Part 11

Still, the public does not remain of the same opinion from one day to another. The feeling against me gradually subsided. I fancy people had an idea that a hard and entirely undeserved fate had befallen me and others concerned in this matter. I was fortunate in being able to clear up one or two mysterious affairs, and now, in short, I can no longer complain of want of sympathy from the public.

I have nothing more to add than that I still consider it the object of my life to unravel this mysterious affair. I have not followed the superintendent's advice, and I intend continuing as I have begun, if necessary, to the end of my days. All the people who have played a part in the events which I have told you of, I keep well under my surveillance, either personally, or through my agents. Sometimes I feel as if I could give up everything in despair, for, as I have told you, up till now I have no result to show. Then again my common sense and my experience--not my presentiments--tell me that the solution must come in time, perhaps before I expect it.

"But why have you decided so suddenly to go to America?" This time it was I who spoke.

"Some days ago," he replied, "I received the notice of Einar Frick's death. I shall once again speak to Sigrid. I have certain things to ask her about; perhaps she will now answer me."

We were all silent. Monk went over to the bookcase and began to put some books to rights which were disarranged on the shelf.

Clara got up and crossed over to him, but he did not turn round, although he must have heard her steps. He did not even look when she laid her hand on his shoulder.

"But even now, you have not told us everything!"

"Yes, everything that can be of interest to others."

"No, you are wrong, Monk," said my wife, in a friendly tone, not removing her hand from his shoulder. "Did you not ask us to help you?"

"Yes, I did."

"Well, and however strange it may seem, yet I believe that one of these little mice can this time help the lion. But you must first tell us everything. When Miss Frick left, why didn't you go with her? Perhaps you thought then that she had stolen the diamond?"

"No, I didn't--but--well, how can I explain myself; you will not understand me--I believe in her, and yet there are moments when--"

"You men are a miserable lot of creatures when it comes to a question of trust," said Clara, with unction. "You, Monk, and very likely you, Frederick, would do the same. You do not hesitate to assure a woman that you respect and love her above everything in the world; but if only there comes a wretched photograph, or some accidental coincidence, then you believe the same woman to be capable of committing the lowest and most degrading of crimes. Yes, I speak not so much with regard to the robbery, as that she, if she were guilty, allowed another to suffer in her place! Let me tell you what passed between you and Sigrid, and then you shall tell me if I am right?"

Monk only nodded, with his face half turned away, and my wife continued in a severe tone:--

"You went to Sigrid and assured her that you believed in her innocence, in spite of all, and you proposed that you should get married at once and go abroad!"

Monk nodded again.

"But she answered that she read doubt at the bottom of your heart, and that it was better that you should both part; isn't that so?"

"Yes," answered Monk, turning round to us--he was dreadfully pale--"I tried hard to get her to tell me why she had attempted that day to get money at the pawnbroker's. If it could clear the matter and prove my innocence, she said, then she would do it; but as the affair stands, it would not serve any purpose, and only bring disgrace upon another.

"'It was to get your brother out of some difficulty,' I urged.

"'It is of no use talking about it,' she said. 'It will not take away the doubt from your heart. Even if you fancy it gone, it will come again and again; and do you think we can get away from people's talk and malice? No, the world is too small for that! And if we got married, and had children, could we be sure that they would never get to know of their mother's past? I have also a duty to fulfil to my brother; and in that you could not take part. To you he would always be the one who had poisoned our life.'

"Such were her words, as near as possible. I felt I had only empty and meaningless words to say in reply to them, and so we parted."

"There, didn't I tell you so!" exclaimed Clara. "It is your own doubt which is the cause of your weakness. That is the reason you have not been able to penetrate the darkness."

"I think you are wrong there, Mrs. Viller," answered Monk, gently, "but the work has been too much for my strength. I fancy it would have been too much for any man. Mention anything I ought to have done, and I think I can answer you that it has already been tried."

