Part 5

I raised my umbrella, and at first imagined that I must have made a mistake. The voice was undoubtedly that of Dorcas Dene, but the lady who stood smiling in front of me was to all outward appearance an American tourist. There was the little courier bag attached to the waist-belt, with which we always associate the pretty American accent during the great American touring season. The lady in front of me was beautifully dressed, and appeared through the veil she was wearing to be young and well-favoured, but her hair was silvery grey and her complexion that of a brunette. Now Dorcas Dene was a blonde with soft brown wavy hair, and so I hesitated for a moment, imagining that I must have fallen into a half doze and have dreamed that I heard Dorcas calling me.

The lady, who evidently noticed my doubt and hesitation, smiled and came close to the garden seat on which I had made myself as comfortable as the temperature would allow me.

"Good afternoon," she said. "I saw you lunching in the restaurant, but I couldn't speak to you then. I'm here on business."

It _was_ Dorcas Dene.

"I have half an hour to spare," she said. "My people are at the little table yonder. They've just ordered their coffee, so they won't be going yet."

She sat down at the other end of the garden seat, and, following a little inclination of her parasol, I saw that the "people" she alluded to were a young fellow of about three-and-twenty, a handsome woman of about five-and-thirty, rather loudly dressed, and a remarkably pretty girl in a charming tailor-made costume of some soft white material, and a straw hat with a narrow red ribbon round it. The young lady wore a red sailor's-knot tie over a white shirt. The red of the hat-band and the tie showed out against the whiteness of the costume, and were conspicuous objects in the bright sunlight.

"How beautiful the river is from here," said Dorcas, after I had inquired how Paul was, and had learnt that he was at Eastbourne in apartments with Mrs. Lester, and that the change had benefited his health considerably.

As she spoke Dorcas drew a small pair of glasses from her pocket, and appeared very much interested in a little boat with a big white sail, making its way lazily down the river, which glistened like a sheet of silver in the sunlight.

"Yes," I said, "it's a scene that always delights our American visitors, but I suppose you're not here to admire the beauties of the Thames?"

"No," said Dorcas, laughing. "If I had leisure for that I should be at Eastbourne with my poor old Paul. I've a case in hand."

"And the _case_ is yonder--the young man, the lady, and the pretty girl with the red tie?"

Dorcas nodded assent. "Yes--she is pretty, isn't she? Take my glasses and include her in the scenery, and then, if you are not too fascinated to spare a glance for anybody else, look at the young gentleman."

I took the hint and the glasses. The young lady was more than pretty; she was as perfect a specimen of handsome English girlhood as I had ever seen. I looked from her to the elder lady, and was struck by the contrast. She was much too bold-looking and showy to be the companion of so modest-looking and bewitching a damsel.

I shifted my glasses from the ladies to the young gentleman.

"A fine, handsome young fellow, is he not?" said Dorcas.

"Yes. Who is he?"

"His name is Claude Charrington. He is the son of Mr. Charrington, the well-known barrister, and I am at the present moment a parlour-maid in his stepmother's service."

I looked at the silver-haired, smart American lady with astonishment.

"A parlour-maid! Like that!" I exclaimed.

"No; I've been home and made up for Richmond. I have a day out. I should like you to see me as a parlour-maid at the Charringtons--the other servants think I can't have been in very good places; but they are very kind to me, especially Johnson, the footman, and Mrs. Charrington is quite satisfied."

"Does she know you are not really a parlour-maid?"

"Yes. It was she who engaged me to investigate a little mystery which is troubling her very much. I had to be in the house to make my inquiries, and she consented that I should come as a parlour-maid. It is a very curious case, and I am very interested in it."

"Then so am I," I said, "and you must tell me all about it."

"About ten days ago," said Dorcas, "just as I had arranged to have a fortnight at the seaside with Paul, a lady called on me in a state of great agitation.

"She told me that her name was Mrs. Charrington, that she was the second wife of Mr. Charrington, the barrister, and that she was in great distress of mind owing to the loss of a diamond and ruby bracelet, a diamond and ruby pendant, and a small diamond lizard, which had mysteriously disappeared from her jewel case.

