Part 8

The Lord Mayor glared. He was a director of the company with which the diamond was insured.

“My good man,” he said, “it isn’t humanly possible for anything--anything--to have gone out of this room since we entered it!”

“I’m disposed to agree with you, sir,” replied Grimsby. “But at the same time I’ll stake my reputation that the diamond isn’t inside these four walls! Although my search of you gentlemen was a mere formality, I assure you it was thorough. I’ve searched a few score Kaffirs and I know my business. As to the room itself, it’s as bare as a drawing board. A child could find the smallest bead in it inside twenty seconds. You can take it from me as a stone certainty that the diamond has gone!”

“Then we are wasting precious time!” cried Sir Michael. “Commence the pursuit at once, Inspector!”

Grimsby’s jaw shot out doggedly.

“If you could give me a hint where to begin, sir,” he said, “I shouldn’t waste another second!”

“Hang it all, that’s your business, my man!”

“I know it is, sir. But I’m only a poor human policeman, after all. We sha’n’t gain anything by getting angry, shall we? This room, to all intents and purposes, is a locked box from which something has been abstracted without lifting the lid. That’s a conjuring trick, and as puzzling to me as it is to you.”

Sir Michael softened. Inspector Grimsby is not a man who can be browbeaten.

“Quite right, Inspector,” he said; “I recognize the difficulties. But this loss is horrible. It reflects upon all of us--all of us. If the news of this theft leaks out--if the stone cannot be recovered--a certain stigma--I cannot blind myself to the fact--a certain stigma will attach to our personal integrity. Clean as our records may be, we cannot hope to escape it. For God’s sake, Inspector, set your wits to work.”

Indeed, those were anxious faces that surrounded the detective. Suddenly--

“Ah!” cried the Lord Mayor, “the man Klaw! On his own showing he knows something of this matter! Mr. Grimsby----”

Grimsby held up his hand and nodded.

“With your permission, gentlemen,” he said, “I will try to get into communication with Moris Klaw at once.”

“Good,” said Mr. Anderson; “and meanwhile, whilst we await the result of your efforts, Inspector, I suggest, in the interests of all, that we lunch in my office. It may be inconvenient for many of you, but for my own part I am anxious to remain on these premises until we have news of the whereabouts of the diamond.”

The proposal was carried unanimously. No one of those substantial men of affairs was anxious to lay himself open to the suspicion of having removed the great Blue Rajah from the office! For, as Sir Michael quite justly had pointed out, where a diamond worth an emperor’s ransom is concerned, reputations melt like ice beneath a tropical sun.

In this way, then, I found myself concerned in the case; for Grimsby hastened to call me up, begging me to urge the retiring Moris Klaw to quit his Wapping haunt, to which he clung like Diogenes to his wooden cavern, and to journey to Moorgate Street. Fortunately, I was in my rooms, and, willing enough to enjoy an opportunity of studying Klaw at work, I despatched a district messenger to him, trusting that he would be at his shop.

Since evidently he had apprehended that an attempt would be made this morning, I did not doubt that he would be at home. Indeed, he rang me up less than half an hour later and arranged to meet me at Mr. Anderson’s office.

“I warned him--that Lord Mayor,” came his rumbling continental tones along the wire, “how he must not let it out of his sight. He ignored me. So! Ring him up immediately, and tell him to have ready for me hot black coffee. It stimulates the inner perception when green tea is not obtainable.”

Without delay I followed Moris Klaw’s instructions, and then hurried out and into a cab. My duties, as Klaw’s biographer--self-appointed--forbade my delaying.

We arrived at Basinghall House simultaneously. Our cabs drew up one behind the other. Except for the presence of Inspector Grimsby at the entrance, there was nothing to show that a stupendous robbery had been committed there less than an hour before. As I descended, Grimsby ran and opened the door of the other cab. He offered his hand to the beautiful girl who was within, according her all the nervous deference due to a queen.

And indeed no queen of ancient times could have looked more queenly than Isis Klaw--no Hatshepsu could have carried herself more regally. She wore a dark, close-fitting costume and ermine furs. In contrast to the snowy peltry, her large black eyes and perfect red lips rendered her a study for the brush of a painter, but, like her Oriental grace, defied the pen of the scribe.

Moris Klaw’s daughter, her dazzling beauty enhanced by all the feminine arts of Paris, was a rare exotic one would not have sought in the neighbourhood of Wapping Old Stairs. But her father afforded a contrast at least as singular as her residence.