"Don't be angry," were Clara's next words, and this time they were as gentle as Monk's own. "I know you have as much feeling as you have common sense, and perhaps more feeling than most people; but with you men, reason always comes off victorious in the end. You cannot alter your natures, I suppose. Now we must see how we can help Monk, Frederick, as he can't help himself; isn't that so?"

"Yes," I answered as cheerfully as I possibly could; "it would be strange if we three, when we have put our heads together, should not be able to clear up the mystery. You have here what you hitherto have lacked, Monk--the experience of an expert in many branches, as represented by me, and a woman's intuition and instinct, as represented by Clara. But as a preliminary, Monk will have to be examined. Have you anything to ask Monk, Clara? You shall be the first, then my turn comes."

"Yes, I must begin," answered Clara, looking in a very friendly manner at Monk, as if to appease him if she had wounded him with her remarks. "Tell me, was not the Englishman, Howell, as he was called, in love with Sigrid? Didn't he pay his attentions to her, and wasn't he rejected?"

Monk began to smile. "I fancy he did try a little at first, but he soon saw that I had forestalled him, and so, with a good grace I'll admit, he left the field clear. If he had made any definite advances, I think Sigrid would have told me."

"Are you quite sure about that?" answered Clara, with an air of superiority. "One is not of course father confessor to one's fiancee. But can you tell me any other reason why he should hate both of you?"

"Are you sure he hated us?"

"Yes, I am quite sure about it; he is the cause of the whole mischief. The photograph was of course nothing but humbug."

Monk smiled resignedly. "The photograph was only too genuine."

"And then there was that wretched actor," continued Clara; "he left, I understand, just before Evelina committed suicide. Have you heard anything of him since? It was of course on his account that the young girl killed herself. I believe he first of all got her to steal the diamond, and then left her. That was the reason of the poor girl committing suicide."

"I also thought of that," was Monk's answer, "and I had him watched after he left Christiania. He went first to Gothenburg and later to Copenhagen. But it is not probable that the money which Jurgens paid for the diamond has at any time been in his hands. He lived the whole time from hand to mouth, and often in the greatest misery."

"Are you quite certain of this?" I asked. "If the actor didn't get the money, all my theories are upset."

"Yes, isn't that so?" said Monk, smiling again, in the same resigned way. "And you would have had the same experience, not only in one, but in ten points of the case, if you had weighed them and turned them over in your head as long as I have done."

"But there must be one theory which is right," I exclaimed. "Some one must have stolen the diamond!"

"Yes, that's the dreadful part of it all!" groaned Monk. "There is only one theory which can be applied to all that has happened in this dreadful affair, and that is--" here his voice sank almost to a whisper,--"and that is, that--that Sigrid took the diamond to help her brother, was photographed by Mr. Howell, and then sold the diamond to Mr. Jurgens. No, don't say what you want to say, Mrs. Viller. Rather bear in mind that it is my fixed determination, in a few days to go to America, and again offer Sigrid my hand. Can I better show my faith in her?"

Clara did not answer.

"Where is the actor now?" I asked.

"He died in delirium tremens, in a public hospital in Denmark. I had an agent there for some time, who tried to get something out of him, but it was of no use. The agent was under the impression that the actor knew nothing of the diamond robbery,--nothing of any importance to us, at least."

"And Mrs. Reierson--have you tried her?"

"By all possible means, through a third person. She will not see me. If I show myself to her, she swears and curses me for having brought about her daughter's death. Old Frick gives her a yearly pension; but as she has completely given herself over to drink, it does not last very long, and between each quarterly payment she lives in the greatest destitution."

"And Mr. Howell?"

