Chapter VII: Part 7

The poet assented with alacrity. They left a note for Aaron and made their way round to the Milan. The bar was rather more crowded than usual and they took their cocktails to a settee in a corner of the room. Harvey Grimm sent for a page and wrote the name of Captain Brinnen on a piece of paper.

"Will you see whether you can find this gentleman in the hotel?" he directed. "He is staying, I believe, in the Court."

The boy departed. Harvey Grimm, who as a rule was a temperate man, drank up his cocktail quickly and sent for another.

"Do you believe in forebodings, Stephen?" he asked.

"I was brought up on them," the poet replied. "There is Irish blood in my veins. I am most superstitious."

"I have had an exciting adventure this morning," Harvey Grimm went on. "So far as any human being can see, I am out of it as I have been before. I have made the most careful arrangements, too--but there, it's well for you not to know too much. There's just this about it. I wish to God I could see that Belgian and get rid of a few baubles."

"Let me have them," his companion begged. "No one would suspect me."

Harvey Grimm shook his head.

"They're not your trouble, my boy," he said. "Besides, you're too damned careless."

The page returned a few moments later.

"The gentleman left the hotel yesterday, sir," he announced. "The hall porter----"

"Well?" Harvey Grimm interrupted.

"The hall porter," the boy continued, a little confused, "said something about the gentleman having changed his name."

Harvey Grimm's face grew sterner, and the look of trouble about his eyes more pronounced. He put a shilling in the boy's hand and sent him away.

"There's something up here," he muttered. "First of all Aaron disappears, and now Brinnen has changed his name. My God, if they only knew what his other name really was!"

The poet chuckled.

"And to think," he murmured, "that I have been in it! What a man!"

"The devil of it is for me," Harvey Grimm declared, "that I've fifty thousand pounds' worth of his stolen jewls around my body at the present moment. I fought my way out of a trap this morning. I tell you, Stephen, as a rule this sort of thing stimulates me. I hold my head, a little higher, I whistle gayer tunes, I am looking out for the bright things in life every second of the time, and my feet scarcely touch the earth. But to-day it's all different. I can't walk without turning round. I can't hear that door open without starting. Hell! ... Bring me another cocktail, waiter."

"Steady, old chap! Your nerves are dicky, that's what's the matter with you."

"It's the first time in my life," Harvey Grimm muttered, "but I've got them now. I feel that I'm cornered. I did Brodie in this morning. I left him at eleven o'clock, gagged and tied in the workshop he tracked me to. I was Edward Levy there, and there isn't one of them except the old man who knew otherwise. Brodie himself never recognised me. The only fear is if the old man peaches. He's had a couple of thousand of the best, and he hoards gold and loves it as though it were his own lifeblood. Thank God, here are the cocktails!"

"I shall write an epic about you this afternoon," the poet declared. "You're tense, Harvey, that's what you are. You're strung up. There's a different sense in the words you speak, a sort of quivering significance in everything you say. You're feeling life, man."

"I'm feeling afraid, if that's anything," Harvey Grimm confessed, raising his glass. "There was a woman in it, of course--and God knows I was careful!--a fierce, strong young Jewess. If she gets her grandfather by the throat, she'll wring the truth out of him."

Cresswell rose to his feet.

"It will do you good to eat, my friend," he suggested. "I find you exciting, vibrating, stimulating, but you are wearing yourself out."

Harvey Grimm sat with tightly clenched fists.

"I'm afraid to go in the restaurant," he said. "Do you notice how that man at the bar is staring, Cresswell? Who's he?"

"Don't be a silly ass!" his companion exclaimed. "That's Greaves, the London correspondent of the _New York Trombone_. He'd be all over our story if he knew it. Come along. Pull yourself together, man ... upright!"

Harvey Grimm did his best. He walked into the restaurant with almost his usual airy _bonhomme_. An acquaintance stopped the two men.

"Wouldn't look at me in Fitz's, Grimm," he complained. "Getting proud, old chap?"

"Sorry," Harvey Grimm replied. "I saw your back afterwards. I was looking at a man over your shoulder."

They seated themselves at their usual table. Another chance acquaintance paused to speak to them.

"Thought you'd given up this place, Grimm. Saw you at the Piccadilly on Thursday."

"I like a change sometimes," the latter observed. "How's the new play going?"

"Capitally, thanks!"

The actor passed on. Harvey Grimm glanced at a sheet of paper which he brought out from his pocket.

"Yes," he murmured, "I was at the Piccadilly on Thursday. Nothing like being thorough in these things, Stephen. My alibi was pretty successful, eh?"

"Mean to say you get a chap to go about when you're in hiding, and establish alibis for you?" the poet asked wonderingly.