Behind this seductive vision he appeared, enveloped in his caped coat, his yellow bearded face crowned by the brown bowler of Early Victorian pattern--indeed, apparently of Early Victorian manufacture. He peered at the taximeter through his gold-rimmed pince-nez.

“Two and tenpence,” he rumbled, hoarsely. “That meter requires inspection, my friend. I have watched it popping up those two pennies, and I have perceived that it does so every time the cab bumps upon a drain-hole. I am to pay, then, for all the drains between Wapping and Moorgate Street. Here it is--three shillings. One and fourpence for the company and one and eightpence for yourself.”

He turned aside, raising his hat.

“Good morning, Mr. Searles! Good morning, Mr. Grimsby! I shall charge the City of London one and sixpence for drains. Let us walk on as far as the courtyard I see yonder, and you shall tell me all the facts before I interview those others, who will be, of course, so prejudiced by their misfortune.”

We passed on, and many a clerkly glance followed the furry figure of Isis beneath the archway. Hemmed in by offices, a certain quietude prevailed in the courtyard.

“It is a chilly morning,” said Moris Klaw; “but here we will stop and talk.”

Accordingly Grimsby related the known facts of the case, more often addressing his story to the girl than to her father.

“Yes, yes,” growled the latter, when the tale was told; “and this crying out--this screaming of murder--what occasioned it?”

“That’s the mystery!” explained the detective. “I wish I had run out at once. I might have learned something. As it is, all I can find out amounts to nothing. The clerks and porters and other people who came flocking to the scene found no one here who knew anything about it!”

“The screamer was missing, eh?”

“Vanished! I can’t help thinking it was a ruse; though what anybody profited by it isn’t clear.”

“It is not clear, you say?” rumbled Moris Klaw. “Ah! you have a fog of the mentality, my friend!” Grimsby flushed.

“Of course,” he added, hurriedly, “I can see that it served to divert the attention of the people who ought to have been guarding the diamond. But as both the doors and the window were locked, how did it help to get the stone out of the office?”

Moris Klaw pulled reflectively at his scanty beard.

“We shall see,” he rumbled. “Let us ascend.”

We entered the lift and went up to the office of Messrs. Anderson & Brothers. The Presentation Committee were awaiting the mysterious Moris Klaw but had not anticipated a visit from a pretty woman. They were prepared to adopt toward the man who would seem to have had some foreknowledge of the robbery a certain attitude of suspicion. It was amusing to note the change of front when Isis entered. Moris Klaw singled out the Lord Mayor and the owner of the office with unerring instinct. He removed his hat.

“Good morning, Mr. Anderson!” he said. “Good morning, Sir Michael! Good morning, gentlemen!”

“This is Mr. Moris Klaw,” explained Grimsby, “and Miss Klaw. Mr. Searles.”

Mr. Anderson hastened to place chairs. We became seated. Following a short interval, Sir Michael Cayley cleared his throat.

“We are--er--indebted to you, Mr. Klaw,” he began, “for taking this trouble. But, in view of your note to me----”

Moris Klaw raised his hand.

“So simple,” he said, whilst the Committee watched him, puzzled and surprised--that is, those who were not watching Isis did so. “I have a library, you understand, of records dealing with such historic gems. To show you that I have made some study of these matters I will tell you that the diamond called the Blue Rajah was discovered on the morning of April the thirteenth, 1680, in the Kollur Mine, and stolen the same evening!”

“What is your authority for the exact date, Mr. Klaw?” asked Anderson, with interest; “and for the statement that the diamond was stolen on the day of its discovery?”

“Fact, Mr. Anderson, is my authority,” was the rumbling reply, “and I can tell you more. The diamond is the birth stone of the month of April, and this diamond was itself born on the thirteenth of that month. To illustrate how its history is associated with April, I shall only tell you of the beautiful and unhappy Marie de Lamballe. This great diamond was presented to her on the ninth of April, 1790, and taken from her on the twelfth of April, 1792, after her return from England, and only six months before her fair head was stuck upon a pike and held up to the Queen’s window!”

He paused impressively, waving his long hands in the air.

“I could recount to you,” he resumed, “many such incidents in the history of the Blue Rajah--and all took place within a week of its birthday! What day is to-day?”

“Why, it’s the thirteenth of April!” said Sir Michael Cayley, with a start.