"I have not lost sight of him, although it is often difficult enough to keep an eye on him. He leads the life of so many rich Englishmen. He spends the season in London, the autumn in the country, and the rest of the year in travelling. He has a yacht, and has several times visited Norway in the summer. He has, however, been only three or four times in Christiania all these years, and then only for a short time. He has on these occasions stayed at Villa Ballarat with old Frick. My agent in England informs me that he is well known as a gambler and as a man who spends more money than he can afford. He has for many years paid frequent visits to a country house in Yorkshire,--Ashton Hall,--belonging to a rich gentleman, Mr. Ashton. They say it will end in his marrying the gentleman's eldest daughter, a lady who is no longer young. The reason for this long courtship no one can explain. They think he'll not swallow the bitter pill until he is obliged. Here, people believe that he will inherit old Frick's money. Very likely that is the reason he goes on courting so long. Very likely, too, the old man's death might put him on his legs again, and save him from marrying the lady in Yorkshire."

"You seem no longer to like the Englishman!"

"I have never liked him particularly, and, as I have told you earlier, his conduct frequently appeared to me to be suspicious. Yet I cannot very well account for the reason of my distrust for him. I have an idea that he played a part in the drama, which I do not comprehend. I believe your wife's instinct tells her the same."

"_Instinct!_" repeated Clara, witheringly. "We women must always hear, when we in some way or other hit upon a right solution, that it is our instinct which has come to our aid--never a word is said about logical deduction! Look here, Mr. Monk. What I mean to say is, that I am sure that Mr. Howell tampered with the photograph in order to ruin Sigrid. This result I arrive at from the following reasoning. If the photograph is to be relied upon, Sigrid must have had the diamond in her hand that day; but she denied this absolutely. No, don't try to avoid it, Monk! You are afraid to tell me that now I am illogical--isn't that what you call it?--like all women, and so you won't even look at me. But I haven't finished yet. Suppose Sigrid could and would tell a lie, what could have been easier for her than to admit she had that afternoon been into the museum, had taken out the diamond and looked at it for a moment, and then put it back in its place again? No one could have said a word against this explanation as to how the photograph was taken. No! Sigrid was not a fool; and you must admit that if she wanted to tell a lie, she would not do it in such a foolish way. Admit that I am right, Monk! All probabilities go to prove that Sigrid spoke the truth. She had not set foot in Mr. Frick's museum that day between five and half-past seven, and--the photograph was tampered with."

Monk could not help smiling; but it was the same smile--the hopeless smile with which the giant who has in vain attempted to lift a burden watches the dwarf endeavouring to lift it for him.

He went across to a small iron safe in the corner of the room, and came back at once with a little object which he laid on the table before us. It was a small photograph placed between glass plates, which were held together by india-rubber bands.

"This is the photograph."

Both Clara and I stretched out our hands at the same moment, and Monk laid it on the table between us, together with an oblong magnifying glass of unusual size.

"Now you can look at it for yourselves. What cannot be seen with the naked eye can be easily discerned through the magnifying glass."

Clara and I used it in turn.

"I have to thank my old friend, the chief superintendent, that I am in possession of the photograph," continued Monk.

"At my earnest request he gave it up to me, but not till two years after the trial. He made me promise, however, that I should keep it in a fire-proof safe, and take the greatest care of it. Heavens! it was hardly necessary to request me to do that."

The photograph answered to the brief description which Monk had already given of it. It was three or four inches in height, but very narrow, so much so that little was to be seen but the girlish figure in front of the open cupboard with the shelves. These shelves were filled with all sorts of curiosities, which appeared most distinctly on the plate. On the whole, the photograph was unusually clear and distinct.

"Look at the girl's left hand," said Monk.

I held the magnifying glass over the photograph. "Yes, I see, she has a ring on the ring finger."

"Yes; and the finger is quite normal--not at all deformed."

"No, it is quite well shaped."

"You see the little elephant on the shelf over the cupboard, and the clock in its forehead? What time does it show?"

"Let me see! It is twenty-one minutes to six. The figures are not easy to distinguish, but the position of the hands is plain enough."

"Yes, although the elephant is scarcely three inches high, that and the other small things on the shelf over the cupboard are the masterpieces of an ivory carver in Naples. Do you see, for example, a little copy of Venus de Milo at the side of it?"

