EXTRACT: Masters of Mystery edited by Martin Radcliffe

Guy Boothby
The Duchess of Wiltshire’s Diamonds

To the reflective mind the rapidity with which the inhabitants of the world’s greatest city seize upon a new name or idea, and familiarise themselves with it, can scarcely prove otherwise than astonishing. As an illustration of my meaning let me take the case of Klimo – the now famous private detective, who has won for himself the right to be considered as great as Lecocq, or even the late lamented Sherlock Holmes.
Up to a certain morning London had never even heard his name, nor had it the remotest notion as to who or what he might be. It was as sublimely ignorant and careless on the subject as the inhabitants of Kamtchatka or Peru. Within twenty-fours hours, however, the whole aspect of the case was changed. The man, woman, or child who had not seen his posters, or heard his name, was counted an ignoramus unworthy of intercourse with human beings.
Princes became familiar with it as their trains bore them to Windsor to luncheon with the Queen; the nobility noticed and commented upon it as they drove about the town; merchants, and business men generally, read it as they made ways by omnibus or underground, to their various shops and counting-houses; street boys called each other by it as a nickname; music hail artists introduced it into their patter, while it was even rumoured that the Stock Exchange itself had paused in the full flood of business to manufacture a riddle on the subject.
That Klimo made his profession pay him well was certain, first from the fact that his advertisements must have cost a good round sum, and, second, because he had taken a mansion in Belverton Street, Park Lane, next door to Porchester House, where, to the dismay of that aristocratic neighbourhood, he advertised that he was prepared to receive and be consulted by his clients. The invitation was responded to with alacrity, and from that day forward, between the hours of twelve and two, the pavement upon the north side of the street was lined with carriages, every one containing some person desirous of testing the great man’s skill.
I must here explain that I have narrated all this in order to show the state of affairs in Belverton Street and Park Lane when Simon Carne arrived, or was supposed to arrive, in Kingsland. If my memory serves me correctly, it was on Wednesday, the 3rd of May, that the Earl of Amberley drove to Victoria to meet and welcome the man whose acquaintance he had made in India under such peculiar circumstances, and under the spell of whose fascination he and his family had fallen so completely.
Reaching the station, his lordship descended from his carriage, and made his way to the platform set apart for the reception of the Continental express. He walked with a jaunty air, and seemed to be on the best of terms with himself and the world in general. How little he suspected the existence of the noose into which he was so innocently running his head!
As if out of compliment to his arrival, the train put in an appearance within a few moments of his reaching the platform. He immediately placed himself in such a position that he could make sure of seeing the man he wanted, and waited patiently until he should come in sight. Carne, however, was not among the first batch; indeed, most passengers had passed before his lordship caught sight of him.
One thing was very certain, however great the crush might have been, it would have been difficult to mistake Carne’s figure. The man’s infirmity and the peculiar beauty of his face rendered him easily recognisable. Possibly, after his long sojourn in India, he found the morning cold, for he wore a long fur coat, the collar of which he had turned up round his ears, thus making a fitting frame for his delicate face. On seeing Lord Amberley he hastened forward to greet him.
‘This is most kind and friendly of you,’ he said, as he shook the other by the hand. ‘A fine day and Lord Amberley to meet me. One could scarcely imagine a better welcome.’
As he spoke, one of his Indian servants approached and salaamed before him. He gave him an order, and received an answer in Hindustani, whereupon he turned again to Lord Amberley.
‘You may imagine how anxious I am to see my new dwelling,’ he said. ‘My servant tells me that my carriage is here, so may I hope that you will drive back with me and see for yourself how I am likely to be lodged?’
‘I shall be delighted,’ said Lord Amberley, who was longing for the opportunity, and they accordingly went out into the station yard together to discover a brougham, drawn by two magnificent horses, and with Nur Ali, in all the glory of white raiment and crested turban, on the box, waiting to receive them. His lordship dismissed his Victoria, and when Jowur Singh had taken his place beside his fellow servant upon the box, the carriage rolled out of the station yard in the direction of Hyde Park.
‘I trust her ladyship is quite well,’ said Simon Carne politely, as they turned into Gloucester Place.
