CHAPTER XXV
THE MICHAELOVITCH DIAMONDS
M. Pigot, cool and imperturbable, held out to us, with a littlesmile, a hand which showed not a quiver of emotion--his gauntletedhand; and I saw that, on the back of it, were two tiny depressions.At the bottom of each depression lay a drop of bright red liquid--blood-red, I told myself, as I stared at it, fascinated. And whatnerves of steel this man possessed! A sudden warmth of admiration forhim glowed within me. "That liquid, gentlemen," he said in hissmooth voice, "is the most powerful poison ever distilled by man.Those two tiny drops would kill a score of people, and kill theminstantly. Its odour betrays its origin"--and, indeed, the air washeavy with the scent of bitter almonds--"but the poison ordinarilyderived from that source is as nothing compared with this. Thispoison is said to have been discovered by Remy, the remarkable manwho brought about the death of the Duc d'Anjou. Its distillation wassupposed to be one of the lost arts, but the secret was rediscoveredby this man Crochard. No secret, indeed, is safe from him; criminalhistory, criminal memoirs--the mysteries and achievements of the greatconfederacy of crime which has existed for many centuries, and whoseexistence few persons even suspect--all this is to him an open book.It is this which renders him so formidable. No man can stand againsthim. Even the secret of this drawer was known to him, and he availedhimself of it when need arose." M. Pigot paused, his head bent inthought; and I seemed to be gazing with him down long avenues of crime,extending far into the past--dismal avenues like those of Pere Lachaise,where tombs elbowed each other; where, at every step, one came face toface with a mystery, a secret, or a tragedy. Only, here, the mysterieswere all solved, the secrets all uncovered, the tragedies allunderstood. But only to the elect, to criminals really great, werethese avenues open; to all others they were forbidden. Alone ofliving men, perhaps, Crochard was free to wander there unchallenged.
Some such vision as this, I say, passed before my eyes, and I had afeeling that M. Pigot shared in it; but, after an instant, he turnedback to the cabinet.
"Now, M. Simmon," he said, briskly, in an altered voice, "if you willhave the kindness to hold the drawer for a moment in this position, Iwill draw the serpent's fangs. There is not the slightest danger," headded, seeing that Simmonds very naturally hesitated.
Thus assured, Simmonds grasped the handle of the drawer, and held itopen, while the Frenchman took from his pocket a tiny flask ofcrystal.
"A little farther," he said; and as Simmonds, with evident effort,drew the drawer out to its full length, a tiny, two-tined prongpushed itself forward from underneath the cabinet. "There are thefangs," said M. Pigot. He held the mouth of the flask under first oneand then the other, passing his other hand carefully behind and abovethem. "The poison is held in place by what we in French call_attraction capillaire_--I do not know the English; but I drive itout by introducing the air behind it--ah, you see!"
He stood erect and held the flask up to the light. It was half fullof the red liquid.
"Enough to decimate France," he said, screwed the stopper carefullyinto place, and put the flask in his pocket. "Release the drawer, ifyou please, monsieur," he added to Simmonds.
It sprang back into place on the instant, the arabesqued handlesnapping up with a little click.
"You will observe its ingenuity," said M. Pigot. "It is really mostclever. For whenever the hand, struck by the poisoned fangs, loosenedits hold on the drawer, the drawer sprang shut as you see, andeverything was as before--except that one man more had tasted death.Now I open it. The fangs fall again; they strike the gauntlet; butfor that, they would pierce the hand, but death no longer follows. Byturning this button, I lock the spring, and the drawer remains open.The man who devised this mechanism was so proud of it that hedescribed it in a secret memoir for the entertainment of the GrandLouis. There is a copy of that memoir among the archives of theBibliotheque Nationale; the original is owned by Crochard. It was hewho connected that memoir with this cabinet, who rediscovered themechanism, rewound the spring, and renewed the poison. No doubt thestroke with the poisoned fangs, which he used to punish traitors, wasthe result of reading that memoir."
"This Croshar--or whatever his name is,--seems to be a 'strordinaryfeller," observed Grady, relighting his cigar.
"He is," agreed M. Pigot, quietly; "a most extraordinary man. Buteven he is not infallible; for, since the memoir made no mention ofthe other secret drawer--the one in which Madame la Duchesseconcealed her love letters--Crochard knew nothing of it. It was thatfact which defeated his combinations--a pure accident which he couldnot foresee. And now, gentlemen, it shall be my pleasure to displaybefore you some very beautiful brilliants."
