 Chapter 5 of Martin Hewitt Investigator by Arthur Morrison This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Chapter 5 The Quinton Jewel Affair It was comparatively rarely that Hewitt came into contact with members of the regular criminal class. Those, I mean, who are thieves of one sort or another by exclusive profession. Still nobody could have been better prepared than Hewitt for encountering this class when it became necessary. By some means, which I never quite understood, he managed to keep abreast of the very latest fashions in the ever-changing slang dialect of the fraternity, and he was a perfect master of the more modern and debased form of Romany. So much so that frequently a gypsy who began, as they always do, by pretending that he understood nothing and never heard of a gypsy language, ended by confessing that Hewitt could rocker better than most Romany Charles themselves. By this acquaintance with their habits and talk, Hewitt was sometimes able to render efficient service in cases of special importance. In the Quinton Jewel Affair, Hewitt came into contact with a very accomplished thief. The case will probably be very well remembered. Sir Valentine Quinton, before he married, had been as poor as only a man of rank with an old country establishment to keep up can be. His marriage, however, with the daughter of a wealthy financier, had changed all that. And now the Quinton establishment was carried on, on as lavish a scale as might be, and indeed the extravagant habits of Lady Quinton herself rendered it an extremely lucky thing that she had brought a fortune with her. Among other things, her jewels made quite a collection, and chief among them was the great ruby, one of the very few that were sent to this country to be sold, at an average price of somewhere about twenty thousand pounds apiece, I believe, by the Burmese king before the annexation of his country. Let but a ruby be of a great size and color, and no equally fine diamond can approach its value. Well, this great ruby, which was set in a pendant by the by, together with a necklace, brooches, bracelets, earrings, indeed the greater part of Lady Quinton's collection, were stolen. The robbery was effected at the usual time and in the usual way, in cases of carefully planned jewelry robberies. The time was early evening, dinner time, in fact, and an entrance had been made by the window to Lady Quinton's dressing room, the door screwed up on the inside, and wires artfully stretched about the grounds below to overset anybody who might observe and pursue the thieves. On an investigation by London detectives, however, a feature of singularity was brought to light. There had plainly been only one thief at work at Radcot Hall, and no other had been inside the grounds. Alone he had planted the wires, opened the window, screwed the door, and picked the lock of the safe. Clearly, this was a thief of the most accomplished description. Some few days passed, and although the police had made various arrests, they appeared to be all mistakes, and the suspected persons were released one after another. I was talking of the robbery with Hewitt at lunch, and asked him if he had received any commission to hunt for the missing jewels. No, Hewitt replied. I haven't been commissioned. They are offering an immense reward, however, a very pleasant sum indeed. I have had a short note from Radcot Hall informing me of the amount, and that's all. Probably they fancy that I may take the case up as a speculation, but that is a great mistake. I'm not a beginner, and I must be commissioned in a regular manner hit or miss, if I am to deal with the case. I've quite enough commissions going now, and no time to waste hunting for a problematical reward. But we were nearer a clue to the Quinton jewels than we supposed. We talked of other things, and presently rose, and left the restaurant, strolling quietly toward home. Some little distance from the Strand and near our own door, we passed an excited Irishman, without doubt an Irishman by appearance and talk, who was pouring a torrent of angry complaints in the ears of a policeman. The policeman obviously thought little of the man's grievances, and with an amused smile appeared to be advising him to go home quietly and think no more about it. We passed on and mounted our stairs. Something interesting in our conversation made me stop for a little while at Hewitt's office door on my way up, and while I stood there the Irishman we had seen in the street mounted the stairs. He was a poorly dressed but sturdy looking fellow, apparently a labourer in a badly worn best suit of clothes. His