Chapter III: Part 3

I shifted my glasses from the ladies to the young gentleman.

"A fine, handsome young fellow, is he not?" said Dorcas.

"Yes. Who is he?"

"His name is Claude Charrington. He is the son of Mr. Charrington, the well-known barrister, and I am at the present moment a parlour-maid in his stepmother's service."

I looked at the silver-haired, smart American lady with astonishment.

"A parlour-maid! Like that!" I exclaimed.

"No; I've been home and made up for Richmond. I have a day out. I should like you to see me as a parlour-maid at the Charringtons--the other servants think I can't have been in very good places; but they are very kind to me, especially Johnson, the footman, and Mrs. Charrington is quite satisfied."

"Does she know you are not really a parlour-maid?"

"Yes. It was she who engaged me to investigate a little mystery which is troubling her very much. I had to be in the house to make my inquiries, and she consented that I should come as a parlour-maid. It is a very curious case, and I am very interested in it."

"Then so am I," I said, "and you must tell me all about it."

"About ten days ago," said Dorcas, "just as I had arranged to have a fortnight at the seaside with Paul, a lady called on me in a state of great agitation.

"She told me that her name was Mrs. Charrington, that she was the second wife of Mr. Charrington, the barrister, and that she was in great distress of mind owing to the loss of a diamond and ruby bracelet, a diamond and ruby pendant, and a small diamond lizard, which had mysteriously disappeared from her jewel case.

"I asked her at once why she had not informed the police instead of coming to me; and she explained that her suspicions pointed to a member of her own family as the thief, and she was terrified to go to the police for fear their investigations would be a terrible one.

"I asked her if she had informed her husband of her loss, and if the servants knew of it, and she told me that she had only just discovered it, and had not said a word to anyone but her own family solicitor, who had advised her to come to me at once, as the matter was a delicate one. Her husband was away in the country, and she dreaded telling him until she was quite sure the person she suspected was innocent, and she had not yet said anything to the servants, as, of course, if she did they would have a right to insist on the matter being investigated in order that their characters might be cleared. It was a most unpleasant situation, apart from the loss of the valuable jewels, which had been given to her a few days previously as a birthday present. She was in the position of being compelled to conceal her loss for fear of bringing the guilt home to a member of her family."

"And whom does she suspect?" I asked.

"The young gentleman who is paying such marked attention yonder to the pretty girl in the red tie--her stepson, Mr. Claude Charrington," answered Dorcas, picking up her glasses and surveying the "scenery."

"Why does she suspect him?" I asked, following her gaze.

"Mrs. Charrington tells me that her stepson has lately caused his father considerable anxiety owing to his extravagance and recklessness. He has just left Oxford, and is going to the Bar, but he has been very erratic, and lately has evidently been pressed for money. Mrs. Charrington is very fond of him, and he has always appeared to return her affection, and has frequently come to her with his troubles. Mr. Charrington is an irritable man, and inclined to be severe with his son, and the stepmother has frequently acted as peacemaker between them. She has always endeavoured to make Claude look upon her as his own mother.

"A few days before the robbery was discovered Claude laughingly told her that he was 'in a devil of a mess' again, and that in order to get a little ready money to carry on with he had had to pawn his watch and chain for ten pounds. His father had recently given him a sum of money to satisfy some pressing creditors, but had insisted on deducting a certain amount monthly from his allowance until it was paid. Claude showed Mrs. Charrington the ticket for the watch and chain, and jokingly said that if things didn't get better with him he would have to give up all idea of the Bar and go to South Africa and look for a diamond mine. He had told her that he hadn't dared tell the Governor how much he owed, and that the assistance had only staved off the more pressing of his creditors.

"Mrs. Charrington urged him to make a clean breast of everything on his father's return. He shook his head, and presently laughed the matter off, saying perhaps something would turn up. He wasn't going to the Governor again if he could possibly help it.

"That was the situation of affairs two days before the robbery was discovered. But two days after he had let his stepmother see the ticket for his watch and chain, Claude Charrington was in funds again. Mrs. Charrington discovered it quite accidentally. Claude took out a pocket-book at the breakfast table to look for a letter, and in taking out an envelope he pulled out a packet of banknotes. He said, 'Oh, I've had a stroke of luck,' but he coloured up and looked confused. That evening Mrs. Charrington--who, by the bye, I should tell you was in mourning for her brother, who had just died in India--went to her jewel case, and to her horror discovered that a diamond and ruby bracelet, a diamond and ruby pendant, and a diamond lizard had disappeared. The cases were there, but empty.

"Instantly the idea occurred to her that Claude, knowing she was in mourning, and not likely to wear the jewels for some time, had abstracted them and pawned them--perhaps intending to put them back again as soon as he could get the money.

"She was strengthened in her suspicion by his acquisition of banknotes at a time when, according to his own account, he had pawned his watch to tide over until his allowance became due; his confusion when she noticed the banknotes; and finally by her suddenly remembering that two evenings previously after she had dressed for dinner and was in the drawing-room, she had gone upstairs again to fetch her keys, which she remembered having left on the dressing-table. Outside her room she met Claude with his dog, a fox-terrier, at his heels.

