Section 1 of the Rivals of Sherlock Holmes, Volume 1.
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Recording by Beth Thomas. The Rivals of Sherlock Holmes,
Volume 1. Message from the Deep Sea by
Doctor John Jones Pitkin and R Austin Freeman, Part 1 The White
Chapel Rd. Though redeemed by scattered
relics of a more picturesque past from the utter desolation
of its neighbor, the Commercial Road is hardly a gay
thoroughfare, especially at its east and end, where its sordid
modernity seems to reflect the colourless lives of its
inhabitants. Does the grey and dreary length
depress the spirits of the wayfarer?
But the longest and dullest Rd. can be made delightful by
sprightly discourse, seasoned with wit and wisdom.
And so it was that as I walked westward by the side of my
friend John Thorndyke, a long monotonous Rd. seemed all too
short. We had been to the London
Hospital to see a remarkable case of acromegaly, and as we
returned we discussed this curious affliction and the
allied condition of gigantism in all their bearings, from the
origin of the Gibson chin to the physique of OG, King of Bashan.
It would have been interesting, Thorndyke remarked, as we passed
up Aldgate High Street, to put one's finger into His Majesty's
pituitary fossa after his deceased course.
By the way, here is Harrow Alley.
You remember Defoe's description of the dead cart waiting at
here, and the ghastly procession coming down the alley?
He took my arm and LED me up the narrow thoroughfare as far as
the sharp turn by the Star and still Public House, where we
turned to look back. I never passed this place, he
said musingly. But I seemed to hear the clang
of the bell and the dismal cry of the Carter.
He broke off abruptly. 2 figures had suddenly appeared framed in
the archway and now advanced at headlong speed.
One who led was a stout and middle-aged Jewess, very
breathless and dishevelled. The other was a well dressed
young man, hardly less agitated than his companion.
As they approached, the young man suddenly recognized my
colleague and accosted him in agitated tones.
I've just been sent forward to a case of murder or suicide.
Would you mind looking at it for me, Sir?
It's my first case and I feel rather nervous.
Here the woman darted back and plucked the young doctor by the
arm. Hurry, hurry, she exclaimed.
Don't stop to talk. Her face was as white as lard
and shiny with sweat. Her lips twitched, her hands
shook and she stared with the eyes of a frightened child.
Of course I will come, Hart, said Thorndyke, and turning
back, we followed the woman as she elbowed her way frantically
among the foot passengers. Have you started in practice
here? Thorndyke asked as we hurried
along. No, Sir, replied Dr. Hart.
I am an assistant. My principal is the police
Sergeant, but he is out just now.
It's very good of you to come with me, Sir.
Tut. Tut rejoined Thorndyke.
I am just coming to see that you do credit to my teaching.
That looks like the house. We had followed our guide into a
side street, halfway down which we could see a knot of people
clustered around a doorway. They watched us as we approached
and drew a side to let us enter. The woman whom we were following
rushed into the passage with the same headlong haste with which
she had traversed the streets and so up the stairs.
But as she neared the top of the flight she slowed down suddenly
and began to creep up on tiptoe with noiseless and hesitating
steps. On the landing she turned to
face us, and, pointing shaking forefinger at the door at the
back of the room, whispered almost inaudibly, She's in
there, and then sank half fainting on the bottom stair of
the next flight. I laid my hand on the knob of
the door and looked back at Thorndyke.
He was coming slowly up the stairs, closely scrutinizing
floor, walls, and handrail as he came.
When he reached the landing I turned the handle and we entered
the room together, closing the door after us.
The blind was still down, and in the dim, uncertain light nothing
out of the common was at first to be seen.
The shabby little room looked trim and orderly enough, save
for a heap of cast off feminine clothing piled on the chair.
The bed appeared undisturbed except by the half seen shape of
its occupant, and the quiet face, dimly visible in the
shadowy corner might have been that of a sleeper, but for its
utter stillness and the dark stain on the pillow by its side.
Dr. Hart stole on tiptoe to the bedside while Thorndyke drew up
the blind, and as the garish daylight poured into the room
the young surgeon fell back with a gasp of horror.
Good God, he exclaimed, poor creature, but this is a
frightful thing, Sir. The light streamed down upon the
white face of a handsome girl of 25, a face peaceful, Placid and
beautiful, with the austere and almost unearthly beauty of the
youthful dead. The lips were slightly parted,
the eyes half closed and drowsy, shaded with sweeping lashes, and
a wealth of dark hair and massive plaits served as a foil
to the translucent skin. Our friend had drawn back the
bedclothes a few inches, and now there was revealed beneath the
comely face, so serene and inscrutable, and yet so dreadful
in its fixity and wax and pallor, a horrible yawning wound
that almost divided the shapely neck.
Thornduck looked down with stern pity at the plump white face.
It was savagely done, said he, and yet, mercifully, by reason
of its very savagery, she must have died without waking the
brute, exclaimed Hart, clenching his fists and turning Crimson
with wrath. The infernal cowardly beast he
shall hang. By God, he shall hang in his
fury. The young fellow shook his fists
in the air, even as the moisture welled up in his eyes.
Thorndyke touched him on the shoulder.
That is what we are here for, Hart, said he.
Get out your notebook. And with this he bent down over
the dead girl. At the friendly reproof the
young surgeon pulled himself together, and with open notebook
commenced this investigation, while I, at Thorndike's request,
occupied myself in making a plan of the room with a description
of its contents and their arrangements.
But this occupation did not prevent me from keeping an eye
on Thorndike's movements, and presently I suspended my labours
to watch him, as with his pocket knife he scraped together some
objects that he had found on the pillow.
What do you make of this? He asked, as I stepped over to
his side. He pointed with the blade to a
tiny heap of what looked like silver sand.
And as I looked closely, I saw that similar particles were
sprinkled on the other parts of the pillow.
Silver sand? I exclaimed.
I don't understand at all how it can have got there, do you?
Thornduck shook his head. We will consider the explanation
later, was his reply. He had produced from his pocket
a small metal box which he always carried, and which
contained such requisites as cover slips, capillary tubes,
moulding, wax, and other diagnostic materials.
He now took from it a seed envelope, into which he neatly
shovelled a little pinch of sand with his knife.
He had closed the envelope and was writing a pencil description
on the outside when we were startled by a cry from heart.
Good God, Sir, look at this. It was done by a woman.
He had drawn back the bedclothes and was staring aghast at the
dead girl's left hand. It held a thin tress of long red
hair. Thorndyke hastily pocketed his
specimen and, stepping around the little bedside table, bent
over the hand with knitted brows.
It was closed, though not tightly clenched, and when an
attempt was made to gently separate the fingers, they were
found to be as rigid as the fingers of a wooden hand.
Thorndyke stooped yet more closely, and, taking out his
lens, scrutinized the wisp of hair throughout its entire
length. There is more here than meets
the eye at first glance, he remarked.
What say you, Heart? He held out his lens to his
quandum pupil, who was about to take it from him, when the door
opened and three men entered. 1 was a police inspector, the
second appeared to be a plain clothes officer, while the third
was evidently the divisional surgeon.
Friends of yours heart inquired the latter regarding us with
some disfavor. Thorndike gave a brief
explanation of our presence, to which the newcomer rejoined.
Well, Sir, your locust stand eye here is a matter for the
inspector. My assistant was not authorized
to call in outsiders. You needn't wait, Hart.
With this he proceeded to his inspection, while Thorndike
withdrew the pocket thermometer that he had slipped under the
body and took the reading. The inspector, however, was not
disposed to exercise the prerogative at which the surgeon
had hinted, for an expert has his uses.
How long should you say she'd been dead, Sir?
He asked affably. About 10 hours, replied
Thorndyke. The inspector and the detective
simultaneously looked at their watches.
That fixes it at 2:00 this morning, said the former.
What's that, Sir? The surgeon was pointing to the
wisp of hair in the dead girl's hand.
My word, Exclaimed the inspector.
Oh, woman, eh? She must be a tough customer.
This looks like a soft job for you, Sergeant.
Yes, so the detective that accounts for that box with the
hassock on it at the head of the bed.
She had to stand on them to reach over, but she couldn't
have been very tall. She must have been mighty
strong, though, said the inspector.
Why, she has nearly cut the poor wencher's head off.
He moved around to the head of the bed and stooping over,
peered down at the gaping wound. Suddenly he began to draw his
hand over the pillow, and then to rub his fingers together.
Why? He exclaimed.
There's sand on the pillow, silver sand.
Now how can that have come here? The surgeon and the detective
both came around to verify this discovery, and an earnest
consultation took place as to its meaning.
Did you notice it, Sir? The inspector asked Thorndyke.
Yes, replied the latter. It's an unaccountable thing,
isn't it? I don't know that it is either,
said the detective. He ran over to the washstand and
then uttered a grunt of satisfaction.
It's quite a simple matter, after all.
You see, he said, glancing complacently at my colleague.
There's a ball of sand soap on the washstand, and the basement
is full of blood stained water, you see.
She must have washed the blood off her hands and off the knife
too. A pretty cool customer she must
be. And then she used the sand soap.
Then, while she was drying her hands, she must have stood over
the head of the bed and let the sand fall on the pillow.
I think that's clear enough. Admirably clear, said Thornduck.
And what do you suppose was the sequence of events?
The gratified detective glanced around the room.
I take it, said he, that the deceased read herself to sleep.
There is a book on the table by the bed, and a Candlestick with
nothing in it but a bit of burnt Wick at the bottom of the
socket. I imagine that the woman came in
quietly, lit the gas, put the box and the hassock at the bed
head, stood on them, and cut her victim's throat.
Deceased must have waked up and clutched the murderess's hair,
though there doesn't seem to have been much of A struggle,
but no doubt she died almost at once.
Then the murderess washed her hands, cleaned the knife, tied
up the bed a bit, and went away. That's about how things
happened, I think. But how she got in without
anyone hearing, and how she got out and where she went to are
the things that we've got to find out.
Perhaps, said the surgeon, drawing the bedclothes over the
corpse, we had better have the landlady in and make a few
inquiries. He glanced significantly at
Thorndyke, and the inspector coughed behind his hand.
My colleague, however, chose to be obtused to these hints.
Opening the door, he turned the key backwards and forwards
several times, drew it out, examined it narrowly, and
replaced it. The landlady is outside on the
landing, he remarked, holding the door open.
Thereupon the inspector went out and we all followed to hear the
results of his inquiries. Now Missus Goldstein, said the
officer, opening his notebook, I want you to tell us all that you
know about this affair and about the girl herself.
What was her name? The landlady, who had been
joined by a white faced, tremulous man, wiped her eyes
and replied in a shaky voice. Her name, poor child, was Minna
Adler. She was a German.
She came from Bremen about two years ago.
She had no friends in England, no relatives.
I mean she was a waitress at a restaurant in Fenchurch St. and
a good, quiet, hard working girl.
When did you discover what had happened?
About 11:00. I thought she had gone to work
as usual, but my husband noticed from the backyard that her blind
was still down. So I went up and knocked, and
when I got no answer I opened the door and went in.
And then I saw here. The poor soul, overcome by the
dreadful recollection, burst into hysterical sobs.
Her door was unlocked then? Did she usually lock it?
I think so, sobbed Missus Goldstein.
The key was always inside. And the street door?
Was that secure when you came down this morning?
It was shut. We don't bolt it because some of
the lodgers come home rather late.
And now tell us, had she any enemies?
Was there anyone who had a grudge against her?
No, no, poor child, why should anyone have a grudge against
her? No, she had no quarrel, no real
quarrel with anyone, not even Miriam.
Miriam inquired the inspector. Who was she?
Oh, that was nothing, interposed the man hastily.
That was not a quarrel, just a little unpleasantness, I
suppose, Mr. Goldstein suggested the inspector.
Just a little foolishness about a young man, said Mr. Goldstein.
That was all. Miriam was a little jealous, but
it was nothing. No, no, of course we all know
that young women are apartment to a soft footstep had been for
some time audible, slowly descending the stair above, and
at this moment a turn of the staircase brought the newcomer
into view. And at that vision the inspector
stopped short, as if petrified, and a tense, startled silence
fell upon us all. Down the remaining stairs there
advanced towards us a young woman, powerful but short, wild
eyed, dishevelled, horror stricken and of a ghastly
pallor, and her hair was a fiery red, stock still and speechless.
We all stood as this apparition came slowly towards us, but
suddenly the detective slipped back into the room, closing the
door after him to reappear a few moments later holding a small
paper packet which, after a quick glance at the inspector,
he placed in his breast pocket. This is my daughter Miriam that
we spoke about, gentlemen, said Mr. Goldstein.
Miriam, those are the doctors and the police.
The girl looked at us from one to the other.
You have seen her then she said in a strange muffled voice and
added, She isn't dead. Is she not really dead?
The question was asked in a tone at once, coaxing and despairing,
such as a distracted mother might use over the corpse of her
child. It filled me with vague
discomfort, and unconsciously I looked around towards Thorndyke.
To my surprise he had vanished noiselessly, backing towards the
head of the stairs where I could command a view of the hall or
passage. I looked down and saw him in the
act of reaching up to a shelf behind the street door.
He caught my eye and beckoned, whereupon I crept away,
unnoticed by the party on the landing.
When I reached the hall he was wrapping up three small objects,
each in a separate cigarette paper, and I noticed that he
handled them with more than ordinary tenderness.
We didn't want to see that poor devil of a girl arrested, said
he, as he deposited the three packets gingerly in his pocket
box. Let us be off.
He opened the door noiselessly and stood for a moment, turning
the latch backwards and forwards and closely examining its bolt.
I glanced up at the shelf behind the door.
On it were two flat China candlesticks, in one of which I
had happened to notice as we came in a short end of candle
lying on a tray, and I now look to see if that was what
Thorndyke had annexed. But it was still there.
I followed my colleague out into the street, and for some time we
walked on without speaking. You guessed what the Sergeant
had in that paper? Of course, Said Thorndyke at
length. Yes, it was the hair from the
dead woman's hand, and I thought he had much better have left it
there. Undoubtedly, but that is the way
in which, well, many policemen destroy valuable evidence.
Not that it matters much in this particular instance, but it
might have been a fatal mistake. Do you intend to take any active
part in this case? I asked.
That depends on the circumstances.
I have collected some evidence, but what it is worth I don't yet
know. Neither do I know whether the
police have observed the same set of facts.
But I need not say that I shall do anything that seems necessary
to assist the authorities. That is a matter of common
citizenship. The inroads made upon our time
by the morning's adventures made it necessary that we should go
each about his respective business without delay.
So, after a perfunctory lunch at a tea shop, we separated, and I
did not see my colleague again until the day's work was
finished and I turned into our chambers just before dinner
time. Here I found Thorndyke seated at
the table and evidently full of business.
A microscope stood close by with a condenser throwing a spot of
light onto a pinch of powder that had been sprinkled onto the
slide. His collecting box lay open
before him and he was engaged rather mysteriously in squeezing
a thick white cement from a tube onto 3 little pieces of moulding
wax. Useful stuff this Fortifix, he
remarked. It makes excellent casts and
saves the trouble and mess of mixing plaster, which is a
consideration for small work like this.
By the way, if you want to know what was on that poor girl's
pillow, just take a peek through the microscope.
It is a rather pretty specimen. I stepped across and applied my
eye to the instrument. The specimen was indeed pretty
in more than a technical sense. Mingled with crystalline grains
of quartz, glassy spicules and water worn fragments of coral
were a number of lovely little shells, some of the texture of
fine porcelain, others like blown Venetian glass.
These are peraminifera. I exclaimed.
Yes. Then it is not silver sand after
all? Certainly not.