agitation still held him, and without a pause he immediately burst out. Which of ye gentlemen be Mr Hewitt, sir? This is Mr Hewitt, I said. Do you want him? It's protection I want, sir, protection. I spake to the police, and they life at me, begot. Five days have I lived in London, and it is nothing but battle, murder, and sudden death for me here all day and every day, and the police say I'm drunk. He gesticulated wildly, and to me it seemed just possible that the police might be right. They say I'm drunk, sir, he continued, but begob, I believe they think I'm mad, and me being thracked and folly'd and dogged and waylaid and poisoned and landeered and kidnapped and murdered, and for why I do not know. And who's doing all this? Strangers, sir, strangers. To the stranger here I am myself, and for why they do it bates me, unless I be so like the Prince of Wales or some other crowned head, they thrigh to slaughter me. They're laying for me in the streets now, I missed out not, and for what they may throw next I can tell no more than Lord Mayor, and police won't listen to me. This, I thought, must be one of the very common cases of mental hallucination which one hears of every day, the belief of the sufferer that he is surrounded by enemies and followed by spies. It is probably the most usual delusion of the harmless lunatic. But what have these people done? He would ask, looking rather interested, although amused. What actual assaults have they committed, and when, and who told you to come here? Who told me is it, but who but the piler outside in the street below? I explain to him and says he, ah, you go and take a sleep, says he, you go and take a good sleep, and they'll be all gone when you wake up. But they'll murder me, says I. Oh, no, says he, smiling behind his ugly face. Oh, no, they won't. You take it easy, my friend, and go on. Take it easy, is it, and go on, says I. Why, that's just where they've been last, a ruination and a turning at the place upside down and me's trick on the edge unsensible a mile away. Take it easy, is it, you say, with all the daemons in this holy place jumping on me every minute in places promiscuous, but I can't tell where to turn. Descending and vanishing, marvelous and unaccountable. Take it easy, is it, says I. Well, my friend, says he, I can't help you. That's the marvelous and unaccountable department up the stairs, foreign and steve. Mr. Hewitt, that is, says he, that attends to the unaccountable department. Him is went by a minute to go. You go and bother him. That's how I was told, sir. Hewitt smiled. Very good, he said. And now, what are these extraordinary troubles of yours? Don't declaim, he added as the Irishman raised his hand and opened his mouth preparatory to another torrent of complaint. Just say in ten words, if you can, what they've done to you. I will, sir. One day, had I been in London, sir, one day only, and a low scut tried to poison me drink. Next day some other thief, as sin, showed me off a railway platform under a train, malicious and purposeful. Glory be he didn't kill me. But the very doctor that felt me bones tried to pick me pocket, I do believe. Sunday night I was grabbed outrageous in a dark turnin' round the ground, half strangled, and me pockets nigh ripped out of me trousers. And this very blessed mornin' of light I was struck unsensible, I left a livin' corpse, and mellagins penetrated, and all the thruck mishandled and rub up behind my back. Is that pangendery for the police to laugh at, sir? Had Hewitt not been there, I think I should have done my best to quiet the poor fellow with a few soothing words, and to persuade him to go home to his friends. His excited and rather confused manner, his fantastic story of a sort of general conspiracy to kill him, and the absurd reference to the doctor who tried to pick his pocket seemed to me plainly to confirm my first impression that he was insane. But Hewitt appeared strangely interested. Did they steal anything? he asked. Dibble a stick but midore's key, and that they took on and lift in the door. Hewitt opened his office door. Come in, he said, and tell me all about it. You come too, Brett. The Irishman and I followed him into the inner office, where, shutting the door, Hewitt suddenly turned on the Irishman and exclaimed sharply, Then you've still got it. He looked keenly in the man's eyes, but the only expression there was one of surprise. Got it, said the Irishman. Got fort, sir. Is it your thinking I've got the horrors, as well as the police? Hewitt's gaze relaxed. Sit down, sit down, he said. You've still got your watch and money, I suppose, since