"That's exactly the idea," Harvey Grimm agreed, "and to tell you the truth, if I hadn't a fit of nerves on me I should say that my alibis would take a little upsetting."

They ordered luncheon and a bottle of wine, but for some reason or other the old spirit was lacking. They missed Aaron Rodd and speculated as to the cause of his absence. Cresswell, too, seemed to have inherited a new seriousness with his unaccustomed attire. It was their mutual recognition of the drawing to an end of one little cycle of their life, and try though he might, Harvey Grimm could never escape from the queer sense of foreboding which had haunted him for the last few hours. And then, towards the end of the meal, a page-boy came into the room, gazed around for a moment and approached their table.

"Two gentlemen would like to speak to you, Mr. Grimm," he announced.

Harvey Grimm laid down his knife and fork. He nodded to the boy, but there was a queer, hunted look in his eyes as he turned towards his companion.

"Stephen, old fellow," he muttered, "it's come."

The poet laid his hand upon his friend's shoulder.

"Look here, Harvey," he asked, "do you want to make a scrap of it? I'm your man, if you do. Or I say, have you anything you'd like to hand over to me? I can stand the racket."

Harvey Grimm shook his head firmly.

"No," he decided, "if it's the end, well, I'll face it. If only Jerry hadn't cleared out I might have got rid of the stones. Good-bye, Stephen, and good luck to you! Better follow me out, perhaps, if I don't return."

He made his way without undue haste from the room, exchanging one or two greetings, pausing, even, in the swing doors to say a few words with a friend. Then, when he stood in the little lobby, he knew that there was truth at the back of all his forebodings. It was a well-known Scotland Yard inspector and a subordinate, both in plain clothes, who were standing there with their hats in their hands. The inspector greeted him cheerily, but dropped his voice.

"Mr. Grimm," he said, "I'll have to trouble you to come along to head-quarters. Just a few questions, you understand--as quietly as you like. You see, we've come here in mufti. Go back and say good-bye to your friend, if you want to."

"That's very considerate of you, Inspector," was the grateful reply. "I'll just tap the window, if you'll allow me."

The poet obeyed the summons promptly. Harvey Grimm met him by the door and took his arm.

"They're after me, Stephen," he confided. "They're doing it jolly civilly, though. There's a time for going on to the bitter end and there's a time for dropping it. I'm dropping it. Once more, good luck to you!"

The two men gripped hands. The page-boy came up again and touched Harvey Grimm on the shoulder.

"Wanted on the telephone, sir," he announced.

The former turned towards the inspector.

"Pray, don't hurry, Mr. Grimm," the latter remarked courteously. "Our time is entirely yours."

Harvey Grimm stepped into the telephone box and took up the receiver. The voice that answered his enquiry was hoarse, as though with some unnatural emotion.

"Is that Harvey Grimm?"

"Yes!"

"This is Aaron--Aaron Rodd. Where are you? Can you come and help? I'm in trouble."

"So am I," Harvey Grimm replied, a little bitterly. "What's yours?"

"I came down to Tilbury this morning with Henriette, to see her brother off. We couldn't find him. Henriette got on the wrong steamer and they've taken her off. It was a trap, Harvey, do you hear? They've got her!"

"Where are you?"

"I'm at Tilbury, telephoning from the docks," was the hoarse reply. "The whole thing was a sell. The munition boat by which Brinnen was supposed to leave has never been heard of. Can you come down?"

Harvey Grimm closed the door tightly behind him and almost whispered down the telephone.

"Can you hear, Aaron?"

"Yes!"

"Jerry Sands has got away all right. He wasn't on any munition boat! I was arrested five minutes ago. I'm being taken to Scotland Yard, and I've fifty thousand pounds' worth of his diamonds on me! I shouldn't worry about the girl if I were you, Aaron. I think Jerry Sands' sister can take care of herself!"

"Where's Cresswell?"

"Here with me."

"Could he come?"

"He's joined an O.T.C. I don't suppose he could get leave. Besides, can't you understand, Aaron? She is Jerry Sands' sister and they're off together somewhere, for certain.... What's that? ... What? ..."

There was a confused babel of sounds--nothing more distinct. The connection had been cut. Harvey Grimm spent five minutes in vain, trying to re-establish it. Then he left the booth.

"Nice cropper for us, Stephen," he announced to the poet, who was waiting outside. "That was Aaron. The girl's given him the slip down at Tilbury. He's like a madman, of course."

The inspector, who had lit his second cigarette, strolled up.

"I am afraid," he said, "that people are beginning to recognise us. Don't you think----?"

"You are quite right, sir," Harvey Grimm assented. "You have been very considerate. I am entirely at your service now. Good luck to you, Cresswell. Go back and finish your luncheon. You can sign the bill for me."