"'I've been hunting all over the place for Jack, Mater,' he said, 'and I heard him in your room. The little beggar was scratching away at the wainscoting like mad. There must be rats there. I had to go in to get him away--I was afraid he'd do some damage.'

"Mrs. Charrington found her keys on the dressing-table, and thought no more of Claude and his explanation until she missed the jewellery. Then it occurred to her that Claude had been in her room and had had an opportunity of using her keys, which not only opened the drawer in which she kept her jewel case, but the case itself."

Dorcas finished her story, and I sat for a moment gazing at the young fellow, who seemed supremely happy. Could it be possible that if he were guilty his crime could trouble him so little?

"The circumstances are very suspicious," I said, presently, "but don't you think Mrs. Charrington ought at once to have taxed her stepson, and given him an opportunity of clearing himself?"

"He would naturally have denied the charge under any circumstances. But presuming him to be innocent, the bare idea that his stepmother could have thought him guilty would have been most painful to him. That is the sort of mistake one can never atone for. No, Mrs. Charrington did the wisest thing she could have done. She decided, if possible, to be sure of his guilt or innocence before letting anyone--even her husband--know of her loss."

"And how far do your investigations go in other directions?"

"So far, I am still in the dark. I have had every opportunity of mixing with the servants and studying them, and I don't believe for a moment that they are concerned in the matter. The footman bets, but is worried because he has not paid back a sovereign he borrowed last week to put on a 'dead cert.,' which didn't come off. The lady's maid is an honourable, high-minded girl, engaged to be married to a most respectable man who has been in a position of trust for some years. I cannot find the slightest suspicious circumstances connected with any of the other servants."

"Then you are inclined to take Mrs. Charrington's view?"

"No, I am not. And yet----Well, I shall be able to answer more definitely when I have found out a little more about that young lady with the red tie. I have had no opportunity of making inquiries about her. I found out that Claude Charrington was coming to the 'Star and Garter' this morning when Johnson came downstairs with a telegram to the manager, 'Reserve window table for two o'clock'; and when I got here the little party were already at luncheon."

"But the young lady may have nothing to do with the matter. When a young man pawns someone else's jewellery to provide himself with ready money, surely the last person he would tell would be the young lady he is entertaining at the 'Star and Garter.'"

"Quite so," said Dorcas, "but I have seen the young lady rather more closely than you have. I sat at the next table to them in the restaurant. Let us take a little stroll and pass them now."

Dorcas rose, and with her parasol shading her face strolled down on the terrace, and I walked by her side.

As we passed quite close to Claude Charrington and his friends I looked at the young lady. The end of her red necktie was fastened to the shirt _with a diamond lizard._

"Good heavens!" I said to Dorcas when we were out of hearing, "is that part of the missing jewellery?"

"If it is not, it is at least a curious coincidence. Claude Charrington has access to his stepmother's room and the keys of her jewel case. Jewellery is missing. One of the articles is a diamond lizard. He is here to-day with a young lady, and that young lady has on jewellery which exactly answers the description of one of the missing articles. Now you know why I am going to find out a little more concerning that young lady and her female companion."

"Do you want an 'assistant'?" I said eagerly.

Dorcas smiled. "Not this time, thank you," she said; "but if I do later I will send you a wire. Now I think I must say good-day, for my 'people' look like making a move, and I mustn't lose them."

"Can't I see you this evening?"

"No, this evening I expect I shall be back at Mrs. Charrington's-- you forget I am only a parlour-maid with a day out."

Dorcas nodded pleasantly, and I took the hint and left her.

A few minutes later I saw the Charrington party going back into the hotel, and Dorcas Dene following them at a respectful distance.

I sat down once again on my old seat and fell into a reverie, which was interrupted by Karl the waiter, who came ostensibly to know if there was anything he could get me, but really to have a few minutes' chat on his favourite subject--the Turf. Did I know anything good for to-morrow at Sandown?

I told Karl that I did not, and then he told me that he had had a good tip himself--I ought to get on at once. I shifted the conversation from the Turf to general gossip, and then quite innocently I asked him if he knew who the people were who had lunched at the window table and had just left the terrace.

Oh, yes, he knew the young gentleman. That was Mr. Claude Charrington.

He was a frequent customer and had often given Karl a good tip. Only a few days ago he had given him a horse at long odds and it had come off.

"And the young lady with the red tie?"

Karl wasn't quite sure--he had seen her only once or twice before. He thought the young lady was an actress at one of the Comic Opera theatres. The elder lady used to be often there years ago, but she hadn't been for some time until to-day. He remembered her when she was one of the handsomest women of the day.

I lit a cigarette and said carelessly that I supposed they came with Mr. Charrington.

"No," said Karl; "they were here when he came, and he seemed rather surprised to see the elder lady. I suppose," said Karl, with a grin, "the young gentleman had only invited the younger lady to lunch, and he thought that two was company and three was none, as your English proverb says."

A white napkin waved from the balcony of the restaurant summoned Karl back to his duties, and looking at my watch I found that it was four o'clock, and time for me to make a start for town, where I had an appointment at six.

