The Penguin Book of Gaslight Crime - Michael Sims [30]
The lawyer drew his chair nearer ours, and leant forward with a hand on either knee.
“On Tuesday of last week I had a telegram from Sir Bernard; I was to go to him at once. I found him waiting for me in the drive; without a word he led me to the picture-gallery, which was locked and darkened, drew up a blind, and stood simply pointing to an empty picture-frame. It was a long time before I could get a word out of him. Then at last he told me that the frame had contained one of the rarest and most valuable pictures in England—in the world—an original Velasquez. I have checked this,” said the lawyer, “and it seems literally true; the picture was a portrait of the Infanta Maria Teresa, said to be one of the artist’s greatest works, and second only to his portrait of one of the Popes in Rome—so they told me at the National Gallery, where they had its history by heart. They say there that the picture is practically priceless. And young Debenham has sold it for five thousand pounds!”
“The deuce he has!” said Raffles.
I inquired who had bought it.
“A Queensland legislator of the name of Craggs—the Hon. John Montagu Craggs, M.L.C., to give him his full title. Not that we knew anything about him on Tuesday last; we didn’t even know for certain that young Debenham had stolen the picture. But he had gone down for money on the Monday evening, had been refused, and it was plain enough that he had helped himself in this way; he had threatened revenge, and this was obviously it. Indeed, when I hunted him up in town on the Tuesday night, he confessed as much in the most brazen manner imaginable. But he wouldn’t tell me who was the purchaser, and finding out that took the rest of the week; but find it out I did, and a nice time I’ve had of it ever since! Backwards and forwards between Esher and the Métropole, where the Queenslander is staying, sometimes twice a day; threats, offers, prayers, entreaties, not one of them a bit of good!”
“But,” said Raffles, “surely it’s a clear case? The sale was illegal; you can pay him back his money and force him to give the picture up.”
“Exactly; but not without an action and a public scandal, and that my client declines to face. He would rather lose even his picture than have the whole thing get into the papers; he has disowned his son, but he will not disgrace him; yet his picture he must have by hook or crook, and there’s the rub! I am to get it back by fair means or foul. He gives me carte blanche in the matter, and, I verily believe, would throw in a blank cheque if asked. He offered one to the Queenslander, but Craggs simply tore it in two; the one old boy is as much a character as the other, and between the two of them I’m at my wits’ end.”
“So you put that advertisement in the paper?” said Raffles, in the dry tones he had adopted throughout the interview.
“As a last resort. I did.”
“And you wish us to steal this picture?”
It was magnificently said; the lawyer flushed from his hair to his collar.
“I knew you were not the men!” he groaned. “I never thought of men of your stamp! But it’s not stealing,” he exclaimed heatedly; “it’s recovering stolen property. Besides, Sir Bernard will pay him his five thousand as soon as he has the picture; and, you’ll see, old Craggs will be just as loth to let it come out as Sir Bernard himself. No, no—it’s an enterprise, an adventure, if you like—but not stealing.”
“You yourself mentioned the law,” murmured Raffles.
“And the risk,” I added.
“We pay for that,” he said once more.
“But not enough,” said Raffles, shaking his head. “My good sir, consider what it means to us. You spoke of those