The poet played the game and departed, after a hearty handshake. Harvey Grimm took his seat in a taxicab, the inspector by his side, the constable opposite. They drove off.

"Enquiries, eh?" Harvey Grimm ruminated. "I wonder what you want to enquire about?"

"I fancy," the inspector said confidentially, "that the Chief will start by having you searched."

"What do you expect to find, if it's a fair question?"

The inspector smiled. He had thrust his arm in friendly fashion through his companion's.

"We've an idea," he replied, "that this time we shall find a few of Jerry Sands' diamonds."

_Chapter X_ _The End of Jeremiah Sands_

Aaron Rodd clasped his arms a little further around the barrel against which he was leaning, trod water with his feet and thought about death. The curtain of a slight mist had fallen around him. There was nothing visible but the cold, grey sea, sometimes high above his head, sometimes like a water-slide tumbling away many feet below him. All around him he could hear the hooting of the steamers, sounding their weird notes of warning from some unseen, unimaginable world. A few feet away, also clinging to a barrel, was a bronzed and hairy man in nautical attire, who was using the most awful language.

"No good wasting your breath," Aaron gasped. "Try another shout."

The man did as he was advised, without eliciting any reply from the other side of the grey walls, whereupon he proceeded once more, in lurid language, to express his opinion of murdering foreigners, and mysterious gents who tempted honest tug-masters into doubtful enterprises. Suddenly he broke off.

"Crikey! 'Ere's something on the top of us!" he exclaimed. "Shout, guv'nor, quick!"

Once more Aaron Rodd drew a long breath and shouted. His voice sounded like a child's falsetto, lost in the stentorian roar of his companion's demand for immediate help and rescue. Then the grey fog was suddenly pierced. A huge, dark mass seemed to be gliding almost on the top of them. From somewhere up in the clouds came an answering shout. Aaron Rodd's companion was moved to one supreme and successful effort. A clear, loud voice shouted directions to them.

"We're lowering ropes. Catch hold, if you can, before the wash. We'll lower boats in a minute."

Half a dozen ropes came down like curving snakes. One of them hit the water scarcely a foot from Aaron. He gripped it tightly.

"Twist it round your body, mate," his companion spluttered. "Twist it two or three times round and hold on for dear life."

The next few minutes were barely realisable. Aaron felt himself tossed like a cork on to the top of a seething mass of churned-up sea, flung down again with the roar of it in his ears, left for a moment in peace and then dragged through the water at such a pace that he found himself wondering whether his arms were going to be torn from his body. Then he was shot forward with a new impetus. His body and arms ached with the strain. He was only half conscious.

"That's done it, matey," he heard his companion shout. "Hold on, there's the boat coming."

Aaron Rodd never wholly lost consciousness. He heard the measured beat of the oars, the sharp, clear voice of the officer standing up in the stern. He saw the boat emerge from the gloom, heard the quick orders, felt himself lifted up by the shoulders, felt the luxury of something solid beneath his feet. The officer in charge of the boat looked at the two men curiously.

"What's this?" he asked. "Collision?"

Aaron Rodd's companion took a long breath and tried to explain what it was. The officer listened to him, spellbound. The men almost forgot to row.

"Some one seems to have been playing a dirty trick on you, eh?" the former remarked, when at last the mariner ceased through sheer exhaustion. "Well, you can tell the Commander when we get on board."

Gradually a fuller consciousness returned to Aaron Rodd. He was able to walk along the deck of the ship they boarded, to grope his way, unaided, down the narrow stairs into the small cabin below, where a man was seated at a table with a chart before him. He pushed it away as the two men were ushered in.

"Hullo, what's this?" he exclaimed.

The officer who had brought them made a brief report. The Commander nodded.

"Fetch them some hot whisky, quick," he directed. "Now tell us your story."

The tug-master got in first, but after a few sentences the Commander stopped him.

"I think I'll get at the truth quicker from you," he decided, nodding to Aaron. "Quick, please."

Aaron pulled himself together and took a long gulp of the hot whisky which was at that moment brought in.

"May I enquire if this is an English man-of-war?" he asked, as he set the glass down.

"His Majesty's destroyer, _Flying Fox_," was the brief reply. "Now tell me what you two men are doing on barrels in the North Sea?"

Aaron Rodd found a few terse and explicit words.

"Early this morning," he said, "I escorted a young lady to Tilbury. We went there on the strength of a bogus telegram, which informed us that her brother, who is a Belgian officer, was leaving there at midday on a munition ship bound for Havre. We found a ship's boat waiting for us at the dock mentioned in the telegram, but they refused to take me on board with her. I thought this reasonable, as it was supposed to be a Government vessel, and I stayed behind to wait for her. She was no sooner safely on board than the steamer hoisted the Norwegian flag and steamed off."

