CHAPTER XXI
On reaching the street, they crossed Ludgate Circus, and directed theirsteps towards Hatton Garden by way of St. Bride Street.
A few minutes later, they emerged in that portion of Holborn which isgraced by the mounted statue of a dead German prince acknowledging hislifelong obligations to British hospitality by raising his plumed hat tothe London City & Midland Bank on the Viaduct corner. Hatton Garden, asevery Londoner knows, begins on the other side of this improvingspectacle--a short broad street which disdains to indicate by externalopulence the wealth hidden within its walls, though, to an eye practisedin London ways, there is a comforting suggestion of prosperity in itswide flagged pavements, comfortable brick buildings, and Jewish nameswhich appear in gilt lettering on plate-glass windows.
Colwyn walked quickly along, glancing at the displayed names. He hadalmost reached the Clerkenwell end of the Garden when his eye was caughtby the name of "Austin Wendover, Dealer in Oriental Stones," gleaming inwhite letters on the blackboard indicator of a set of offices hived in abuilding on the corner of a side street. It was the name of the man hewas 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 thenames of those tenants whose offices were at the back of the building.Mr. Wendover's was amongst them, and a pointing hand opposite itrevealed that he conducted his business at the end of a long passagewith 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 noticeunderneath inviting the visitor to enter without knocking.
Within, a young Jew with a sensual face was busily writing at a desk inthe corner, with his back to the door. He ceased and turned around atthe sound of the opening door, and, thrusting his fountain pen behind anear already burdened with a cigarette, waited to be informed what thevisitors wanted.
"Is Mr. Wendover in?" Colwyn inquired.
"Yes, he is. What name, please?" The young Jew scrambled down from hisstool preparatory to carrying a message.
In answer Colwyn tendered Musard's card of introduction. The young Jewscanned it, shot an appraising glance at the two detectives, andvanished into an inner room. He reappeared swiftly in the doorway, andbeckoned them to enter.
The inner room was furnished with leather chairs, a good carpet, and alarge walnut table. Mining maps and framed photographs of famousdiamonds hung on the walls, but there was nothing about the man seatedat the table to suggest association with precious stones except thegleam of his small grey eyes, which were as hard and glistening as thespecimen gems in the showcase at his elbow. His face was long, thin andyellow, of a bilious appearance. His gaunt frame was clothed in black,and his low white collar ended in front in two linen tags, fastened witha penny bone stud instead of the diamond which might have been expected.This device, besides dispensing with a necktie, revealed the base of along scraggy neck, with a tuft of grey hair pushing its way up frombelow and falling over the interstice of the collar, matching a similartuft which dangled pendulously from the diamond merchant's nether lip.Altogether, as Mr. Austin Wendover sat at his table with his long yellowhands clasped in front of him waiting for his visitors to announce theirbusiness, he looked not unlike a Methodist pastor about to say grace, ora Garden City apostle of culture for the masses preparing to receive avote of thanks for a lecture on English prose at a workers' mutualimprovement society. Even his name suggested, to the serious mind, thecompiler of an anthology of British war poets or the writer of a book ofNature studies, rather than the material wealth, female folly, latesuppers, greenrooms, frivolity and immorality brought before a vividimagination 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. "Weare 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 anabrupt and uncouth manner, suggested that the diamond merchant'sdisposition 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 tohear more.
"The Heredith necklace of pink pearls was stolen from Mrs. Heredith'sroom on the night that she was murdered, and we are endeavouring totrace it."
"And what has that got to do with me?"
"I have reason to think that the necklace may have been offered or soldin 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 ofstolen property at my time of life? I'm surprised at him."
"My dear Mr. Wendover, Mr. Musard had no such thought in his mind. Wesimply come to you for information. Mr. Musard gave me your address as areputable dealer of stones who would be likely to know if this necklacehad been offered for sale in Hatton Garden."
"Well, it has not been offered to me. I've handled no pearls for twelvemonths."
"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 ofNepcote's furtive glance and hasty concealment of the diamond merchant'scard on the previous night prompted him to a further effort.
"It is possible the necklace may have been broken up and the stonesoffered separately," he said. "The clasp contained a large and valuableblue diamond."