I thought of nothing but the mystery of the Charrington jewellery in the train, but when I got out at Waterloo I was still unable to find any theory which would satisfactorily reconcile the two opposing difficulties. If Claude Charrington had stolen his stepmother's jewellery to raise money on it he wouldn't have given it away; and if he had given it away it could have nothing to do with his sudden possession of a bundle of banknotes, which his stepmother considered one of the principal proofs of his guilt.

* * * * * * *

Two days later I received a telegram just before noon:

"Marble Arch, four o'clock. --DORCAS."

I was there punctually to the time, and a few minutes later Dorcas joined me, and we turned into the park.

"Well," I said, "you've found out who the young lady is. You've traced the jewellery--and I suppose there can be no doubt that Claude Charrington is the culprit?"

"I've found out that the young lady is a Miss Dolamore. She is a thoroughly good girl. Her mother, the widow of a naval officer, is in poor circumstances and lives in the country. Miss Dolamore, having a good voice, has gone on the stage. She is in lodgings in Fitzroy Street, Fitzroy Square. The house is kept and let out in apartments by an Italian, one Carlo Rinaldi, married to an English woman--the English woman is the woman who was with Miss Dolamore at the 'Star and Garter' that day."

"Then the elder woman was her landlady?"

"Yes."

"And Claude Charrington is in love with Miss Dolamore!"

"Exactly. They have been about together a great deal. He calls frequently to see her and take her out. It is understood in the house that they are engaged."

"How have you ascertained all this?"

"I visit the house. The second floor was to let and I took it yesterday morning for a friend of mine and paid the rent in advance. I am getting little odds and ends and taking them there for her. There is a delightfully communicative Irish housemaid at the Rinaldi's."

"Then of course it's quite clear that Claude Charrington gave Miss Dolamore that diamond lizard. Have you found out if she has the bracelet and the pendant too? If she hasn't, the lizard may be merely a coincidence. There are plenty of diamond lizards about."

"The bracelet and the pendant are at Attenborough's. They were pawned some days ago by a person giving the name of Claude Charrington and the Charringtons' correct address."

"By Claude Charrington, of course?"

"No; whoever the guilty party is it is not Claude Charrington."

"_Not Claude Charrington!_" I exclaimed, my brain beginning to whirl "What do you mean? The jewels were in Mrs. Charrington's case--she misses them--one article is in the possession of Claude's sweetheart, a young lady who is on the stage, and the others are pawned in the name of Claude Charrington, and yet you say Claude Charrington had nothing to do with it. Whatever makes you come to such a strange conclusion as that?"

"One fact--and one fact alone. On the very day that we were at Richmond Mr. Charrington, the barrister, returned to town. He arrived in the afternoon, and seemed worried and out of sorts. His wife had made up her mind to tell him everything, but he was so irritable that she hesitated.

"Yesterday she had an extraordinary story to tell me. When her husband had gone to his chambers in the morning she began to worry about not having told him. She felt that she really ought to do so now he had come back. She went to her jewel case to go over everything once more in order to be quite sure nothing else was missing before she told him her trouble, and there, to her utter amazement, was all the missing property, the bracelet, the pendant, and the diamond lizard."

"Then," I said with a gasp, "Claude Charrington must have redeemed them and put them back!"

"Not at all. The diamond lizard is _still_ in Miss Dolamore's possession, and the diamond bracelet and pendant are _still at Attenborough's._"

I stared at Dorcas Dene for a moment in dumb amazement. When at last I could find words to speak my thoughts I exclaimed: "What does this mean? What can it mean? We shall never know now because Mrs. Charrington has her jewels again and your task is ended."

"No--my task is a double one now. Mrs. Charrington engaged me to find out who stole her jewels. When I can tell her that I shall be able to tell her also who endeavoured to conceal the robbery by putting a similar set back in their place. This is no common case of jewel stealing. There is a mystery and a romance behind it-- a tangled skein which a Lecoq or a Sherlock Holmes would have been proud to unravel--_and I think I have a clue._"

_VI. THE PRICK OF A PIN_

When Dorcas told me that she had a clue to the mystery of the Charrington jewels, I pressed her to tell me what it was.

"All in good time," she said; "meanwhile you can help me if you will. There is a club in ------- Street, Soho, of which most of the members are foreigners. It is called 'The Camorra.' Carlo Rinaldi, the landlord of the house in which Miss Dolamore is staying, spends his evenings there. It is a gambling club. Visitors are admitted, and the members are by no means averse to female society. I want you to take me there to-morrow night."

"But, my dear Dorcas--I--I'm not a member."

"No, but you can be a visitor."

"But I don't _know_ a member."

"Oh, nonsense," said Dorcas, "you know a dozen. Ask your favourite waiter at any foreign restaurant, and he will be pretty sure to be able to tell you of one of his fellow-employés who can take you."

"Yes," I said, after I had thought for a moment. "If that is so, I think I can arrange it."

"That's a bargain, then," she said. "I will meet you and your friend the member outside Ketner's, in Church Street, to-morrow night at ten o'clock. Till then, good-bye."

"One question more," I said, retaining the hand that was placed in mine. "I assume that your object in going to this club is to watch Miss Dolamore's landlord; but if you have taken his second floor, won't he recognise you and be suspicious?"

Dorcas Dene smiled. "I'll take care there is no danger of his recognising the lady of the second floor at the Camorra to-morrow night. And now, good afternoon. The Charringtons dine at eight, and I have to wait at table to-night."