But what is it then? Thorndyke smiled.
It is a message to us from the deep sea, Jervis, from the floor
of the eastern Mediterranean. And can you read the message?
I think I can, he replied. But I shall know soon, I hope.
I looked down at the microscope again and wondered what message
these tiny shells had conveyed to my friend.
Deep sea sand on a dead woman's pillow?
What could be more incongruous? What possible connection could
there be between this sordid crime in the east of London and
the deep bed of the tideless sea?
Meanwhile Thorndyke squeezed out more cement on to the three
little pieces of moulding wax which I suspected to be the
objects that I had seen him wrapping up with such care in
the hall of the Goldstein's house.
Then, laying one of them down on a glass slide with its cemented
side uppermost, he stood the other two upright on either side
of it. Finally he squeezed out a fresh
load of the thick cement, apparently to bind the three
objects together, and carried the slide very carefully to a
cupboard, where he deposited it together with the envelope
containing the sand and the slide from the stage of the
microscope. He was just locking the cupboard
when a sharp rat tat on our knocker sent him hurriedly to
the door. A messenger boy standing on the
threshold held out a dirty envelope.
Mr. Goldstein kept me an awful long time, Sir, said he.
I haven't been a loitering. Thorndyke took the envelope over
to the gas light, and opening it, drew forth a sheet of paper
which he scanned quickly and almost eagerly, and though his
face remained inscrutable as a mask of stone, I felt a
conviction that the paper had told him something that he
wished to know, the boy having been sent on his way.
Rejoicing, Thorndyke turned to the bookshelves, along which he
ran his eye thoughtfully until it alighted on a shabbily bound
of volume near 1 end. This he reached down, and as he
laid it open on the table I glanced at it and was surprised
to observe that it was a bilingual work, the opposite
pages being apparently in Russian and Hebrew, the Old
Testament in Russian and Yiddish.
He remarked, noting my surprise. I am going to get Poulton to
photograph a couple of specimen pages.
Is that the postman or a visitor?
It turned out to be the postman, and as Thorndyke extracted from
the letterbox an official blue envelope, he glanced
significantly at me. This answers your question, I
think, Jervis said he Yes. Coroner subpoena and a very
civil letter. Sorry to trouble you, but I had
no choice under the circumstances.
Of course he hadn't. Doctor Davidson has arranged to
make the autopsy tomorrow at 4:00 PM, and I should be glad if
you could be present. The Mortuary is in Barker St.
next to the school. Well, we must go.
I suppose so. Davidson will probably resent
it. He took up the testament and
went off with it to the laboratory.
We launched our chambers on the following day, and after the
meal drew up our chairs to the fire and lit our pipes.
Thorndyke was evidently preoccupied, for he laid his
open notebook on his knee, and, gazing meditatively into the
fire, made occasional entries with his pencil, as though here
arranging the points of an argument.
Assuming that the Aldgate murder was the subject of his
cogitations, I ventured to ask, Have you any material evidence
to offer the coroner? He closed his notebook and put
it away. The evidence that I have, he
said, is material and important, but it is disjointed and rather
inconclusive. If I can join it up into a
coherent whole, which I hope to do before we reach the Court, it
will be very important indeed. But here is my invaluable
familiar with the instruments of research.
He turned with a smile towards Poulton, who had just entered
the room, and master and man exchanged a friendly glance of
mutual appreciation. The relations of Thornduck and
his assistant were a constant delight to me.
On the one side service loyal and wholehearted, on the other
Frank in full recognition. I should think those will do so,
said Polton, handing his principal a small cardboard box
such as playing cards are carried in.
Thorndyke pulled off the lid and I then saw that the box was
fitted internally with grooves for plates and contained 2
mounted photographs. The latter were very singular
productions indeed. There were copies each of a page
of the testament, one in Russian, the other Yiddish, but
the lettering appeared white on a black ground, of which it
occupied only quite a small space in the middle, leaving a
broad black margin. Each photograph was mounted on a
stiff card, and each card had a duplicate photograph pasted on
the back. Thorndyke exhibited them to me
with a provoking smile, holding them daintily by their edges
before he slid them back into the grooves of their box.
We are making a little digression into philology, you
see. He remarked as he pocketed the
box. But we must be off now.
We shall keep Davidson waiting, thank you, Poulton.
The district railway carried us swiftly eastward, and we emerged
from Algate station a full half hour before we were due.
Nevertheless, Thorndike stepped out briskly, but instead of
making directly for the Mortuary, he strayed off
unaccountably into Mansell St. scanning the numbers of houses
as he went. A row of old houses, picturesque
but grimy on our right, seemed especially to attract him, and
he slowed down as we approached them.
There is a quaint survival, Jervis, he remarked, pointing to
a crudely painted wooden effigy of an Indian standing on a
bracket at the door of a small old fashioned tobacconist shop.
We halted to look at the little image, and at that moment a side
door opened and a woman came out on to the doorstep, where she
stood gazing up and down at the street.
Bondak immediately crossed the pavement and addressed her,
apparently with some question, for I heard her answer
presently. 6:15 is his time, Sir, and he is generally
punctual to the minute. Thank you, said Thorndyke.
I'll bear that in mind. And lifting his hat he walked on
briskly, turning presently up a side street which brought us out
into Aldgate. It was now at 5 minutes to 4:00,
so we strode off quickly to keep our tryst at the Mortuary.
But although we arrived at the gate as the hour was striking,
when we entered the building we found Doctor Davidson hanging up
his apron and preparing to depart.
Sorry I couldn't wait for you, he said, with no great show of
sincerity. But a post mortem is a mere
farce in a case like this. You have seen all that there was
to see. However, there is the body heart
hasn't closed up yet. With this and a curt good
afternoon he departed. I must apologise for Doctor
Davidson, Sir, said Hart, looking up with a vexed face
from the desk at which he was writing out his notes.
You needn't, said Thorndyke. You didn't supply him with
manners. And don't let me disturb you.
I only want to verify one or two points.
Accepting the hint, Hart and I remained at the desk, while
Thorndyke, removing his hat, advanced to the long slate table
and bent over its burden of pitiful tragedy.
For some time he remained motionless, running his eye
gravely over the corpse in search, no doubt, of bruises and
indications of the struggle. Then he stooped and narrowly
examined the wound, especially at its commencement and end.
Suddenly he drew nearer, peering intently as if something had
attracted his attention, and having taken out a lens, fetched
a small sponge with which he dried an exposed process of the
spine. Holding his lens before the
dried spot, he again scrutinized it closely, and then with the
scalpel and forceps detached some object, which he carefully
washed and then once more examined through his lens as it
lay in the palm of his hand. Finally, as I expected, he
brought forth his collecting box, took from it a seed
envelope, into which he dropped the object, Evidently something
quite small closed up the envelope, wrote on the outside
of it, and replaced it in the box.
I think I have seen all that I wanted to see, he said, as he
pocketed the box and took up his hat.
We shall meet tomorrow morning at the inquest.
He shook hands with heart, and we went out into the relatively
pure air. On one pretext or another.
Thorndyke lingered about the neighborhood of Aldgate until a
church bell struck 6 when he bent his steps towards Harrow
Alley. Through the narrow winding
passage he walked slowly and with a thoughtful mean, along
Little Somerset St. and out into Mansell St., until, just on the
stroke of a quarter past, we found ourselves opposite the
little tobacconist shop. Thorndyke glanced at his watch
and halted, looking keenly up the street.
A moment later he hastily took from his pocket the cardboard
box from which he extracted the two mounted photographs which
had puzzled me so much. They now seemed to puzzle
Thorndyke equally, to judge by his expression, for he held them
close to his eyes, scrutinizing them with an anxious frown, and
backing by degrees into the doorway at the side of the
tobacconists. At this moment I became aware of
a man who, as he approached, seemed to eye my friend with
some curiosity and more disfavour.
A very short, burly young man, apparently a foreign Jew, whose
face, naturally sinister and unprepossessing, was further
disfigured by the marks of smallpox.
Excuse me, he said brusquely, pushing past Thorndyke.
I live here, I'm sorry, responded Thorndyke.
He moved aside and then suddenly asked.
By the way, I suppose you do not by any chance understand
Yiddish. Why do you ask?
The newcomer demanded roughly. Because I have just had these
two photographs of lettering given to me.
One is in Greek, I think, and one in Yiddish, but I've
forgotten which is which. He held out the two cards of the
stranger who took them from him and looked at them with scowling
curiosity. This one is Yiddish, said he,
raising his right hand. And this other is Russian, not
Greek. He held out the two cards to
Thorndyke, who took them from him, holding them carefully by
the edges as before. I am greatly obliged to you for
your kind assistance, said Thorndyke.
But before he had time to finish his thanks, the man had entered
by means of his latch key and slammed the door.
Thorndyke carefully slid the photographs back into their
grooves, replaced the box in his pocket and made an entry in his
notebook. That said, he finishes my
labours, with the exception of a small experiment which I can
perform at home. By the way, I picked up a morsel
of evidence that Davidson had overlooked.
He will be annoyed, and I am not very fond of scoring off a
colleague, but he is too uncivil for me to communicate with.
The coroner's subpoena had named 10:00 as the hour at which
Thorndike was to attend to give evidence, but a consultation
with the well known solicitor so far interfered with his plans
that we were 1/4 of an hour late in starting from the temple.
My friend was evidently in excellent spirits, though silent
and preoccupied, from which I inferred that he was satisfied
with the results of his labours. But as I sat by his side in the
hansom, I forbore to question him, not from mere
unselfishness, but rather from the desire to hear his evidence
for the first time, in conjunction with that of the
other witnesses. The room in which the inquest
was held formed part of a school adjoining the Mortuary.
Its vacant bareness was on this occasion enlivened by a long
baize covered table, at the head of which sat the coroner, while
one side was occupied by the jury.
And I was glad to observe that the latter consisted for the
most part of genuine working men, instead of the solid faced,
truculent, professional jurymen who so often graced these
tribunals. A row of chairs accommodated the
witnesses. A corner of the table was
allotted to the accused woman's solicitor, a smart, dapper
gentleman in a gold pinsness. A portion of one side to the
reporters, and several ranks of benches were occupied by
miscellaneous assembly representing the public.
There were one or two persons present whom I was somewhat
surprised to see. There was, for instance, our
pockmark acquaintance of Mansell St. who greeted us with a stare
of hostile surprise. And there was Superintendent
Miller, of Scotland Yard, in whose manner I seemed to detect
some kind of private understanding with Thorndike.
But I had little time to look about me, for when we arrived
the proceedings had already commenced.
Missus Goldstein, the first witness, was finishing her
recital of the circumstances under which the crime was
discovered, and as she retired, weeping hysterically, she was
followed by looks of commiseration from the
sympathetic jurymen. End of Message from the Deep Sea
by Doctor John Jones. Pit, Ken and R Austin Freeman,
Part 1. Section 2 of the Rivals of
Sherlock Holmes, Volume 1. This is a Librivox recording.
All Librivox recordings are in the public domain.
For more information or to volunteer, please visit
librivox.org. Recording by Beth Thomas, The
Rivals of Sherlock Holmes, Volume 1.
Message from the Deep Sea by Doctor John Jones Pitkin and R
Austin Freeman, Part 2 The next witness was a young woman named
Kate Silva. As she stepped forward to be
sworn, she flung a glance of hatred and defiance at Miriam
Goldstein, who, white faced and wild of aspect, with her red
hair streaming in dishevelled masses onto her shoulders, stood
apart in custody of two policemen staring about her as
if in a dream. You were intimately acquainted
with the deceased, I believe, said the coroner, I was.
We worked at the same place for a long time, the Empire
Restaurant in Fernchurch St. and we lived in the same house.
She was my most intimate friend. Had she, as far as you know, any
friends or relations in England? No, she came to England from
Bremen about 3 years ago. It was then that I made her
acquaintance. All her relations were in
Germany, but she had many friends here because she was a
very lively, amiable girl. Had she, as far as you know, any
enemies, any persons I mean, who bore any grudge against her and
were likely to do her an injury? Yes, Miriam Goldstein was her
enemy. She hated her.
You say Miriam Goldstein hated the deceased.
How do you know that? She made no secret of it.
They had had a violent quarrel about a young man named Moses
Cohen. He was formerly Miriam's
sweetheart, and I think they are very fond of one another, until
Mina Adler came to lodge at the Goldstein's house about three
months ago. Then Moses took her fancy to
Mina and she encouraged him, although she had a sweetheart of
her own, a young man named Paul Petrovsky, who also lodged in
the Goldstein's house. At last Moses broke off with
Miriam and engaged himself to Mina.
Then Miriam was furious and complained to Mina about what
she called her perfidious conduct, but Mira only laughed
and told her she could have Petrovsky instead.
And what did Minna say to that? Asked the coroner.
She was still more angry because Moses Cohen is a smart, good
looking young man, while Petrovsky is not much to look
at. Besides, Miriam did not like
Petrovsky. He had been rude to her and she
had made her father send him away from the house, so they
were not friends. And it was just after that that
the trouble came. The trouble I mean about Moses
Cohen. Miriam is a very passionate girl
and she was furiously jealous of Minna.
So when Petrovsky annoyed her by taunting her about Moses Cohen
and Minna, she lost her temper and said dreadful things about
both of them, as, for instance, she said she would kill them
both and that she would like to cut Minna's throat.
When was this? It was the day before the
murder. Who heard her say these things?
Besides you, Another lodger named Edith Bryant and
Petrovsky. We were all standing in the hall
at the time, but I thought you said Petrovsky had been turned
away from the house. So he had a week before.
But he had left a box in his room, and on this day he had
come to fetch it. That was what started the
trouble. Miriam had taken his room for
her bedroom and turned her old one into a workroom.
She said he could not go into her room to fetch his box.
And did he? I think so.
Miriam and Edith and I went out, leaving him in the hall.
When we came back the box was gone, and as Missus Goldstein
was in the kitchen and there was nobody else in the house, he
must have taken it. You spoke of Miriam's workroom?
What work did she do? She cut stencils for a firm of
decorators. Here the coroner took a peculiar
shaped knife from the table before him and handed it to the
witness. Have you ever seen that knife
before? He asked.
Yes, it belongs to Miriam Goldstein.
It is a stencil knife that she used in her work.
This concluded the evidence of Kate Silva, and when the name of
the next witness, Paul Petrovsky, was called, our
Mansell St. friend came forward to be sworn.
His evidence was quite brief and merely corroborative of that of
Kate Silva, as was that of the next witness, Edith Bryant.
When these had been disposed of, the Coroner announced before
taking the medical evidence, gentlemen, I propose to hear
that of the police officers, and 1st, we will call Detective
Sergeant Alfred Bates. The Sergeant stepped forward
briskly and proceeded to give his evidence with official
readiness and precision. I was called by Constable
Simmons at 11:49, and reached the house 2 minutes to 12, in
company with Inspector Harris and Divisional Surgeon Davidson.
When I arrived Doctor Hart, Dr. Thorndike and Doctor Jervis were
already in the room. I found the deceased woman,
Minna Adler, lying in bed with her throat cut.
She was dead and cold. There were no signs of a
struggle, and the bed did not appear to have been disturbed.
There was a table by the bedside on which was the book, and an
empty Candlestick. The candle had apparently burnt
out, for there was only a piece of charred Wick at the bottom of
the socket. A box had been placed on the
floor at the head of the bed, and a hassock stood on it.
Apparently the murderer had stood on the hassock and leaned
over the head of the bed to commit the murder.
This was rendered necessary by the position of the table, which
could not have been moved without making some noise and
perhaps disturbing the deceased. I infer from the presence of the
box and the hassock that the murderer is a short person.
