Читать книгу The Curious Happenings to the Rooke Legatees - E. Phillips Oppenheim - Страница 4

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Mr. Phillip Rooke, recently established as an auctioneer and valuer, halfway through one of his weekly sales of miscellaneous objects, paused to nod a welcome to a youthful connection who had slipped into a vacant seat below the rostrum. He did not allow his momentary exhibition of avuncular cordiality, however, to interfere with the business on hand.

“Lot eighty-nine,” he announced, consulting the catalogue which he held in his hand, “is described here simply as ‘a box.’ It was discovered at the last moment amongst the deceased’s effects and is to be sold—er—in its present condition.”

“Without a key?” one of the little company remarked, holding up the box to examine it.

The auctioneer smiled acquiescence.

“Not only without a key, sir,” he replied, leaning forward, “but without a keyhole or visible hinges, or any means of definitely deciding that it is a box. Our cataloguer, however, has so described it. Kind of bronze or some inferior metal. No time to be wasted about it. Will any gentleman bid me ten shillings?”

“I will,” the man who had remarked upon the absence of a key decided.

Colin Rooke, the journalist nephew of the auctioneer, turned his head curiously towards his neighbour. The man was obviously a foreigner, good-looking in a flamboyant sort of way, with strange eyes and a full, sensual mouth. There was nothing in his features to denote supreme intelligence, but he had not in the least the appearance of a man likely to give the sum of ten shillings for a worthless article.

“If there’s no other bid——” the auctioneer began.

“Fifteen shillings,” Colin interrupted.

The preliminaries were over. The battle commenced. At two pounds fifteen there was a pause. The first bidder, somewhat to the surprise of the little company, seemed to have worked himself up into a state of suppressed excitement. There were drops of sweat upon his sallow forehead and he was handling with slim, nervous fingers a small pile of notes he had dragged from his pocket. He leaned over and touched his opponent upon the shoulder.

“Why do you want that box?” he asked huskily. “It is not worth so much money.”

“If it’s worth it to you, it’s worth it to me,” was the brusque retort. “Here, Stephen, pass it over.”

The man with the green baize apron tied around him handed the article to Colin. The latter turned it over curiously. There was nothing to be gathered from its exterior, but upon shaking it there was some sense of muffled movement.

“It certainly doesn’t seem worth the money,” he remarked as he replaced the box upon the table.

The foreigner, who kept one hand in his pocket, took it into the long evil-looking fingers of his other hand, fingers which might have strangled a man or have caressed the bow of a violin. Something in his expression as he glanced furtively round warned the man in the green baize apron, who made an apparently casual but purposeful movement. He stood between the foreigner and the door.

“It is my belief that the box belonged to a friend of mine,” the latter muttered.

“Sorry,” Colin replied. “My last bid was two pounds fifteen.”

His opponent looked at the money in his hand doubtfully.

“Any advance upon two pounds fifteen?” the auctioneer asked, lifting his hammer. “For the first, second and third——”

“Five pounds,” the stranger interrupted.

Colin was momentarily staggered. The auctioneer leaned forward to the prospective purchaser.

“Five pounds seems a generous bid, sir,” he said, “but you understand that the cash must be paid before the box is taken away.”

The expression upon the face of the man who wanted the box was dark and evil. Nevertheless, he struggled to retain the semblance of politeness. There was, indeed, in his voice a note almost of passionate appeal.

“Half an hour,” he begged hoarsely. “Knock it down to me and I will fetch you the money.”

The auctioneer shook his head.

“Our rules,” he decided, “must be kept. The last bid I have received is two pounds fifteen. Going—going—gone!”

The auctioneer struck the desk in front of him. The man in the apron handed the prize to Colin, who paid the amount to the clerk. He turned round for a word with his unsuccessful opponent. The man had gone....

A few minutes later Mr. Phillip Rooke and his several-times-removed nephew found themselves seated side by side in the private quarters of an adjacent bar with whisky-and-sodas in front of them.

“What brought you down this way to-day, young fellow?” the auctioneer asked.