Then, with a little nod of adieu, she walked quickly away and left me to think out my plans for capturing a member of the Camorra.

* * * * * * *

I had very little difficulty in finding a waiter who was a member. He turned up in a very old acquaintance, Guiseppe, of a well-known Strand café and restaurant. Guiseppe easily obtained an evening off, but he demurred when I told him that I wanted him to introduce a lady friend of mine as well as myself to the club. He was nervous. Was she a lady journalist? I pacified Guiseppe, and the preliminaries were satisfactorily arranged, and at ten o'clock, leaving Guiseppe round the corner, I strolled on to Ketner's, and looked for Dorcas Dene.

There was no trace of her, and I was beginning to think she had been detained, when a stout, rather elderly-looking woman came towards me. She was dressed in a black silk dress, the worse for wear, a shabby black velvet mantle, and a black bonnet, plentifully bedecked with short black ostrich plumes, upon which wind and weather had told their tale. At her throat was a huge cameo brooch. As she came into the light she looked like one of the German landladies of the shilling table d'hôte establishments in the neighbourhood. The woman looked at me searchingly, and then asked me in guttural broken English if I was the gentleman who had an appointment there with a lady.

For a moment I hesitated. It might be a trap.

"Who told you to ask me?"

"Dorcas Dene."

"Indeed," I said, still suspicious, "and who is Dorcas Dene?"

"_I am,_" replied the German frau. "Come, do you think Rinaldi will recognise his second floor?"

"My dear Dorcas," I gasped, as soon as I had recovered from my astonishment, "why _did_ you leave the stage?"

"Never mind about the stage," said Dorcas. "Where's the member of the Camorra?"

"He's waiting at the corner."

I had all my work to keep from bursting into a roar of laughter at Guiseppe's face when I introduced him to my lady friend, "Mrs. Goldschmidt." He evidently didn't think much of my choice of a female companion, but he bowed and smiled at the stout, old-fashioned German frau, and led the way to the club. After a few rough-and-ready formalities at the door, Guiseppe signed for two guests in a book which lay on the hall table, and we passed into a large room at the back of the premises, in which were a number of chairs and small tables, a raised platform with a piano, and a bar. A few men and women, mostly foreigners, were sitting about talking or reading the papers, and a sleepy-looking waiter was taking orders and serving drinks.

"Where do they play cards?" I said.

"Upstairs."

"Can I play?"

"Oh, yes, if I introduce you as my friend."

"May ladies play?"

Guiseppe shrugged his shoulders. "If they have money to lose-- why not?"

I went to Dorcas. "Is he here?" I whispered.

"No; he's where the playing is, I expect."

"That's where we are going," I said.

Dorcas rose, and she and I and Guiseppe made our way to the upstairs room together.

On the landing we were challenged by a big square-shouldered Italian. "Only members pass here," he said, gruffly.

Guiseppe answered in Italian, and the man growled out, "All right," and we entered a room which was as crowded as the other was empty.

One glance at the table was sufficient to show me that the game was an illegal one.

Dorcas stood by me among a little knot of onlookers. Presently she nudged my elbow, and I followed her glance. A tall, swarthy Italian, the wreck of what must once have been a remarkably handsome man, sat scowling fiercely as he lost stake after stake. I asked her with my eyebrows if she meant this was Rinaldi, and she nodded her head in assent.

A waiter was in the room taking orders, and bringing the drinks up from the bar below.

"Order two brandies and sodas," whispered Dorcas.

Then Dorcas sat down at the end of the room away from the crowd, and I joined her. The waiter brought the brandies and sodas and put them down. I paid unchallenged.

A dispute had arisen over at the big table, and the players were shouting one against the other. Dorcas took advantage of the din, and said, close to my ear, "Now you must do as I tell you--I'm going back to the table. Presently Rinaldi will leap up; when he does, seize him by the arms, and hold him--a few seconds will do."

"But----"

"It's all right. Do as I tell you."

She rose, taking her glass, still full of brandy and soda, with her. I wondered how on earth she could tell Rinaldi was going to jump up.

The stout old German frau pushed in among the crowd till she was almost leaning over Rinaldi's shoulder. Suddenly she lurched and tilted the entire contents of her glass into the breast pocket of his coat. He sprang up with a fierce oath, the rest of the company yelling with laughter. Instantly I seized him by the arms, as though to prevent him in his rage striking Dorcas. The German woman had her handkerchief out.

She begged a thousand pardons, and began to mop up the liquid which was dripping down her victim. Then she thrust her hand into his inner pocket.

"Oh, the pocket-book! Ah, it must be dried!"

Quick as lightning she opened the book, and began to pull out the contents and wipe them with her handkerchief.

Carlo Rinaldi, who had been bellowing like a bull, struggled from me with an effort, and made a grab at the book. Dorcas, pretending to fear he was going to strike her, flung the book to him, and, giving me a quick glance, ran out of the room and down the stairs, and I followed, the fierce oaths of Rinaldi and the laughter of the members of the Camorra still ringing in my ears.

I hailed a cab and dragged Dorcas into it.

"Phew!" I said, "that was a desperate game to play, Dorcas. What did you want to see in his pocket-book?"