"I asked her at once why she had not informed the police instead of coming to me; and she explained that her suspicions pointed to a member of her own family as the thief, and she was terrified to go to the police for fear their investigations would be a terrible one.

"I asked her if she had informed her husband of her loss, and if the servants knew of it, and she told me that she had only just discovered it, and had not said a word to anyone but her own family solicitor, who had advised her to come to me at once, as the matter was a delicate one. Her husband was away in the country, and she dreaded telling him until she was quite sure the person she suspected was innocent, and she had not yet said anything to the servants, as, of course, if she did they would have a right to insist on the matter being investigated in order that their characters might be cleared. It was a most unpleasant situation, apart from the loss of the valuable jewels, which had been given to her a few days previously as a birthday present. She was in the position of being compelled to conceal her loss for fear of bringing the guilt home to a member of her family."

"And whom does she suspect?" I asked.

"The young gentleman who is paying such marked attention yonder to the pretty girl in the red tie--her stepson, Mr. Claude Charrington," answered Dorcas, picking up her glasses and surveying the "scenery."

"Why does she suspect him?" I asked, following her gaze.

"Mrs. Charrington tells me that her stepson has lately caused his father considerable anxiety owing to his extravagance and recklessness. He has just left Oxford, and is going to the Bar, but he has been very erratic, and lately has evidently been pressed for money. Mrs. Charrington is very fond of him, and he has always appeared to return her affection, and has frequently come to her with his troubles. Mr. Charrington is an irritable man, and inclined to be severe with his son, and the stepmother has frequently acted as peacemaker between them. She has always endeavoured to make Claude look upon her as his own mother.

"A few days before the robbery was discovered Claude laughingly told her that he was 'in a devil of a mess' again, and that in order to get a little ready money to carry on with he had had to pawn his watch and chain for ten pounds. His father had recently given him a sum of money to satisfy some pressing creditors, but had insisted on deducting a certain amount monthly from his allowance until it was paid. Claude showed Mrs. Charrington the ticket for the watch and chain, and jokingly said that if things didn't get better with him he would have to give up all idea of the Bar and go to South Africa and look for a diamond mine. He had told her that he hadn't dared tell the Governor how much he owed, and that the assistance had only staved off the more pressing of his creditors.

"Mrs. Charrington urged him to make a clean breast of everything on his father's return. He shook his head, and presently laughed the matter off, saying perhaps something would turn up. He wasn't going to the Governor again if he could possibly help it.

"That was the situation of affairs two days before the robbery was discovered. But two days after he had let his stepmother see the ticket for his watch and chain, Claude Charrington was in funds again. Mrs. Charrington discovered it quite accidentally. Claude took out a pocket-book at the breakfast table to look for a letter, and in taking out an envelope he pulled out a packet of banknotes. He said, 'Oh, I've had a stroke of luck,' but he coloured up and looked confused. That evening Mrs. Charrington--who, by the bye, I should tell you was in mourning for her brother, who had just died in India--went to her jewel case, and to her horror discovered that a diamond and ruby bracelet, a diamond and ruby pendant, and a diamond lizard had disappeared. The cases were there, but empty.

"Instantly the idea occurred to her that Claude, knowing she was in mourning, and not likely to wear the jewels for some time, had abstracted them and pawned them--perhaps intending to put them back again as soon as he could get the money.

"She was strengthened in her suspicion by his acquisition of banknotes at a time when, according to his own account, he had pawned his watch to tide over until his allowance became due; his confusion when she noticed the banknotes; and finally by her suddenly remembering that two evenings previously after she had dressed for dinner and was in the drawing-room, she had gone upstairs again to fetch her keys, which she remembered having left on the dressing-table. Outside her room she met Claude with his dog, a fox-terrier, at his heels.

"'I've been hunting all over the place for Jack, Mater,' he said, 'and I heard him in your room. The little beggar was scratching away at the wainscoting like mad. There must be rats there. I had to go in to get him away--I was afraid he'd do some damage.'