Was there anything else that seemed to fix the identity of
the murderer? Yes, a tress of woman's red hair
was grasped in the left hand of the deceased.
As a detective uttered this statement, a simultaneous shriek
of horror burst from the accused woman and her mother.
Missus Goldstein sank, half fainting, onto a bench, while
Miriam, pale as death, stood as one, petrified, fixing the
detective with a stare of terror as he drew from his pocket to
small paper packets which he opened and handed to the
coroner. The hair in the packet marked A,
he said, is that which was found in the hand of the deceased.
That in the packet marked B is the heir of Miriam Goldstein.
Here the accused woman's solicitor rose.
Where did you obtain the hair in the packet marked B?
He demanded. I took it from a bag of combings
that hung on the wall of Miriam Goldstein's bedroom.
Asked the detective. I object to this, said the
solicitor. There is no evidence that the
hair from that bag was the hair of Miriam Goldstein at all.
Thorndyke chuckled softly. The lawyer is as dense as the
policeman, he remarked to me in an undertone.
Neither of them seems to see the significance of that bag in the
least. Did you know about the bag then?
I asked in surprise. No, I thought it was the hair
brush. I gazed at my colleague in
amazement and was about to ask for some elucidation of this
cryptic reply when he held up his finger and turned again to
listen. Very well, Mr. Horowitz, the
coroner was saying. I will make a note of your
objection, but I shall allow the Sergeant to continue his
evidence. The solicitor sat down and the
detective resumed his statement. I have examined and compared the
two samples of hair, and it is my opinion that they are from
the head of the same person. The only other observation that
I made in the room was that there was a small quantity of
silver sand sprinkled on the pillow around the deceased
woman's head. Silver sand?
Exclaimed the coroner. Surely that is a very singular
material to find on a woman's pillow.
I think it is easily explained, replied the Sergeant.
The wash hand basin was full of blood stained water showing that
the murderer had washed his or her hands and probably the knife
too. After the crime on the washstand
was a ball of sand soap and I imagine that the murderer used
this to cleanse his or her hands and while drying them must have
stood over the head of the bed and let the sand sprinkle down
onto the pillow. A simple but highly ingenious
explanation, commented the coroner approvingly, and the
juryman exchanged admiring nods and nudges.
I searched the rooms occupied by the accused woman, Miriam
Goldstein, and found there a knife of the kind used by
stencil cutters, but larger than usual.
There were stains of blood on it, which the accused explained
by saying that she cut her fingers some days ago.
She admitted that the knife was hers.
This concluded the sergeant's evidence, and he was about to
sit down when the solicitor rose.
I should like to ask this witness one or two questions,
said he and the coroner. Having nodded assent, he
proceeded. Has the finger of the accused
been examined since her arrest? I believe not, replied the
Sergeant. Not to my knowledge, at any
rate. The solicitor noted the reply
and then asked with reference to the silver sand.
Did you find any at the bottom of the wash hand basin?
The sergeant's face reddened. I did not examine the wash hand
basin, he answered. Did anybody examine it?
I think not. Thank you.
Mr. Horowitz sat down, and the triumphant squeak of his quill
pen was heard above the muttered disapproval of the jury.
We shall now take the evidence of the doctors, gentlemen, said
the coroner, and we will begin with that of the divisional
surgeon. You saw the deceased, I believe,
doctor, he continued, when Doctor Davidson had been sworn
soon after the discovery of the murder.
And you have since then made an examination of the body?
Yes, I found the body of the deceased lying in her bed, which
had apparently not been disturbed.
She had been dead about 10 hours, and rigidity was complete
in the limbs, but not in the trunk.
The cause of death was a deep wound extending right across the
throat and dividing all the structures down to the spine.
It had been inflicted with the single sweep of a knife while
the deceased was lying down and was evidently homicidal.
It was not possible for the deceased to have inflicted the
wound herself. It was made with a single edged
knife drawn from left to right. The assailant stood on the
hassock placed on a box at the head of the bed and leaned over
to strike the blow. The murderer is probably quite a
short person, very muscular and right-handed.
There was no sign of a struggle, and judging by the nature of the
injuries, I should say that death was almost instantaneous.
In the left hand of the deceased was a small tress of a woman's
red hair. I have compared that hair with
that of the accused, and am of the opinion that it is her hair.
You were shown a knife belonging to the accused?
Yes, a stencil knife. There were stains of dried blood
on it, which I have examined and find to be mammalian blood.
It is probably human blood, but I cannot say with any certainty
that it is. Could the wound have been
inflicted with this knife? Yes, though it is a small knife
to produce so deep a wound. Still it is quite possible.
The coroner glanced at Mr. Horowitz.
Do you wish to ask this witness any questions?
He inquired. If you please, Sir, was the
reply. The solicitor rose, and having
glanced through his notes, commenced.
You have described certain blood stains on this knife, but we
have heard that there was blood stained water in the wash basin,
and it is suggested most reasonably that the murderer
washed his hands and the knife. But if the knife was washed, how
do you account for the blood stains on it?
Apparently the knife was not washed, only the hands.
But is that not highly improbable?
No, I think not. You say that there was no
struggle, and that death was practically instantaneous, but
yet the deceased had torn out a lock of the murderous's hair.
Are not those two statements inconsistent with one another?
No, the hair was probably grasped convulsively at the
moment of death. At any rate, the hair was
undoubtedly in the dead woman's hand.
Is it possible to identify positively the hair of any
individual? No, not with certainty, but this
is very peculiar Hair. The solicitor sat down, and
Doctor Hart having been called, and having briefly confirmed the
evidence of his principle, the coroner announced the next
witness. Gentleman is Doctor Thorndike,
who was present almost accidentally, but was actually
the first on the scene of the murder.
He has since made an examination of the body, and will no doubt
be able to throw some further light on this horrible crime.
Thorndike stood up, and having been sworn, laid on the table a
small box with a leather handle. Then, in answer to the coroner's
questions, he described himself as a lecturer on medical
jurisprudence at Saint Margaret's Hospital, and briefly
explained his connection with the case.
At this point the foreman of the jury interrupted to ask that his
opinion might be taken on the hair and the knife, as these
were matters of contention, and the objects in question were
accordingly handed to him. Is the hair in the packet marked
A, and your opinion from the same person as that in the
packet marked B? The coroner asked.
I have no doubt they are from the same person, was the reply.
Will you examine this knife, and tell us if the wound on the
deceased might have been inflicted with it?
Thorndyke examined the blade attentively, and then handed the
knife back to the coroner. The wound might have been
inflicted with this knife, said he, but I am quite sure that it
was not. Can you give us your reasons for
that very definite opinion? I think, said Thorndyke, that it
will save time if I give you the facts in a connected order.
The Coroner bowed assent, and he proceeded.
I will not waste your time by reiterating facts already
stated. Sergeant Bates has fully
described the state of the room, and I have nothing to add on
that subject. Doctor Davidson's description of
the body covers all the facts. The woman had been dead about 10
hours. The wound was unquestionably
homicidal and was inflicted in the manner he has described.
Death was apparently instantaneous, and I should say
that the deceased never awakened from her sleep.
But object to the coroner. The deceased held a lock of hair
in her hand. That hair, replied Thorndyke,
was not the hair of the murderer.
It was placed in the hand of the corpse for an obvious purpose,
and the fact that the murderer had brought it with him shows
that the crime was premeditated and that it was committed by
someone who had access to the house and was acquainted with
its inmates. As Thorndyke made this
statement, coroner, jurymen and spectators alike gazed at him in
open mouthed amazement. There was an interval of intense
silence, broken by a wild, hysterical laugh from Missus
Goldstein. And then the coroner asked, How
did you know that the hair in the hand of the corpse was not
that of the murderer? The inference was very obvious
at the first glance. The peculiar and conspicuous
colour of the hair struck me as suspicious.
But there were three facts, each of which was in itself
sufficient to prove that the hair was probably not that of
the murderer. In the 1st place, there was the
condition of the hand. When a person at the moment of
death grasps any object firmly, there is set up a condition
known as cadaveric spasm. The muscular contraction passes
immediately into rigor mortis or death stiffening, and the object
remains grasped by the dead hand until the rigidity passes off.
In this case the hand was perfectly rigid, but it did not
grasp the hair at all. The little tress lay in the palm
quite loosely, and the hand was only partially closed.
Obviously the hair had been placed in it after death.
The other two facts had reference to the condition of
the hair itself. Now, when a lock of hair is torn
from the head, it is evident that all the roots will be found
at the same end of the lock. But in the present instance this
was not the case. The lock of hair which lay in
the dead woman's hand had roots at both ends, and so could not
have been torn from the head of the murderer.
But the third fact that I observed was still more
conclusive. The hairs of which that little
tress was composed had not been pulled out at all.
They had fallen out spontaneously.
They were, in fact, shed hairs, probably combings.
Let me explain the difference. When a hair is shed naturally,
it drops out of the little tube in the skin called the root
sheath, having been pushed out by the young hair growing up
underneath. The root end of such a shed hair
shows nothing but a small bulbous enlargement, the root
bulb. But when a hair is forcibly
pulled out, its root drags out the root sheath with it, and
this can plainly be seen as a glistening mass on the end of
the hair. If Miriam Goldstein will pull
out a hair and pass it to me, I will show you the great
difference between hair which is pulled out and hair which is
shed. The unfortunate Miriam needed no
pressing. In a twinkling she had tweaked
out a dozen hairs which a constable handed across to
Thorndike, by whom they were at once fixed in a paper clip, a
second clip being produced from the box.
Half a dozen hairs taken from the tress which had been found
in the dead woman's hand, were fixed in it.
Then Thorndike handed the two clips together with a lens, to
the coroner. Remarkable, exclaimed the
latter, and most conclusive. He passed the objects onto the
foreman and there was an interval of silence while the
jury examined them with breathless interest and much
facial contortion. The next question resumed
Thornduck, was whence did the murderer obtain these hairs?
I assumed that they had been taken from Miriam Goldstein's
hair brush, but the sergeant's evidence makes it pretty clear
that they were obtained from the very bag of combings from which
he took a sample for comparison. I think doctor, remarked the
coroner, You have disposed of the hair clue pretty completely.
May I ask if you've found anything that may throw any
light on the identity of the murderer?
Yes, replied Thornduck. I observed certain things which
determine the identity of the murderer quite conclusively.
He turned a significant glance on Superintendent Miller, who
immediately rose, stepped quietly to the door, and then
returned, putting something into his jacket.
When I entered the hall, Thorndyke continued, I noted the
following facts. Behind the door was a shelf on
which were two China candlesticks.
Each was fitted with a candle, and in one was a short candle
end about an inch long. Lying in a tray on the floor
close to the mat was a spot of candle wax and some faint marks
of muddy feet. The oilcloth on the stairs also
bore faint footmarks made by wet galoshes.
They were ascending the stairs and grew fainted toward the top.
There were two more spots of candle wax on the stairs, and
one on the handrail, a burnt end of a wax match halfway up the
stairs, and another on the landing.
There were no descending footmarks, but one of the spots
of wax close to the balusters had been trodden on while warm
and soft, and bore the mark of the front of the heel of a
galosh. Descending the stairs, the lock
of the street door had recently been oiled, as had also that of
the bedroom door, and the latter had been unlocked from outside
with a bent wire which had made a mark on the key.
Inside the room I made two further observations.
One was that the dead woman's pillow was lightly sprinkled
with sand, somewhat like silver sand, but greyer and less
gritty. I shall return to this
presently. The other was that the
Candlestick on the bedside table was empty.
It was a peculiar Candlestick, having a skeleton socket formed
of eight flat strips of metal. The charred Wick of a burnt out
candle was at the bottom of the socket, but a little fragment of
wax on the top edge showed that another candle had been stuck in
it and had been taken out, for otherwise that fragment would
have been melted. I at once thought of the candle
end in the hall, and when I went down again I took that end from
the tray and examined it. On it I found 8 distinct marks
corresponding to the 8 bars of the Candlestick in the bedroom.
It had been carried in the right hand of some person, for the
warm soft wax had taken beautifully clear impressions of
a right thumb and forefinger. I took three moulds of the
candle end in moulding wax, and from these moulds have made this
cement cast which shows both the fingerprints and the marks of
the Candlestick. He took from his box a small
white object, which he handed to the Coroner.
And what do you gather from these facts?
Asked the coroner. I gather that at about 1:45 on
the morning of the crime a man who had on the previous day
visited the house to obtain the tress of hair and oil.
The locks entered the house by means of a latch key.
We can fix the time by the fact that it rained on that morning
from 1:30 to 1:45, this being the only rain that has fallen
for a fortnight, and the murder was committed.
About 2:00, the man lit a wax match in the hall and another
halfway up the stairs. He found the bedroom door locked
and turned the key from outside with the bent wire.
He entered, lit the candle, placed the box and Hassock,
murdered his victim, washed his hands and knife, took the candle
in from the socket and went downstairs, where he blew out
the candle and dropped it into the tray.
The next clue is furnished by the sand on the pillow.
I took a little of it and examined it under the
microscope, where it turned out to be deep sea sand from the
eastern Mediterranean. It was full of the minute shells
called Foraminifera, as one of those happened to belong to a
species which is found only in the Levant.
I was able to fix the locality, but this is very remarkable,
said the coroner. How on earth could deep sea sand
have got onto this woman's pillow?
The explanation, replied Bondak, is really quite simple.
Sand of this kind is contained in considerable quantities in
Turkey sponges. The warehouses in which the
sponges are unpacked are often strewn with it ankle deep.
The men who unpack the cases become dusted with it, their
clothes saturated and their pockets filled with it.
If such a person, with his clothes and pockets full of
sand, had committed this murder, it is pretty certain that in
leaning over the head of the bed in a partly inverted position,
he would have let fall a certain quantity of the sand from his
pockets and the interstices of his clothing.
Now, as soon as I had examined the sand and ascertained its
nature, I sent a message to Mr. Goldstein, asking him for a list
of the persons who were acquainted with the deceased,
with their addresses and occupations.
He sent me the list by return, and among the persons mentioned
was a man who was engaged as a Packer in a wholesale sponge
warehouse in the minorities. I further ascertained that the
new season's crop of Turkey sponges had arrived a few days
before the murder. The question that now arose was
whether this sponge Packer was the person whose fingerprints I
had found on the candle end. To settle this point I prepared
2 mounted photographs, and having contrived to meet the man
at his door on his return from work, I induced him to look at
them and compare them. He took them from me, holding
each one between a forefinger and thumb.
When he returned them to me, I took them home and carefully
dusted each on both sides with certain surgical dusting powder.
The powder adhered to the places where his fingers and thumbs had
pressed against the photographs showing the fingerprints very
distinctly those of the right hand, were identical with the
prints on the candle, as you will see if you compare them
with the cast. He produced from the box the
photograph of the Yiddish lettering, on the black margin,
of which there now stood out with startling distinctness, a
yellowish white print of a thumb.
Thorndyke had just handed the card to the coroner when a very
singular disturbance arose. While my friend had been giving
the latter part of his evidence, I had observed the man Petrovsky
rise from his seat and walked stealthily across to the door.
He turned the handle softly and pulled, at first gently and then
with more force, but the door was locked.
As he realised this, Petrovsky seized the handle with both
hands and tore it furiously, shaking it to and fro with the
violence of a madman And his shaking limbs, his starting eyes
glaring insanely at the astonished spectators, his ugly
face, dead white, running with sweat and hideous with terror,
made a picture that was truly shocking.
Suddenly he let go the handle and with a horrible cry thrust
his hand under the skirt of his coat and rushed at Thorndike.