"What I found," said Dorcas quietly. "A pawnticket for a diamond and ruby bracelet and a diamond and ruby pendant, pawned in the name of Claude Charrington. I imagined from the description given me at the pawnbroker's that the man was Rinaldi. Now I know that he pawned them on his own account, because he still has the ticket."

"How did he get them? Did Claude Charrington give them to him or sell them to him, or----"

"No. The person who gave them to Rinaldi is the person who put the new set back in their place."

"Do you know who that is?"

"Yes, now. The fact of Rinaldi having the ticket in his possession supplied the missing link. You remember my telling you how Mrs. Charrington discovered just as she was going to tell her husband of her loss that the jewels were no longer missing."

"Yes; she found them the day after her husband's return."

"Exactly. Directly she told me I asked her to let me examine the drawer in which the jewel-case was kept. It lay at the bottom of the left-hand top drawer of a chest of drawers near the bed. It was locked, and the keys were carried about by Mrs. Charrington and put on the dressing-table at night after the bedroom door had been bolted.

"As soon as possible I went with Mrs. Charrington to the bedroom. Then I took the keys and opened the drawer. The box she told me was where it was always kept, at the bottom of the drawer underneath layers of pocket-handkerchiefs and several cardboard boxes of odds and ends which she kept in the drawer.

"I turned the things over carefully one by one, and on a handkerchief which lay immediately on the top of the jewel-case I saw something which instantly attracted my attention. It was a tiny red spot, which looked like blood. Opening the jewel-case, I carefully examined the jewellery inside, and I found that the pin of the diamond lizard extended slightly beyond the brooch and was very sharp at the point.

"I then examined the keys, and upon the handle of the key of the jewel-box I found a tiny red smear. What had happened was as clear as noonday. Whoever had put the jewels back had pricked his or her finger with the pin of the lizard. The pricked finger had touched the handkerchief and left the little blood-mark. Still bleeding slightly, the finger had touched the key in turning it in the lock of the jewel-case.

"Saying nothing to Mrs. Charrington, who was in the room with me, I cast my eyes searchingly in every direction. Suddenly I caught sight of a tiny mark on the sheet which was turned over outside the counterpane. It was a very minute little speck, and I knew it to be a blood-stain.

"'Who sleeps on this side near the chest of drawers?' I asked Mrs. Charrington, and she replied that her husband did.

"'Did he hear no noise in the night?'

"'In the night!' she exclaimed with evident astonishment. 'Good gracious! no one could have come into the room last night without our hearing them. Whoever put my jewels back did it in the daytime.'

"I didn't attempt to undeceive her, but I was certain that Mr. Charrington himself had replaced the jewels. He had probably done it in the night when his wife was fast asleep. A night-light burnt all night--she was a heavy sleeper--he had risen cautiously--the matter was a simple one. Only he had pricked his finger with the brooch-pin."

"But what was his motive?" I cried.

"His motive! That was what I wanted to make sure to-night, and I did so when I found the pawnticket in the name of Claude Charrington in the pocket-book of Carlo Rinaldi--Claude Charrington is the father's name as well as the sons."

"Then you think Rinaldi pawned the original jewels for Mr. Charrington? Absurd!"

"It _would_ be absurd to think that," said Dorcas, "but my theory is not an absurd one. I have ascertained the history of Carlo Rinaldi from sources at my command. Rinaldi was a valet at the West End. He married a rich man's cast-off mistress. The rich man gave his mistress a sum of money as a marriage portion. He gave her up not only because he had ceased to care for her, but because he had fallen in love and was about to marry again. He was a widower. He lost his first wife when their only child, a son, was a few months old, and he was himself quite a young man. The mistress was Madame Rinaldi, the rich man was Mr. Claude Charrington."

"Well, where does that lead you?"

"To this. During the time that Mrs. Charrington is sure that the jewels were not in her case I trace them. I find the diamond lizard in the possession of a young lady who lodges in the house of Madame Rinaldi. I find the pendant and bracelet at Attenborough's, and to-night I have seen the pawnticket for them in the possession of Madame Rinaldi's husband. Therefore, there is no doubt in my mind that whoever took the jewels out of Mrs. Charrington's case gave them to the Rinaldis. I have proved by the prick of the finger and the blood-stain that Mr. Charrington put a similar set of jewels to those abstracted back into the empty cases in his wife's jewel-box, therefore he must have been aware that they were missing. Mrs. Charrington has not breathed a word of her loss to anyone but myself, therefore he must have been privy to their abstraction, and it is only reasonable to conclude that he abstracted them himself."

"But the lizard in Miss Dolamore's possession must have been given her by Claude, her sweetheart, and he was suddenly flush of money just after the theft--remember that!"

"Yes; I have ascertained how he got that money. Johnson, the footman, told me that the young fellow had given him a tip for the Leger. 'And he gets good information sometimes from a friend of his,' said Johnson. 'Why, only last week he backed a thirty-three to one chance, and won a couple of hundred. But don't say anything to the missis,' said Johnson. 'She might tell the governor, and Mr. Claude isn't in his good books just at present.'"

I agreed with Dorcas that that would account for the young fellow's confusion when his step-mother saw the notes, but I urged there was still the lizard to get over.