“Pure chance. I was on my way to Soho to see if there was a story for the Sun in that stabbing affair a few nights ago, and your mart was only a few yards out of my way. Tell me—whose effects were you disposing of?”

“Bankrupt stock of a small jeweller who died suddenly. Nothing but rubbish in the whole collection.”

Colin drew his purchase from his pocket. The two men handled it curiously. It was certainly a very battered-looking object.

“I wonder whether our disappointed friend knew anything about it,” Colin speculated.

“Nasty-looking piece of work he was,” the auctioneer observed with a dubious grin. “If I were you, I should take that to a metal-worker’s and have it opened quickly. I don’t trust a man who wants a thing as badly as that dago seemed to want the box.”

Colin, who was six feet in height, in perfect condition and a boxer of some renown, laughed softly.

“You’re not suggesting that that fellow could take it away from me?”

“Easily,” his relative declared. “A knife between your shoulder-blades from behind, my lad, and he would have the box long before you woke up in the hospital—if ever you did wake up.”

“Rubbish! Why, the fellow cleared out as soon as he saw that it was no good.”

The auctioneer handed back the box.

“The fellow cleared out all right,” he acknowledged, “but I fancy that he was lurking at the corner when we crossed the street, with another of the same kidney. If so, they saw us come in here.”

The young man finished his whisky-and-soda. There was an amused smile upon his lips. He was full of the confidence which presages disaster.

“I learnt how to deal with that sort of scoundrel,” he said, “when I was in the South African Police.”

The two men rose to their feet.

“Any chance of our hearing the good news at dinner to-night?” Mr. Phillip Rooke enquired.

Colin shook his head gloomily.

“Ann is a little unreasonable,” he complained. “She is of age and I am getting on for thirty, but she can’t seem to make up her mind to settle down. Too adventurous a spirit, I suppose.”

“A good thing to have, anyway,” the auctioneer observed. “Eight o’clock at Rupert’s. Short coats, black ties. Don’t be late.”

The young man promised, but for once in his life he broke his word.

The occasion was the monthly dinner of the unexpected legatees of Desmond Rooke, deceased, and, except for a slight undernote of anxiety, it was a very pleasant little gathering. There were present Mrs. John Rooke, an attractive, almost distinguished-looking, elderly lady with neatly coiffured grey hair, a well-cut black evening dress and a recently acquired smile of contentment which had transformed her whole appearance. On one side of her was Mr. Percy Rooke, the retired insurance agent, middle-aged to elderly, who sported a seldom-used monocle and possessed a generally studious air. On the other side was Mr. Phillip Rooke, the auctioneer, a pleasant-faced, cheery and somewhat dominating person, and next to him an exceedingly pretty young woman with brown hair and hazel eyes which continually strayed towards the door.

“Colin’s all right,” her neighbour, who seemed to be in charge of the party, declared. “I didn’t part with him till nearly five. He was at my sale down in Hatton Street. We both talked about to-night.”

“Whatever was he doing at an auction sale?” the girl asked.

“He drops in sometimes. I rather hoped,” Phillip Rooke went on with a smile, “that he might have been looking at a few suites of furniture I’d got to dispose of.”

The girl blushed very slightly and looked up towards the ceiling. Her elderly relative continued knowingly.

“Anyway, they weren’t good enough. The only thing he bought was a battered old metal box. What we had better do, I think, is have just one more cocktail and then start dinner. I expect his paper gave him a story to write up at the last moment, and you know, although he’s not obliged to do it, he hates to neglect his work.”

“That’s true,” the girl observed with relief. “I hadn’t thought about that.”

The cocktails were scarcely served, however, before with a little exclamation Ann sprang to her feet. Colin had just entered and with a somewhat rueful expression upon his face was making his way towards them. His arm was in a sling, there was sticking-plaster on his cheek and he was walking with the help of a cane.

“Colin!” the girl cried.

“It’s that damned foreigner been after the box,” Phillip Rooke exclaimed.