"I tell ye I know nothing about it. I very rarely buy from privatepersons. It's not my way of doing business."
"We have reason to suspect that the necklace was offered for sale by ayoung military officer, tall and good looking, with blue eyes and brownhair, slightly tinged with grey at the temples."
"That description would apply to thousands of young officers. They're aharum-scarum lot, and dissipation soon turns a man's hair grey. I havehad some of them here, trying to sell family jewels for money to throwaway on painted women. There was one who called some days ago in ahalf-intoxicated condition. He clapped me on the back as impudent as youplease, and calling me a thing--a dear old thing, which is one of theirslang phrases--asked me what he could screw out of me for a gooddiamond. 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 suddeninterest.
"I paid no particular attention to him, and I wouldn't know him again ifhe were to walk in the door. It was almost dark when he came, and myeyes are not young. But he was not the man ye're after. It was daysbefore 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 theobject of your visit? Ye're a persistent sort of young fellow, but I'mnot 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 oftheir affairs to their womenfolk, and those who babble of them tostrangers. I have no womenfolk, thank God! so I cannot talk to thefutile creatures."
"Then I shall not ask you to break the other half of your maxim on myaccount," said Colwyn, rising with a smile.
"It would be no good if ye did," responded Mr. Wendover, with areciprocatory grin which displayed two yellow fangs like the teeth of awalrus. "My business conscience is already pricking me for having saidso much. He that holds his own counsel gives away nothing--except thathe holds his counsel. Ye might do worse than lay that to your heart, Mr.Colwyn, in your walk through life. There's fifty years' experiencebehind it. Good-bye to ye, Mr. Colwyn, and ye, young man. I wish ye bothluck in your search, but my advice is, try the pawn-shops." At thepressure of his thumb on the table the young Jew appeared from the nextroom, as if summoned by a magic wand, to let the visitors out.
"That's a queer old bi
rd," said Caldew, as they walked away. "Do youthink he has told us the truth?"
Colwyn did not reply. He was thinking rapidly, and wondering whether byany possibility he had made a mistake. But once more there flashed intohis mind, like an image projected on a screen, the little scene which healone had witnessed at the flat on the previous evening--the flutteringcards, the quick, unconscious gesture of concealment, and the startledglance which so plainly reflected the dread of discovery. No! there wasno mistake there, but the explanation lay deeper.
They had reached the angle of the narrow passage which led to the frontoutlet of the offices. A small window was fixed at the dark turn of thelong dark corridor to admit light. Colwyn chanced to glance through thiswindow as he reached it, and his quick eye took in the figure of a manstanding motionless in a narrow alley of the side street below. He wasalmost concealed behind an archway, but it was apparent to the detectivethat he was watching the corner building. As Colywn looked at him heslightly changed his position and his face came into view. With a quickimperative gesture to his companion, Colwyn ran swiftly along theremainder of the corridor and down the flight of stairs into HattonGarden.
Caldew followed more slowly, puzzled by the other's strange action. Whenhe reached the doorway Colwyn was nowhere to be seen, so he waited inthe entrance. After the lapse of a few minutes he saw Colwyn returningfrom the direction of Clerkenwell.
"He has got away," he said, as he reached Caldew. His voice was a littlebreathless, as though with running.
"He? Who?"
Colwyn drew him into the empty entrance hall before he answered:
"Nepcote. He was watching outside. I saw him through the upstairswindow. He either followed us here or has been waiting to see if wecame. I should have foreseen this."
A flicker of unusual agitation on Colwyn's calm face increased Caldew'smental confusion.
"I don't understand," he stammered. "He--Nepcote--why should he bewatching us?"
"Because he penetrated the truth last night. He knew he was in danger."
"But why should he follow us here?"
"He accidentally dropped some cards from his pocket-book when givingMerrington an address at his flat last night, and one of them wasWendover's business card. Merrington did not see it--it would haveconveyed nothing to him if he had--but I did. Nepcote knew that I sawit, and must have realized that I suspected him. He has been watching myrooms and followed us here, or he has been hanging around this place tosee if I called on Wendover."
"Even now I do not see the connection. If Wendover told us the truth,Nepcote has not been to him with the necklace. Then what did it matterto Nepcote whether you came here or not?"