"I think that is pretty clear. The Irish housemaid tells me that Madame is very friendly with Miss Dolamore. I shouldn't be surprised if she went down to Richmond with her that day to show Claude the lizard and get him to buy it for more than it was worth. I know the Rinaldis were pressed at the time for ready money."

I confessed to Dorcas that her theory cleared Claude Charrington of suspicion, but it in no way explained why Mr. Charrington, senior, should send his former mistress his present wife's jewels.

At that moment the cab stopped. We were at Oak Tree Road. Dorcas got out and put out her hand. "I can't tell you why Mr. Charrington stole his wife's jewellery," she said, "because he hasn't told me."

"And isn't likely to," I replied with a laugh.

"You are mistaken," said Dorcas. "I am going to his chambers to-morrow to ask him, and then my task will be done. If you want to know how it ends, come to Eastbourne on Sunday. I am going to spend the day there with Paul."

* * * * * * *

The sunshine was streaming into the pretty seaside apartments occupied by the Denes, the midday Sunday meal was over, and Paul and Dorcas were sitting by the open window.

I had only arrived at one o'clock, and Dorcas had postponed her story until dinner was over.

"Now," said Dorcas, as she filled Paul's pipe and lighted it for him, "if you want to know the finish of the 'Romance of the Charrington Jewels,' smoke and listen."

"Did you go to Mr. Charrington as you said you would?" I asked as I lit my cigar.

"_Smoke and listen!_" said Dorcas with mock severity in her tone of command. "Of course I went. I sent up my card to Mr. Charrington.

"Ushered into his room he gave me a searching glance and his face changed.

"'This card says 'Dorcas Dene, Detective'?' he exclaimed. 'But surely--you--you are very like someone I have seen lately!'

"'I had the pleasure of being your wife's parlour-maid, Mr. Charrington,' I replied quietly.

"'You have dared to come spying in my house!' exclaimed the barrister angrily.

"'I came to your house, Mr. Charrington, at your wife's request. She had missed some jewellery which you presented to her a day or two before you went into the country. Circumstances pointed to your son Claude as the thief, and your wife, anxious to avoid a scandal, called me in instead of the police.'

"The barrister dropped into his chair and rubbed his hands together nervously.

"'Indeed--and she said nothing to me. You are probably aware that you have been investigating a mare's nest--my wife's jewellery is not missing.'

"'No, it is not missing now, because when you returned from the country you put a similar set in its place.'

"'Good heavens, madame!' exclaimed Mr. Charrington, leaping to his feet, 'what do you mean?'

"'Pray be calm, sir. I assure you that I have come here not to make a scandal but to avoid one. After you gave your wife the jewellery, you for some reason secretly abstracted it. The jewellery you abstracted passed into the possession of Mrs. Rinaldi, whose husband pawned two of the articles at Attenborough's. As your wife is quite aware that for many days her jewellery was missing, I am bound to make an explanation of some kind to her. I have come to you to know what I shall say. You cannot wish her to believe that your son took the jewellery?'

"'Of course Claude must be cleared--but what makes you believe that I put the jewellery back?'

"'On the night you did it you pricked your finger with the pin of the lizard. You left a small bloodstain on the linen that was in the drawer, and when you turned down the sheet to get back into bed again your finger was still bleeding, and left its mark as evidence against you. Come Mr. Charrington, explain the circumstances under which you committed this rob-- well, let us say, made this exchange, and I will do my best to find a means of explaining matters to your wife.'

"Mr. Charrington hesitated a moment, and then, having probably made up his mind that it was better to have me on his side than against him, told me his story.

"At the time that he kept up an irregular establishment he made the lady who is now Mrs. Rinaldi many valuable presents of jewellery. Among them were the articles which had resulted in my becoming temporarily a parlour-maid under his roof. When the lady married Rinaldi, he provided for her. But the man turned out a rascal, squandered and gambled away his wife's money, and forced her to pawn her jewellery for him. He then by threats compelled her to forward the tickets to her former protector, and implore him to redeem them for her as she was without ready money to do so herself. The dodge succeeded two or three times, but Mr. Charrington grew tired, and on the last occasion redeemed the jewellery and put it in a drawer in his desk, and replied that he could not return it, as it would only be pawned again. He would keep it until the Rinaldis sent the money to redeem it, and then they could have it.

"Then came his wife's birthday, and he wished to make her a present of some jewellery. He selected a bracelet and a pendant in diamonds and sapphires and a true-lovers'-knot brooch in diamonds, and ordered them to be sent to his chambers.

"He was busy when they came, and put them away for safety in a drawer immediately below the one in which he had some weeks previously placed the jewellery belonging to Mrs. Rinaldi. Mrs. Rinaldi's jewellery, each article in its case, he had wrapped up in brown paper and marked outside 'jewellery,' to distinguish it from other packets which he kept there, and which contained various articles belonging to his late wife.

"On the eve of his wife's birthday he found he would have to leave town for the day without going to his office. He had to appear in a case at Kingston-on-Thames, which had come on much sooner than he had expected. Knowing he would not be back till late at night, he sent a note and his keys to his clerk, telling him to open his desk, take out the jewellery which had recently been forwarded from Streeter's, and send it up to him at his house. He wished his wife many happy returns of the day, apologised for not having his present ready, but said it would be sent up, and she should have it that evening.