“My dear fellow!” the ex-insurance agent ejaculated, making great play with his monocle.

“Awfully sorry,” the young man apologised. “I had a sort of accident on my way back to change, and they took me to a hospital to fix me up. When they had done with me it was so late that I thought I had better come direct here and ask whether you minded sitting down with such a battered object.”

There was a little chorus of protestations. They almost forced him into a chair. A glass was pressed into his hand. He set it down a few seconds later empty.

“The quickest cocktail I ever drank!” he observed.

“Now tell us about the accident,” Ann begged.

“I’ll bet it was the man after the box,” his uncle declared.

“Well, I’ll tell you all the truth,” the young man said, making a mysterious sign with his empty glass to the wine waiter. “You’re right, Uncle Phillip. It was the chap after the box. A few minutes after I left you it happened. I went down that stupid little Tugwell Court to save a dozen yards and three of them were laying for me. I knocked the first one out, but one of the others got me from behind. The next thing I remember is waking up in Charing Cross Hospital!”

“But what did they want?” Ann exclaimed.

“Highway robbery, I suppose,” he admitted.

“Had you a lot of money on you?” Percy Rooke asked.

“Very little indeed, and what I had they didn’t take!”

“What about the box?” the auctioneer demanded.

His nephew grinned.

“Well, that’s rather the amazing part of it,” he declared. “You seem to take that fellow quite seriously, Uncle Phillip, and I had an idea I saw him hanging around when I came out from having that drink with you, so I just dropped back to the Manhattan Café and handed it over to Louis—told him to put it in the safe for the night.”

“So they didn’t get it after all!” the auctioneer exclaimed vociferously.

“They did not,” his nephew replied. “And, to tell you the truth, I don’t intend that they shall.... Now, I’m sure I’ve kept you all waiting long enough.”

The host of the little gathering gave the sign which the maître d’hôtel was awaiting and dinner was served. The episode of the box was discussed from every point of view. Towards the end of the meal Colin suddenly laid down his fork and stared with wide-open wonder at the young man who was being shown to his place at the adjoining table. He was being received with every mark of respect. The manager, the chief maître d’hôtel and several obsequious waiters were already grouped around him. Colin leaned over and grabbed Phillip Rooke by the arm.

“Am I going mad?” he demanded. “Look at that man who is just taking his place!”

The auctioneer obeyed, and into his face, too, there crept an expression of bewilderment.

“I never saw such a likeness in my life!” he gasped.

“Likeness!” Colin repeated. “That’s the man who bid against me for the box, and set the other two on to me in Tugwell Court.”

Colin rose to his feet. The occupant of the next table, as though conscious of some sense of disturbance, was looking curiously towards them. His smile on this occasion, however, was entirely pleasant. The furtive light had departed as though forever from his eyes. He had the appearance of a well-bred stranger slightly interested in what might be happening. Ann laid her hand upon her companion’s arm.

“Colin dear, you must be mistaken,” she whispered. “Do sit down.”

Colin swallowed hard and looked across the table.

“What do you think?” he asked Phillip Rooke.

“I’ll be shot if I know what to think,” was the blunt reply. “If it’s a likeness, I never saw such an extraordinary one in my life. But look at the fellow! He has quite a pleasant smile, and he’s evidently someone of note here.”

Colin stopped one of the maîtres d’hôtel and whispered in his ear.

“Tell me the name of the man at the next table?” he asked.

The maître d’hôtel dropped his head discreetly.

“That’s the Count Andromeda,” he confided. “He’s a very good patron of the house.... Pardon, monsieur.”

The waiter hurried away. Ann patted her companion’s hand gently.

“I hope you are convinced, Colin?”

“Of course he’s convinced,” the elderly lady declared. “I’m sure that young man looks far too nice——”

“I expect we’re making a mistake, Colin,” Phillip Rooke interrupted, looking anxiously at his young relative. “I’ll admit it is a remarkable likeness, but we must be mistaken.”

Colin, regardless of Ann’s clinging fingers, rose to his feet.