Not until that instant had I thought of what the drawer contained; Ihad been too fascinated by the poisoned fangs and by the story toldso quietly but so effectively by the French detective; but now Iperceived that the drawer was filled with little rolls of cotton,which had been pressed into it quite tightly.
M. Pigot removed the first of these, unrolled it and spread it outupon the desk, and instantly we caught the glitter of diamonds--diamonds so large, so brilliant, so faultlessly white that I drew adeep breath of admiration. Even M. Pigot, evidently as he pridedhimself upon his imperturbability, could not look upon those gemswholly unmoved; a slow colour crept into his cheeks as he gazed downat them, and he picked up one or two of the larger ones to admirethem more closely. Then he unfolded roll after roll, stopping fromtime to time for a look at the larger brilliants.
"These are from the famous necklace which the Grand Duke inheritedfrom his grandmother," he said, calling our attention to a littlepile of marvellous gems in one of the last packets. "Crochard, ofcourse, removed them from their settings--that was inevitable. Hecould melt down the settings and sell the gold; but not one of thesebrilliants would be marketable in Europe for many years. Each of themis a marked gem. Here in America, your police regulations are not socomplete; but I fancy that, even here, he would have had difficultyin marketing this one," and he unfolded the last packet, and held upto the light a rose-diamond which seemed to me as large as a walnut,and a-glow with lovely colour.
"Perhaps you have stopped to admire the Mazarin diamond in the_galerie d'Apollon_ at the Louvre," said M. Pigot. "There is always acrowd about that case, and a special attendant is installed there toguard it, for it contains some articles of great value. But theMazarin is not one of them; for it is not a diamond at all; it ispaste--a paste facsimile of which this is the original. Oh, it is allquite honest," he added, as Grady snorted derisively. "Some yearsago, the directors of the Louvre needed a fund for the purchase ofnew paintings; needed also to clean and restore the old ones. Theydecided that it was folly to keep three millions of francs imprisonedin a single gem, when their Michael Angelos and da Vincis andMurillos were encrusted with dirt and fading daily. So they sought apurchaser for the Mazarin; they found one in the empress of Russia,who had a craze for precious stones, and who, at her death, left thisremarkable collection to her favourite son, who had inherited herpassion. A paste replica of the Mazarin was placed in the Louvre forthe crowds to admire, and every one soon forgot that it was notreally the diamond. For myself, I think the directors acted mostwisely. And now," he added, with a gesture toward the glitteringheaps, "what shall we do with all this?"
"There's only one thing to do," said Grady, awaking suddenly as froma trance, "and that's to get them in a safe-deposit box as quick aspossible. There's no police-safe I'd trust with 'em! Why, they'd temptthe angel Gabriel!" and he drew a deep breath.
"Can we find a box of safe-deposit at this hour of the night?" askedM. Pigot, glancing at his watch. "It is almost one o'clock and ahalf."
"That's easy in New York," said Grady. "We'll take 'em over to theDay and Night Bank on Fifth Avenue. It never closes. Wait till I getsomething to put 'em in."
He went out and came back presently with a small valise.
"This will do," he said. "Stow 'em away, and I'll call up the bankand arrange for the box."
S
immonds and Pigot rolled up the packets carefully and placed them inthe valise, while I sat watching them in a kind of daze. And Iunderstood the temptation which would assail a man in the presence ofso much beauty. It was not the value of the jewels which shook anddazzled me--I scarcely thought of that; it was their seductivebrilliance, it was the thought that, if I possessed them, I mighttake them out at any hour of the day or night and run my fingersthrough them and watch them shimmer and quiver in the light.
"The Grand Duke Michael must have been considerably upset," remarkedSimmonds, who, throughout all this scene, had lost no whit of hisserenity of demeanour.
"He has been like a madman," said M. Pigot, smiling a little atSimmonds's unemotional tone. "These jewels are a passion with him; heworships them; he never has parted with them, even for a day; wherehe goes, they have gone. In his most desperate need of money--and hehas had such need many times--he has never sold one of hisbrilliants. On the contrary, whenever he has money or credit, and theopportunity comes to purchase a stone of unusual beauty, he cannotresist, even though his debts go unpaid. Since the loss of thesestones, he has raved, he has cursed, he has beat his servants--one ofthem has died, in consequence. We are all a little mad on some onesubject, I have heard it said; well, the Grand Duke Michael is verymad on the subject of diamonds."
"Why didn't he offer a reward for their return?" queried Simmonds.