“The thirteenth of April,” rumbled Moris Klaw. “For many years the diamond has been too closely guarded for any new incident to occur, but when I learn how to-day it is to be brought here, how many hands will touch it, how many eyes will look upon it, I know that there is danger! Its history repeats. These incidents”--again he waved his hands--“proceed in cycles. I warned you. But it was perhaps inevitable. The Cycle of Crime is as inevitable and immutable as the cycle of the ages. Man’s will has no power to check it.”

Everyone in the room was deeply impressed. Indeed, no one could have failed to recognize in the speaker a man of powerful mind, one of penetrating and unusual intellect.

“Had I had the good fortune to meet you, Mr. Klaw,” said the Lord Mayor, “I should have attached a greater, and--er--a different, significance to your note. Your theories are strange ones, but to-day they have received strange and ample substantiation. I can only hope--and I do so with every confidence in your great ability”--Moris Klaw rose and bowed--“that you will be able to recover the diamond whose loss you so truly predicted.”

“I will ask you,” replied Moris Klaw, “to have sent in to me the black coffee. Myself, my daughter, Mr. Searles, and Mr. Grimsby will view the room from which the robbery took place.”

“You would wish us to remain here?” asked Mr. Anderson, glancing at the others.

“I would so wish it, yes.”

“I hope, Mr. Klaw,” said Sir Michael Cayley, “that you will not hesitate to send me an account of your fee and expenditures.”

“I shall not so hesitate,” replied Moris Klaw.

IV

We entered the small room from which the Blue Rajah had been spirited away. Grimsby, who was badly puzzled, was evidently glad of Klaw’s coöperation. Moris Klaw’s letter of warning, leading to the request for Moris Klaw’s attendance, had enabled the Scotland Yard man to summon that keen intellect to his aid without compromising his professional reputation. He would lose no credit that might accrue if the gem were recovered and, in short, was congratulating himself upon a diplomatic move.

“It’s beyond me,” he said, “how the thing was got out of the room. With this door shut, the window fastened, and the other door double-locked, as it always is, practically the place is a box.”

Moris Klaw, from its hiding place in the lining of his hat, took out the scent spray and squirted verbena upon his face.

“A box--yes,” he rumbled; “and so stuffy. No air.”

“There’s no ventilation,” explained Grimsby. “That square hole over the door is intended for ventilation, but as there’s no corresponding aperture over the window or elsewhere it’s useless. Anyway, it only opens on the passage.”

“Ah. You searched them all quite thoroughly?”

“Certainly; like Kaffirs. But I didn’t expect to find it.”

“Blessed is he who expecteth little. Isis, my child, there is someone knocking.”

Isis opened the door communicating with Mr. Anderson’s office, and a boy entered carrying a tray with a coffee pot and cup upon it.

“Good,” said Moris Klaw. “I shall not sleep in this room, Mr. Searles. It is difficult to sleep in the morning and I cannot wait for night. I shall sit here at this table for one hour with my mind a perfect blank. I shall think of nothing. That is a great art, Mr. Searles--to think of nothing. Few people but ascetics can do it. Try it for yourself, and you will find that thinking of trying not to think is the nearest you will get to it! I shall expose my mind, a sensitive blank, to the etheric waves created here by mental emotion.

“I shall secure many alien impressions of horror at finding the Blue Rajah to be missing. That is unavoidable. But I hope, amongst all these, to find that other thought-thing--the fear of the robber at the critical moment of his crime! That should be a cogent and forceful thought--keener and therefore stronger to survive, because a thought of danger but of gain, than the thoughts of loss with which this atmosphere is laden.”

He stood up, removing his caped coat and revealing the shabby tweed suit which he wore. A big French knot of black silk looked grotesquely out of place beneath his yellow face with its edging of toneless beard.

“Isis,” he said, “lay my cloak carefully upon that chair by the window. I will sit there.”

Grimsby stepped forward to assist.

“No, no!” said Isis, but smiled enchantingly. “No hand but mine must touch it until my father has secured his impression!”

She laid the coat upon the chair, completely covering it; and Moris Klaw sat down.

“Another cup of coffee,” he said; and his daughter poured one out and handed it to him. “This is Java coffee and truly not coffee at all. There is no coffee but _Mocha_--a thing you English will never learn. Return in an hour, gentlemen. Isis, ask that no disturbing sound is allowed within or without. That Committee, it can go home. None of it has the diamond.”