“I may be wrong,” he said. “If so, I am on the high road to lunacy. Please trust me, all of you—you especially, Ann. I am not going to misbehave in any way, but I am going to ask that young man a question and watch his face while he answers me.”

“I wouldn’t,” the ex-insurance agent advised, shaking his head.

“Please don’t,” Ann begged.

Colin, however, was already halfway towards the next table.... The young man, who had just finished ordering his dinner, behaved perfectly. He seemed to take it for granted that Colin was an acquaintance whose identity temporarily eluded him. Colin’s manners were equally unexceptionable. His perfectly well-bred voice was raised scarcely at all. There was even the glimmering of a smile upon his lips.

“I hope very much,” he said, addressing the young man, “that you will forgive my asking a personal question.”

“Certainly,” the other assented. “By the by, have we met before? I do not seem to remember your face.”

“Well, it’s in rather a battered condition just now,” Colin replied good-humouredly, “but I was under the impression that we met at an auction-room in Hatton Street this afternoon and afterwards in Tugwell Court.”

The young man shook his head in perplexity.

“I have been engaged in official work all day,” he said, “and I have never heard of such a place as Hatton Street. Furthermore, I am not in the habit of attending auctions.”

Colin was staggered. His vis-à-vis met his steadfast, incredulous scrutiny with complete composure.

“I was within a yard or so of you on both occasions,” the former said slowly. “It seems inconceivable that such a likeness could exist.”

The other glanced at his left hand, from which the fourth finger was missing.

“If you were so near,” he said, “you may have noticed my infirmity. I have had to call attention to it before now in order to establish my identity.”

Colin shook his head.

“I didn’t notice your hands,” he admitted. “In fact, most of the time you kept them in your overcoat pockets, except once when you were counting some notes.”

“I can produce my card,” the young man went on with a pleasant smile, “witnesses who were helping me with my work, the secretary of my country’s legation, who is also my cousin, my chauffeur-valet and a few more people who between them, I think, could provide a sufficient alibi. The people here in the restaurant, too, know me well. If the person for whom you are mistaking me——”

For the first time Colin was guilty of a slight breach of manners.

“I have, of course, nothing more to say,” he interrupted. “I regret to have disturbed you. I offer my apologies, sir.”

He turned on his heel and limped back to his table. Ann received him a little coldly.

“Well, I hope you’re satisfied now,” she said.

“Yes, I am satisfied,” he answered. “I am satisfied that that is the man who bid against me for the box, and one of the three men who are responsible for my maimed condition. I know I can’t convince any of you. I shan’t try. Ann, my dear, a glass of wine with you, if you please. I must see you smile, and know that I am forgiven.”

“You are rather a dear,” she weakened, “but you are very, very obstinate.”

The bell of his flat rang whilst Colin was still at breakfast the next morning, and his auctioneer uncle was shown in. The latter wasted no time.

“Read the paper?” he asked.

“Haven’t glanced at it,” Colin confessed.

“The Manhattan Café was broken into last night, the safe rifled and a clean sweep made of its contents.”

“Well, I’m damned!” Colin exclaimed. “There goes my box, after all.”

“Seems as though that foreigner chap has been one too many for us,” the auctioneer admitted. “I thought we might go round to the place where I got the stuff from. It’s still open, though the stock’s gone. There may be someone there who knows something about it.”

Colin rose to his feet, filled his pipe and took up his hat.

“I’m ready,” he agreed.

On their way they passed the Manhattan Café. Phillip Rooke stopped the car and they alighted. There was a small crowd of loiterers about the place, and Mr. Golden, the proprietor, who was talking to a police sergeant, came up to speak to them. Louis was in the background arranging some bottles.

“Sorry to hear about your loss, Mr. Golden,” the auctioneer remarked.

“A very small matter,” the café proprietor assured them. “There was only about forty pounds in cash and most of the papers were old IOU’s that I should never have touched on.”

“What about my box?” Colin asked Louis. “It seems to me I should have done better to have kept it in my pocket.”

The barman stared at him for a moment blankly.