"Yes, I see it. But tell me, Monk, who does the girl in the photograph resemble, Miss Frick or Evelina?"

"Oh, Evelina! I was, of course, accustomed to see Sigrid in that costume--the braided jacket and the little hat with the bird's wing on it--so at first glance I might have doubted; but after a more careful inspection I should never have hesitated in saying that it was Evelina,--she and no one else, if only this question of the finger hadn't cropped up."

"The photograph was examined, wasn't it?"

"If any photograph in this world has been examined, this is the one. As you may remember, the photographer Rodin and another expert gave their opinion upon it at the first trial. Later on it was examined at the physical laboratory of the university. All were of one mind in saying that no attempt had been made either to tamper with or to make any alteration in it,--neither by retouching nor by any other means."

While I continued to converse with Monk, Clara took possession of the picture. I handed her the magnifying glass, but she pushed it aside, and continued studying the photograph without once looking up.

"You must be quite tired," I said to Monk, "with all our questioning, but if it will not be too tedious to you to answer me, I should like to examine you a little."

"On the contrary, I would prefer nothing better than listening to your remarks. What I wish is to get out of this vicious circle in which my thoughts have run during the last six years."

"Have you any guarantee that this photograph was taken that afternoon--the 10th of May--between five and half-past seven?"

"Yes, only too positive proof; but the report in the _Morning News_ is perhaps not sufficiently clear. The facts are these: The snap-shot apparatus used by Mr. Howell had a roll of prepared paper sufficient to take ten photographs. I suppose you have seen these apparatus. For every new picture you want to take you turn a little screw outside, which is connected with the roller, until a new number appears on the indicator. When all the paper on the roll has been used, it is taken out, in order to get the pictures developed, and a new roll is inserted. On the back of this photograph you will find number ten printed. Number nine, which was also produced in court, was a group which Mr. Howell had taken in the museum before Jurgens left. The next, that is to say, number ten, must therefore have been taken in the interval before the roll was handed over to the photographer,--in other words, between five and seven o'clock. You will at once see that even if Mr. Howell had wanted to deceive us, it would not have been possible."

"Yes, I fear, it is only too true. I have now nothing else to ask, except whether the hands of the watch in the elephant's forehead might not have been moved backward, or forward, by some one, either accidentally or purposely?"

"You ask the same question which I have been asking myself for many years. What we do know is that the watch was right at five o'clock, and again at half-past seven. It is impossible that it could have been altered in the meantime. It appears that the glass which covers the dial is not movable. If the watch has to be regulated, the whole of the clockwork must be exposed by removing a small metal plate under the stomach of the elephant. On examining the elephant, two days after Evelina's acquittal, it was found that there were no marks whatever to be found in the thin layer of dust which had settled in the joint between the ivory and this plate."

"But then we have the question of the time to settle," I said. "It proves that Miss Frick could not have returned from the pawnbroker at the time which the watch in the photograph shows. As far as I understand you, it was this circumstance alone which saved her at the trial."

"I'll tell you exactly what I think. It was that fact which saved her as far as it gave the jury a pretext to answer 'No' to the question whether she was guilty or not--or, more correctly, an excuse for not answering 'Yes' to it. I do not believe there was a person in the court who, in their heart of hearts, did not believe that Sigrid was guilty. But her counsel very cleverly laid stress on the obscurity which enveloped the whole matter, and the possibility that they might give an unjust verdict and that the truth afterward might transpire. They, or, more correctly, five of them, chose, therefore, so the rumour goes, and I think it is correct, to answer 'No,' as the discrepancy with regard to the time gave them the opportunity to do. You understand what I mean?"

"Yes, I understand; but what is your personal opinion with regard to the discrepancy in the time?"