"Mrs. Charrington found her keys on the dressing-table, and thought no more of Claude and his explanation until she missed the jewellery. Then it occurred to her that Claude had been in her room and had had an opportunity of using her keys, which not only opened the drawer in which she kept her jewel case, but the case itself."

Dorcas finished her story, and I sat for a moment gazing at the young fellow, who seemed supremely happy. Could it be possible that if he were guilty his crime could trouble him so little?

"The circumstances are very suspicious," I said, presently, "but don't you think Mrs. Charrington ought at once to have taxed her stepson, and given him an opportunity of clearing himself?"

"He would naturally have denied the charge under any circumstances. But presuming him to be innocent, the bare idea that his stepmother could have thought him guilty would have been most painful to him. That is the sort of mistake one can never atone for. No, Mrs. Charrington did the wisest thing she could have done. She decided, if possible, to be sure of his guilt or innocence before letting anyone--even her husband--know of her loss."

"And how far do your investigations go in other directions?"

"So far, I am still in the dark. I have had every opportunity of mixing with the servants and studying them, and I don't believe for a moment that they are concerned in the matter. The footman bets, but is worried because he has not paid back a sovereign he borrowed last week to put on a 'dead cert.,' which didn't come off. The lady's maid is an honourable, high-minded girl, engaged to be married to a most respectable man who has been in a position of trust for some years. I cannot find the slightest suspicious circumstances connected with any of the other servants."

"Then you are inclined to take Mrs. Charrington's view?"

"No, I am not. And yet----Well, I shall be able to answer more definitely when I have found out a little more about that young lady with the red tie. I have had no opportunity of making inquiries about her. I found out that Claude Charrington was coming to the 'Star and Garter' this morning when Johnson came downstairs with a telegram to the manager, 'Reserve window table for two o'clock'; and when I got here the little party were already at luncheon."

"But the young lady may have nothing to do with the matter. When a young man pawns someone else's jewellery to provide himself with ready money, surely the last person he would tell would be the young lady he is entertaining at the 'Star and Garter.'"

"Quite so," said Dorcas, "but I have seen the young lady rather more closely than you have. I sat at the next table to them in the restaurant. Let us take a little stroll and pass them now."

Dorcas rose, and with her parasol shading her face strolled down on the terrace, and I walked by her side.

As we passed quite close to Claude Charrington and his friends I looked at the young lady. The end of her red necktie was fastened to the shirt _with a diamond lizard._

"Good heavens!" I said to Dorcas when we were out of hearing, "is that part of the missing jewellery?"

"If it is not, it is at least a curious coincidence. Claude Charrington has access to his stepmother's room and the keys of her jewel case. Jewellery is missing. One of the articles is a diamond lizard. He is here to-day with a young lady, and that young lady has on jewellery which exactly answers the description of one of the missing articles. Now you know why I am going to find out a little more concerning that young lady and her female companion."

"Do you want an 'assistant'?" I said eagerly.

Dorcas smiled. "Not this time, thank you," she said; "but if I do later I will send you a wire. Now I think I must say good-day, for my 'people' look like making a move, and I mustn't lose them."

"Can't I see you this evening?"

"No, this evening I expect I shall be back at Mrs. Charrington's-- you forget I am only a parlour-maid with a day out."

Dorcas nodded pleasantly, and I took the hint and left her.

A few minutes later I saw the Charrington party going back into the hotel, and Dorcas Dene following them at a respectful distance.

I sat down once again on my old seat and fell into a reverie, which was interrupted by Karl the waiter, who came ostensibly to know if there was anything he could get me, but really to have a few minutes' chat on his favourite subject--the Turf. Did I know anything good for to-morrow at Sandown?

I told Karl that I did not, and then he told me that he had had a good tip himself--I ought to get on at once. I shifted the conversation from the Turf to general gossip, and then quite innocently I asked him if he knew who the people were who had lunched at the window table and had just left the terrace.

Oh, yes, he knew the young gentleman. That was Mr. Claude Charrington.