But the Superintendent was ready for this.
There was a shout and a scuffle, and then Petrovsky was borne
down, kicking and biting like a maniac, while Miller hung onto
his right hand and the formidable knife that it
grasped. I will ask you to hand that
knife to the coroner, said Thorndyke, when Petrovsky had
been secured and handcuffed and the Superintendent had
readjusted his collar. Will you kindly examine it, Sir?
He continued. And tell me if there is a notch
in the edge near to the point, a triangular notch about an eighth
of an inch long. The coroner looked at the knife
and said in a tone of surprise. Yes, there is.
You have seen this knife before, then?
No, I have not, replied Thorndyke, but perhaps I had
better continue my statement. There is no need for me to tell
you that the fingerprints on the card and on the candle are those
of Paul Petrowski. I will proceed to the evidence
furnished by the body in accordance with your order.
I went to the Mortuary and examined the corpse of the
deceased. The wound has been fully and
accurately described by Doctor Davidson, but I observed 1 fact
which I presume he had overlooked.
Embedded in the bone of the spine.
In the left transverse process of the 4th vertebrae I
discovered a small particle of steel which I carefully
extracted. He drew his collecting box from
his pocket and, taking from it a seat envelope, handed the latter
to the coroner. That fragment of steel is in
this envelope, he said, and it is possible that it may
correspond to the notch in the knife blade.
Amidst an intense silence, the coroner opened the little
envelope and let the fragment of steel drop onto a sheet of
paper. Laying the knife on the paper,
he gently pushed the fragment towards the notch.
Then he looked up at Thorndike. It fits exactly, said he.
There was a heavy thud at the other end of the room and we all
looked around. Petrovsky had fallen on to the
floor, insensible. An instructive case, Jervis,
remarked Thorndyke as we walked homewards.
A case that reiterates the lesson that the authorities
still refuse to learn. What is that?
I asked. It is this when it is discovered
that a murderer has been committed, the scene of that
murder should instantly become the palace of the Sleeping
Beauty. Not a grain of dust should be
moved, not a soul should be allowed to approach it until the
scientific observer has seen everything inside you and
absolutely undisturbed. No tramplings of excited
constables, no rummaging by detectives, no scrambling to and
fro bloodhounds. Consider what would have
happened in this case if we had arrived a few hours later.
The corpse would have been in the Mortuary, the hare in the
sergeant's pocket, the bed rummaged and the sand scattered
abroad, the candle probably removed, and in the stairs
covered with fresh tracks. There would not have been the
vestige of a clue, and, I added, the deep sea would have uttered
its message in vain. End of Message from the Deep Sea
by Doctor John Jones Pitkin and R Austin Freeman.
Part 2 recording by Beth Thomas. Section 3 of the Rivals of
Sherlock Holmes, Volume 1. This is a Librivox recording.
All Librivox recordings are in the public domain.
For more information or to volunteer, please visit
librivox.org. The Rivals of Sherlock Holmes,
Volume 1. The Affair of the Avalanche
Bicycle and Tire Company, Limited by Arthur Morrison, Part
1 Cycle companies were in the market everywhere.
Immense fortunes were being made in a few days, and sometimes
little fortunes were being lost to build them up.
Mining shares were dull for a season, and any company with the
word cycle or tire in its title was certain to attract capital,
no matter what its prospects were like in the eyes of the
expert. All the old private cycle
companies suddenly were offered to the public and their
proprietors. Already rich men, built
themselves houses on the Riviera, bought yachts, ran race
horses, and left business forever.
Sometimes the shareholders got their money's worth, sometimes
more, sometimes less. Sometimes they got nothing but
total loss. But still the game went on.
One could never open a newspaper without finding displayed at
large the prospectus of yet another cycle company, with
capital expressed in six figures, at least often in seven
solemn old dailies, into whose editorial heads no new thing
ever found its way till years after it had been forgotten.
Elsewhere suddenly exhibited the scandalous phenomenon of broken
columns in their advertising sections, and the universal
prospectuses stretched outrageously across half or even
all the page. A thing to cause apoplexy in the
bodily system of any self respect.
Manager of the old school. In the midst of this excitement
it chanced that the firm of Dorrington and Hicks were
engaged upon an investigation for the famous and long
established Indestructible Bicycle and Tricycle
Manufacturing Company of London and Coventry.
The matter was not one of sufficient intricacy or
difficulty to engage Dorrington's personal attention,
and it was given to an assistant.
There was some doubt as to the validity of a certain patent
having reference to a particular method of tightening the spokes
and truing the wheels of a tricycle.
And Dorrington's assistant had to make inquiries without
attracting attention to the matter as to whether or not
there existed any evidence, either documentary or in the
memory of veterans, of the use of this method or anything like
it before the year 1885. The assistant completed his
inquiries and made his report to Dorrington.
Now I think I have said that from every evidence I have seen,
the chief matter of Dorrington's solicitude was his own interest,
and just at this time he had heard, as had others, much of
the money being made in cycle companies.
Also, like others, he had conceived a great desire to get
the confidential advice of someone in the know, advice
which might lead him into the good thing desired by all the
greedy who flutter about at the outside edge of the stock and
share market. For this reason Dorrington
determined to make this small matter of the wheel patent an
affair of personal report. He was a man of infinite
resource plausibility and good companionship, and there was
money going in the cycle trade. Why, then, should he lose an
opportunity of making himself pleasant in the inner Groves of
that trade and catch whatever might come his way?
Information Syndicate shares, directorships, anything, so that
Dorrington made himself master of his assistant's information
and proceeded to the head office of the Indestructible Company on
Holborn Viaduct, resolved to become the entertaining
acquaintance of the managing director.
On his way his attention was attracted by a very elaborately
fitted cycle shop which his recollection told him was new.
The Avalanche Bicycle and Tire Company was the legend.
Guilt. Above the great plate glass
window, and in the window itself, stood many brilliantly
enameled and plated bicycles, each labeled on the frame with
the flaming red and gold transfer of the firm.
And in the midst of all was another bicycle covered with
dried mud, of which, however sufficient, had been carefully
cleared away to expose a similar glaring transfer to those that
decorated the rest, with a placard announcing that on this
particular machine somebody had ridden some incredible distance
on bad roads. In a very little more than no
time at all, crowd stood before the window and gaped
respectfully at the placard, the bicycles, the transfers, and the
mud, though they paid little attention to certain piles of
folded white papers, endorsed in bold letters, with the name of
the company with the suffix limited and the word prospectus
in bloated black letters below. These, however, Dorrington
observed at once, for he had himself that morning, in common
with several thousand other people, received one by post.
Also, half a page of his morning paper had been filled with a
copy of that same prospectus, and the afternoon had brought
another copy in the evening paper.
In the list of directors there was a titled name or two,
together with a few unknown names, doubtless the practical
men. And below this list there were
such positive promises of tremendous dividends, backed up
and proved beyond dispute by such ingenious piles of business
like figures. Every line of figures referring
to some other line for testimonials to its perfect
genuineness and accuracy that any reasonable man would see,
must instantly sell the hat off his head and the boots off his
feet, to buy one share at least, and so make his fortune forever.
True, the business was but lately established, but that was
just it. It had rushed ahead with such an
amazing rapidity as was natural with an avalanche, that it had
got altogether out of hand, and orders couldn't be executed at
all. Wherefore the proprietors were
reluctantly compelled to let the public have some of the luck.
This was Thursday Share list was to be opened on Monday morning
and closed inexorably at 4:00 on Tuesday afternoon, with a
merciful extension to Wednesday morning for the candidates for
wealth who were so unfortunate as to live in the country, so
that it behooved everybody to waste no time lest he be
numbered among the unlucky whose subscription money should be
returned in full, failing allotment.
The prospectus did not absolutely say it in so many
words, but no rational person could fail to feel that the
directors were fervently hoping that nobody would get injured in
the rush. Dorrington passed on and reached
the well known establishment of the Indestructible Bicycle
Company. This was already a limited
company of a private sort, and had been so for 10 years or
more, and before that the concern had had eight or nine
years of prosperous experience. The founder of the firm, Sir
Paul Mallows, was now the managing director and a great
pillar of the cycling industry. Dorrington gave his clerk his
card and asked to see Mr. Mallows.
Mr. Mallows was out, it seemed, but Mr. Steadman, the secretary,
was in, and him, Dorrington saw. Mr. Steadman was a pleasant
youngish man who had been a famous amateur bicyclist in his
time and was still an enthusiast.
In 10 minutes business was settled and dismissed, and
Dorrington's tact had brought the sectarian to a pleasant
discursive chat with much exchange of anecdote.
Dorrington expressed much interest in the subject of
bicycling and saying that Steadman had been a racing man,
particularly as to bicycling races.
There'll be a rare good race on Saturday, I expect.
Steadman said. Or rather, he went on.
I expect the 50 miles record will go.
I fancy our man Gillette is pretty safe to win, but he'll
have to move, and I quite expect to see a good set of new records
on our advertisements next week. The next best man is Lant, the
new fellow. You know, who rides for the
Avalanche people? Let's see, they're going to the
public as a limited company, aren't they?
Dorrington asked casually. Stedman nodded with a little
grimace. You don't think it's a good
thing? Perhaps, Dorrington said, noting
the grimace. Is that so?
Well, Steadman answered. Of course, I can't say I don't
know much about the firm. Nobody does, as far as I can
tell. But they seem to have got a
business together in almost no time.
That is, if the business is as genuine as it looks at first
sight. But they want a rare lot of
capital. And then the prospectus will.
I've seen more satisfactory ones, you know.
I don't say it isn't all right, of course, but still, I shan't
go out of my way to recommend any friends of mine to plunge on
it, or you won't. No, no, I won't, though no doubt
they'll get their capital, or most of it.
Almost any cycle or tire company can get subscribed just now, and
this Avalanche affair is both, and it is so well advertised.
You know, Lant has been winning on their mounts just lately, and
they've been booming it for all they're worth.
By Jove, if they could only screw him up to win the 50 miles
on Saturday and beat our man Gillette, that would give them a
push just at the correct moment, too.
Gillette's never been beaten yet at the distance, you know.
But Lant can't do it, though. As I've said, he'll make some
fast riding. It'll be a race, I tell you.
I should like to see it. Well, why not?
Come see about it, will you? And perhaps you'd like to run
down to the track after dinner this evening and see you, our
man training. Awfully interesting, I can tell
you, with all the pacing machinery and all that.
Will you come? Dorrington expressed himself
delighted and suggested that Stedman should dine with him
before going to the track. Stedman, for his part, charmed
with his new acquaintance as everybody was at first meeting
with Dorrington, assented gladly.
At that moment the door of Stedman's room was pushed open
and a well dressed middle-aged man with a shaved flabby face
appeared. I beg your pardon, he said.
I thought you were alone. I just ripped my finger against
the handle on my broom door as I came in here.
The screw sticks out here. View a piece of sticking
plaster. Extended a bleeding finger as he
spoke, Stedman looked doubtfully at his desk.
Here is some court plaster, Dorrington exclaimed, producing
his pocket book. I always carry it.
It's had dear than ordinary sticking plaster.
How much do you want? Oh, thanks.
Any chisel? This is Mr. Dorrington and Mrs.
Dorrington and Hicks, Mr. Mallows, Stedman said.
Our managing director, Mr. Paul Mallows.
Mr. Dorrington Dorrington was delighted to make Mr. Mallow's
acquaintance, and he busied himself with a careful strapping
of the damaged finger. Mr. Mallows had the large frame
of a man of strong build, who had had much hard bodily work,
but there hung about it the heavier, softer flesh that told
of a later period of ease and sloth.
Mr. Mallows, Stedman said the bicycle's the safest thing after
all dangerous things, these brooms, you younger men, Mr.
Mallows replied with a slow and rounded enunciation.
You younger men can afford to be active.
We elders can afford a broom, Dorrington added, before the
managing director began the next word.
Just so, and the bicycle does it all.
Wonderful thing, The bicycle. Dorrington had not misjudged his
man. And your blight reference to his
wealth flattered Mr. Mallows. Dorrington went once more
through his report as to the spoke patent, and then Mr.
Mallows bade him goodbye. Good day, Mr. Dorrington, good
day, he said. I am extremely obliged by your
careful personal attention to this matter of the patent.
We may leave it with Mr. Stedman now, I think.
Good day. I hope soon to have the pleasure
of meeting you again. And with clumsy stateliness Mr.
Mallows vanished. So you don't think the Avalanche
could business as an investment? Dorrington said once more, as he
and Stedman, after an excellent dinner, were cabbing it to the
track. No, no, Steadman answered.
Don't touch it. There's better things than that
coming along presently. Perhaps I shall be able to put
you in for something you know, a bit later.
But don't be in a hurry. As to the other lunch, even if
everything else was satisfactory, there's too much
booming being done just now to please me.
All sorts of rumors, you know, of their having something up
their sleeve and so on. Mysterious hints in the papers
and all that. As to something revolutionary
being in hand with the Avalanche people, perhaps there is, but
why they don't fetch it out in view of the public subscription
for shares is more than I can understand, unless they don't
want too much of A rush. And as to that, well, they don't
look like modestly shrinking from anything of that sort up to
the present. They were at the track suit
after 7, but Gillette was not yet riding.
Dorrington remarked that Gillette appeared to begin late.
Well, Steadman explained, he's one of those fellows that's
afternoon training doesn't seem to suit unless he's a bit of
walking exercise. He does just a few miles in the
morning and a spurt or two, and then he comes on just before
sunset for a fast 10 or 15 miles.
That is when he's getting fit for such a race as Saturdays.
Tonight will be his last spin of that length before Saturday,
because tomorrow will be the day before the race.
Tomorrow he'll only go a spurt or two and rest most of the day.
They strolled about inside the track, the two highly banked
ends whereof seemed to a near sighted person in the centre to
be solid erect walls, along the face of which the training
riders skimmed fly fashion. Only three or four persons
beside themselves were in the enclosure when they first came,
but in 10 minutes time Mr. Paul Mallows came across the track.
Why, said Steadman to Dorrington, Here's the governor.
It isn't often he comes down here, but I expect he's anxious
to see how gel it's going in view of Saturday.
Good evening, Mr. Mallows, said Dorrington.
I hope the finger's all right. You want any more plaster?
Good evening. Good evening, responded Mr.
Mallows heavily. Thank you.
The finger's not troubling me a bit.
He held it up, still decorated by the black plaster.
Your plaster remains, you see. I was a little careful not to
fray it too much in washing. That was horrible, and Mr.
Mallows sat down on a light iron garden chair, of which several
stood here and there in the enclosure, and began to watch
the riding. The track was clear.
The dusk was approaching when at last the great Jealot made his
appearance on the track. He answered a friendly question
or two put to him by Mallows and Steadman, and then, giving his
coat to his trainer, swung off along the track on his bicycle,
LED in front by a tandem and closely attended by a triplet in
50 yards. His pace quickened and he
settled down into a swift, even pace, regular as clockwork.
Sometimes a tandem and sometimes a triplet went to the front, but
Gillette neither checked nor heeded.
As nursed by his Pacers, who were directed by the trainer
from the centre, he swept along mile after mile, each mile, in
but a few seconds over the two minutes.
Look at the action, exclaimed Stedman with enthusiasm.
Just watch him. Not an ounce of power wasted
there. Did you ever see more regular
ankle work? And did anybody ever sit a
machine quite so well as that? She'll be a movement anywhere
above the hips. Ah, said Mr. Mallows.
Yeah, that has a wonderful style.