‘Excellently well, thank you,’ replied his lordship. ‘She bade me welcome you to England in her name as well as my own, and I was to say that she is looking forward to seeing you.’
‘She is most kind, and I shall do myself the honour of calling upon her as soon as circumstances will permit,’ answered Carne. ‘I beg you will convey my best thanks to her for her thought of me.’
While these polite speeches were passing between them they were rapidly approaching a large hoarding, on which was displayed a poster setting forth the name of the now famous detective, Klimo.
Simon Carne, leaning forward, studied it, and when they had passed, turned to his friend again.
‘At Victoria and on all the hoardings we meet I see an enormous placard, bearing the word “Klimo”. Pray, what does it mean?’
His lordship laughed.
‘You are asking a question which, a month ago, was on the lips of nine out of every ten Londoners. It is only within the last fortnight that we have learned who and what “Klimo” is.’
‘And pray what is he?’
‘Well, the explanation is very simple. He is neither more nor less than a remarkably astute private detective, who has succeeded in attracting notice in such a way that half London has been induced to patronise him. I have had no dealings with the man myself. But a friend of mine, Lord Orpington, has been the victim of a most audacious burglary, and, the police having failed to solve the mystery, he has called Klimo in. We shall therefore see what he can do before many days are past. But, there, I expect you will soon know more about him than any of us.’
‘Indeed! And why?’
‘For the simple reason that he has taken number one, Belverton Terrace, the house adjoining your own, and sees his clients there.’
Simon Carne pursed up his lips, and appeared to be considering something.
‘I trust he will not prove a nuisance,’ he said at last. ‘The agents who found me the house should have acquainted me with the fact. Private detectives, on however large a scale, scarcely strike one as the most desirable of neighbours, particularly for a man who is so fond of quiet as myself.’ At this moment they were approaching their destination.
As the carriage passed Belverton Street and pulled up, Lord Amberley pointed to a long line of vehicles standing before the detective’s door.
‘You can see for yourself something of the business he does,’ he said. ‘Those are the carriages of his clients, and it is probable that twice as many have arrived on foot.’
‘I shall certainly speak to the agent on the subject,’ said Carne. with a shadow of annoyance upon his face. ‘I consider the fact of this man’s being so close to me a serious drawback to the house.’
Jowur Singh here descended from the box and opened the door in order that his master and his guest might alight, while portly Ram Gafur, the butler, came down the steps and salaamed before them with Oriental obsequiousness. Carne greeted his domestics with kindly condescension, and then, accompanied by the ex-Viceroy, entered his new abode.
‘I think you may congratulate yourself upon having secured one of the most desirable residences in London,’ said his lordship ten minutes or so later, when they had explored the principal rooms.
‘I am very glad to hear you say so,’ said Carne. ‘I trust your lordship will remember that you will always be welcome in the house as long as I am its owner.’
‘It is very kind of you to say so,’ returned Lord Amberley warmly. ‘I shall look forward to some months of pleasant intercourse. And now I must be going. Tomorrow, perhaps, if you have nothing better to do, you will give us the pleasure of your company at dinner. Your fame has already gone abroad, and we shall ask one or two nice people to meet you, including my brother and sister-in-law, Lord and Lady Gelpington, Lord and Lady Orpington, and my cousin, the Duchess of Wiltshire, whose interest in china and Indian art, as perhaps you know, is only second to your own. ‘
‘I shall be most glad to come.’
wall between the two houses was disclosed. Through this door Carne passed, drawing it behind him.
In number one, Belverton Terrace, the house occupied by the detective, whose presence in the street Carne seemed to find so objectionable, the entrance thus constructed was covered by the peculiar kind of confessional box in which Klimo invariably sat to receive his clients, the rearmost panels of which opened in the same fashion as those in the wardrobe in the dressing-room. These being pulled aside, he had but to draw them to again after him, take his seat, ring the electric bell to inform his housekeeper that he was ready, and then welcome his clients as quickly as they cared to come.
Punctually at two o’clock the interviews ceased, and Klimo. having reaped an excellent harvest of fees, returned to Porchester House to become Simon Carne once more.
