The Penguin Book of Gaslight Crime - Michael Sims [27]
“You have fulfilled my instructions admirably,” said Carne. “And if the business comes off, as I expect it will, you shall receive your usual percentage. Now I must be turned into Klimo and be off to Belgrave Square to put His Grace upon the track of this burglar.”
Before he retired to rest that night Simon Carne took something, wrapped in a red silk handkerchief, from the capacious pocket of the coat Klimo had been wearing a few moments before. Having unrolled the covering, he held up to the light the magnificent necklace which for so many years had been the joy and pride of the ducal house of Wiltshire. The electric light played upon it, and touched it with a thousand different hues.
“Where so many have failed,” he said to himself, as he wrapped it in the handkerchief again and locked it in his safe, “it is pleasant to be able to congratulate oneself on having succeeded.”
Next morning all London was astonished by the news that the famous Wiltshire diamonds had been stolen, and a few hours later Carne learnt from an evening paper that the detectives who had taken up the case, upon the supposed retirement from it of Klimo, were still completely at fault.
That evening he was to entertain several friends to dinner. They included Lord Amberley, Lord Orpington, and a prominent member of the Privy Council. Lord Amberley arrived late, but filled to overflowing with importance. His friends noticed his state, and questioned him.
“Well, gentlemen,” he answered, as he took up a commanding position upon the drawing-room hearthrug, “I am in a position to inform you that Klimo has reported upon the case, and the upshot of it is that the Wiltshire Diamond Mystery is a mystery no longer.”
“What do you mean?” asked the others in a chorus.
“I mean that he sent in his report to Wiltshire this afternoon, as arranged. From what he said the other night, after being alone in the room with the empty jewel case and a magnifying glass for two minutes or so, he was in a position to describe the modus operandi, and, what is more, to put the police on the scent of the burglar.”
“And how was it worked?” asked Carne.
“From the empty house next door,” replied the other. “On the morning of the burglary a man, purporting to be a retired army officer, called with an order to view, got the caretaker out of the way, clambered along to Wiltshire House by means of the parapet outside, reached the room during the time the servants were at breakfast, opened the safe, and abstracted the jewels.”
“But how did Klimo find all this out?” asked Lord Orpington.
“By his own inimitable cleverness,” replied Lord Amberley. “At any rate it has been proved that he was correct. The man did make his way from next door, and the police have since discovered that an individual answering to the description given, visited a pawnbroker’s shop in the city about an hour later, and stated that he had diamonds to sell.”
“If that is so it turns out to be a very simple mystery after all,” said Lord Orpington as they began their meal.
“Thanks to the ingenuity of the cleverest detective in the world,” remarked Amberley.
“In that case here’s a good health to Klimo,” said the Privy Councillor, raising his glass.
“I will join you in that,” said Simon Carne. “Here’s a very good health to Klimo and his connection with the Duchess of Wiltshire’s diamonds. May he always be equally successful!”
“Hear, hear to that,” replied his guests.
E. W. HORNUNG
For at least the first half of the twentieth century, one thief’s reputation dwarfed that of his rivals as surely as Sherlock Holmes towered above other detectives. From his first appearance in 1898, the cricket-playing, safe-cracking A. J. Raffles caught the public’s imagination almost as much as Holmes had a few years earlier. Between the two there were connections beyond mere analogy. The thief’s creator, E. W. Hornung,