A wonderful style, really. The men in the enclosure
wandered about here and there on the grass, watching Gellot's
riding as one watches the performance of a great piece of
art. Which indeed, was what Gellot's
riding was. There were, besides Mallows,
Steadman, Dorrington and the trainer, 2 officials of the
cyclist's junior, an amateur racing man named Sparks, the
track Superintendent and another man.
The sky grew darker and gloom fell about the track.
The machines became invisible and little could be seen of the
riders across the ground but the row of rhythmically working legs
and the white cap that Gillette wore.
The trainer had just told Steadman that there would be 3
fast laps and then his man would come off the track.
Well, Mr. Stedman said. Mr. Mallows, I think we shall be
all right for Saturday. Rather, answered Stedman
confidently. Jed, it's going.
Great guns and steady as a watch.
The pace now suddenly increased. The tandem shot once more to the
front, the triplet hung on the rider's flank and the group of
swishing wheels flew around the Tracker to 150 gate.
The spectators turned about, following the riders round the
track with their eyes and then swinging into the straight from
the top bend. The tandem checked suddenly and
gave a little jump. Gellet crashed into it from
behind and the triplet, failing to clear, wavered and swung and
crashed over and along the track too.
All three machines and six men were involved in one complicated
smash. Everybody rushed across the
grass, the trainer first, then the cause of the disaster, was
seen lying on its side on the track with men and bicycles
piled over and against. It was one of the green painted
light iron garden chairs that had been standing in the
enclosure. The triplet men were struggling
to their feet and though much cut and shaken, seemed the least
hurt of the lot. 1 of the men of the tandem was insensible.
Angelet, who from his position had got all the worst of it, lay
senseless, too badly cut and bruised, and his left arm was
broken. The trainer was cursing and
tearing his hair. If I knew who'd done this,
Stedman cried, I'd pull him with that chair.
Oh, that betting, that betting, wailed Mr. Mallows, hopping
about distractedly. See what it leads people into
doing. It can't have been an accident,
can it? Accident, Skittles?
A man doesn't put a chair on a track in the dark and leave it
there by accident. Is anybody getting away there
from the outside of the track? No, no, there's nobody.
He wouldn't wait till this. He's clear off in a minute to go
and more here. Fielders shut the outer gate,
and we'll see who's about. But there seemed to be no
suspicious character. Indeed, except for the ground
man, whose boy Jillett's trainer, and a racing man who
had just finished dressing in the pavilion, there seemed to be
nobody about beyond those whom everybody had seen standing in
the enclosure. But there had been ample time
for anybody standing unnoticed at the outer rails to get across
the track in the dark, just after the riders had passed,
placed the obstruction, and escaped before the completion of
the lap. The damaged men were helped or
carried into the pavilion and the damaged machines were
dragged after them. I, I will give 50 lbs gladly
more 100, said Mr. Mallows excitedly.
To anybody who will find out who put that chair on the track.
It might have ended in murder. Some wretched bookmaker, I
suppose, who has taken too many bets on Gillette.
As I've said 1000 times, betting is the curse of all sport
nowadays. The governor excites himself a
great deal about betting and bookmakers, Stedman said to
Dorrington as they walked toward the pavilion.
But between you and me, I believe some of the Avalanche
people are in this. The betting bee is always in
Mallow's bonnet. But as a matter of fact, there's
very little betting at all on cycle races, and what there is
is little more than a matter of half crowns or at most half
sovereigns on the day of the race.
No bookmaker ever makes a heavy book first.
Still, there may be something in it this time, of course.
But look at the avalanche people.
With Gillette away, their man can certainly win on Saturday,
and if only the weather keeps fair, he can almost as certainly
beat the record just at present. The 50 miles is fairly easy, and
it's bound to go soon. Indeed, our intention was that
Gillette should pull it down on Saturday.
He was a safe winner bar accidents and it was good odds
on his altering the record if the weather were good and all.
With Gillette out of it, Lant is just about as certain the
winners our man would be if all were well and there would be a
boon for the avalanche company on the very eve of the share
subscription. Lant, you must know, was very
second rate till this season, but he has improved wonderfully
in the last month or two since he has been with the avalanche.
People let him win and they can point to the machine as
responsible for at all. Here, they will say in effect,
is a man who could rarely get in front, even in second class
company till he rode an avalanche.
Now he beats the world's record for 50 miles on it and makes
rings around the top most professionals.
Why, it will be worth thousands of capital to them.
Of course, the subscription of capital won't hurt us, but the
loss of the record may. And have Gillette knocked out
like this in the middle of the season is serious.
Yes, I suppose with you it is more than a matter of this one
race, of course. And so it will be with the
Avalanche company, don't you see?
With Gillette probably useless for the rest of the season,
Lance will have it all his own way and at anything over 10
miles that'll help to boom up the shares and there'll be big
profit made on trading in them. Oh, I tell you, this thing seems
pretty suspicious to me. Oh, look here, said Dorrington.
Can you borrow a light for me and let me run over with it to
the spot where the smash took place?
The people have cleared into the pavilion and I could go alone.
Well, certainly. Will you have a try for the
Governor's hundred? Well, perhaps, but anyway,
there's no harm in doing you a good turn if I can, while I'm
here someday, perhaps you'll do me one.
Right. You are.
I'll ask Fielders the ground man.
A Lantern was brought, and Dorrington betook himself to the
spot where the iron chair still lay, while Steadman joined the
rest of the crowd in the pavilion.
Dorrington minutely examined the grass within two yards of the
place where the chair lay, and then, crossing the track and
getting over the rails, did the same with the damp gravel that
paved the outer ring. The track itself was of cement
and unimpressionable by footmarks, but nevertheless he
scrutinised that with equal care as well as the rails.
Then he turned his attention to the chair.
It was, as I have said, a light chair made of flat iron strip,
bent to shape and riveted. It had seen good service, and
its present coat of green paint was evidently far from being its
original 1 Also it was rusty in places, and parts had been
repaired and straightened with cross pieces secured by bolts
and square nuts, some rusty and loose.
It was from one of these square nuts, holding a cross piece that
stayed the back at the top, that Dorrington secured some object.
It might have been a hair, which he carefully transferred to his
pocket book. This done, with one more glance
round, he betook himself to the pavilion.
A surgeon had arrived, and he reported well of the chief
patient. It was a simple fracture, and a
healthy patient. When Dorrington entered,
preparations were beginning for setting the limb.
There was a sofa in the pavilion, and the surgeon saw no
reason for removing the patient till all was made secure.
Found anything? Asked Edman, in a low tone of
Dorrington. Dorrington shook his head.
Not much, He answered at a whisper.
I'll think it over later. Dorrington asked one of the
cyclists union officials for the loan of a pencil, and having
made a note with it immediately in another part of the room,
asked Sparks, the amateur, to lend him another.
Stedman had told Mr. Mallows of Dorrington's late employment
with the Lantern, and the managing director now said
quietly. You'll remember what I said
about rewarding anybody who discovered the perpetrator of
this outrage, Mr. Dorrington. Well, I I was excited at the
time, but I quite hold to it. It is a shameful thing.
You'll have been looking about the grounds, I hear.
I hope you have come across something that will enable you
to find something out. Nothing will please me more than
to have to pay you, I'm sure. Well, Dorrington confessed.
I'm afraid I haven't seen anything very big in the way of
a clue, Mr. Mallows, but I'll think a bit.
The worst of it is, you never know who these betting men are,
do you? Once they get away.
There are so many, and it may be anybody.
Not only that, but they may bribe anybody.
Yes, of course, there's no end to their wickedness, I'm afraid.
Steadman suggests the trade rivalry may have had something
to do with it. But that seems an uncharitable
view, don't you think? Of course we stand very high and
there are jealousies and all that, but this is a thing I'm
sure no firm would think of. Stooping to for a moment now.
It's betting that it's at the bottom of this.
I fear, and I hope, Mr. Dorrington, that you will make
some attempt to find the guilty parties.
Presently. Stedman spoke to Dorrington
again. Here's something that may help
you, he said. To begin with, it must have been
done by someone from outside of the track.
Why? Well, at least every
probability's that way. Everybody inside was directly
interested in Gillett's success, excepting the union officials
and Sparks, who's a gentleman and quite above suspicion, and
as much so indeed as the union officials.
Of course there was the ground man, but he's all right, I'm
sure. And the trainer.
Oh, that's altogether improbable.
Altogether. I was going to say.
And there's that other man who was standing about.
I haven't heard who he was. Right you are.
I don't know him either. Where is he now?
But the man had gone. Look here, I'll make some quiet
inquiries about that man. Stedman pursued.
I forgot all about him in the excitement of the moment.
I was going to say that although whoever did it could easily have
got away by the gate before the smash came, he might not have
liked to go that way in case of observation and passing the
pavilion. In that case he could have got
away, and indeed he could have got into the grounds to begin
with by way of one of those garden walls that bound the
ground just by where the smash occurred.
If that was so, he must either live in one of the houses or he
must know somebody that does. Perhaps you might put a man to
smell about along the road. It's only a short 1 Chisnol
Road's the name. Yes, Sir, yes.
Dorrington responded patiently. There might be something in
that. By this time Gellet's arm was in
a starched bandage and secured by splints, and a cab was ready
to take him home. Mr. Mallows took Steadman away
with him, expressing a desire to talk business, and Dorrington
went home by himself. He did not turn down Chisnall
Rd. but he walked jauntily along toward the nearest cab stand,
and once or twice he chuckled, for he saw his way to a
delightfully lucrative financial operation in cycle companies
without risk of capital. The cab gained.
He'd called at the lodgings of two of his men assistants and
gave them instant instructions. Then he packed a small bag at
his rooms in Conduit St. and at midnight was in the late fast
train for Birmingham. End of the Affair of the
Avalanche Bicycle and Tire Company, Limited by Arthur
Morrison, Part 1. Section 4 of the Rivals of
Sherlock Holmes, Volume 1. This is a Librivox recording.
All Librivox recordings are in the public domain.
For more information or to volunteer, please visit
librivox.org. The Rivals of Sherlock Holmes,
Volume 1. The Affair of the Avalanche
Bicycle and Tire Company Limited by Arthur Morrison.
Part 2. The prospectus of the Avalanche
Bicycle and Tire Company stated that the works were at Exeter
and Birmingham. Exeter is a delightful Old Town,
but it can scarcely be regarded as the centre of the cycle
trade. Neither is it in especially easy
and short communication with Birmingham.
It was the sort of thing that any critic anxious to pick holes
in the prospectus might wonder at.
And so one of Dorrington's assistants had gone by the night
mail to inspect the works. It was from this man that
Dorrington in Birmingham, about noon on the day after Gillett's
disaster, received this telegram.
Works here old disused cloth mills just out of town, closed
and empty but with big new sign board and noticed that works now
running are at Birmingham. Agent says only deposit paid.
Tenancy agreement not signed Farish.
The telegram increased Dorrington's satisfaction, for
he had just taken a look at the Birmingham works.
They were not empty, though nearly so, nor were they large,
and a man there had told him that the chief premises where
most of the work was done were at Exeter and the hollower, the
business, the better prize he saw in store for himself.
He had already, early in the morning, indulged in a telegram
on his own account, though he had not signed it.
This was how it ran. Mallows, 58 Upper Sandown Place,
London W Fear all not safe here. Rundown by 10:10.
Train without fail. Thus it happened that at a
little later than 8:30, Dorrington's other assistant,
watching the door of #58 Upper Sandown Place, saw a telegram
delivered, and immediately afterward Mr. Paul Mallows, in
much haste, dashed away in a cab which was called from the end of
the street. The assistant followed in
another. Mr. Mallows dismissed his cab as
theatrical wig makers in Bow Street and entered when he
emerged in little more than 40 minutes time.
None but a practised watcher who had guessed the reason of his
visit would have recognised him. He had not assumed the clumsy
disguise of a false beard. He was made-up deftly, his
colour was heightened and his face seemed thinner.
There was no heavy accession of false hair, but a slight crape
hair whisker at each side made a better and less pronounced
disguise. He seemed a younger, healthier
man. The Watcher saw him safely off
to Birmingham by the 10 minutes past 10 train, and then gave
Dorrington note by Telegraph of the guise in which Mr. Mallows
was travelling. Now this train was timed to
arrive at Birmingham at one, which was the reason that
Dorrington had named it in the anonymous telegram.
The entrance to the avalanche works was by a large gate which
was closed, but which was provided with a small door to
pass a man. Within was a yard, and at a
little before 1:00 Dorrington pushed open the small door,
peeped, and entered. Nobody was about in the yard,
and what little noise could be heard came from a particular
part of the building on the right.
A pile of solid export crates stood to the left, and these
Dorrington had notice at his previous cast that morning as
making a suitable hiding place for temporary use.
Now he slipped behind them and awaited the stroke of one prompt
at the hour. A door on the opposite side of
the yard swung open, and two more and a boy emerged and
climbed one after another through the little door in the
big gate. Then presently another man, not
a Workman but apparently a sort of overseer, came from the
opposite door, which he carelessly left fall to behind
him, and he also disappeared through the little door which he
then locked. Dorrington was now alone in the
sole active works of the Avalanche Bicycle and Tire
Company, Limited. He tried the door opposite, and
found it was free to open. Within he saw in a dark corner a
candle which had been left burning, and opposite him were a
large iron enameling oven, like an immense safe, and round about
on benches were strewn heaps of the glaring red and gold
transfer which Dorrington had observed the day before on the
machines exhibited in the Holborn Viaduct window.
Some of the frames had the label newly applied, and others were
still plain. It would seem that the chief
business of the Avalanche Bicycle and Tire Company Limited
was the attaching of labels to previously nondescript machines.
But there was little time to examine further, and indeed
Dorrington presently heard the noise of a key and the outer
gate. So he stood and waited by the
enameling oven to welcome Mr. Mallows.
As the door was pushed open, Dorrington advanced and bowed
politely. Mallows started guiltily, but
remembering his disguise, steadied himself and asked
gruffly. Mouelja.
And who are you? I answered Dorrington with
perfect composure. I am Mr. Paul Mallows.
You may have heard of me in connection with the
Indestructible Bicycle Company. Hallows was altogether taken
aback. But then it struck him that
perhaps the detective, anxious to win the reward he had offered
in the matter of the Gillette outrage, was here making
inquiries in the assumed character of the man who stood
impenetrably disguised before him.
So, after a pause, he asked again, a little less gruffly.
And what may be your business? Well, said Dorrington, I did
think of taking shares in this company.
I suppose there would be no objection to the managing
director of another company taking shares in this.
No, answered Mallows, wondering what all this was to lead to.
Of course not. I'm sure you don't think so, eh?
Dorrington, as he spoke, looked in the other's face with a sly
leer, and Mallows began to feel altogether uncomfortable.
But there's one other thing. Dorrington pursued taking out
his pocketbook, though still maintaining his leer in Mallow's
face. One other thing.
And by the way, will you have another piece of quart plaster
now I've got it out? Don't say no.
It's a pleasure to oblige you, really.
And Dorrington, his leer growing positively fiendish, tapped the
side of his nose with the case of quart plaster.
Mallows paled under the paint, gasped and felt for support.
Dorrington laughed pleasantly. Oh, come calm, he said
encouragingly. Don't be frightened.
I admire your cleverness, Mr. Mallows, and I shall arrange
everything pleasantly, as you will see.
And as to the court plaster, if you'd rather not have it, you
needn't. You have another piece on now, I
see. Why didn't you get them to paint
it over at Clarkson's? They really did the face very
well, though. And there again, you were quite
right. Such a man as yourself was
likely to be recognized in such a place as Birmingham, and that
would have been unfortunate for both of us.
For both of us, I assure you. A man alive.
