The Hand in the Dark
"Is it consistent that the two telegrams were sent to different
addresses? They would have been either both sent to the moat-house, or
both sent to his London flat--that is, if they were sent by the War
Office. Only a relative or a personal friend would take the trouble to
send to different addresses. There lies the weak point of Nepcote's
statement."
"By Jove, there is a point in that," said Caldew, in a startled tone.
"But these are facts which can be ascertained," he added, as though
seeking to reassure himself.
"They can be ascertained too late. I have already set inquiries on foot,
but it takes some time to gain any information about official telegrams.
Nepcote has plenty of time to take advantage of Merrington's blunder, if
there is any occasion for him to do so. No matter what his explanation
is, the fact remains that he was in England, and not in France, on the
night the murder was committed, and I propose to find out how he spent
the time. But it is of the first importance to find out what has become
of the missing necklace, which is the really important clue. Is Scotland
Yard making any investigations about it?"
"Yes. Merrington has put me on to that because I let you score the point
over him of discovering that it was missing. I am sure that he hopes I
will fall down over the job of tracing it. I shouldn't be surprised if I
did, too. It's no easy thing to get on the track of missing jewellery,
especially if it has been hidden. I have not even got a description of
the necklace to help me."
"I can give you a description, and perhaps help you in the work of
tracing it."
"Can you? That's awfully good of you." Caldew's face showed that he
meant his words. "Have you any idea where it is?"
"I have at least something to guide me in commencing the
search--something, which, curiously enough, I owe to Merrington's
blunder in visiting Nepcote before he looked for the necklace. We will
go across to Hatton Garden, and I will put my idea to the test."
CHAPTER XXI
On reaching the street, they crossed Ludgate Circus, and directed their
steps towards Hatton Garden by way of St. Bride Street.
A few minutes later, they emerged in that portion of Holborn which is
graced by the mounted statue of a dead German prince acknowledging his
lifelong obligations to British hospitality by raising his plumed hat to
the London City & Midland Bank on the Viaduct corner. Hatton Garden, as
every Londoner knows, begins on the other side of this improving
spectacle--a short broad street which disdains to indicate by external
opulence the wealth hidden within its walls, though, to an eye practised
in London ways, there is a comforting suggestion of prosperity in its
wide flagged pavements, comfortable brick buildings, and Jewish names
which appear in gilt lettering on plate-glass windows.
Colwyn walked quickly along, glancing at the displayed names. He had
almost reached the Clerkenwell end of the Garden when his eye was caught
by the name of "Austin Wendover, Dealer in Oriental Stones," gleaming in
white letters on the blackboard indicator of a set of offices hived in a
building on the corner of a side street. It was the name of the man he
was searching for. He turned into the passage, and mounted the stairs.
Caldew followed him.
On the landing of the first floor another and smaller board gave the
names of those tenants whose offices were at the back of the building.
Mr. Wendover's was amongst them, and a pointing hand opposite it
revealed that he conducted his business at the end of a long passage
with a bend in the middle. When this passage was traversed, Mr.
Wendover's name was once more seen, this time on a door, with a notice
underneath inviting the visitor to enter without knocking.
Within, a young Jew with a sensual face was busily writing at a desk in
the corner, with his back to the door. He ceased and turned around at
the sound of the opening door, and, thrusting his fountain pen behind an
ear already burdened with a cigarette, waited to be informed what the
visitors wanted.
"Is Mr. Wendover in?" Colwyn inquired.
"Yes, he is. What name, please?" The young Jew scrambled down from his
stool preparatory to carrying a message.
In answer Colwyn tendered Musard's card of introduction. The young Jew
scanned it, shot an appraising glance at the two detectives, and
vanished into an inner room. He reappeared swiftly in the doorway, and
beckoned them to enter.
The inner room was furnished with leather chairs, a good carpet, and a
large walnut table. Mining maps and framed photographs of famous
diamonds hung on the walls, but there was nothing about the man seated
at the table to suggest association with precious stones except the
gleam of his small grey eyes, which were as hard and glistening as the
specimen gems in the showcase at his elbow. His face was long, thin and
yellow, of a bilious appearance. His gaunt frame was clothed in black,
and his low white collar ended in front in two linen tags, fastened with
a penny bone stud instead of the diamond which might have been expected.
This device, besides dispensing with a necktie, revealed the base of a
long scraggy neck, with a tuft of grey hair pushing its way up from
below and falling over the interstice of the collar, matching a similar
tuft which dangled pendulously from the diamond merchant's nether lip.
Altogether, as Mr. Austin Wendover sat at his table with his long yellow
hands clasped in front of him waiting for his visitors to announce their
business, he looked not unlike a Methodist pastor about to say grace, or
a Garden City apostle of culture for the masses preparing to receive a
vote of thanks for a lecture on English prose at a workers' mutual
improvement society. Even his name suggested, to the serious mind, the
compiler of an anthology of British war poets or the writer of a book of
Nature studies, rather than the material wealth, female folly, late
suppers, greenrooms, frivolity and immorality brought before a vivid
imagination by the mere mention of the word diamonds.