Possibly it was due to the fact that the Earl and Countess of Amberley were brimming over with his praise, or it may have been the rumour that he was worth as many millions as you have fingers upon your hand that did it; one thing, however, was self evident, within twenty-four hours of the noble earl’s meeting him at Victoria Station, Simon Carne was the talk, not only of fashionable, but also of unfashionable London.
That his household were, with one exception, natives of India, that he had paid a rental for Porchester House which ran into five figures, that he was the greatest living authority upon china and Indian art generally, and that he had come over to England in search of a wife, were among the smallest of the canards set afloat concerning him.
During dinner next evening Carne put forth every effort to please. He was placed on the right hand of his hostess and next to the Duchess of Wiltshire. To the latter he paid particular attention, and to such good purpose that when the ladies returned to the drawing-room afterwards, Her Grace was full of his praises. They had discussed china of all sorts, Carne had promised her a specimen which she had longed for all her life, but had never been able to obtain, and in return she had promised to show him the quaintly carved Indian casket in which the famous necklace, of which he of course, heard, spent most of its time. She would be wearing the jewels in question at her own ball in a week’s time, she informed him, and if he would care to see the case when it came from her bankers on that day, she would be only too pleased to show it to him.
As Simon Carne drove home in his luxurious brougham afterwards, he smiled to himself as he thought of the success which was attending his first endeavour. Two of the guests, who were stewards of the Jockey Club, had heard with delight his idea of purchasing a horse, in order to have an interest in the Derby. While another, on hearing that he desired to become the possessor of a yacht, had offered to propose him for the RCYC. To crown it all, however, and much better than all, the Duchess of Wiltshire had promised to show him her famous diamonds.
‘But satisfactory as my progress has been hitherto,’ he said to himself, ‘it is difficult to see how I am to get possession of the stones. From what I have been able to discover, they are only brought from the bank on the day the Duchess intends to wear them, and they are taken back by His Grace the morning following.
‘While she has got them on her person it would be manifestly impossible to get them from her. And as, when she takes them off, they are returned to their box and placed in a safe, constructed in the wall of the bedroom adjoining, and which for the occasion is occupied by the butler and one of the under-footmen, the only key being in the possession of the Duke himself, it would be equally foolish to hope to appropriate them. In what manner, therefore, I am to become their possessor passes my comprehension. However, one thing is certain, obtained they must be, and the attempt must be made on the night of the ball if possible. In the meantime I’ll set my wits to work upon a plan.’
Next day Simon Carne was the recipient of an invitation to the ball in question, and two days later he called upon the Duchess of Wiltshire, at her residence in Belgrave Square, with a plan prepared. He also took with him the small vase he had promised her four nights before. She received him most graciously, and their talk fell at once into the usual channel. Having examined her collection, and charmed her by means of one or two judicious criticisms, he asked permission to include photographs of certain of her treasures in his forthcoming book, then little by little he skilfully guided the conversation on to the subject of jewels.
‘Since we are discussing gems, Mr Carne,’ she said, ‘perhaps it would interest you to see my famous necklace. By good fortune I have it in the house now, for the reason that an alteration is being made to one of the clasps by my jewellers.’
‘I should like to see it immensely,’ answered Carne. ‘At one time and another I have had the good fortune to examine the jewels of the leading Indian princes, and I should like to be able to say that I have seen the famous Wiltshire necklace.’
‘Then you shall certainly have the honour,’ she answered with a smile. ‘If you will ring that bell I will send for it.’
Carne rang the bell as requested, and when the butler entered he was given the key of the safe and ordered to bring the case to the drawing-room.
‘We must not keep it very long,’ she observed while the man was absent. ‘It is to be returned to the bank in an hour’s time.’
‘I am indeed fortunate,’ Carne replied, and turned to the description of some curious Indian wood carving, of which he was making a special feature in his book. As he explained, he had collected his illustrations from the doors of Indian temples, from the gateways of palaces, from old brass work, and even from carved chairs and boxes he had picked up in all sorts of odd corners. Her Grace was most interested.
‘How strange that you should have mentioned it,’ she said. ‘If carved boxes have any interest for you, it is possible my jewel case itself may be of use to you. As I think I told you during Lady Amberley’s dinner, it came from Benares, and has carved upon it the portraits of nearly every god in the Hindu Pantheon.’