The Commander stared for a moment. Then he looked away.

"Sounds a queer story," he observed.

"It's a true one," Aaron assured him. "Of course, there's a reason for this abduction. The young lady some months ago----"

"I don't want the whole story," the Commander interrupted. "I want to know how you got into the North Sea?"

"I was coming to that," Aaron Rodd proceeded. "My companion can bear me out as to the rest. I hired his tug, meaning to follow the steamer into whatever port it might go if they refused to take me on board. We caught her up and signalled her to stop. She manoeuvred a little, disclosed a gun, and blew us to pieces. The captain here and I are the only two who ever came up again."

The Commander glanced at the lieutenant, who had remained in the room. Not a word passed between them.

"Who are you?" he enquired.

"My name is Aaron Rodd," was the prompt reply. "I am an American, but I have practised law in England for a good many years. I know my story sounds fanciful, but there's no getting away from the sequel. The tug-master here can confirm every word of it."

The tug-master proceeded to do so, and the two officers listened for a time as though fascinated. The Commander interrupted him at last.

"What's the name of this boat?" he asked.

"She had ss. _Christiania_ painted across her stern," the tug-master said, "and she was flying the Norwegian flag, but the ship's name's new painted. I passed close alongside yesterday, and a queer-looking lot they were on board."

The two officers exchanged quick glances.

"The _Christiania_," the Commander murmured softly.

He paused for a moment and bent over the chart. Then he looked up.

"Take Mr. Rodd and the tug-master to the ward-room," he directed. "Rig them both out in some dry clothes and see that they have everything they want."

Aaron Rodd had forgotten the discomfort of his condition. He had only one idea in his brain.

"Sir," he told the Commander, "that ship, the _Christiania_, is in the pay of the Germans."

"You may be right, Mr. Rodd," the latter assented. "When you have changed your clothes, come down and have another chat, if I am not on the bridge."

Even then Aaron lingered.

"Sir," he went on, "I know that there's nothing I can say will keep you for one moment from what you think to be your duty. I have just had a fortune left me in America. I'll give a destroyer to the British Navy if you'll overhaul the _Christiania_, search her, and take that young lady off."

The Commander smiled.

"The British Navy doesn't need bribing, sir," he said. "I've had a hint about the _Christiania_ myself. I'll see what can be done. Now off you go and get into those dry clothes."

The two unexpected guests were hospitably entertained in the wardroom, and Aaron Rodd made a very creditable appearance, an hour later, in some oddments of naval uniform. They found their way on deck, but were only allowed at the top of the companion-way. The fog had lifted. There were half a dozen steamers in sight, and the destroyer seemed to be completing a rather violent curve. Suddenly there were loud orders. The roar of the machinery was lessened. She glided through the water, slackening speed at every instant. Looking down the deck they could see a sight which thrilled them both. The tug-master understood it better than Aaron.

"She's cleared for action, guv'nor!" he exclaimed. "The gunners are all at their posts. See the signal. My God, that's the _Christiania_!"

He pointed to the steamer round which they had circled.

"They've signalled her to stop," he continued. "If I get my hands on the captain! ... Hullo, another signal! Watch it, guv'nor. That's the last call--'Heave to at once or'----"

"Or what?" Aaron Rodd asked.

The tug-master smacked his lips.

"Those little six-inch boys will talk," he replied, with gusto. "We could send the _Christiania_ to the bottom in something less than thirty seconds. You watch the angle of those guns. Look at the man's face who's just had an order! He's trained on her. My God!"

The _Christiania_ had pursued her course. Suddenly there was a deafening roar, a vibration which shook the ship. Fifty yards in front of the _Christiania_ the sea was all churned into foam.

"It's just an 'int!" the tug-master exclaimed in delight. "It's a blankety 'int! Look at 'em running about on board."

There were signs of an immense commotion on board the _Christiania_. Another signal slowly fluttered to the masthead. The tug-master, who was watching the steamer's progress, grinned.

"They're giving in," he declared. "They've stopped the engines. Oh, if they'd only let me go on board her!"

The lieutenant came running lightly down the bridge and approached Aaron.

"We are sending a crew on board the _Christiania_," he announced. "You'd better go and see if you can identify the young lady. There's a boat being lowered from the other deck."

"May I go along, sir?" the tug-master asked eagerly.

The officer shook his head.

"You stay where you are, my man," he directed. "You'll get compensation for your tug, if your story turns out to be true."

The man sighed.

"There's two sorts of compensation," he muttered, as he spat upon his hands.

