Читать книгу The Secret of the Barbican and Other Stories - J. S. Fletcher - Страница 17

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The obliging sub-dean, who was celebrated for his kindness of heart and disposition, and who had no other business in London than to pay a visit to his tailor and to look around a few old book shops, made his way to Morkin’s, of Bond Street, the very morning after his arrival. And to a very solemn and grave gentleman, who from his appearance might have been a Harley Street specialist rather than a seller of precious stones and metals, he explained his errand. There was no reason why he should not tell Linkwater’s story of his brother Nelson’s remarkable legacy, so he told it in full to the jeweller shop. And the jeweller, listening within the privacy of a parlour behind with great attention seemed to see nothing at all remarkable in the story. But when he came to examine the diamonds and the sapphires and the rubies, he appeared to find the contemplation of them extremely interesting; so much so, indeed, that he remained looking them over in silence for some minutes.

“You find those stones interesting?” suggested the sub-dean.

“Very interesting, indeed, sir,” replied the jeweller, “remarkably so!”

“And—er—valuable?” asked the sub-dean.

“I should say—from a first inspection of them—that they are valuable,” answered the jeweller cautiously.

“Of considerable value?”

“They may be of considerable value. Naturally, they need very careful inspection.”

The sub-dean as anxious on Linkwater’s behalf as if the stones had been his own ventured a direct question.

“Are you disposed to purchase them, then?”

“I think we should be disposed to purchase them,” replied the jeweller. “But I should like an expert’s opinion on them. The fact is,” he continued, giving the sub-dean a candid look, “although I have had twenty-five years of experience, I have never seen stones like these before! They appear to be of—well considerable antiquity. You are staying in town?”

“Until to-morrow at any rate,” replied the sub-dean.

“If you will leave these stones with me,” said the jeweller “and will call here again at four o’clock this afternoon I will in the meantime have them carefully examined by the greatest expert of the day—Mr. Levandine—and will give you his opinion upon them.”

“You are very kind,” assented the sub-dean. “That will suit me very well. At four o’clock, then?”

When the sub-dean went back at four o’clock he found the jeweller in his little parlour in company with a stoutish, shortish gentleman who was gazing at the jewels laid out on the table before him with an expression of deep interest. He looked up at the newcomer with keen eyes which were full of curiosity.

“This, sir, is Mr. Levandine,” said the jeweller. “He has examined these stones very carefully and with great attention.”

“You find them of interest?” remarked the sub-dean seating himself and looking at the expert with curiosity. “They are unusual?”

Mr. Levandine pulled out a queer looking old snuff box and helped himself to a pinch of its contents.

“Um,” said he. “Unusual! Interesting! I am not much of an expert in words, sir, but I am an expert in precious stones. Everybody knows me—wherever these things are bought and sold. Mr. Morkin, there, has told me your story about these things. Sent by a man in India to a man in England. Um! Well, I will tell you something. These stones are very old. They have all been at some time taken out of settings. I will stake my professional reputation that it is hundreds of years since they were so taken—hundreds of years since they were cut, polished, prepared! Fact, sir!”

“Dear me!” exclaimed the sub-dean, “I am deeply interested!”

“These diamonds, now,” continued the expert, moving the stones about with his delicately tipped fingers. “Perhaps you don’t know, but those who do know can tell something—a good deal—about the age of diamonds by the way they are cut. For many a hundred years nobody knew how to cut diamonds. Then somebody found out that you can cut and polish a diamond with—another diamond! They called that ‘bruting,’ and it was the only method they had—rubbing one diamond against another, for many a century. Then they began better methods—in India, and in China, and in Alexandria. But the man who invented the proper method—the polishing wheel, to be used with diamond dust—was Louis de Berquem, a Bruges man, who lived about 1450, or so.

“And so, sir, I will stake my professional reputation that these very diamonds that we see here were cut and polished about that time—probably by de Berquem’s cutters in Bruges under the Dukes of Burgundy in the fifteenth century—and nobody’s ever cut, polished, or interfered with these diamonds since. Except,” concluded Mr. Levandine, significantly, “except—to take ’em out of their settings. And that was done long, long, long ago!”

The sub-dean was listening with wide, wide open eyes.

“Dear me,” he exclaimed, “that is interesting. It would appear, then, that these stones must have gone from Europe to India, eh?”