"The clerk went to the desk and opened the wrong drawer first. Seeing a neatly tied-up parcel labelled 'jewellery,' he jumped to the conclusion that it was the jewellery wanted. Not caring to trust it to a messenger, he went straight up to the house with it, and handed it to Mrs. Charrington herself, who concluded it was her husband's present. When she opened the parcel she noticed that the cases were not new, and supposed that her husband had bought the things privately. She was delighted with the jewellery--a bracelet and pendant in diamonds and rubies and a diamond lizard.

"When her husband returned to dinner he was horrified to find his wife wearing his former mistress's jewellery. But before he could say a word she kissed him and told him that these things were just what she wanted.

"He hesitated after that to say a mistake had been made, and thought that silence was best. The next day Mrs. Charrington received news of her brother's death, and had to go into deep mourning. The new jewellery was put away, as she would not be able to wear it for many months.

"That afternoon at Mr. Charrington's chambers Rinaldi called upon him. Desperately hard up, he had determined to try and bully Mr. Charrington out of the jewellery. He shouted and swore, and talked of an action at law and exposure, and was delighted to find that his victim was nervous. Mr. Charrington declared that he could not give him the jewellery back. Whereupon Mr. Rinaldi informed him that if by twelve o'clock the next day it was not in his possession he should summon him for detaining it.

"Mr. Charrington rushed off to his jewellers. How long would it take them to find the exact counterpart of certain jewellery if he brought them the things they had to match? And how long would they want the originals? The jewellers said if they had them for an hour and made a coloured drawing of them they could make up or find a set within ten days.

"That night Charrington abstracted the birthday present he had given his wife from her jewel-box. The next morning at ten o'clock it was in the hands of the jewellers, and at mid-day when Rinaldi called to make his final demand the jewellery was handed over to him.

"Then Mr. Charrington went out of town. On his return the new jewellery was ready and was delivered to him. In the dead of the night while his wife was asleep he put it back in the empty cases. And that," said Dorcas, "is--as Dr. Lynn, at the Egyptian Hall, used to say--'how it was done.'"

"And the wife?" asked Paul, turning his blind eyes towards Dorcas; "you did not make her unhappy by telling her the truth?"

"No, dear," said Dorcas. "I arranged the story with Mr. Charrington. He went home and asked his wife for her birthday present. She brought the jewels out nervously, wondering if he had heard or suspected anything. He took the bracelet and the pendant from the cases.

"'Very pretty, indeed, my dear,' he said. 'And so you've never noticed the difference?'

"'Difference?' she exclaimed. 'Why--why--what do you mean?'

"'Why, that I made a dreadful mistake when I bought them and only found it out afterwards. The first that I gave you, my dear, were imitation. I wouldn't confess to you that I had been done, so I took them without your knowing and had real ones made. The real ones I put back the other night while you were fast asleep.'

"Oh, Claude, Claude,' she cried, 'I am so glad. I did miss them, dear, and I was afraid there was a thief in the house, and I dared not tell you I'd lost them. And now--oh, how happy you've made me!'"

* * * * * * *

Two months later Dorcas told me that young Claude Charrington was engaged to Miss Dolamore with his father's consent, but he had insisted that she should leave Fitzroy Street at once, and acting on private information which Dorcas had given him, he assured Claude that diamond lizards were unlucky, and as he had seen Miss Dolamore with one on he begged to offer her as his first present to his son's intended a very beautiful diamond true-lovers'-knot in its place. At the same time he induced his wife to let him have her diamond lizard for a much more valuable diamond poodle with ruby eyes.

So those two lizards never met under Mrs. Charrington's roof, and perhaps, all things considered, it was just as well.

_VII. THE MYSTERIOUS MILLIONAIRE_

I had received an invitation to spend the evening at Oak Tree Road, but I had been detained by business, and it was past nine o'clock when my cabman, making a mistake in the number, pulled up at a house short of the Denes'. While I was feeling in all my pockets for the odd sixpence to make up the cabman's fare--as usual with the fraternity he had no change--the door opened, and an elegantly-dressed lady came hurriedly out.

She started back nervously as she saw me, and I at once jumped to the conclusion that it was a lady who was paying her first visit to a private detective, and was fearful that someone might see her and recognise her.

She seemed to hesitate for a moment, till she saw me hand the fare to the cabman, then she hailed him and got in, lifted the trap door, and said, "Drive to St. John's Wood Chapel."

"She'll tell him where to drive her when she gets to the chapel," I said to myself, as I stood and watched the cab out of sight.

The lady, in her agitation, had forgotten to pull the door to, so I entered without ringing, walked up the little garden path, and found Dorcas waiting for me in the hall with the house door wide open.

"You've been having a good look at my lady visitor, Mr. Saxon," she said with a smile. "Well, she will probably think you are another client."

"And pray how do you know that I have been having 'a good look,' as you call it, at your visitor?" I said laughingly.

"I heard your cab drive up just as I was letting her out; she left the door ajar, and you would have come in at once if you had not been otherwise engaged. You didn't even come in, you know, when the cab drove away, so I conclude that you looked after it for some time, probably making a mental note of the number."