“My God!” he exclaimed. “I forgot all about the box.”

“What do you mean?”

“It clean went out of my head. It don’t make much odds now, I don’t suppose.”

“You mean that you never put it in the safe?”

“I didn’t and that’s a fact, sir. What with one thing and another——”

“Where is it now, then?” Colin interrupted.

“One moment, sir.”

The barman slipped out of a door behind. A moment or two later he returned with the box in one hand, his linen coat over his arm.

“It was just where I left it, sir, in my coat. It’s been hanging up there all night!”

A few minutes later Colin Rooke’s uncle pushed open the door of a dismantled shop about halfway down an adjacent street. The clanging of the bell brought a disagreeable-looking young man from somewhere in the rear.

“Come to see if those sweeps have left anything behind?” he asked truculently.

“Not at all,” the auctioneer replied. “We are here to ask you a friendly question and you might find it worth your while to give us a civil answer.”

“Well, what is it?”

Colin produced the box. The shop assistant stared at it blankly.

“Well, what do you want to know about that?” he demanded.

“Where Mr. Meadows got it and from whom?”

“You ain’t the first to ask questions about it,” the young man observed. “There was some sort of a foreigner came in—drove up in a taxi in a great state of excitement the morning of the sale. Said someone had seen it in the window and recognised it. I told him that he would probably get it for an old song if he hurried, and pointed out your sale-rooms.”

“How did it come into Mr. Meadows’s hands?” Colin Rooke asked.

The assistant smiled contemptuously.

“Same way as pretty well all the junk that didn’t come from Birmingham,” he replied. “There was a row in the street outside old Mother Gluckstein’s paint shop. Someone picked this up off the pavement, scooted round here and Mr. Meadows gave him half a crown for it. Looks about all it’s worth, too.”

Colin Rooke took out his pocketbook.

“Here’s a ten-shilling note for you,” he said, “and a pound extra if you promise that you won’t answer a single question about this box from anyone except the police.”

The assistant clutched the money.

“It’s a bet, guv’nor,” he promised.

Outside, Colin was taking no risks. He bustled his uncle back into the car.

“Twenty, Clerkenwell Road,” he told the chauffeur.

“And when we get there?” Phillip Rooke enquired.

“Israel, Levy and Company, workers in metals,” his nephew confided. “I’m going to have this box opened.”

The premises of Messrs. Israel, Levy & Company were impressive enough in appearance, but the reception accorded to Mr. Rooke and his nephew was scarcely enthusiastic. A shop-man handled the box without any visible interest.

“What do you wish us to do with this?” he enquired.

“Tell us what it is, for one thing,” Colin replied.

“The outside is an alloy of some sort,” the young man pronounced. “There may be something inside—doubtful, I should think.”

He turned to an elderly man who had just joined him behind the counter.

“These gentlemen want to know about this bit of stuff, Mr. Levy,” he confided.

Mr. Levy took the box into his hand, weighed it thoughtfully, examined it through a magnifying-glass and suddenly betrayed an interest which bordered upon excitement.

“Where did you come across this?” he asked.

“That doesn’t matter,” Colin replied. “What is it? A box or a piece of hollow metal or what?”

“It’s hard to say off-hand,” the other answered, “but I’ll tell you what I think it is. I think that it is a box smeared over with an alloy of metal which conceals the original casket altogether. It is as though all the stuff you see here on the outside was the brown paper around a parcel.”

“How can we get rid of the brown paper?” Colin asked.

“We can remove the alloy,” the metal-worker explained, “by electricity, using a method of our own. It will take some little time, and need very careful workmanship.”

“What will it cost?” Colin persisted.

“We shall have to put a man on to the job who earns very high wages,” Mr. Levy warned him. “It might cost you twenty-five pounds. On the other hand, if we discover after a time that the alloy is only a cover for some other worthless material, we could break it up for you at very little cost, if any.”

“How long will it take?”

“Five days.”

Colin laid his card upon the counter.

“We shall be back for it on the morning of the twenty-sixth,” he announced.