"Nepcote may have been the man who offered the diamond to Wendover."
"That is impossible. Wendover says that man called some days before themurder."
"Still, it may have been Nepcote."
"That goes beyond me," said Caldew, with a puzzled look. "What are youimplying?"
"Nothing at present. Every step in this case convinces me that we arefaced with a very deep mystery. It isn't worth while to hazard a guess,because guessing is always unsatisfactory."
"Perhaps we had better try and get a little more out of Wendover," saidCaldew.
"That would be merely waste of time. He has not got the necklace, and heis unable to describe the man who offered him the diamond. I believe nowthat it was Nepcote, but that doesn't matter, one way or another. It isfar more important to know that he came here to-day to watch for us.That implies that he had reason to fear investigations about thenecklace. The inference to be drawn is that Nepcote is responsible forthe disappearance of the necklace, and is, therefore, deeply implicatedin the murder."
"Perhaps it was not Nepcote that you saw?" suggested Caldew. He feltthat the remark was a feeble one, but he was bewildered by the suddenturn of events, and in a frame of mind which clutches at straws.
"Put that doubt out of your mind," said Colwyn. "I saw his facedistinctly. He had disappeared by the time I got down. The alley wherehe was standing commanded a view of the entrance of this building. Iascertained that by standing in the same spot. His flight is anotherproof--though that was not needed--of his guilty knowledge andcomplicity in this murder. Why should he run away? According to his ownstory last night he had nothing to fear. But now, by his own actions, hehas brought the utmost suspicion on himself."
"I suppose it is no use searching about here for him?" remarked Caldew,glancing gloomily out of the doorway.
"Not in the least. The neighbourhood is a warren of alleys and sidestreets from here to Grays Inn Road."
"Then I shall go up to his flat at once," said Caldew. "He has not hadtime to go back."
"He will not return to his flat. We have seen the last of him until wecatch him. He has had two warnings, and he is not likely to be guilty ofthe folly of waiting to see whether lightning strikes thrice in the samespot. He will get away for good, this time, if he can. Nevertheless itis worth while going to the flat. We may pick up some points there."Colwyn uttered these last words in a lower tone at the sight of twooffice girls descending the staircase with much chatter and laughter.
"Let us go then."
They travelled by 'bus from Grays Inn Road as far as Oxford Circus, andwalked along a number of quiet secluded streets--the backwaters of theWest End--in order to reach Sherryman Street from the lower end, which,with a true sense of the fitness of things, was called Sherryman StreetApproach. If the Approach had not been within a stone's throw ofSherryman Square it might have been called a slum. It had tenementhouses with swarms of squalid children playing in the open doorways, itsshops offered East End food--mussels and whelks, "two-eyed steaks,"reeking fish-and-chips, and horsemeat for the cheap foreign element.There were several public-houses with groups of women outside drinkingand gossiping, all wearing the black shawls which are as emblematic ofthe lower class London woman as a chasuble to a priest, or a bluetattooed upper lip to a high-caste Maori beauty. A costermonger hawkedfrozen rabbits from a donkey-cart, with a pallid woman following behindto drive away the mangy cats which quarrelled in the road for the oozingblood which dripped from the cart's tail. An Italian woman, swarthy,squat, and intolerably dirty, ground out the "Marseillaise" from abarrel-organ with a shivering monkey capering atop, waving a small UnionJack, and impatiently rattling a tin can for coppers.
To turn from this squalid quarter into Sherryman Street was to pass fromthe east to the west end of London at a step. It was as though aninvisible line of demarcation had been drawn between the lower and upperportion of the street, and held inviolate by the residents of eachportion. There were no public houses or fish-shops in Sherryman Street;no organ-grinders, costermongers, unclean children, or women in blackshawls. It had quiet, seclusion, clean pavements, polished doorknockers,and white curtains at the windows of its well-kept houses, which grew indignity to the semblance of town mansions at the Square end.
Number 10 showed a blank closed stone exterior to the passer-by, like anold grey secretive face. As they approached it Colwyn, with a slightmovement of his head, drew his companion's attention to the upperwindows which belonged to Nepcote's flat. The blinds were down.