Aaron Rodd sat by the side of the lieutenant, and though he had never done such a thing in his life before, he stepped confidently up the rope ladder after him and boarded the _Christiania_. The captain was waiting to receive them. He was a small, very fair man, who spoke English with a harsh and guttural accent. His manner was exceedingly perturbed.

"By what right, will you tell me, this piracy?" he demanded, barely accepting the lieutenant's salute. "My papers were cleared in London. My cargo----"

"A few words with you below, if you please, Captain," the lieutenant interrupted. "You had better stay on deck, Mr. Rodd," he added, looking around.

Aaron walked up and down and endeavoured unsuccessfully to converse with various members of the crew. The ship bore all the usual evidences of being a small cargo steamer, but there was, to his fancy, something sinister in the appearance of the sailors and the sound of their conversation as they pointed to the destroyer--long, grey and evil-looking, rising and falling upon the waves, a short distance away. Suddenly a man who might have been a steward appeared from below and touched him on the shoulder.

"Come this way, please," he invited.

He led Aaron downstairs into a dark, odoriferous saloon. The captain and the English lieutenant were seated at the top of one of the long tables. The latter motioned Aaron Rodd to approach.

"The captain denies having any passenger on board, Mr. Rodd," he observed.

"I saw a young lady taken on board at Tilbury," Aaron pronounced firmly. "She was brought here under a false pretext, and she is here now."

"It is not true," the captain declared furiously. "There is no young lady on board."

"What do you say to that, Mr. Rodd?" the lieutenant enquired.

Aaron leaned a little forward. He stretched out his hand, and the captain for a moment shrank back.

"The man is lying," he said calmly. "The young lady was brought here under the pretext of seeing her brother. If this vessel is allowed to proceed on its way to Norway she will be intercepted somewhere by a German boat, and the young lady will be made a prisoner. That is a certainty."

"The gentleman has made a mistake," the captain insisted. "There were many vessels lying in the Thames yesterday morning. We do not carry passengers."

The boatswain of the destroyer, who had accompanied them on board, entered the saloon and, coming up to the lieutenant, saluted.

"Could I have a word with you, sir?" he asked.

The lieutenant rose to his feet and retired for a few moments to the further end of the saloon. When he returned, his manner had undergone a change.

"Captain Hooge," he said, "in confirmation of this gentleman's story I find that you have two concealed guns on board, and there are other suspicious circumstances which my boatswain has pointed out, which confirm my own impressions about you. I am signalling for a prize crew and shall take you to Harwich."

The captain sprang to his feet. His eyes were red with fury.

"You damned, meddlesome Englishmen!" he cried. "If you keep me here another hour, you will hear of it! My Government will protest. It is contrary to the accepted principles of maritime law."

"It is very much against the principles of maritime law, as I read it," the lieutenant answered coolly, "for you to blow to pieces, with a concealed gun, a tug which simply came up to ask you questions. Now be a sensible man, Captain Hooge. I shall have your ship searched from top to bottom. If the young lady is found, you will have to stand your trial in an English court on an extremely serious charge."

"If there is any young lady on board," the captain declared sullenly, "it is without my knowledge. I will go and see the purser."

"We will come, too," the lieutenant said dryly.

They passed down a little companion-way. The captain opened the door of a small stateroom and talked for some time in Norwegian to a bearded and spectacled man. The latter, after some time, turned towards the two men and spoke in English.

"There is a young lady here. She must have boarded us by accident. We were on the point of starting, and we could not land her. Come this way."

They followed the man down a long gloomy passage. He knocked at the door of a stateroom at the end of it. A faint voice answered. The door was thrown open. Henriette, white and eager, stood shrinking back against the wall. There was a rush of cold air into the place.

"Aaron!" she exclaimed in blank astonishment. "Aaron Rodd!"

Words failed her altogether. It seemed too wonderful. She peered into his face, shook him by the shoulders, and finally, almost collapsed in his arms.

"It's all right, Henriette," he cried, his own voice shaking. "You're quite safe."

"But where did you come from? How did you get here?" she gasped.

"I followed in a tug," he told her. "These pleasant people blew us up."

"I heard the gun!" she cried. "I saw the tug. I saw it go down! I saw the men swimming in the water. It was horrible."

"I was one of them," Aaron continued. "The master and I were picked up by an English destroyer. This is one of the officers. I managed to make them believe my story and we overhauled and boarded your steamer. We are going to take it into Harwich. You are safe, Henriette."

She began to sob. The tears stood in Aaron's own eyes as he saw thrust through the open porthole the umbrella on which she had tied various fragments of clothing.

"I have been waving this out of the porthole," she explained hysterically. "I thought they might see. I was locked in until a moment ago."