Five days later Colin and Ann were dining tête-à-tête at Rupert’s Restaurant. Colin had the air of one happily engaged in some interesting enterprise. Ann, on the other hand, was distinctly nervous. He leaned a little towards her.

“I know it’s hard, dear,” he said, “but do try to keep your eyes away from the door.”

“I’m sorry,” she answered penitently. “You believe that he’ll really come?”

“I do,” her companion assured her. “But remember this, Ann. He has telephoned for a table. There it is—next to ours. He means to come, I’m sure, but he will arrive here in fear and trembling. If he realises that we are waiting for him, if he suspects in any way that those two men, for instance, at the table behind us are Scotland Yard detectives, he will be off.”

She nodded.

“I won’t be stupid again,” she promised. “The whole of my attention shall be given to dinner and to you.”

The orchestra was tuning up for the dance music; the place as usual was filling up rapidly. Colin appeared to be absorbed in fingering the strangely shaped casket of gold and inlaid ivory which stood on the table between them.

“I am cleverer than you, Ann,” he confided, “for I can see without looking. Our friend has arrived. He is on his way here. Here’s luck to us!”

He raised his glass. Ann followed suit. They bent over the menu and Colin summoned a maître d’hôtel. When they had completed the business of ordering their dinner, the young man whom they were expecting had already taken his place at the adjoining table. This time he did not persevere in his attitude of haughty aloofness. On the contrary, there was a faint smile upon his lips, a look of recognition in his eyes as he glanced towards his neighbours. He laid down the menu which he had been studying and rose to his feet.

“We’re for it, Ann,” her companion whispered. “Sit tight and keep cool. Remember our friends at the other table are watching. There won’t be any trouble.”

The young man known to the management as the Count Andromeda approached their table in the same tentative manner as when, on a recent evening, Colin had himself made the advances. He crossed the few yards between the two tables, and for a moment there was an almost fanatical look in his eyes as he glanced towards the casket. Then he seemed to recover himself. He bowed to Ann, who made some sort of a response. He bowed less stiffly and in friendly fashion towards Colin.

“You will permit my intrusion?” he begged.

“Certainly.”

“I have come to offer you my apologies,” he continued. “I did not tell you the truth, Mr. Rooke, when we last met. My lips were sealed. I was not at liberty to disclose the fact that the little casket which I see upon the table before you was my property.”

“Scarcely that,” Colin objected. “You will forgive my reminding you—you were a little short of money at the auction, and it was I who purchased this box—and its contents.”

“I shall trust to your sense of honour in the matter,” the Count said courteously, “and I think in any case an arrangement will be possible. You have at least penetrated the secret of the casket. You have had the covering of alloy removed. You have doubtless investigated its contents?”

“To tell you the truth,” Colin replied, “my cousin and I were just about to do so. We only received the box in its present condition from the metal-worker’s an hour ago.”

The Count bowed.

“If, before it is opened, I inform you of its contents,” he said earnestly, “you will at least admit that I have some claim to consideration.”

Colin hesitated as one choosing his words with deliberation.

“I shall wish to do what is fair,” he said, “if you can prove that this box was stolen from you or lost.”

“The box was enclosed in alloy by a certain great personage whom I trust it will not be necessary for us to name,” the Count explained. “It contains one of the most famous jewels in the world—an emerald. It belonged to a very beautiful woman—a dear friend of mine. The emerald is practically uncut and unique. I have its exact weight at home in a pocketbook which I can easily give you. The lining of the casket is of white satin and there is a crown in the right-hand corner embroidered in black silk. A very large reward has been offered for the stone, to which you will become entitled. Will you please open the casket and see whether I have spoken the truth?”

Colin looked across the table at his companion. Ann inclined her head graciously.

“I think that what this gentleman says is reasonable,” she decided. “You had better open the casket, Colin. I have been longing for you to do so.”