Mr. Levandine sniffed—and took another pinch of snuff.

“If you want my honest opinion, sir,” he answered, “These stones—all of them—have at some time been taken from ecclesiastical ornaments. We all know that there were vast stores of precious stones in our old cathedrals before the Tudor times. They were set in shrines, in reliquaries, in vestments, in mitres, in copies of the sacred book. Old Harry the Eighth got lots of them, but a great many completely disappeared. Perhaps the cathedral clergy hid them. There were two or three English cathedrals which were particularly rich in treasure—York was one, yours of Wyechester was another. And,” concluded Mr. Levandine, as he arose and picked up his umbrella and made for the door, “my opinion, sir, as an expert, is that all these stones originally belonged to your cathedral, and have been found in some place where they had been hidden—four hundred years ago! Good day, sir.”

The expert marched out, and the sub-dean turned wonderingly to the jeweller.

“That is really remarkably interesting,” he said, “and a little disconcerting. I have no reason whatever for doubting our senior verger’s story. He is a most exemplary, well-conducted, thoroughly reliable man, and—er—not at all a man of any imagination. He could not—literally could not!—have invented the story which he told me. Besides, I myself saw, with my own eyes, the box which had been sent to him from his dead brother in Bombay. Of course, we don’t know how the brother became possessed of these stones. They may have been cathedral property once, and then gone on their travels, as it were, eh?”

“Precisely,” said the jeweller, a little drily, “But I have never known Mr. Levandine to be wrong. Do you still wish to dispose of these stones on your man’s behalf, sir?”

“Well—er—I should be glad to know what you are disposed to offer for them,” replied the sub-dean.

“We are willing,” answered the jeweller, “to pay four thousand pounds for them. Cash, of course.”

“Hem!” observed the sub-dean. “Four thousand pounds! That is their value, then?”

The jeweller coughed discreetly.

“Oh, well, not perhaps their value,” he answered, smiling a little. “That is what we are prepared to put down for them. We should look to profit by our dealing, you know, sir.”

“Frankly,” said the sub-dean, “what is their value, between ourselves now?”

“Well, perhaps, from five to six thousand pounds,” answered the jeweller. “Perhaps, rather more. But, as I said, we are willing, if your verger wants to sell, to pay four thousand—cash.”

The sub-dean thought a minute and then rose.

“I will communicate with him,” he said. “In the meantime perhaps you will lock the stones in your safe?”

He went away after that and began a course of mental speculation which lasted the entire evening. It was really very remarkable. He had often heard the local antiquaries talk of the pre-Reformation treasures of Wyechester Cathedral and of the gems and jewels which had blazed in its chapels and shrines. Could it really be possible that the respectable Linkwater had come upon some hidden hoard, appropriated its contents and invented the story of the seafaring brother’s legacy? Dreadful! Dreadful! But he would not think it. A vision of Linkwater’s solemn face and grave mien rose up before him—almost reprovingly.

“No, no!” he muttered. “No, I cannot doubt Linkwater’s probity. He is the image of propriety in every way. And yet——”

And yet he was doubtful and disquieted. He went to bed feeling unhappy. But in the night a brilliant idea came to him. He suddenly remembered that he himself was a very wealthy man and that he had just then a great many thousands of pounds lying at his banker’s. Good, excellent! He would buy the jewels and keep the fact a secret, even from the good Linkwater. That would be most satisfactory, Linkwater could have his money; and he would have the jewels—well worth the money—and if they were ever proved to belong to the cathedral—well, he would give them to the cathedral with great pleasure. Next morning the sub-dean left his hotel early and hurried into the nearest telegraph office. A few minutes later he dispatched a message expressed in plain, if concise, terms:

“Will you take four thousand pounds cash?”

Then he went back to his hotel for breakfast, and while he ate and drank Linkwater’s reply arrived:

“Offer accepted, with much gratitude for your kind services.”

The sub-dean heaved a sigh of relief. This was really the best way of doing things; he heartily disliked the notion of an inquiry and of the scandal which might perhaps result. And so, during the morning, he took the jewels away from Mr. Morkin, repaired to his bank, drew four thousand pounds in notes, finished his business in London and went home. That night he handed the banknotes over to the verger. Linkwater took them, with more expressions of gratitude. He asked no questions and the sub-dean gave him no information. As for the jewels, the sub-dean locked them safely away in his private safe.