"Well, for my own part, I cannot deny that those who believed in Sigrid's guilt were right in saying: Supposing that the driver had driven rather more quickly than ordinarily, then the discrepancy in the time would not be greater than five minutes. It might easily happen that this difference in the time was due to the fact that the clocks in the different parts of the town did not tally."

"May I take the photograph home with me?"

It was Clara who interrupted us. She had sat staring hard at the picture, and now she stood before Monk with it hidden in her hand.

Monk reflected a moment.

"If you will promise me to keep it in Frederick's safe when you have not got it in your hand."

"I promise everything," was Clara's answer; "and among other things, that the photograph has been tampered with!!!"

There was such conviction in my wife's voice that Monk's cheeks flushed with excitement. This time I saw nothing of the hopeless smile. He did not have a chance of replying, however, for Clara began hurriedly to put on her hat and cape.

"Come now, Frederick, it is past three in the morning, and to-morrow we have still another day's work."

"Goodnight, Monk."

"Goodnight."

"Stop a minute; two things I must ask you before we go. Where does Mrs. Reierson live?"

"She lives in her old den in Russeloek Street, No. 44."

"Where could one find the clothes which Evelina had on that day when the robbery was committed? I mean the hat and jacket which she wears in the photograph."

"Very probably Mrs. Reierson still has them, if she hasn't sold them. They were produced in court, but were later on naturally given back to the unhappy girl's mother. But why do you ask about them? You know, of course, that--"

"That is my business for the present; good night, once more."

The last conversation was carried on between Clara and Monk. I listened to them in astonishment. What in all the world did Clara mean by these questions?

As we wandered homeward in the moonlight, with Clara on my arm, I tried to find out what her purpose had been with regard to her last questions to Monk.

"You surely don't intend to visit Mrs. Reierson?"

"I don't intend to tell you," was the reply; "but even if I do, what harm is there in that?"

"No, of course there's no harm; but according to Monk's description, there was nothing very prepossessing about Mrs. Reierson six years ago, and in the course of these years she is not likely to have changed for the better."

"Don't let us talk about it any more. Remember I have been to less prepossessing houses before in my life, on mysterious errands. Do you remember that time when I paid my fruitless visit to the pawnbroker, and, in my despair, had to go to Monk?"

"Yes, you were lucky that time," I answered gayly. "If you hadn't gone that day to Monk, you would never have met me, and then perhaps you would never have been married."

"Of course I do not want to keep any secrets from you, either big or small," said Clara. "It is my intention to go to Mrs. Reierson to-morrow morning. But you shall not go with me; first, because I consider it will serve my purpose better if I go alone. Men are such blunderers, you know. She is naturally suspicious about men, and would perhaps recognize you as a friend of Monk's, and secondly, I am very anxious to carry out my little plan all by myself. Fancy, if I can help him, as he once helped me,--wouldn't that be a triumph!"

*CHAPTER V*

*THE MOST IMPORTANT CHAPTER IN THE BOOK. CLARA ACTS THE DETECTIVE*

"It's time to get up, sir. Missus said as 'ow I must get you up by half-past nine."

I looked up in astonishment. In the doorway stood our red-faced country servant girl nodding good-humouredly at me.

"Where is your mistress gone?"

"Missus went out at half-past eight, and said as 'ow I must wake you up and have the breakfast ready by ten o'clock."

There was no mistaking this order, so I hurried up, a little ashamed at having slept so long.

No sooner was I dressed, than there was a ring at the front doorbell, and in stepped Monk with a very serious face.

He was not one of those who are much affected by one or even two nights of sleeplessness, but to-day he looked unusually tired and weary.

"I'm afraid you haven't had a good night. It was dreadfully late when we left you; we shouldn't have kept you up so long!"

"It was rather I who kept both of you up so late. But where is your wife gone?"

"Clara went out at half-past eight, the girl says; but she is sure to be home soon. Why do you ask?"

"She telephoned to me a quarter of an hour ago. She told me to come here at once, as she had something of importance to tell me."