‘You raise my curiosity to fever heat,’ said Carne.
A few moments later the servant returned, bringing with him a wooden box, about sixteen inches long by twelve wide, and eight deep, which he placed upon a table beside his mistress, after which he retired.
‘This is the case to which I have just been referring,’ said the Duchess, placing her hand on the article in question. ‘If you glance at it you will see how exquisitely it is carved.’
Concealing his eagerness with an effort, Simon Carne drew his chair up to the table, and examined the box.
It was with justice she had described it as a work of art. What the wood was of which it was constructed Carne was unable to tell. It was dark and heavy, and, though it was not teak, closely resembled it. It was literally covered with quaint carving and of its kind was an unique work of art.
‘It is most curious and beautiful,’ said Carne when he had finished his examination. ‘In all my experience I can safely say I have never seen its equal. If you will permit me I should very much like to include a description and an illustration of it in my book.’
‘Of course you may do so; I shall be only too delighted,’ answered Her Grace. ‘If it will help you in your work I shall be glad to lend it to you for a few hours, in order that you may have the illustration made.’
This was exactly what Carne had been waiting for, and he accepted the offer with alacrity.
‘Very well, then,’ she said. ‘On the day of my ball, when it will be brought from the bank again, I will take the necklace out and send the case to you. I must make one proviso, however, and that is that you let me have it back the same day.’
‘I will certainly promise to do that,’ replied Carne.
‘And now let us look inside,’ said his hostess.
Choosing a key from a bunch she carried in her pocket, she unlocked the casket, and lifted the lid. Accustomed as Carne had all his life been to the sight of gems, what he then saw before him almost took his breath away. The inside of box, both sides and bottom, was quilted with the softest Russia leather, and on this luxurious couch reposed the famous necklace. The fire of the stones when the light caught them was sufficient to dazzle the eyes, so fierce was it.
As Carne could see, every gem was perfect of its kind, and there were no fewer than three hundred of them. The setting was a fine example of the jeweller’s art, and last, but not least, the value of the whole affair was fifty thousand pounds, a mere flea-bite to the man who had given it to his wife, but a fortune to any humbler person.
‘And now that you have seen my property, what do you think of it?’ asked the Duchess as she watched her visitor’s face.
‘It is very beautiful,’ he answered, ‘and I do not wonder that you are proud of it. Yes, the diamonds are very fine, but I think it is their abiding place that fascinates me more. Have you any objection to my measuring it?’
‘Pray do so, if it is likely to be of any assistance to you,’ replied Her Grace.
Carne therefore produced a small ivory rule, ran it over the box, and the figures he thus obtained he jotted down in his pocket-book.
Ten minutes later, when the case had been returned to the safe, he thanked the Duchess for her kindness and took his departure, promising to call in person for the empty case on the morning of the ball.
Reaching home he passed into his study, and, seating himself at his writing table, pulled a sheet of notepaper towards him and began to sketch, as well as he could remember it, the box he had seen. Then he leant back in his chair and closed his eyes.
‘I have cracked a good many hard nuts in my time,’ he said reflectively, ‘but never one that seemed so difficult at first sight as this. As far as I see at present, the case stands as follows: the box will be brought from the bank where it usually reposes to Wiltshire House on the morning of the dance. I shall be allowed to have possession of it, without the stones of course, for a period possibly extending from eleven o’clock in the morning to four or five, at any rate not later than seven in the evening. After the ball the necklace will be returned to it, when it will be locked up in the safe, over which the butler and a footman will mount guard.
‘To get into the room during the night is not only too risky, but physically out of the question; while to rob Her Grace of her treasure during the progress of the dance would be equally impossible. The Duke fetches the casket and takes it back to the bank himself, so that to all intents and purposes I am almost as far off the solution as ever.’
Half an hour went by and found him still seated at his desk, staring at the drawing on the paper, then an hour. The traffic of the streets rolled past the house unheeded. Finally Jowur Singh announced his carriage, and, feeling that an idea might come to him with a change of scene, he set off for a drive in the park.

The story continues in Masters of Mystery...

Go to the Masters of Mystery Page

Click logo to buy from Amazon.co.uk