They had spoken in very low tones, but the two men at the next table had pushed back their chairs as though preparing for departure and were only a few feet away. The young man, however, seemed to have passed into another world. He saw nothing. He heard nothing. His dilated eyes were fixed upon the casket.... The orchestra was playing loudly. Dancers were streaming on to the floor. The usual restaurant sounds—the clatter of china, the popping of corks—had increased in volume. One person there, however, was living in a world of his own. His tense long fingers were clutching at the tablecloth. The pupils of his eyes had grown larger. He seemed like a man freed from the emotions of either fear or hope. He watched the handling by Colin of the place where the secret spring was concealed, the pushing back of the lid upon its stiff hinges. He gazed at what lay disclosed and as realisation came he seemed to turn into stone. The emerald was there very much as he had described it, but its setting was a horrible thing. It rested upon the knuckle of a man’s finger, severed at the stump, rudely bound up—a withered and ghastly thing!

Ann shrank away shivering. She held her hand in front of her eyes.

“Horrible!” she exclaimed.

Colin had reached over and had unfolded the strip of coarse-woven yellow paper at the head of which was a miniature crown. He read aloud the few sentences written there in sprawling characters:

The jewel herein remains upon the finger of the thief who stole it, then further polluted it by wearing it, and now pays the price of discovery. If sudden death should come to me at any time by the hands of an assassin, he will be the guilty person. Proofs of his intention will be found in Box D, Secret Service Department of the Ministry. They are deposited there in the charge of General Nicova on the day of his exile.

N.

Something in the young man seemed to snap. He flung himself across the table towards the coffer. Colin, however, held his wrists in a grip of iron until the two men who had joined the little party unnoticed led him away through the astounded crowd.... Colin leaned over, locked the box and carefully secured it in the pocket of his dinner jacket. He refilled their glasses.

“Of course,” Ann observed, steadying her voice with an effort, “adventures like this are stimulating to the appetite, but I should like to understand a little more of what it’s all about. You must remember that you have told me scarcely anything.”

“I’m not very clear about it all myself,” he confessed, “but as long as we have the emerald someone will find us out and tell us the whole story.”

“I believe that it must have belonged to a queen,” she sighed. “What a romance!”

“Nothing compared to ours, dear,” he assured her.

At ten o’clock the next morning an urgent telephone message summoned Ann to the Temple. She found Colin already in conversation with a foreigner of distinguished appearance and well-known name.

“The Baron,” Colin explained, “has called about the emerald.”

The visitor threw himself upon the consideration of his two young friends. His manner was charming and entirely deprecatory.

“You will excuse,” he begged, “if I do not make everything quite clear to you. It is difficult. There is this story, though. That emerald is famous in the history of my country. It was indiscreetly loaned to a certain beautiful lady whose name has often been mentioned in connection with that of my sovereign. A scapegrace acquaintance of the lady’s stole that ring from her one night whilst on a secret visit and dared to wear it upon his finger. He was surprised by my master, and punished in the horrible fashion you have seen. He was also exiled. My master is of passionate temperament. His fury was excessive. He wrote the lines you read. He placed the emerald on the finger in the casket, he had it soldered up and for safety it was to be despatched to the Bank of England. The messenger was murdered in Soho on the night of his arrival in the country, and the casket disappeared. Of its subsequent adventures you know as much as I.”

“What will become of the man who was arrested last night?” Ann asked.

“He will be extradited to my country,” the Baron replied. “Arrived there, he will be shot. There is an easily proved charge against him of desertion from the army. And now, Mr. Rooke, the question of the jewel?”

Colin unlocked his safe and took out the casket.

“Well,” he enquired, “what do you propose?”

“The jewel is loathsome in the eyes of my master, but its reappearance amongst the Royal jewels is necessary. The reward offered was ten thousand pounds. I have here a draft on the Bank of England for that amount.”

Colin handed over the casket. The Baron accepted it with a sigh of relief. He bowed to Ann. He shook hands with Colin. He took his leave.

“I should have liked to have felt the emerald once more,” Ann sighed.

Colin held out the cheque.

“Feel this instead,” he suggested, with masculine brutality.