Don't look as though I was going to cut your throat.
I'm not. I assure you, you're a smart man
of business, and I happen to have spotted a little operation
of yours, that's all. I shall arrange easy terms for
you, pull yourself together and talk business before the men
come back here. Here, sit on this bench.
Mallows, staring amazedly in Dorrington's face, suffered
himself to be led to a bench and sat on it.
Now, said Dorrington, the first thing is a little matter of
£100. That was the reward you
promised. If I should discover who broke
Jillet's arm last night, Well, I have.
Do you happen to have any notes with you?
If none, may make it a check. But, but, but how?
I mean, who? Who?
Don't waste time, Mr. Mallows. Who?
Why, yourself, of course. I knew all about it before I
left you last night, though it wasn't quite convenient to claim
the reward then, for reasons you'll understand presently come
that little 100. But what?
What proof have you I'm not to be bounced like this?
You'll know. Mr. Mallows was gathering his
faculties again. Proof why I met alive.
Be reasonable. Suppose I have none, none at
all. What difference does that make?
Am I to walk out and tell your fellow directors where I have
met you here? Or am I to have that 100 more?
Am I to publish abroad? That, Mister Paul Mallows, is
the moving spirit in the Rotten Avalanche Bicycle Company.
Well, Mellows answered reluctantly, If you put it like
that. But I I only put it like that to
make you see things reasonably. As a matter of fact, your
connection with this new company is enough to bring you a little
performance with the iron chair. Pretty near proof, but I got at
it from the other side. See here.
You're much too clumsy with your fingers, Mr. Mallows.
First you go and tear the tip of your middle finger, opening your
broom door, and have to get quart plaster from me.
Then you let that quart plaster get frayed at the edge and just
still keep it on. After that you execute your very
successful chair operation. When the eyes of the others are
following the bicycles. You take the chair and the hand
with the plaster on it, catching hold of it at the place where a
rough, loose square nut protrudes, and you pitch it on
the track so clumsily and nervously that the nut carries
away the frayed thread of the court plaster with it.
Here it is, you see, still in my pocket book where I put it last
night by the light of the Lantern.
Just a sticky black silk thread, that's all.
I've only brought it to show you I'm playing a fair game with
you. Of course.
I might easily have got a witness before I took the thread
off the nut if I had thought you were likely to fight the matter.
But I knew you were not. You can't fight, you know, with
this bogus company business known to me, so that I am only
showing you this thread is an act of grease to prove that I
have stomped you with perfect fairness.
And now the 100. Here's a fountain pen if you
want one. Well said, Mallows glumly.
I suppose I must. Then he took the pen and wrote
the cheque. Dorrington plotted it on the pad
of his pocket book and folded it away.
So much for that, he said. That's just a little
preliminary, you understand. We've done these things just as
a guarantee of good faith, not necessarily for publication.
And though you must remember that as yet, there's nothing to
prevent it. I've done you a turn by finding
out who upset those bicycles, as you so ardently wished me to do
last night, and you've loyally fulfilled your part of the
contract by paying me the promised reward.
Though I must say that you you haven't paid with all the
delight and pleasure you spoke of at the time.
But I'll forgive you that. And now that the little hors
d'oeuvre is disposed of, we'll proceed to serious business.
Mallow looked uncomfortably glum.
But you mustn't look so ashamed of yourself, you know.
Dorrington said, purposely misinterpreting his glumness.
It's all business. You were disposed for a little
side flutter, so to speak. A little speculation outside
your regular business where you mustn't be ashamed of that.
No, Mallows observed, assuming something of his ordinarily
ponderous manner. No, of course not.
It's a little speculative deal. Everybody does it, and there's a
deal of money going. Precisely.
And since everybody does it, and there is so much money going,
you are only making your share, Of course.
Mr. Mallows was almost pompous by now.
Of course. Dorrington coughed slightly.
Well, now, do you know I'm exactly the same sort of man as
yourself, if you don't mind the comparison.
I am disposed for a little side business, so to speak, a little
speculation outside my regular business.
I also am not ashamed of it, and since everybody does it, and
there is so much money going, why I am thinking of making my
share so that we are evidently a pair and naturally intended for
each other. Mr. Paul Mallows here looked a
little doubtful. See here now.
Dorrington proceeded. I have lately taken it into my
head to operate a little on the cycle share market.
That was why I came round myself about that little spoke affair
instead of sending an assistant. I wanted to know somebody who
understood the cycle trade, from whom I might get tips.
You see, I'm perfectly frank with you.
Well, I have succeeded on commonly well, and I want you to
understand that I have gone every step of the way by Fair
Work. I took nothing for granted, and
I played the game fairly. When you asked me, as you had
anxious reason to ask if I had found anything, I told you there
was nothing very big, and see what a little thing the thread
was. Before I came away from the
pavilion I made sure that you were really the only man there
with Blackcourt plaster on his fingers.
I had noticed the hands of every man but two, and I made all
excuse of borrowing something to see those.
I saw your thin presence of suspecting the betting men and I
played up on it. I have had a telegraphic report
on your Exeter works this morning.
A deserted cloth mills with nothing on it of yours but a
sign board and only a deposit of rent paid there.
They referred to the works here, here they referred to the works
there. It was a very clever really.
Also I have had a telegraphic report of your make up adventure
this morning. Clarkson doesn't marvellously,
don't he? And by the way, that telegram
bringing you down to Birmingham was not from your confederate
here, as perhaps you fancied. It was from me.
Thanks for coming so promptly. I managed to get a quiet look
round here just before you arrived, and on the whole, the
conclusion I come to as to the Avalanche Bicycle and Tyre
Company Limited is this. A clever man, whom it gives me
great pleasure to know with a bow to Mallows, conceives the
notion of offering the public the very rottenest cycle Company
ever planned, and all without appearing in it himself.
He finds what little capital is required.
His two or three Confederates help to make up a board of
directors with one or two titled Guinea pigs who know nothing of
the company and care nothing, and the rests easy.
A professional racing man is employed to win races and make
records on machines which have been specially made by another
firm. Perhaps it was the
indestructible who knows to a private order and afterwards
decorated with the name and style of the bogus company.
On a transfer for ordinary sale, bicycles of the trade
description are bought so much 100 from the factors and put
your own name on them. They come cheap and they sell at
a good price. The profit pays all expenses and
perhaps a bit over, and by the time they all break down, the
company will be successfully floated the money, the capital
will be divided, the moving spirit and his Confederates will
have disappeared, and the Guinea pigs will be left to span the
racket. If there is a racket, and the
moving spirit will remain unsuspected.
A man of account in the trade all the time admirable.
All the work to be done at the works is the sticking on of
labels and a bit of enameling. Excellent all round.
Isn't that about the size of your operations?
Well, yes. Mallows answered, a little
reluctantly, but with something of modest pride in his manner.
That was the notion that you speak so plainly, and it shall
be the notion all, everything shall be as you have planned it,
with one exception, which is this.
The moving spirit shall divide his plunder with me.
You. Why, I gave you 100 just now.
Oh, dear, dear, why will you harp so much on that vulgar
little 100 that's settled and tongue with?
That's our little personal bargain.
In the manner of the lamentable accident with the chair, we are
now talking our bigger business, Not hundreds, but thousands, and
not one of them but a lot. Come now, a mind like yours
should be wide enough to admit of a broad and large view of
things. If I refrain from exposing this
charming scheme of yours, I shall be promoting a piece of
scandalous robbery. Very well, then, I want my
promotion money in the regular way.
Can I shut my eyes and allow a piece of iniquity like this to
go on unchecked without getting anything by way of damages for
myself? Perish the thought.
When all expenses are paid, and the Confederates are sent off
with as little as they will take, you and I will divide
fairly. Mr. Mallows's respectable
brothers in rascality mind. I might say we'd divide to begin
with, and leave you to pay expenses, but I am always fair
to a partner in anything of this sort.
I shall just want a little guarantee.
You know it's safest in such matters as these.
I'll say a bill. It's six months for £10,000,
which is very low. When a satisfactory division is
made, you shall have the bill back.
Come. I have a bill stamp ready, being
so much convinced of your reasonableness as to buy it this
morning, though it cost 5 lbs. But as well as nonsense you're
trying to impose, I'll give you anything reasonable.
Half is lout of the question. What, after all the trouble and
worry and risk that I've had, which would suffice for no more
than to put you in jail if I held up my finger?
But hang it, be reasonable. You're a mighty clever man and
you've got me on the hip, is what I admit.
Say 10%. You're wasting your time and
presently the men will be back. Your choices between making half
or making none and going to jail into the bargain.
Choose, but just consider. Choose.
Malos looked despairingly about him.
But really, he said, I want the money more than you think.
I, for the last time, choose. Mallow's despairing gaze stopped
at the enameling of it. Well, well, he said, If I must.
I must, I suppose. But I warn you, you may regret
it. Oh, Oh dear, no, I'm not so
pessimistic. Come, you wrote a cheque now.
I'll write the bill six months after date.
Pay to me or my order the sum of £10,000 for value received.
Excellent value too, I think. There you are.
When the bill was written and signed, Mallow scribbled his
acceptance with more readiness than might have been expected.
Then he rose and said with something of a brisk
cheerfulness in his tone. Well, that's done, and the least
said the soonest mended. You'll want it, but I won't
grumble any more. I think I've done this thing
pretty neatly, eh? Come and see the works.
Every other part of the place was empty of machinery.
There were a good many finished frames and wheels bought
separately and now in course of being fitted together for sale.
And there were many more complete bicycles of cheap but
showy make, to which nothing needed to be done but to fix the
red and gold transfer of the Avalanche company.
Then Mallows opened the tall iron door of the enameling oven.
Say this, he said. This is the enameling oven.
Get in and look round the frames and other differed parts hang on
the racks after the enamel is laid on and all those gas jets
are lighted to harden it by heat.
Do you see? Do you see that deeper part
there by the back? Go closer.
Dorrington fell to push at his back and the door was swung to
with a bang and the latch dropped.
He was in the dark, trapped in a great iron chamber, and
instantly Dorrington's nostrils were filled with the smell of
escaping gas. He realised his peril on the
instant Mallows had given him the bill with the idea of
silence in him by murder, and recovering it, he had pushed him
into the oven and had turned on the gas.
It was dark, but to light a match would mean death
instantly, and without the match it must be death by suffocation
and poison of gas in a very few minutes.
To appeal to Mallow was useless. Dorrington knew too much.
It would seem that at last a horribly fitting retribution had
overtaken Dorrington in death by a mode parallel to that which he
and his creatures had prepared for others.
Dorrington's victims had drowned in water, or at least Crofton's
head, for I never ascertained definitely whether anybody had
met his death by the tank after the Croftons had taken service
with Dorrington. And now Dorrington himself was
to drown in gas. The oven was of sheet iron,
fastened by a latch in the centre.
Dorrington flung himself desperately against the door,
and it gave outwardly. At the extreme bottom he
snatched a loose angle iron, with which his hand came in
contact, dashed against the door once more, and thrust the iron
through where it strained open. Then with another tremendous
plunge he drove the door a little more outward and raised
the angle iron in the crack, then once more, and raised it
again. He was near to losing his senses
when, with one more plunge, the catch of the latch, not designed
for such treatment, suddenly gave way.
The door flew open, and Dorrington blew in the face.
Staring, stumbling, and gasping, came staggering out into the
fresh air, followed by a gush of gas.
Mallows had retreated to the rooms behind, and thither
Dorrington followed him, gaining vigor and fury at every step.
At sight of him the wretched Mallows sank in a corner,
sighing and shivering with terror.
Dorrington hauled the struggling Wretch across the room, tearing
off the crape whiskers as he came, while Mallows supplicated
and whined, fearing that it might be the others designed to
imprison him in the enameling oven.
But at the door of the room against that containing the
oven, their progress came to an end, for the escaped gas had
reached the lighted candle, and with one loud report, the
partition wall fairly and half burying mallows where he lay,
and knocking Dorrington over. Windows fell out of the building
and men broke through the front gate, climbed into the ruined
rooms and stopped the still escaping gas.
When the two men and the boy returned with the conspirator
who had been in charge of the works, they found a crowd from
the hardware and cycle factories thereabout surveying with great
interest a spectacle of the extrication of Mr. Paul Mallows,
managing director of the Indestructible Bicycle Company,
from the broken bricks, mortar, bicycles and transfers of the
Avalanche Bicycle and Tire Company Limited.
And the preparations for carrying him to a surgeon's were
his broken leg might be set. And in a couple of hours it was
all over Birmingham and spreading to other places that
the business of the Avalanche Bicycle entire company consisted
of sticking brilliant labels on factors bicycles bought in
patches. So that when next day Lant won
the 50 miles race in London he was greeted with ironical shouts
of Come on you traps fir I mind your label, Where'd you steal
the bicycle Soldier shares and so forth.
Somehow the Avalanche Bicycle and Tire Company Limited never
went to allotment. It was found politic also that
Mister Paul Mallows should retire from the directorate of
the Indestructible Bicycle Company.
As for Dorrington, he had his £100 reward, but the bill for
£10,000 he never presented. Why, I do not altogether know,
unless he found that Mister Mallow's financial position, as
he had hinted, was not altogether so good as was
supposed. End of the Affair of the
Avalanche Bicycle and Tire Company, Limited by Arthur
Morrison, Part 2. Section 5 of the Rivals of
Sherlock Holmes, Volume 1. This is a Librivox recording.
All Librivox recordings are in the public domain.
For more information or to volunteer please visit
librivox.org. Recorded by Nigel Carrington in
London, April 2011. The Rivals of Sherlock Holmes,
Volume 1. The Duchess of Wiltshire's
Diamonds, by Guy Boothby, Part 1.
To the reflective mind, the rapidity with which the
inhabitants of the world's greatest city seize upon a new
name or idea and familiarize themselves with it, can scarcely
prove otherwise than astonishing.
As an illustration of my meaning, let me take the case of
Clemo, the now famous private detective, who was one for
himself the right to be considered as great as Lecoq, or
even the late lamented Sherlock Holmes.
Up to a certain morning, London had never even heard his name,
nor had it the remotest notion as to who or what he might be.
It was a sublimely ignorant and careless on the subject as the
inhabitants of Camchaika or Peru.
Within 24 hours, however, the whole aspect of the case was
changed. The man, woman or child who had
not seen his posters or heard his name was counted an
ignoramus unworthy of intercourse with human beings.
Princess became familiar with it as their trains tore them to
Windsor to luncheon with the Queen.
The nobility noticed and commented upon it as they drove
about the town. Merchants and businessmen
generally read it as they made their ways by omnibus or
underground to their various shops and counting houses.
Street boys called each other by it as a nickname.
Music Hall artists introduced it into their patter, while it was
even rumoured that the Stock Exchange itself had paused in
the full flood tide of business to manufacture a Riddle on the
subject. That Klima made his profession
pay him well was certain, First, from the fact that his
advertisements must have cost a good round sum, and second,
because he had taken a mansion in Belveton St.
Park Lane, next door to Porchester House, where, to the
dismay of that aristocratic neighborhood, he advertised that
he was prepared to receive and be consulted by his clients.
The invitation was responded to with alacrity, and from that day
forward, between the hours of 12 and 2, the pavement upon the
north side of the street was lined with carriages, everyone
containing some person desirous of testing the great man's
skill. I must here explain that I've
narrated all this in order to show the state of affairs
existing in Belverton St. and Park Lane, when Simon Cahn
arrived, or was supposed to arrive, in England.