“And the other gentlemen?” asked Grimsby. “They’ll be anxious to get about their business, too. There’s Sir John Carron from the India Office and Mr. Gautami Chinje--the Gaekwar’s representative.”

“Of course--certainly,” mused Moris Klaw. “But, of course, too, they will all be anxious to know immediately the result of my inquiries. Listen--Mr. Anderson will remain; he can represent the city. Mr. Chinje, you will perhaps ask him to remain, to represent the Gaekwar--the vendor; and Sir John Carron, he might be so good. Make those arrangements, Mr. Grimsby, and let nothing again disturb me.”

We left him, returning to the outer office.

Sir John Carron expressed himself willing to remain.

“If I may use your telephone for a moment, Mr. Anderson,” he said, “I can put off an engagement.”

Mr. Chinje had no other engagement, and Mr. Anderson’s duties had detained him in any event. There was some general, but subdued, conversation before the rest of the party left; but finally Sir John, Chinje, Grimsby, Isis Klaw, and myself found ourselves in a waiting room on the opposite side of the corridor, provided with refreshments, and the gentlemen of the party with cigars, whilst the hospitable and deeply anxious Messrs. Anderson piled the table with periodical literature for our entertainment.

It was a curious interlude, which I shall always remember.

Sir John Carron, a tall, bronzed military man, middle-aged and perfectly groomed, surveyed Isis Klaw through his monocle with undisguised admiration. She bore this scrutiny with the perfect composure which was hers, and presently engaged the admiring baronet in some conversation about India, in which Mr. Chinje presently joined. Chinje had all the quiet self-possession of a high-caste Hindu, and his dark handsome face exhibited no signs of annoyance when Sir John adopted that tone of breezy patronage characteristic of some Anglo-Indian officers who find themselves in the company of a well-bred native. Grimsby, with recognition of his social inferiority written large upon him, smoked, for the most part, in silence--Isis having given him permission to light up. Seeing his covert glances at this intimate trio, I ultimately succeeded in making the conversation a general one, thereby earning the Scotland Yard man’s evident gratitude.

“You know, Inspector Grimsby,” said Sir John, “I never was searched before to-day! But, by Jove, you did it very efficiently! I was dreadfully tempted to strike you when you calmly turned out my purse! Your method was far more workmanlike than Sir Michael Cayley’s a few minutes earlier. He forgot to look in my watch case, but you didn’t!”

Grimsby smiled.

“There’s more in a simple thing like searching a man than most people take into consideration,” he replied. “I’ve known a Kaffir in the mines who--excuse me, Miss Klaw--wore no more than Adam, to walk off with stones worth my year’s wages.”

“I’m prepared to accept your assurance, Inspector,” said Sir John, “that none of us had the diamond about our persons.”

“My father has accepted it,” added Isis Klaw; “and that is conclusive.”

Which brought us face to face again with the amazing problem that we were there to solve. How, by any known natural law, had the Blue Rajah been taken out of the room? None of us could conjecture. That the detective was hopelessly mystified, his inaction, awaiting the result of Moris Klaw’s séance, was sufficient proof. I wondered if the Commissioner would have approved of his passive attitude and entire dependence upon the efforts of an amateur, yet failed to perceive what other he could adopt. One thing was certain: if the diamond was recovered, its recovery would be recorded among Detective-Inspector Grimsby’s successful cases! And there he sat placidly smoking one of Mr. Anderson’s habanas.

At the expiration of the hour specified, Isis Klaw rose and walked across to Mr. Anderson’s office. Mr. Anderson, his ruddy face--typically that of a lowland Scot--a shade paler than was its wont, I fancy, was glancing from his watch to the clock.

Isis knocked on the inner door, opened it, and entered. Sir John Carron was watching with intense interest. Mr. Chinje met my glance and smiled a little sceptically.

Moris Klaw came out with his caped coat on and carrying his bowler in his hand.

“Gentlemen,” he said, “I have secured a mental negative, somewhat foggy, owing to those other thought forms with which the atmosphere is laden. But I have identified him--the thief!”

A sound like a gasp repressed came from somewhere immediately behind me. I turned. Mr. Anderson and Mr. Anderson, junior, stood at my elbow; close by were Mr. Chinje, Grimsby, and Sir John Carron.