"It looks as if Nepcote left last night," he said.
The sight of the drawn blinds, like yellow eyelids in the grey face,awakened some secret irritation in Caldew's breast, and with it therealization of his powers as an officer of Scotland Yard.
"I shall force a way in and see," he angrily declared.
"Better get a key from the housekeeper," suggested Colwyn. "The womenwho look after these bachelor flats always have duplicate keys. But thefront door is ajar. Let us go upstairs first."
They ascended the stairs to the flat, and the first thing they noticedwas a Yale key in the keyhole of the door.
"A sign of mental upset," commented Colwyn. "At such moments peopleforget the little things."
They opened the door and entered. The front room was much as Colwyn hadseen it the previous night
. The flowers drooped in their bowl; thechorus girls smirked in their silver settings; the framed racehorses andtheir stolid trainers looked woodenly down from the pink walls.
"Nepcote does not seem to have taken anything away with him," remarkedCaldew, looking into the bedroom. "The wardrobe is full of his uniforms,but the bed has not been occupied."
"Here is the proof that he has fled," said Colwyn, flinging back the lidof a desk which stood in the sitting-room. It was filled to the brimwith a mass of torn papers.
"Anything compromising?" asked Caldew, eagerly approaching to look atthe litter.
"No; only bills and invitations. Any dangerous letters have been burntthere." He pointed to the grate, which was heaped with blackenedfragments. "He's made a good job of it too," he added, as he went to thefireplace and bent over it. "There's not the slightest chance ofdeciphering a line. But it would be as well to search his clothes. Hemay have forgotten some letters in the pockets."
Caldew took the hint, and disappeared into the inner room, leavingColwyn examining the contents of the grate. He returned in a few minutesto say that he had found nothing in the clothes except a few Treasurynotes and some loose silver in a trousers' pocket.
"That looks as if he had bolted in such a hurry that he forgot to takehis change with him," said Colwyn. "It is another interesting revelationof his state of mind, because there is very little doubt that hereturned to the flat this morning after leaving it last night."
"How do you arrive at that conclusion?"
"By the burnt letters in the grate. They are still warm. He was in sucha state of fear that he dared not sleep in the flat last night, but hereturned this morning to burn his letters and change into civilianclothes. Then he rushed away again in such a hurry that he forgot hismoney. There is nothing more to be seen here. We had better make a fewinquiries of the housekeeper as we go downstairs."
They walked out, and Caldew locked the door behind him and placed thekey in his pocket. When they reached the entrance hall Colwyn pausedoutside the door of the recess where the housekeeper lurked, like anoctopus in a pool. At Colwyn's knock a white face, topped by a whitecap, came into view through the narrow slit in the curtained glass halfof the door, and swam towards them in the interior gloom after themanner of the head of a materialized ghost in a spirit medium's parlour.The door opened, and the apparition appeared in the flesh, looking atthem with stony eyes. Caldew undertook the conversation:
"Did Captain Nepcote sleep here last night?" he curtly asked.
"I don't know."
"Well, has he been here this morning?"
"I don't know." The tone of the second reply was even moreexpressionless than the first, if that were possible.
"It's your business to know," said Caldew angrily.
"It is not my business to discuss Captain Nepcote's private affairs withstrangers." The woman turned back into her room without another word,closing the door behind her.
"D--n her!" muttered Caldew, in intense exasperation.
"These ancient females learn the wisdom of controlling their naturalgarrulity when placed in charge of bachelors' flats," said Colwyn with alaugh. "We will get nothing out of her if we stay here all day, so wehad better go."
"I am going straight back to Scotland Yard," Caldew announced withsudden decision when they reached the pavement. "I must tell Merringtonall about this morning's work, and the sooner the better. We must havethe flat watched. Perhaps Nepcote may return."
"He will not return," said Colwyn. "He knows that we are after him, andthat the flat will be watched. But it is a good idea not to let him havetoo long a start. Come, let us see if we can find a taxi, and I willdrop you at Scotland Yard."
They walked along to Sherryman Square, and esteemed themselves fortunatein picking up a cruising taxi-cab with a driver sufficiently complaisantto drive them in the direction they wished to go.