If my memory serves me correctly, it was on Wednesday,
the 3rd of May, that the Earl of Amberley drove to Victoria to
meet and welcome the man whose acquaintance he had made in
India under such peculiar circumstances, and under the
spell of whose fascination he and his family had fallen so
completely. Reaching the station, his
Lordship descended from his carriage and made his way to the
platform set apart for the reception of the Continental
Express. He walked with a jaunty air, and
seemed to be on the best of terms with himself and the world
in general. How little he suspected the
existence of the noose into which he was so innocently
running his head. As if out of compliment to his
arrival, the train put in an appearance within a few moments
of his reaching the platform. He immediately placed himself in
such a position that he could make sure of seeing the man he
wanted, and waited patiently until he should come.
Insight Khan, however, was not among the first batch.
Indeed, the majority of passengers had passed before his
lordship caught sight of him. One thing was very certain.
However great the crush might have been, it would have been
difficult to mistake Khan's figure.
The man's infirmity and the peculiar beauty of his face
rented him easily recognisable, possibly after his long surgeon
in India. He found the morning cold, for
he wore a long fur coat, the collar of which he turned up
round his ears, thus making a fitting frame for his delicate
face. On seeing Lord Amberley, he
hastened forward to greet him. This is most kind and friendly
of you, he said, as he shook the other by the hand.
A fine day, and Lord Amberley to meet me.
One could scarcely imagine a better welcome.
As he spoke, one of his Indian servants approached, and Salaam
before him, he gave him an order and received an answer in
Hindustani, whereupon he turned again to Lord Amberley.
You may imagine how anxious I am to see my new dwelling, he said.
My servant tells me that my carriage is here, so may I hope
that you will drive back with me and see for yourself how I'm
likely to be lodged? I shall be delighted, said Lord
Amberley, who was longing for the opportunity, and they
accordingly went out into the station yard together to
discover a broom drawn by two magnificent horses, And with
Noor Ali in all the glory of white raiment and crested turban
on the box waiting to receive them, His Lordship dismissed his
Victoria. And when Joao Singh had taken
his place beside his fellow servant upon the box, the
carriage rolled out of the station yard in the direction of
Hyde Park. I trust her ladyship is quite
well, said Simon Cahn politely, as they turned into Gloucester
Place. Excellently well, thank you,
replied his Lordship. She bade me welcome you to
England in her name as well as my own, and I was to say that
she's looking forward to seeing you.
She's most kind, and I shall do myself the honour of calling
upon her as soon as circumstances will permit,
answered Kahn. I beg you will convey my best
thanks to her for her thought of me.
While these polite speeches were passing between them, they were
rapidly approaching a large hoarding, on which was displayed
a poster setting forth the name of the now famous detective
Clemo. Simon Cahn, leaning forward,
studied it, and when they had passed, turned to his friend
again. At Victoria, and on all the
hoardings we meet, I see an enormous placard bearing the
word Clemo. Pray, what does it mean?
His Lordship laughed. You're asking a question which a
month ago was on the lips of nine out of every 10 Londoners.
It is only within the last fortnight that we have learned
who and what Clemo is. And pray, what is he?
Well, the explanation is very simple.
He's neither more nor less than a remarkably astute private
detective, who has succeeded in attracting notice in such a way
that half London has been induced to patronize him.
I have had no dealings with the man myself, but a friend of
mine, Lord Orpington, has been the victim of the most audacious
burglary, and the police having failed to solve the mystery, he
has called Clemo in. We shall therefore see what he
can do before many days have passed.
But there I expect you will soon know more about him than any of
us. Indeed, and why?
For the simple reason that he has taken #1 Belverton Terrace,
the house adjoining your own, and sees his clients there.
Simon Khan pursed up his lips and appeared to be considering
something. No, I trust you will not prove a
nuisance. He said at last.
The agents who found me the house should have acquainted me
with the fact. Private detectives, on however
larger scale, scarcely strike one as the most desirable of
neighbors, particularly for a man who is so fond of quiet as
myself. At this moment they were
approaching their destination. As the carriage past Belveton
St. and pulled up. Lord Amberley pointed to a long
line of vehicles standing before the detective's door.
You consider yourself something of the business he does, he
said. Those are the carriages of his
clients, and it is probable that twice as many have arrived on
foot. I shall certainly speak to the
agent on the subject, said Khan with a shadow of annoyance upon
his face. I consider the fact of this
man's being so close to me a serious drawback to the house.
Joa Singh here descended from the box and opened the door in
order that his master and his guest might alight, while portly
Ramgufour, the Butler, came down the steps and Salam before them
with Oriental obsequiousness. Khan greeted his domestics with
kindly condescension, and then, accompanied by the ex viceroy,
entered his new abode. I think you may congratulate
yourself upon having secured one of the most desirable residents
in London, said his Lordship 10 minutes or so later when they
had explored the principal rooms.
I'm very glad to hear you say so, said Khan.
I trust your lordship will remember that you will always be
welcome in the house as long as I am its owner.
That's very kind of you to say so, returned Lord Amberly
warmly. I shall look forward to some
months of pleasant intercourse. And now I must be going
tomorrow, perhaps, if you have nothing better to do, you will
give us the pleasure of your company at dinner.
Your fame has already gone abroad, and we shall ask one or
two nice people to meet you, including my brother and
sister-in-law, Lord and Lady Gulpington, Lord and Lady
Orpington, and my cousin, the Duchess of Wiltshire, whose
interest in China and Indian art, as perhaps you know, is
only second to your own. I shall be most glad to come.
We may count on seeing you in Eaton Square, then at 8:00.
If I'm alive, you may be sure I shall be there.
Must you really go, then? Goodbye, and Many thanks for
meeting me, His Lordship. Having left the house, Simon
Cahn went upstairs to his dressing room, which, it was to
be noticed, he found without enquiry, and rang the electric
bell beside the fireplace three times.
While he was waiting for it to be answered, he stood looking
out of the window at the long line of carriages in the street
below. Everything is progressing
admirably, he said to himself. Amberly does not suspect any
more than the world in general. There's a proof.
He asks me to dinner tomorrow evening to meet his brother and
sister-in-law, two of his particular friends, and above
all, her Grace of Wiltshire. Of course I shall go, and when I
bid her grace goodbye, it will be strange if I'm not one step
nearer the interest on Lizzie's money.
At this moment the door opened, and his valet, the grave and
respectable Belton, entered the room.
Khan turned to greet him impatiently.
Come, come, Belton, he said, We must be quick.
It is 20 minutes to 12, and if we don't hurry the folk next
door will become impatient. Have you succeeded in doing what
I spoke to you about last night? I have done everything, Sir.
I'm glad to hear it. Now lock that door and let us
get to work. You can let me have your news
while I'm dressing. Opening one side of a massive
wardrobe that completely filled one end of the room belt and
took from it a number of garments.
They included a well worn velvet coat, a baggy pair of trousers
so old that only a notorious pauper or a millionaire could
have afforded to wear them, a flannel waist skirt, a Gladstone
collar, a soft silk tie, and a pair of embroidered carpet
slippers, upon which no old clothes man in the most reckless
way of business in Petticoat Lane, would have advanced a
single Hackney. Into these he assisted his
master to change. Now give me the wig and unfasten
the straps of this hump, said Khan, as the other place the
garments just referred to upon a neighboring chair.
Belton did as he was ordered, and then there happened to think
the like of which no one would have believed.
Having unbuckled a strap on either shoulder and slipped his
hand beneath the waist skirt, he withdrew a large papier mache
hump, which he carried away and carefully placed in a drawer of
the Bureau. Relieved of his burden, Simon
Cahn stood up as straight and well made a man as any in Her
Majesty's dominions. The malformation for which so
many, including the Earl encounters of Amberley, had
often pitied him, was nothing but a hoax intended to produce
an effect which would permit him additional facilities of
disguise. The hump discarded, and the grey
wig fitted carefully to his head in such a manner that not even a
pinch of his own curly locks could be seen beneath it.
He adorned his cheeks with a pair of crepe you hair whiskers,
donned the flannel vest and the velvet coat previously
mentioned, slipped his feet into the carpet slippers, placed a
pair of smoked glasses upon his nose and declared himself ready
to proceed about his business. The man who would have known him
for Simon Cahn would have been as astute as, shall we say, as
the private Detective Clemo himself.
It's on the stroke of 12, he said as he gave a final glance
at himself in the peer glass above the dressing table and
arranged his tie to his satisfaction.
Should anyone call, instruct Ramgufur to tell them that I've
gone out on business and should not be back until 3:00.
Very good, Sir. Now undo the door and let me go
in. Thus commanded, Belton went
across to the large wardrobe, which, as I've already said,
covered the whole of one side of the room, and opened the middle
door. Two or three garments were seen
inside, suspended on pegs, and these he removed at the same
time pushing towards the right panel at the rear.
When this was done, a large aperture in the wall between the
two houses was disclosed. Through this door Khan passed,
drawing it behind him in #1 Belverton Terrace, the house
occupied by the detective, whose presence in the street Khan
seemed to find so objectionable. The entrance thus constructed
was covered by the peculiar kind of confessional box in which
Clemo invariably sat to receive his clients, the rear most
panels of which opened in the same fashion as those in the
wardrobe in the dressing room. These being pulled aside, he had
but to draw them to again after him, take his seat, ring the
electric bell to inform his housekeeper that he was ready,
and then welcome his clients as quickly as they cared to come.
Punctually at 2:00, the interviews ceased and Clemo,
having reaped an excellent harvest of fees, returned to
Porchester House to become Simon Cahn once more.
Possibly it was due to the fact that the Earl and Countess of
Amberley were brimming over with his praise.
It may have been the rumour that he was worth as many millions as
you have fingers upon your hand that did it.
One thing however, was self-evident.
Within 24 hours of the noble Earls meeting him at Victoria
station, Simon Cahn was the talk not only of fashionable but also
of unfashionable London. That his household were, with
one exception, natives of India. That he paid a rental for
Porchester House, which ran into five figures.
That he was the greatest living authority upon China and Indian
art generally, and that he had come over to England in search
of a wife, where among the smallest of the canards set
afloat concerning him. During dinner next evening Khan
put forth every effort to please.
He was placed on the right hand of his Hostess and next to the
Duchess of Wiltshire. To the latter he paid particular
attention, and to such good purpose that when the ladies
returned to the drawing room afterwards, Her Grace was full
of his praises. They had discussed China of all
sorts. Khan had promised her a specimen
which she had longed for all her life, but had never been able to
obtain, and in return she had promised to show him the
quaintly carved Indian casket in which the famous necklace of
which he had, of course, heard spent most of its time.
She would be wearing the jewels in question at her own ball in a
week's time, she informed him, and if he would care to see the
case when it came from her bankers on that day, she would
be only too pleased to show it to him.
As Simon Cahn drove home in his luxurious broom afterwards, he
smiled to himself as he thought of the success which was
attending his first endeavour. Two of the guests who were
stewards of the Jockey Club had heard with delight his idea of
purchasing a horse in order to have an interest in the Derby,
while another, on hearing that he desired to become the
possessor of a yacht, had offered to propose him for the
RCYC. To crown it all, however, and
much better than all, the Duchess of Wiltshire had
promised to show him her famous diamonds.
By this time next week, he said to himself, Lizzie's interest
should be considerably closer. But satisfactory as my progress
has been hitherto, it is difficult to see how I am to get
possession of the stones. From what I've been able to
discover, they're only brought from the bank on the day the
Duchess intends to wear them, and they're taken back by His
Grace the following morning. While she's got them on her
person, it would be manifestly impossible to get them from her,
And as when she takes them off, they are returned to their box
and placed in a safe constructed in the wall of the bedroom
adjoining, and which for the occasion is occupied by the
Butler and one of the under footmen, the only key being in
possession of the Duke himself, it would be equally foolish to
hope to appropriate them. In what manner, therefore, I am
to become their possessor passes my comprehension.
However, one thing is certain, obtained they must be, and the
attempt must be made on the night of the ball, if possible.
In the meantime I'll set my wits to work upon a plan.
Next day Simon Cahn was the recipient of an invitation to
the ball in question, and two days later he called upon the
Duchess of Wiltshire at her residence in Belgrave Square
with a plan prepared. He also took with him the small
vase he had promised her four nights before.
She received him most graciously, and their talk fell
at once into the usual channel. Having examined her collection
and charmed her by means of one or two judicious criticisms, he
asked permission to include photographs of certain of her
treasures in his forthcoming book.
Then, little by little, he skilfully guided the
conversation onto the subject of jewels.
Since we are discussing gems, Mr. Khan, she said, perhaps it
would interest you to see my famous necklace.
By good fortune I have it in the house now, for the reason that
an alteration is being made to one of the casps by my
jewellers. I should like to see it
immensely, answered Khan. At one time and another I have
had the good fortune to examine the jewels of the leading Indian
Princess, and I should like to be able to say that I had seen
the famous Wiltshire necklace. Then you shall certainly have
that honour, she answered with a smile.
If you will ring that bell, I will send for it.
Khan rang the bell as requested, and when the Butler entered he
was given the key of the safe and ordered to bring the case to
the drawing room. Though 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, Khan
replied, and turned to the description of some curious
Indian wood carving on 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 dual case itself may be of use to you.
As I think I told you during Lady Amber'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 Khan. A few moments later the servant
returned, bringing with him a wooden box about 16 inches long
by 12 wide and 8 deep, which he placed upon a table beside his
mistress, after which he retired.
This is the case to which I've 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 Cairn drew his chair up to the table and
examined the box. It was with just as she had
described it, as a work of art. What the wood was of which it
was constructed Kahn was unable to tell.
It was dark and heavy, and though it was not teak, 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 Kahn, when he
had finished his examination. In all my experience, I can
safely say I've never seen it's 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 should 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 Khan had been waiting for, and he
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 Khan. And now let us look inside, said
his Hostess. Choosing a key from a bunch she
carried in her pocket. She unlocked the casket and
lifted the lid. Accustomed, as Khan had all his
life been to the sight of gems, what he saw before him then
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 Khan could see.
Every gem was perfect of its kind, and there were no fewer
than 300 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 £50,000, a mere flea bite 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 is likely to be of any assistance to you,
replied Her Grace. Khan thereupon produced a small
ivory rule, ran it over the box, and the figures he thus obtained
he jotted down in his pocketbook. 10 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've cracked a good many hard
nuts in my time, he said reflectively.
But never one that seems so difficult at first sight.
Is this, as far as I see it 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 should be allowed to have
possession of it without the stones, of course, for a period
possibly extending from 11:00 in the morning to four or five, at
any rate not later than 7 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 to all intents and purposes,
I'm 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 Joao Singh announced his
carriage and feelings. 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 male 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. Today, however, the fashionable
world noticed that Simon Cahn 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 home quickly. 10 minutes had scarcely elapsed
before he was back in his study again, and had ordered that
Wajibak should be sent to him. When the man he wanted put in an
appearance, Khan handed him the paper upon which he had made the
drawing of the jewel case. Look at this, 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 sayest, it is a box, said Khan.
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.
I think now why Jeep backs? For in this case thou wilt need
to have all thy wits about thee. Tell me, is it in thy power, O
most cunning of all Craftsman, 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? Marjee 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 as it pleases him.
Very good, said Khan. Then tomorrow 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 Hiram Singh. Waji Baksh Salaam and withdrew,
and Simon Cahn for the time being, dismissed the matter from
his mind. Next morning, while he was
dressing, Belton reported that the two artifices desired an
interview with him. He ordered them to be admitted,
and forthwith they entered the room.
It was noticeable that Waji Baksh carried in his hand a
heavy box which, upon Khan's motioning him to do so, he
placed upon the table. Have you 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 design to look, he will see that we have
made a box of the size and shape such as he drew upon the paper.