"Better bring the young lady up on deck," the officer suggested. "We've no accommodation for you on board the _Flying Fox_, but I am going to signal the Commander for a prize crew, and place the captain and officers of this ship under arrest, so you'll both feel quite safe here. You'll be in Harwich in five hours and we shall be standing by all the time."

"You won't leave me, Aaron? she begged.

"Not I!" he answered heartily.

"I expect I shall take the steamer in," the officer remarked. "You are quite safe now, young lady," he added reassuringly. "I should come on deck and get a little fresh air, if I were you."

She clung to Aaron as they passed out. They met the captain and the purser talking together in the companion-way. The former saluted a little awkwardly.

"Sorry to hear that there was a mistake, miss," he said. "We were expecting a young lady on board, the daughter of the owner, who had been giving her people some trouble."

Henriette simply looked at the man. He turned away.

"I want to go on deck," she whispered to Aaron. "I want to get away from this atmosphere. Come quickly, please.... Oh, look, look!"

Half a dozen English sailors came down the companion-way. They were in war trim and they looked like ruddy goliaths by the side of the pale, anæmic-looking crew of the _Christiania_. Henriette gave a little sob.

"I feel safe," she cried, "safe, after all.... Aaron!"

"Yes, dear?"

Her little face, so white and pitiful, was strained up to his. The ghost of one of her old provocative smiles quivered at her lips.

"Even Leopold," she murmured, "will not be able to say 'no' any longer. Do you know that you are a wonderful person? You are like one of those heroes in romances. There never was such a rescue."

He pressed her arm.

"Our last adventure," he whispered, "is going to be the greatest of all."

* * * * *

The magistrate's court was crowded almost to suffocation when for the third time Harvey Grimm was charged with having aided and abetted in the theft of various jewels found in his possession. The solicitor for the Treasury rose at once when called upon, urbane, even apologetic, yet firm.

"I trust that this time, Mr. Dyson," the magistrate remarked, "you are in a position to offer sufficient evidence to enable me either to discharge or to send the prisoner for trial?"

The solicitor for the Treasury proceeded to explain. He reminded their Worships that the prisoner had been discovered last week, owing to the assiduous efforts of Mr. Brodie, actually engaged in secretly cutting up and disguising valuable diamonds. There was no question at all but that these diamonds were stolen. The trouble which the prosecution had to contend with was the fact that they were stolen in America, and that some of the stones had been mutilated in such a fashion as to render them almost unrecognisable. A commission from the police force of New York had already sailed, not only to identify the jewels, but with a strong hope of identifying the prisoner as a confederate of one of the most notorious jewel thieves of this generation. He was exceedingly sorry to have to ask for a fourth remand, but in this case there was no alternative.

He sat down. A mild-mannered man arose from his side and addressed the magistrate.

"Your Worship," he said, "I am defending the prisoner. In the event of the prosecution having no further evidence to offer to-day, which I understand to be the case, may I be allowed to call a witness?"

The magistrate coughed.

"You would be within your rights, Mr. Ransome," he admitted, leaning forward and looking over his eyeglasses, "but I need scarcely remind you that, to a certain extent, by calling witnesses for the defence at this stage of the proceedings you might possibly prejudice your client's case."

The solicitor bowed.

"My client being a wholly innocent man, your Worship," he said, "is only anxious to have the truth known as soon as possible."

"You can do as you choose, Mr. Ransome," the magistrate consented.

There was a moment's whispering. A name only partially heard was called outside, and a ripple of interest passed through the court when Captain Brinnen, still in his Belgian uniform, entered the witness-box. The solicitor for the prosecution looked a little staggered. The solicitor for the defence stood up.

"Will you tell the magistrate your name?" he asked.

The witness bowed.

"Leopold Francis Henri Brinnen de Floge."

"And your titles?"

"Comte de Malaison, Baron d'Asche, Chevalier di Scolo, Vicomte de Floge."

There was a distinct sensation in court, a sense of impending events which left every one pleasantly excited. Harvey Grimm leaned forward, gripping at the rail in front of him.

"You are, I believe," the solicitor continued, "a godson of the late King of the Belgians?"

"That is so," the witness admitted.

"Do you know anything of the prisoner?"

The witness glanced at Harvey Grimm and, meeting his astounded stare, greeted him in friendly fashion.

"Certainly," he replied. "Mr. Harvey Grimm is a valued acquaintance. I engaged him recently to recut and, if possible, to present to me in an altered form a variety of precious stones."

"May I ask your reason for this?" the solicitor enquired.