"You have guessed exactly what passed in my mind. I saw you had an aristocratic visitor, and a nervous one, and I wondered if there was anything for me to do this time."

"I don't know yet," said Dorcas, "but come into the drawing-room. Mother is spending the evening with some friends of hers, and Paul has been alone for nearly an hour. My new client's first visit has been rather a long one."

Dorcas led the way to the drawing-room, where Paul was sitting on the sofa with Toddlekins, the bulldog, stretched out across his knees.

Paul put the dog gently down, and rising as I entered, held out his hand. "We expected you two hours ago," he said, "but better late than not at all. I thought Dorcas's visitor was going to stay for hours, and that you weren't coming, and that I should really begin to recognise the value of Mrs. Lester as a conversationalist in my solitary condition."

"I'm awfully sorry, dear," said Dorcas, taking her husband's arm, and drawing him gently down on the sofa beside her, "but it's always the way. Directly I've made up my mind to have a quiet evening with you, somebody is sure to call."

"Is it a case?" asked Paul.

"Yes, and I'm afraid it will be rather a difficult one; but it won't take me away from home altogether, thank goodness. At least, I hope not. But I'll tell you all about it, and see what you think. I haven't made up my mind yet how to start on my task."

"Oh, it isn't a pressing case, then?" I said. "I was hoping that I'd arrived just in the nick of time for an 'engagement.'"

"It isn't particularly pressing _now,_" replied Dorcas, looking at the clock on the mantelpiece, "but it will be at midnight, for at that hour I have to be under a lamp-post in Berkeley Square."

"Under a lamp-post in Berkeley Square at midnight! Then I'm sure Paul will agree with me that it _is_ a case for my assistance. I'm to be under that lamp-post with Dorcas, am I not, Paul?"

Paul smiled. "That's for Dorcas to say, old fellow. She knows her business better than we do. But we'll leave the lamp-post for further consideration. Let us have the case, Dorcas."

"It is simple so far," said the famous lady detective, "but none the less mysterious for that. The lady who has just left me is the wife of Mr. Judkins Barraclough."

"What--the mysterious millionaire, who three years ago fell apparently from the clouds and descended on London in a shower of gold?--the Crœsus who seems to have discovered the royal road to the perpetual paragraph?"

"The same."

"Then the lady I met at the gate was Lady Anna Barraclough. He married her about a year ago. She was a young widow. Her first husband ran through all his money on the turf and left her very badly off when he died at the age of seven-and-twenty of--let me see, what did they call it?--typhoid, I think."

"Quite right," said Dorcas, "your account agrees with the short sketch of her career Lady Anna Barraclough has already given me."

"What could she have married a man like Judkins Barraclough for?--his money, I suppose. He must be five-and-forty, and he has all the worst qualities of the ostentatious parvenu. Is it about him that she has come to you?"

"Yes, poor girl--for she is only five-and-twenty now--she made me feel quite sorry for her when she told me her story. She has had a terrible experience of marriage. Her first husband she loved, and he spent every shilling of her money as well as his own. When Mr. Judkins Barraclough met her she was dependent on a married brother, the Earl of Dashton, whose wife detested her. When the millionaire proposed to her, the poor girl, worried and embittered by the constant humiliation of her dependent position, accepted his offer in the recklessness of despair. She didn't expect to be happy with a man whom she felt it was impossible she could ever love, but at least she hoped for peace. And now--guess why she has come to me to-night."

"To get a divorce, I should think. It would be about the best thing you _could_ get for her, if all I hear of Mr. Judkins Barraclough's manners and habits is correct. I suppose he married her because he thought a wife who was a lady of title would be a good advertisement for him. _Is_ it to get a divorce she has come to you?"

"No, Lady Anna has a haunting suspicion that the man she married is not her legal husband--that he had a wife living when he married her."

"Then if she thinks that why doesn't she go to the police?"

Dorcas shook her head. "You forget the man is a millionaire living in Berkeley Square--the police would hardly take up a charge against him made by his wife merely because she _suspects._ 'If I am really this man's wife,' said Lady Anna, 'I have no right to go to the police, for he is my husband. I have come to you to find out everything for me first. Oh, if you can only tell me that I am a free woman, that I owe no further allegiance to this wretch whom I despise--whom I loathe--you will have done me the greatest service one woman can do for another!' Poor girl! It was a cry from the heart. I felt sorry for her, and I promised that I would do anything I could to ease her mind, or, at any rate, to put an end to the dreadful state of suspicion and uncertainty in which she is at present living. Oh!" said Dorcas, with a shudder, "how horrible it must be, to have to go about before the world with a smiling face bearing the name of a man you detest--to have to submit alike to the curses and the caresses of a man whom in your heart you believe to be the husband of another woman!"

"And what is your idea?" I said, looking scrutinisingly at Dorcas's face.

"To-night I shall start on my voyage of discovery. I shall see Mr. Judkins Barraclough, the famous millionaire, and then I shall begin to trace him back and back until I find out----"

"What?"

"Who he was before he arrived in London from South America and set up as a millionaire."

"But you say Lady Anna Barraclough suspects her husband of being a bigamist--what has put such an unpleasant idea into her head?"