“Who snorts?” rumbled Moris Klaw, peering through his pince-nez.

“Not I,” said Sir John, staring about him.

We all, in turn, denied having uttered the sound.

“Then there is in this office a ghost,” declared Klaw, “or a liar!”

“Excuse me, Mr. Klaw,” began Mr. Anderson, with some heat.

Moris Klaw raised his hand. His daughter’s magnificent eyes blazed defiance at us all.

“No anger,” implored the rumbling voice. “No anger. Anger is a misuse of the emotions. There are present eight persons here. Someone snorted. Eight persons deny the snort. It is a ghost or a liar. Am I evident to you?”

“Your logic is irrefutable,” admitted the younger Mr. Anderson, glancing from face to face. “It pains me to have to admit that you are right!”

In turn, I examined the faces of those present. Grimsby was a man witless with wonder. Both the Andersons were embarrassed and angry. Isis Klaw was scornfully triumphant; her father was, as ever, nonchalant. Sir John Carron looked ill at ease; Mr. Chinje appeared to have changed his opinion of the eccentric investigator and now studied him with the calm interest of the cultured Oriental.

“I shall now make you laugh,” said Moris Klaw. “I shall tell you what he was thinking of at the psychological instant--that mysterious thief. He was thinking of two things. One was a very pretty, fair young lady, and the other was a funny thing. He was thinking of throwing twelve peanuts into a parrot’s cage!”

V

There are speeches so entirely unexpected that their effect is unappreciable until some little time after the utterance. This speech of Moris Klaw’s was of that description. For some moments no one seemed to grasp exactly what he had said, simple though his words had been. Then, it was borne home to us--that grotesque declaration; and I think I have never seen men more amazed.

Could he be jesting?

“Mr. Klaw----” began Sir John Carron. But--

“One moment, Sir John,” interrupted Klaw. “Let all remain here for one moment. I shall return.”

Whilst we stared, like so many fools, he shuffled from the office with his awkward gait. During his brief absence no one spoke. We were restrained, undoubtedly, by the presence of Isis Klaw, who, one hand upon her hip and with the other swinging her big ermine muff, smiled at us with a sort of pitying scorn for our stupidity.

Moris Klaw returned.

“Let me see,” he rumbled, reflectively, “have you, Sir John Carron or Mr. Chinje, a specimen of the handwriting of the Gaekwar of Nizam?”

Chinje and Sir John stared.

“At the office--possibly,” replied Sir John.

“I have my instructions, signed by him,” said Mr. Chinje. “But not here.”

“At your hotel, yes?”

“Yes,” replied Chinje, shortly.

He gave me the impression that he resented Moris Klaw’s catechizing as that of a fool and an incompetent meddler with affairs of great importance.

“Then, gentlemen,” said Klaw, “we must adjourn to examine that signature.”

“Really,” the younger Mr. Anderson burst out, “I must protest against this! You will pardon me, Mr. Klaw; I believe you to be sincere in your efforts on our behalf, but such an expedition can be no more than a wild-goose chase! What can the Gaekwar’s signature have to do with the theft of the diamond?”

“I will tell you something, my feverish friend,” said Moris Klaw, slowly. “The Blue Rajah is not on these premises. It is gone! It went before I came. If it is ever to come back you will put on your hat and accompany me to examine the signature to Mr. Chinje’s instructions.”

“I must add my protest to Mr. Anderson’s,” remarked Chinje. “This is mere waste of time.”

“Mr. Grimsby,” resumed Klaw, placidly, “it is a case to be hushed up, this. There must be no arrests!”

“Eh?” cried Grimsby.

“Sir John Carron will ring up the Commissioner and he will say that Detective-Inspector Grimsby has traced the Blue Rajah, which was stolen, but that, for reasons of state, Detective-Inspector Grimsby will make a confidential report and no arrest!”

“Really----” began Sir John.

“Mr. Klaw,” cried Anderson, interrupting excitedly. “You are jesting with men who are faced by a desperate position! I ask you, as man to man, if you know who stole the Blue Rajah and where it is?”

“I reply,” rumbled Moris Klaw, “that I suspect who stole it, that I am doubtful how it was stolen, and that when I have examined the Gaekwar’s signature I may know where it is!”

His reply had a tone of finality quite unanswerable. His attitude was that of a stone wall; and he had, too, something of the rugged strength of such a wall--of a Roman wall, commanding respect.