"It is a matter of almost political history," the witness explained, turning towards the magistrate. "The De Floge collection of diamonds is famous, I believe I may say, throughout the world. They were the subject, at the time of the outbreak of the war, of a lawsuit between the German branch of the De Floge family and my own. During the hearing of the case, the jewels were deposited by common consent at the Antwerp Museum, where anybody who is an expert in these matters will tell you that they have been inspected by connoisseurs from all over the world. With the invasion of our country, my grandfather and I determined to do our best to prevent these jewels, which were worth an immense sum, from falling into the hands of the enemy. The curators of the Antwerp Museum, although they were under a bond, consented, under the circumstances, to hand them over to our branch of the family, and they were transported to my grandfather's chateau, which is very near the French frontier, just before the sack of Antwerp. Subsequently my grandfather and my sister, the Comtesse de Floge, after a series of remarkable adventures, in which the latter especially was concerned, managed to escape to England with the bulk of the jewels. My cousin, however, who represents the German side of our family, has seized our lands and home and has made desperate attempts in various directions to secure also the jewels, which the authorities would now award him as a matter of course. I deemed it wise, bearing all these things in mind, to yield to my grandfather's almost passionate insistence and dispose secretly of as many as possible."

There was a great sensation in court. Mr. Harvey Grimm asked for a chair and sat down.

"Did you," the solicitor for the defence asked, "impose entire secrecy upon Mr. Harvey Grimm?"

"Under the peculiar circumstances of the case, I did," was the prompt reply.

The solicitor turned to the magistrate.

"There is nothing left, your Worship," he said, "but for me to ask you to sanction the immediate release of my client."

He resumed his seat. The solicitor for the prosecution promptly arose.

"I may be allowed, your Worship," he asked, "to cross-examine the witness?"

"Certainly," the magistrate assented.

"May I ask you, sir, whether you have any evidence in support of these extraordinary statements of yours?"

The young man bowed.

"Certainly," he replied. "The Belgian Minister, who was my father's greatest friend and relative, and the Princess Augusta, my godmother, are both, I believe, present."

The solicitor for the prosecution turned to the magistrate.

"If these witnesses may be called and are found to support the story, your Worship," he said, "the case for the prosecution is withdrawn."

Leopold de Floge left the witness-box, strolled along the back of the benches, and held out his hand to Harvey Grimm.

"My profound regrets and apologies," he murmured. "I wait here and we will lunch together."

The court rocked itself with excitement. The Belgian Minister was called and promptly took his place in the witness-box. Asked if he knew the last witness, his reply was comprehensive.

"The Vicomte de Floge," he said, "is the first nobleman in Belgium. He is a godson of the late king, is himself connected with the royal family, and is a young man whose gallantry in the field has won special commendation from the King."

"Do you know anything about the De Floge diamonds?"

"Certainly," the witness replied. "They are of historical and priceless value, and special efforts were made to seize them at Antwerp Museum. My friend, the Vicomte de Floge, was able to rescue them just in time. I may say that he consulted me, and under the difficult circumstances I advised him to dispose of as many as possible secretly. Very powerful influences have been brought to bear through a neutral country, to effect their restoration."

The magistrate bowed and the witness stood down. There was a moment's whispered consultation between the two solicitors. Then one of them stood up.

"The case for the prosecution is withdrawn, your Worship," he announced.

Harvey Grimm and Leopold de Floge, by the courtesy of the magistrate, left the court by the back entrance, arm in arm. The former was looking a little haggard from his six days' detention, and was scarcely his usual spick-and-span self. He was a little dazed, too. He leaned back in a luxurious motor-car and tried to realise what had happened. His first question was not an unnatural one.

"Will you tell me," he asked earnestly, "why your grandfather, and you, and your sister, all practically confessed that you were Jeremiah Sands, the international jewel thief?"

"I must admit that the idea was my own," De Floge explained. "You see, we were extremely anxious that no one should know whose jewels these really were. The one way to ensure absolute secrecy was to dispose of them as stolen property. That is what we did, and I must say that under the circumstances, Mr. Grimm, your silence was more than admirable. To a great extent, I must admit, we were humouring my grandfather, who was oppressed the whole of the time with a nervous fear of being ordered by the British Government to restore them. His death makes all the difference--in fact, I have this morning entrusted the whole of the rest of my collection to Christie's, and they will offer them for sale as soon as the South American buyers can be duly advised. It is, perhaps, just as well that we have passed the crisis, for I see by this morning's papers that Jeremiah Sands was arrested at Chicago yesterday."

Harvey Grimm cleared his throat.

"You haven't such a thing as a cigarette, I suppose?"

De Floge produced his case at once.

"My profound apologies," he said. "I should have known the one thing you needed most after this regrettable detention."

"To think," Harvey Grimm muttered to himself, "that I stole way down to Letchowiski's and lived in terror of my life, with that rat of a Brodie dogging my footsteps, and all the time I might have fitted up a laboratory and have done my work at home!"