"Oh, he did," said M. Pigot. "He offered immediately his wholefortune for their return. But his fortune was not large enough totempt Crochard, for the Grand Duke really has nothing but the incomefrom his family estates, and you may well believe that he spends allof it. It will be a great joy to him that we have found them."
The thought flashed through my mind that doubtless M. Pigot was inthe way of receiving a handsome present.
"There they are," said Simmonds, and closed the bag with a snap, asGrady came in again.
"I've arranged for the box," said Grady, "and one of our wagons is atthe door. I thought we'd better not trust a taxi--might turn over orrun into something, and we can't afford to take any chances--not thistrip. Simmonds, you go along with Moosseer Piggott, and put an extraman on the seat with the driver. Maybe that Croshar might try to holdyou up."
The same thought was in my own mind, for Crochard must have learnedof M. Pigot's arrival; and I could scarcely imagine that he would sitquietly by and permit the jewels to be taken away from him--to saynothing of his chagrin over his unfulfilled boast to Godfrey. So Iwas relieved that Grady was wise enough to take no risk.
"You'd better get a receipt," Grady went on, "and arrange that thevalise is to be delivered only when you and Moosseer Piggott appeartogether. That will be satisfactory, moosseer?" he added, turning tothe Frenchman.
"Entirely so, sir."
"Very well, then; I'll see you in the morning. I congratulate you onthe find. It was certainly great work."
"I thank you, sir," replied M. Pigot, gravely. "Au revoir, monsieur,"and with a bow to me, he followed Simmonds into the outer room.
Grady sat down and got out a fresh cigar.
"Well, Mr. Lester," he said, as he struck a match, "what do you thinkof these Frenchmen, anyway?"
"They're marvellous," I said. "Even yet I can't understand how heknew so much."
"Maybe he was just guessing at some of it," Grady suggested.
"I thought of that; but I don't believe anybody could guess soaccurately. For instance, how did he know about those letters?"
"Fact is," broke in Grady, "that's the first I'd heard of 'em. What_is_ that story?"
I told him the story briefly, carefully suppressing everything whichwould give him a clue to the identity of the veiled lady.
"There were certain details," I added, "which I supposed were knownto no one except myself and two other persons--and yet M. Pigot knewthem. Then again, how did he know so certainly just how the mechanismworked? How did he know which roll of cotton contained that Mazarindiamond? You will remember he told us what was in that roll before heopened it."
Grady smiled good-naturedly and a little patronisingly.
"That was the last roll, wasn't it?" he demanded. "Since that bigdiamond hadn't shown up in any of the others, he knew it had to be inthat roll. It was just one of the little plays for effect themFrenchies are so fond of."
"Perhaps you are right," I agreed. "But it seemed to me that hehandled that mechanism as though he was familiar with it. Of course,he may have prepared himself by studying the drawings which no doubtaccompany the secret memoir. He may even have had a working modelmade."
Grady nodded tolerantly.
"Them fellers go to a lot of trouble over little things like that,"he said. "They like to slam their cards down on the table with a bighurrah, even when the cards ain't worth a damn."
"He certainly held trumps this time, anyway," I commented. "And heplayed his hand superbly. He is an extraordinary man."
"And a great actor," Grady supplemented. "Them fellers always behavelike they was on the stage, right in the spot-light. It makes me alittle tired, sometimes. Hello! Who's that?"
The front door had been flung open; there was an instant's colloquywith the desk-sergeant, then a rapid step crossed the outer room, andGodfrey burst in upon us.
He cast a rapid glance at the Boule cabinet, at the secret drawerstanding open, empty; and then his eyes rested upon Grady.
"So he got away with it, did he?" he inquired.
"Who in hell do you think you are?" shouted Grady, his face purple,"coming in here like this? Get out, or I'll have you thrown out!"
"Oh, I'll go," retorted Godfrey coolly. "I've seen all I care to see.Only I'll tell you one thing, Grady--you've signed your owndeath-warrant to-night!"
"What do you mean by that?" Grady demanded, in a lower tone.
"I mean that you won't last an hour after the story of this night'swork gets out."
Grady's colour slowly faded as he met the burning and contemptuousgaze Godfrey turned upon him. As for me, an awful fear had gripped myheart.
"Do you mean to say it wasn't Piggott?" stammered Grady, at last.
Godfrey laughed scornfully.
"No, you blithering idiot!" he said. "It wasn't Pigot. It wasCrochard himself!"
And he stalked out, slamming the door behind him.