"My name is Colwyn; my friend is Detective Caldew, of Scotland Yard,"
said Colwyn, in response to Mr. Wendover's glance of interrogation. "We
are in search of a little information, which we trust you will give us."
"That depends upon what ye want to know." This reply, delivered in an
abrupt and uncouth manner, suggested that the diamond merchant's
disposition was anything but a cut and polished one.
"Quite so. You have heard of the Heredith murder, I presume."
The diamond merchant nodded his head without speaking, and waited to
hear more.
"The Heredith necklace of pink pearls was stolen from Mrs. Heredith's
room on the night that she was murdered, and we are endeavouring to
trace it."
"And what has that got to do with me?"
"I have reason to think that the necklace may have been offered or sold
in Hatton Garden. It may have been submitted to you."
"What d'ye mean by coming to me with such a question? What does Mr.
Musard mean by sending ye here? Does he think I've turned receiver of
stolen property at my time of life? I'm surprised at him."
"My dear Mr. Wendover, Mr. Musard had no such thought in his mind. We
simply come to you for information. Mr. Musard gave me your address as a
reputable dealer of stones who would be likely to know if this necklace
had been offered for sale in Hatton Garden."
"Well, it has not been offered to me. I've handled no pearls for twelve
months."
"Would you know the Heredith necklace if it were offered to you?"
"I would not, and I've already told ye it was not offered to me."
Colwyn was nonplussed and disappointed, but the recollection of
Nepcote's furtive glance and hasty concealment of the diamond merchant's
card on the previous night prompted him to a further effort.
"It is possible the necklace may have been broken up and the stones
offered separately," he said. "The clasp contained a large and valuable
blue diamond."
"I tell ye I know nothing about it. I very rarely buy from private
persons. It's not my way of doing business."
"We have reason to suspect that the necklace was offered for sale by a
young military officer, tall and good looking, with blue eyes and brown
hair, slightly tinged with grey at the temples."
"That description would apply to thousands of young officers. They're a
harum-scarum lot, and dissipation soon turns a man's hair grey. I have
had some of them here, trying to sell family jewels for money to throw
away on painted women. There was one who called some days ago in a
half-intoxicated condition. He clapped me on the back as impudent as you
please, and calling me a thing--a dear old thing, which is one of their
slang phrases--asked me what he could screw out of me for a good
diamond. I sent him and his diamond off with a flea in the ear." Mr.
Wendover's gummy lips curved in a grim smile at the recollection.
"Can you describe him more particularly?" asked Colwyn, with sudden
interest.
"I paid no particular attention to him, and I wouldn't know him again if
he were to walk in the door. It was almost dark when he came, and my
eyes are not young. But he was not the man ye're after. It was days
before the murder."
"Did he give you his name?"
"He did not, and I wouldn't tell ye if he did. What's it to do with the
object of your visit? Ye're a persistent sort of young fellow, but I'm
not going to let ye hold a general fishing inquiry into my business.
There are two kinds of foolish folk in this world. Those who babble of
their affairs to their womenfolk, and those who babble of them to
strangers. I have no womenfolk, thank God! so I cannot talk to the
futile creatures."
"Then I shall not ask you to break the other half of your maxim on my
account," said Colwyn, rising with a smile.
"It would be no good if ye did," responded Mr. Wendover, with a
reciprocatory grin which displayed two yellow fangs like the teeth of a
walrus. "My business conscience is already pricking me for having said
so much. He that holds his own counsel gives away nothing--except that
he holds his counsel. Ye might do worse than lay that to your heart, Mr.
Colwyn, in your walk through life. There's fifty years' experience
behind it. Good-bye to ye, Mr. Colwyn, and ye, young man. I wish ye both
luck in your search, but my advice is, try the pawn-shops." At the
pressure of his thumb on the table the young Jew appeared from the next
room, as if summoned by a magic wand, to let the visitors out.
"That's a queer old bird," said Caldew, as they walked away. "Do you
think he has told us the truth?"
Colwyn did not reply. He was thinking rapidly, and wondering whether by
any possibility he had made a mistake. But once more there flashed into
his mind, like an image projected on a screen, the little scene which he
alone had witnessed at the flat on the previous evening--the fluttering
cards, the quick, unconscious gesture of concealment, and the startled
glance which so plainly reflected the dread of discovery. No! there was
no mistake there, but the explanation lay deeper.
They had reached the angle of the narrow passage which led to the front
outlet of the offices. A small window was fixed at the dark turn of the
long dark corridor to admit light. Colwyn chanced to glance through this
window as he reached it, and his quick eye took in the figure of a man
standing motionless in a narrow alley of the side street below. He was
almost concealed behind an archway, but it was apparent to the detective
that he was watching the corner building. As Colywn looked at him he
slightly changed his position and his face came into view. With a quick
imperative gesture to his companion, Colwyn ran swiftly along the
remainder of the corridor and down the flight of stairs into Hatton
Garden.