"That would never have done," De Floge objected. "By the decision of the Belgian courts--German inspired, of course, but still according to the law of the land--the whole of the jewels are, in a way, stolen property. Still--it is not the sort of theft that counts."

Harvey Grimm looked out of the windows. There was a queer sort of plaintive happiness dawning in his face.

"It's London all right," he murmured, "the Strand, too.... I never thought to see them again--not till I was an old man, at any rate. Where are we going?"

"The Milan for luncheon," De Floge replied, "where you will meet some friends. I have more wonders to tell you. Will you hear them first or wait till you have had a cocktail?"

"More wonders," Harvey Grimm murmured, "and this is the city which lacks the spirit of adventure! I think," he went on, as they stepped out of the car and walked towards the smoke-room, "you must leave this to me. There is just one concoction--I can't call it by a name. I must speak to Coley. What a cigarette!" he went on. "For six days----"

"I know," De Floge interrupted. "I am sorry. We will try and make up for it."

They drank a cocktail together, and the sense of unreality began to fall away. Once more the earth was firm beneath Harvey Grimm's feet.

"The money I have wasted!" he groaned. "Why, I had a young actor establishing alibis for me all the time I was away! ... Where's Aaron?"

"Just back from the North Sea with my sister," De Floge replied. "He will tell you a story that will make your hair stand on end."

"And the poet?"

"Down with an Officers' Training Corps. He is coming up to lunch, if he can get off."

Harvey Grimm glanced at the clock. His companion interpreted his thoughts.

"You have an hour," he said.

"A shave and a bath," the other murmured ecstatically.

"And the corner table as you come in, in the grill-room," De Floge added. "We will all meet there at one-thirty...."

Some time before the hour had elapsed Harvey Grimm was entirely his usual self. Shaved and bathed, clad in one of his favourite blue serge suits, patent shoes and spotless gaiters, a bunch of violets in his buttonhole, a sense of stupefied but immeasurable satisfaction radiating from him, he took his place at the round luncheon table, between Aaron Rodd and Henriette, and raised the glass of amber liquid which he found waiting there, to his lips. De Floge, however, checked him.

"My friends," he said, "but wait. Here is Mr. Cresswell."

The poet came to them with outstretched hands.

"My heartiest congratulations!" he exclaimed, pausing before Harvey Grimm. "You will be able to write a ballad of the Bow Street cells. Perhaps I will collaborate. It will mean immortality for you. Where do I sit?"

A place was found for him. He, too, raised the wine-glass which he found in front of him, to his lips, but was checked by De Floge.

"We will, with your permission," the latter proposed, "drink to the happiness of my dear sister, Henriette, and your friend--and mine, too, that is to be," he added, with a bow--"Mr. Aaron Rodd. They are to be married this month, and if you would care for a wonderful entertainment during the service of our luncheon, they shall recount their adventures of the last six days. I promise you, Mr. Harvey Grimm, that yours will seem to you monotonous."

They listened to the story, told by one and supplemented by the other. It was all amazing. The poet was frankly envious.

"After all," he grumbled, "it seems to me that I am the one who treads the dreary path of commonplace life."

De Floge leaned across towards him.

"Sir," he said, "that is not wholly true, for both you and I, along different paths, are pledged to the greatest and most wonderful adventure the world can offer. We have drunk to the happiness of my sister and Mr. Aaron Rodd. I drank to you a short while ago, Mr. Harvey Grimm, full of respect for that sporting spirit which kept you silent in captivity. We will drink now, all of us, to the common cause, to the great adventure of life and death, to the end which is written in letters of blood across the scarred face of Europe--to Vengeance and Victory!"

THE END

Printed in Great Britain at
_The Mayflower Press, Plymouth_.
William Brendon & Son, Ltd.

* * * * *

_WORKS BY THE SAME AUTHOR_

THE STRANGE CASE OF MR. JOCELYN THEW
AMBROSE LAVENDALE, DIPLOMAT
THE HON. ALGERNON KNOX, DETECTIVE
THE DOUBLE TRAITOR
THE WICKED MARQUIS
MR. LESSINGHAM GOES HOME
THE PAWNS COUNT
HAVOC
THE OTHER ROMILLY
THE LIGHTED WAY
THE TEMPTATION OF TAVERNAKE
THE MISCHIEF MAKER
THE FALLING STAR
THE PLUNDERERS
THE ADVENTURES OF PETER RUFF
THE BLACK WATCHER
THE BLACK BOX
THE KINGDOM OF THE BLIND

_LONDON : HODDER & STOUGHTON, LTD._

End of Project Gutenberg's Aaron Rodd, Diviner, by E. Phillips Oppenheim