He was a frequent customer and had often given Karl a good tip. Only a few days ago he had given him a horse at long odds and it had come off.

"And the young lady with the red tie?"

Karl wasn't quite sure--he had seen her only once or twice before. He thought the young lady was an actress at one of the Comic Opera theatres. The elder lady used to be often there years ago, but she hadn't been for some time until to-day. He remembered her when she was one of the handsomest women of the day.

I lit a cigarette and said carelessly that I supposed they came with Mr. Charrington.

"No," said Karl; "they were here when he came, and he seemed rather surprised to see the elder lady. I suppose," said Karl, with a grin, "the young gentleman had only invited the younger lady to lunch, and he thought that two was company and three was none, as your English proverb says."

A white napkin waved from the balcony of the restaurant summoned Karl back to his duties, and looking at my watch I found that it was four o'clock, and time for me to make a start for town, where I had an appointment at six.

I thought of nothing but the mystery of the Charrington jewellery in the train, but when I got out at Waterloo I was still unable to find any theory which would satisfactorily reconcile the two opposing difficulties. If Claude Charrington had stolen his stepmother's jewellery to raise money on it he wouldn't have given it away; and if he had given it away it could have nothing to do with his sudden possession of a bundle of banknotes, which his stepmother considered one of the principal proofs of his guilt.

* * * * * * *

Two days later I received a telegram just before noon:

"Marble Arch, four o'clock. --DORCAS."

I was there punctually to the time, and a few minutes later Dorcas joined me, and we turned into the park.

"Well," I said, "you've found out who the young lady is. You've traced the jewellery--and I suppose there can be no doubt that Claude Charrington is the culprit?"

"I've found out that the young lady is a Miss Dolamore. She is a thoroughly good girl. Her mother, the widow of a naval officer, is in poor circumstances and lives in the country. Miss Dolamore, having a good voice, has gone on the stage. She is in lodgings in Fitzroy Street, Fitzroy Square. The house is kept and let out in apartments by an Italian, one Carlo Rinaldi, married to an English woman--the English woman is the woman who was with Miss Dolamore at the 'Star and Garter' that day."

"Then the elder woman was her landlady?"

"Yes."

"And Claude Charrington is in love with Miss Dolamore!"

"Exactly. They have been about together a great deal. He calls frequently to see her and take her out. It is understood in the house that they are engaged."

"How have you ascertained all this?"

"I visit the house. The second floor was to let and I took it yesterday morning for a friend of mine and paid the rent in advance. I am getting little odds and ends and taking them there for her. There is a delightfully communicative Irish housemaid at the Rinaldi's."

"Then of course it's quite clear that Claude Charrington gave Miss Dolamore that diamond lizard. Have you found out if she has the bracelet and the pendant too? If she hasn't, the lizard may be merely a coincidence. There are plenty of diamond lizards about."

"The bracelet and the pendant are at Attenborough's. They were pawned some days ago by a person giving the name of Claude Charrington and the Charringtons' correct address."

"By Claude Charrington, of course?"

"No; whoever the guilty party is it is not Claude Charrington."

"_Not Claude Charrington!_" I exclaimed, my brain beginning to whirl "What do you mean? The jewels were in Mrs. Charrington's case--she misses them--one article is in the possession of Claude's sweetheart, a young lady who is on the stage, and the others are pawned in the name of Claude Charrington, and yet you say Claude Charrington had nothing to do with it. Whatever makes you come to such a strange conclusion as that?"

"One fact--and one fact alone. On the very day that we were at Richmond Mr. Charrington, the barrister, returned to town. He arrived in the afternoon, and seemed worried and out of sorts. His wife had made up her mind to tell him everything, but he was so irritable that she hesitated.

"Yesterday she had an extraordinary story to tell me. When her husband had gone to his chambers in the morning she began to worry about not having told him. She felt that she really ought to do so now he had come back. She went to her jewel case to go over everything once more in order to be quite sure nothing else was missing before she told him her trouble, and there, to her utter amazement, was all the missing property, the bracelet, the pendant, and the diamond lizard."