Yes, it is certainly a good copy, said Khan condescendingly
after he'd examined it. Waji back showed his white teeth
in appreciation of the compliment and Hiram Singh drew
closer to the table. And now if the side will open
it, he will in his wisdom be able to tell if it resembles the
other that he has in his mind. Khan opened the boxes requested
and discovered that the interior was an exact counterfeit of the
Duchess of Wiltshire jewel case, even to the extent of the
quilted leather lining which had been the others 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 aim
to try and 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 box. The case being securely
fastened, Hiram Singh laid it before his master.
I am to open it, I suppose, said Khan, taking the key and
replacing it in the lock. If my master pleases, replied
the other. Khan 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
Bax 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
centre of the quilting, dividing the false bottom into two
pieces. These he lifted out, revealing
the comb lying on 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.
But there is one disadvantage. It is as follows when the pieces
which form the bottom are lifted out in order that my Lord may
get it to whatever lies concealed beneath the springs
must of necessity stand revealed.
However, to anyone 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 Khan. And I shall not be likely to
forget. Now one other question.
Presuming I'm in a position to put the real box into your hands
for, say, 8 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. 3 hours at most would suffice for that.
I'm pleased with you, said Khan, as a proof of my satisfaction.
When the work is finished, you will each receive ₹500.
Now you can go according to his promise. 10:00 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 Cahn.
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 1/4 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
humidly. If only the notion worked out by
hire. I'm seeing and Waji Baksh holds
good. The famous Wiltshire diamonds
will become my property before very many hours are past.
By this time tomorrow, 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 Waji
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 9 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 5:00 the alterations had
been affected and the case stood ready.
By the time Khan 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 draw 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 1 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.
That is the end of The Duchess of Wiltshire's Diamonds by Guy
Boothby, Part 1, recording by Nigel Carrington in London,
England, April 2011. Section 6 of the Rivals of
Sherlock Holmes Volume 1. This is a Librivox recording.
All Librivox recordings are in the public domain.
For more information or to volunteer, please visit
librivox.org. Recorded by Nigel Carrington in
London, April 2011. The rivals of Sherlock Holmes,
volume 1. The Duchess of Wiltshire's
Diamonds by Guy Boothby, Part 2 At 7:30 he dined and afterwards
smoked a meditative cigar over the evening paper in the
billiard room. The invitations to the ball were
for 10:00, and at 9:30 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're doing so,
listen to my final instructions. Tonight, as you know, I am
endeavouring to secure the Duchess of Wiltshire's necklace.
Tomorrow morning all London will resign with the hubbub, and I've
been making my plans in such a way as to arrange that Clemo
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 12:00. Do you understand?
Perfectly, Sir. Very good.
Now give me the dual case and let me be on.
You need not sit up for me. Precisely as the clocks in the
neighborhood were striking 10 Simon Cahn reached Belgrave
Square and, as he hoped, found himself the 1st guest.
His Hostess and her husband received him in the anteroom of
the drawing room. I come laden with 1000
apologies, 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 duel case you so kindly lent me.
I must trust 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'm 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've not damaged it either externally or internally,
said Khan 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 appearance, 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 Khan promised to call
upon her the following morning at 11:00, 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 Khan bade his Hostess goodnight 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.
Breakfast was scarcely over next morning before a hansom drew up
to his front door, and Lord Amberley alighted.
He was ushered into Khan's presence forthwith, and, on
seeing that the latter was surprised at his early visit,
hastened to explain. My dear fellow, he said, as he
took possession of the chair the other offered him.
I've come round to see you on most important business, as I
told you last night at the dance, when you so kindly asked
me to come and see the steam yacht you had purchased.
I had an appointment with Wiltshire at 9:30 this morning.
On reaching Belgrave Square I found the whole house in
confusion. Servants were running, hit her
and thither with scared faces. The Butler was on the borders of
lunacy. The Duchess was well now
hysterical in her boudoir, while her husband was in his study,
vowing vengeance against all the world.
You alarm me, said Khan, lighting a cigarette with a hand
that was as steady as a rock. What on earth has happened?
I think I might safely allow you 50 guesses and then weighs your
£100. You'd not hit the mark and yet
in a certain measure it concerns you, concerns me.
Good gracious, what have I done to bring all this about trade?
Do not look so alarmed, said Amberley personally.
You've done nothing. Indeed.
On second thoughts, I don't know that I'm right in saying that it
concerns you at all. The fact of the matter is, Khan,
a burglary took place last night at Wiltshire House and the
famous necklace has disappeared. Good heavens, you don't say so,
but I do. The circumstances of the case
are as follows. When my cousin retired to her
room last night after the ball, she unclasped the necklace and
in her husband's presence placed it carefully in her duel case,
which she locked. That having been done,
Wheelchair took the box to the room which contained the safe
and himself placed it there, locking the iron door with his
own key. The room was occupied that
night, according to custom, by the Butler and one of the
footmen, both of whom have been in the family since they were
boys. Next morning, after breakfast,
the Duke unlocked the safe and took out the box, intending to
convey it to the bank as usual. Before leaving, however, he
placed it on his study table and went upstairs to speak to his
wife. He cannot remember exactly how
long he was absent, but he feels convinced that he was not gone
more than 1/4 of an hour at the very utmost.
Their conversation finished, she accompanied him downstairs where
she saw him take up the case to carry it to his carriage.
Before he left the house, however, she said, I suppose you
have looked to see that the necklace is all right.
How could I do so? Was his reply.
You know you possess the only key that will fit it, she felt
in her pockets, but to her surprise, the key was not there.
If I were a detective, I should say that is a point to be
remembered, said Khan with a smile.
Pray, where did she find her keys?
Upon her dressing table, said Amberley, though she has not the
slightest recollection of leaving them there.
Well, when she'd procured the keys, what happened?
Why, they opened the box and to their astonishment and dismay,
found it empty. The jaws were gone.
Good. Gracious, what a terrible loss.
It seems almost impossible that it can be true.
And pray, what did they do? At first they stood staring into
the empty box, hardly believing the evidence of their own eyes.
Stare. How they would, however, they
could not bring them back. The jewels had, without doubt,
disappeared, but when and where the robbery had taken place it
was impossible to say. After that they had up all the
servants and questioned them. But the result was as they might
have foreseen. No one, from the Butler to the
kitchen maid, could throw any light upon the subject.
To this minute it remains as great a mystery as when they
first discovered it. I am more concerned than I can
tell you, said Khan. How thankful I ought to be that
I returned the case to Her Grace last night.
But in thinking of myself I'm forgetting to ask what has
brought you to me. If I can be of any assistance, I
hope you will come on me. Well, I'll tell you why I've
come, replied Lord Amberley. Naturally they are most anxious
to have the mystery solved and the duels recovered as soon as
possible. Now Wilshire wanted to send to
Scotland Yard there and then, but his wife and I eventually
persuaded him to consult Kleemer, as you know, if the
police authorities are called in first, he refuses the business
altogether. Now we thought you are his next
door neighbor. You might possibly be able to
assist us. You may be very sure, my Lord.
I will do everything that lies in my power.
Let us go in and see him at once.
As he spoke he rose and threw what remained of his cigarette
into the fireplace. His visitor having imitated his
example, they procured their hats, and walked round from Park
Lane into Belveton St. to bring up at #1 After they had rung the
bell, the door was opened to them by the old woman, who
invariably received the detective's clients.
Is Mr. Clemo at home? Asked Khan, and if so, can we
see him? The old lady was a little deaf,
and the question had to be repeated before she could be
made to understand what was wanted.
As soon, however, as she realised their desire, she
informed them that her Master was absent from town, but would
be back as usual at 12:00 to meet his clients.
What on earth's to be done? Said the Earl, looking at his
companion in dismay. I'm afraid I can't come back
again, as I have a most important appointment at that
hour. Do you think you could entrust
the business to me? Asked Khan.
If so, I will make a point of seeing him at 12:00, and could
call at Wiltshire House afterwards and tell the Duke
what I have done. That's very good of you, replied
Amberley. If you were sure it would not
put you to too much trouble, that would be quite the best
thing to be done. I will do it with pleasure, Khan
replied. I feel it my duty to help in
whatever way I can. Oh, you're very kind, said the
other. Then, as I understand it, you
are to call upon Clemo at 12:00 and afterwards to let my cousins
know what you have succeeded in doing.
I only hope he will help us to secure the thief.
We're having too many of these burglaries just now.
I must catch this handsome and be off.
Goodbye and Many thanks. Goodbye, said Khan and shook him
by the hand. The handsome having rolled away,
Khan retraced his steps to his own abode.
It is really very strange, he muttered as he walked along.
How often Chance condescends to lend her assistance to my little
schemes. The mere fact that His Grace
left the box unwatched in his study for 1/4 of an hour may
serve to throw the police offer on quite another scent.
I'm also glad that they decided to open the case in the house,
for if it had gone to the bankers and had been placed in
the strong room and examined, I should never have been able to
get possession of the jaws at all.
Three hours later he drove to Wiltshire House and saw the
Duke. The Duchess was far too much
upset by the catastrophe to see anyone.
This is really most kind of you, Mr. Khan said His Grace, when
the other had supplied an elaborate account of his
interview with Clemo. We are extremely indebted to
you. I am sorry he cannot come before
10:00 tonight, and that makes this stipulation of my seeing
him alone, for I must confess I would like to have had someone
else present to ask any questions that might escape me.
But if that's his usual hour in custom, well, we must abide by
it, that's all. I hope he will do some good, for
this is the greatest calamity that has ever befallen me.
As I told you just now, it's made my wife quite I'll She's
confined to her bedroom and quite hysterical.
You do not suspect anyone, I suppose?
Inquired Khan. No, not a soul.
The other answered. The thing is such a mystery that
we do not know what to think. I I feel convinced, however,
that my servants are as innocent as I am.
Nothing will ever make me think them otherwise.
I wish I could catch the fellow, that's all.
I'd make him suffer for the trick he's played me.
Khan offered an appropriate reply, and after a little
further conversation upon the subject bad the irate nobleman
goodbye and left the house. From Belgrave Square he drove to
one of the clubs of which he had been elected a member in search
of Lord Orpington, with whom he had promised a lunch, and
afterwards took him to a shipbuilders yard near Greenwich
in order to show him the steam yacht he had lately purchased.
It was close upon dinner time before he returned to his own
residence. He brought Lord Orpington with
him and and they dined in state together.
At 9 the latter bade him goodbye and at 10 Khan retired to his
dressing room and rang for Belton.
What have you to report? He asked.
With regard to what I bad you'd do in Belgrade Square, I
followed your instructions to the letter.
Belton replied. Yesterday morning I wrote to
Messrs Horny Blow and Jimson, the house agents in Piccadilly,
in the name of Colonel Braithwaite and asked for an
order to view the residents to the right of Wiltshire House.
I asked that the order might be sent direct to the house where
the Colonel would get it upon his arrival.
This letter I posted myself in Basingstoke, as you desired me
to do. At 9:00 yesterday morning.
I dressed myself as much like an elderly Army officer as
possible, and took a cab to Belgrave Square.
The caretaker, an old fellow of close up on 70 years of age,
admitted me immediately upon hearing my name, and proposed
that he should show me over the house.
This, however, I told him, was quite unnecessary, backing my
speech for the present of half a crown, whereupon he returned to
his breakfast perfectly satisfied, while I wandered
about the house at my own leisure, reaching the same floor
as that upon which is situated the room in which the Duke's
safe is kept, I discovered that your supposition was quite
correct that it would be possible for a man, by opening
the window, to make his way along the coping from one house
to the other without being seen. I made certain that there was no
one in the bedroom in which the Butler slept, and then arranged
the long telescope walking stick you gave me, and fixed one of my
boots to it by means of the screw in the end.
With this I was able to make a regular succession of footsteps
in the dust along the ledge between one window and the
other. That done, I went downstairs
again, had the caretaker good morning and got into my cab.
From Belgrave Square I drove to the shop of the pawnbroker whom
you told me you had discovered was out of town.
His assistant enquired my business and was anxious to do
what he could for me. I told him, however, that I must
see his master personally, as it was about the sale of some
diamonds I'd had left me. I pretended to be annoyed that
he was not at home and muttered to myself so that the man could
hear something about it's meaning a journey to Amsterdam
and then I limped out of the shop, paid off my cab and
walking down the by St. removed my moustache and altered my
appearance by taking off my great coat and muffler.
A few streets further on I purchased a bowler hat in place
of the old fashioned Topper I'd hitherto been wearing, and then
took a cab from Piccadilly and came home.
You have fulfilled my instructions admirably, said
Khan, and if the business comes off as I expected will, you
shall receive your usual percentage.
Now I must be turned into Clemo, and be off to Belgrave Square to
put his Grace of Wiltshire up on the track of this burglar.
Before he retired to rest that night, Simon Cahn took something
wrapped in a red silk handkerchief from the capacious
pocket of the coat Clemo had been wearing a few moments
before. Having unrolled the covering, he
held up to the light the magnificent necklace which for
so many years had been the joy and pride of the Ducal House of
Wiltshire. The electric light played upon
it and touched it with 1000 different hues.
Where so many have failed, he said to himself as he wrapped it
in the handkerchief again and locked it in his safe.
It is pleasant to be able to congratulate oneself on having
succeeded. It is without its equal, and I
don't think I should be overstepping the mark if I say
that I think when she receives it Liz will be glad she lent me
the money. Next morning all London was
astonished by the news that the famous Wiltshire diamonds had
been stolen, and a few hours later Khan learnt from an
evening paper that the detectives who had taken up the
case upon the supposed retirement from it of Clemo were
still completely at fault. That evening he was to entertain
several friends to dinner. They included Lord Amberley,
Lord Orpington and a prominent member of the Privy Council.
Lord Amberley arrived late, but filled to overflowing with
importance. His friends noticed his state
and questioned him. Well, gentlemen, He answered as
he took up a commanding position upon the drawing room.
Hathrag, I am in a position to inform you that Clemo has
reported upon the case and The upshot of it is that the
Wiltshire Diamond Mystery is a mystery no longer.
What do you mean? Asked the others in a chorus.
I mean that he sent in his report to Wiltshire this
afternoon as arranged from what he said the other night, after
being alone in the room with the empty dual case and a magnifying
glass for two minutes or so, he was in a position to describe
the modus operandi and what is more, to put the police on the
scent of the burglar. And how has it worked?
Asked Khan from the empty house next door.
Replied the other. On the morning of the burglary,
a man purporting to be a retired army officer, called with an
order to view, got the caretaker out of the way, clambered along
to Wiltshire House by means of the parapet outside, reached the
room during the time the servants were at breakfast,
opened the safe and abstracted the jewels.
But, Sir, how did Clemo find all this out?
Asked Lord Orpington. By his own inimitable
cleverness, replied Lord Amberley, At any rate, it has
been proved that he was correct. The man did make his way from
next door, and the police have since discovered that an
individual, answering to the description given, visited A
pawnbroker's shop in the city about an hour later and stated
that he had diamonds to sell. If that is so, it turns out to
be a very simple mystery after all, said Lord Orpington as they
began their meal. Thanks to the ingenuity of the
cleverest detective in the world, remarked Amberley.
In that case, here's a good health to Climo, said the Privy
Councillor, raising his glass. I will join you in that, said
Simon Cahn. Here's a very good health to
Climo and his connection with the Duchess of Wiltshire's
Diamonds. May he always be equally
successful here here To that replied his guests.
End of The Duchess of Wiltshire's Diamonds by Guy
Boothby, Part 2 recording by Nigel Carrington in London,
England, April 2011.