simple,” Wajib Baksh replied. “The Heaven-born told me that there must be no risk of detection.”
He took the box in his own hands and, running his nails down the center of the quilting, divided the false bottom into two pieces; these he lifted out, revealing the comb lying upon the real bottom beneath.
“The sides, as my lord will see,” said Hiram Singh, taking a step forward, “are held in their appointed places by these two springs. Thus, when the key is turned the springs relax, and the sides are driven by others into their places on the bottom, where the seams in the quilting mask the join. There is but one disadvantage. It is as follows: When the pieces which form the bottom are lifted out in order, that my lord may get at whatever lies concealed beneath, the springs must of necessity stand revealed. However, to any one who knows sufficient of the working of the box to lift out the false bottom, it will be an easy matter to withdraw the springs and conceal them about his person.”
“As you say, that is an easy matter,” said Carne, “and I shall not be likely to forget. Now one other question. Presuming I am in a position to put the real box into your hands for say eight hours, do you think that in that time you can fit it up so that detection will be impossible?”
“Assuredly, my lord,” replied Hiram Singh, with conviction. “There is but the lock and the fitting of the springs to be done. Three hours at most would suffice for that.”
“I am pleased with you,” said Carne. “As a proof of my satisfaction, when the work is finished you will each receive five hundred rupees. Now you can go.”
According to his promise, ten o’clock on the Friday following found him in his hansom driving towards Belgrave Square. He was a little anxious, though the casual observer would scarcely have been able to tell it. The magnitude of the stake for which he was playing was enough to try the nerve of even such a past master in his profession as Simon Carne.
Arriving at the house he discovered some workmen erecting an awning across the footway in preparation for the ball that was to take place at night. It was not long, however, before he found himself in the boudoir, reminding Her Grace of her promise to permit him an opportunity of making a drawing of the famous jewel case. The Duchess was naturally busy, and within a quarter of an hour he was on his way home with the box placed on the seat of the carriage beside him.
“Now,” he said as he patted it good-humoredly, “if only the notion worked out by Hiram Singh and Wajib Baksh holds good, the famous Wiltshire diamonds will become my property before very many hours are passed. By this time to-morrow, I suppose, London will be all agog concerning the burglary.”
On reaching his house he left his carriage, and himself carried the box into his study. Once there he rang his bell and ordered Hiram Singh and Wajib Baksh to be sent to him. When they arrived he showed them the box upon which they were to exercise their ingenuity.
“Bring your tools in here,” he said, “and do the work under my own eyes. You have but nine hours before you, so you must make the most of them.”
The men went for their implements, and as soon as they were ready set to work. All through the day they were kept hard at it, with the result that by five o’clock the alterations had been effected and the case stood ready. By the time Carne returned from his afternoon drive in the Park it was quite prepared for the part it was to play in his scheme. Having praised the men, he turned them out and locked the door, then went across the room and unlocked a drawer in his writing table. From it he took a flat leather jewel case, which he opened. It contained a necklace of counterfeit diamonds, if anything a little larger than the one he intended to try to obtain. He had purchased it that morning in the Burlington Arcade for the purpose of testing the apparatus his servants had made, and this he now proceeded to do.
Laying it carefully upon the bottom he closed the lid and turned the key. When he opened it again the necklace was gone, and even though he knew the secret he could not for the life of him see where the false bottom began and ended. After that he reset the trap and tossed the necklace carelessly in. To his delight it acted as well as on the previous occasion. He could scarcely contain his satisfaction. His conscience was sufficiently elastic to give him no trouble. To him it was scarcely a robbery he was planning, but an artistic trial of skill, in which he pitted his wits and cunning against the forces of society in general.
At half-past seven he dined, and afterwards smoked a meditative cigar over the evening paper in the billiard-room. The invitations to the ball were for ten o’clock, and at nine-thirty he went to his dressing-room.
“Make me tidy as quickly as you can,” he said to Belton when the latter appeared, “and while you are doing so listen to my final instructions.”
“To-night, as you know, I am endeavoring to secure the Duchess of Wiltshire’s necklace. To-morrow all London will resound with the hubbub, and I have been making my plans in such a way as to arrange that Klimo shall be the first person consulted. When the messenger calls, if call he does, see that the old woman next door bids him tell the Duke to come personally at twelve o’clock. Do you understand?”
“Perfectly, sir.”
“Very good. Now give me the jewel case, and let me be off. You need not sit up for me.”
Precisely as the clocks in the neighborhood were striking ten Simon Carne reached Belgrave Square, and, as he hoped, found himself the first guest.
His hostess and her husband received him in the ante-room of the drawing-room.
“I come laden with a thousand apologie
s,” he said as he took Her Grace’s hand, and bent over it with that ceremonious politeness which was one of the man’s chief characteristics. “I am most unconscionably early, I know, but I hastened here in order that I might personally return the jewel case you so kindly lent me. I must trust to your generosity to forgive me. The drawings took longer than I expected.”
“Please do not apologize,” answered Her Grace. “It is very kind of you to have brought the case yourself. I hope the illustrations have proved successful. I shall look forward to seeing them as soon as they are ready. But I am keeping you holding the box. One of my servants will take it to my room.”
She called a footman to her, and bade him take the box and place it upon her dressing-table.
“Before it goes I must let you see that I have not damaged it either externally or internally,” said Carne with a laugh. “It is such a valuable case that I should never forgive myself if it had even received a scratch during the time it has been in my possession.”
So saying he lifted the lid and allowed her to look inside. To all appearances it was exactly the same as when she had lent it to him earlier in the day.
“You have been most careful,” she said. And then, with an air of banter, she continued: “If you desire it, I shall be pleased to give you a certificate to that effect.”
They jested in this fashion for a few moments after the servant’s departure, during which time Carne promised to call upon her the following morning at eleven o’clock, and to bring with him the illustrations he had made and a queer little piece of china he had had the good fortune to pick up in a dealer’s shop the previous afternoon. By this time fashionable London was making its way up the grand staircase, and with its appearance further conversation became impossible.
Shortly after midnight Carne bade his hostess good-night and slipped away. He was perfectly satisfied with his evening’s entertainment, and if the key of the jewel case were not turned before the jewels were placed in it, he was convinced they would become his property. It speaks well for his strength of nerve when I record the fact that on going to bed his slumbers were as peaceful and untroubled as those of a little child.
The Big Book of Victorian Mysteries Page 84