"Then," I said with a gasp, "Claude Charrington must have redeemed them and put them back!"

"Not at all. The diamond lizard is _still_ in Miss Dolamore's possession, and the diamond bracelet and pendant are _still at Attenborough's._"

I stared at Dorcas Dene for a moment in dumb amazement. When at last I could find words to speak my thoughts I exclaimed: "What does this mean? What can it mean? We shall never know now because Mrs. Charrington has her jewels again and your task is ended."

"No--my task is a double one now. Mrs. Charrington engaged me to find out who stole her jewels. When I can tell her that I shall be able to tell her also who endeavoured to conceal the robbery by putting a similar set back in their place. This is no common case of jewel stealing. There is a mystery and a romance behind it-- a tangled skein which a Lecoq or a Sherlock Holmes would have been proud to unravel--_and I think I have a clue._"

_VI. THE PRICK OF A PIN_

When Dorcas told me that she had a clue to the mystery of the Charrington jewels, I pressed her to tell me what it was.

"All in good time," she said; "meanwhile you can help me if you will. There is a club in ------- Street, Soho, of which most of the members are foreigners. It is called 'The Camorra.' Carlo Rinaldi, the landlord of the house in which Miss Dolamore is staying, spends his evenings there. It is a gambling club. Visitors are admitted, and the members are by no means averse to female society. I want you to take me there to-morrow night."

"But, my dear Dorcas--I--I'm not a member."

"No, but you can be a visitor."

"But I don't _know_ a member."

"Oh, nonsense," said Dorcas, "you know a dozen. Ask your favourite waiter at any foreign restaurant, and he will be pretty sure to be able to tell you of one of his fellow-employés who can take you."

"Yes," I said, after I had thought for a moment. "If that is so, I think I can arrange it."

"That's a bargain, then," she said. "I will meet you and your friend the member outside Ketner's, in Church Street, to-morrow night at ten o'clock. Till then, good-bye."

"One question more," I said, retaining the hand that was placed in mine. "I assume that your object in going to this club is to watch Miss Dolamore's landlord; but if you have taken his second floor, won't he recognise you and be suspicious?"

Dorcas Dene smiled. "I'll take care there is no danger of his recognising the lady of the second floor at the Camorra to-morrow night. And now, good afternoon. The Charringtons dine at eight, and I have to wait at table to-night."

Then, with a little nod of adieu, she walked quickly away and left me to think out my plans for capturing a member of the Camorra.

* * * * * * *

I had very little difficulty in finding a waiter who was a member. He turned up in a very old acquaintance, Guiseppe, of a well-known Strand café and restaurant. Guiseppe easily obtained an evening off, but he demurred when I told him that I wanted him to introduce a lady friend of mine as well as myself to the club. He was nervous. Was she a lady journalist? I pacified Guiseppe, and the preliminaries were satisfactorily arranged, and at ten o'clock, leaving Guiseppe round the corner, I strolled on to Ketner's, and looked for Dorcas Dene.

There was no trace of her, and I was beginning to think she had been detained, when a stout, rather elderly-looking woman came towards me. She was dressed in a black silk dress, the worse for wear, a shabby black velvet mantle, and a black bonnet, plentifully bedecked with short black ostrich plumes, upon which wind and weather had told their tale. At her throat was a huge cameo brooch. As she came into the light she looked like one of the German landladies of the shilling table d'hôte establishments in the neighbourhood. The woman looked at me searchingly, and then asked me in guttural broken English if I was the gentleman who had an appointment there with a lady.

For a moment I hesitated. It might be a trap.

"Who told you to ask me?"

"Dorcas Dene."

"Indeed," I said, still suspicious, "and who is Dorcas Dene?"

"_I am,_" replied the German frau. "Come, do you think Rinaldi will recognise his second floor?"

"My dear Dorcas," I gasped, as soon as I had recovered from my astonishment, "why _did_ you leave the stage?"

"Never mind about the stage," said Dorcas. "Where's the member of the Camorra?"

"He's waiting at the corner."