you weren't robbed. Oh, that glory be, I have it still, though for how long, or my own head for that matter, in this state of besiegement I cannot say. Now, said Hewitt, I want a full, true, and particular account of yourself and your doings for the last week. First, your name. Leamy's my name, sir. Michael Leamy. Lately from Ireland? Over from Dublin this last blessed Wednesday, and a cruel bad pundering it was in the boat, too, spake and av that same. Looking for work? That is my pursuit at present, sir. Did anything noticeable happen before these troubles of yours began, anything here in London or on the journey? Sure, the Irishman smiled. Part of the way I travelled first class, by favour of the gear, and I got a small job before I left the train. How was that? Why did you travel first class, part of the way? There was a station for where we stopped after a long run, and I got down to take the cramp out of me joints, and take a taste of drink. I overstayed somehow, and when I got to the train begob, it was on the move. There was a first class carriage door opening right front of me, and in that the yard crams me holus bolus. There was a juice of foreign gentlemen sitting there, and he stares at me umbrageous, but I was not discommoded being unbatchful by nature. We travelled along a heap of miles more till we came near London, after we had stopped at a station where they took tickets, and we went ahead again, and presently as we rips through some other station up jumps the gentleman opposite, swearing hard under his tongue, and looks out at the windy. I thought this train stopped here, says he. Chuck Farm observed Hewitt with a nod. The name I do not know, sir, but that's what he said. When he looks at me, uneasy, for a little, and at last he says, Would you like a small job, my good man, well paid? Faith, says I, it is that will suit me well. Then see here, says he. I should have got out of that station, have in particular business, have in mist, I must send a telegrammer from Houston. Now here's a bag, says he, a bag full of important papers for my solicitor, important to me, you understand? Not worth the shine of a brass farton to a soul else. And I want him took on to him, take you this bag, he says, and go use straight out with it at Houston and get a cab. I shall stay in the station a bit to see the telegram. Drive out at the station, across the road outside, and wait there five minutes by the clock. You understand? Wait five minutes, and maybe I'll come and join you. If I don't, it will be because I'm detained, unexpected. And then yield drive to my solicitor straight. Here's his address, if you can read righten, and he put out a piece of paper for me. He gave me half a crown for the cab, and I took his bag. One moment, have you the paper with the address now? I have not, sir. I missed it after the bloggers overset me yesterday, but the solicitor's name was Hollams, and a liberal gentleman with his money. He was, too, by that same token. What was his address? Twas in Chelsea, and Twas gold, or golden, something which I know by the good token of what he gave me, but the number I misremember. Hewitt turned to his directory. Gold Street is the place, probably, he said, and it seems to be a street chiefly of private houses. You would be able to point out the house if you were taken there, I suppose? I should that, sir, indeed. I was thinking of going there and telling Mr. Hollams all my troubles, him haven't been so kind. Now tell me exactly what instructions the man in the train gave you, and what happened? He says, you ask for Mr. Hollams, and see nobody else. Tell him ye've brought the sparks from Mr. W. I fancied I could see a sudden twinkle in Hewitt's eye, but he made no other sign, and the Irishman proceeded. Sparks, says I. Yes, sparks, says he. Mr. Hollams will know. Tis our joking word for him, sometimes papers is sparks when they set a lawsuit ablaze, and he laughed. But be sure ye say the sparks from Mr. W. He says again, because then he'll know you're genuine, and he'll pay ye handsome. Say, Mr. W says you're to have your regulars, if you like. Do you mind that? I, says I, that I'm to have my regulars. Well, sir, I took the bag and went out of the station, took the cab, and did as he told me. I waited the five minutes, but he never came, so off I drove to Mr. Hollams, and he treated me handsome, sir. Yes, but tell me exactly all he did. Mr. Hollams, sir, says I. Who are you? says he. McLeamy, sir, says I, from Mr. W. Witt's sparks. Oh, says he, didn't come in. I went in. They're in here, are they? says he, taken the bag. They are, sir, says I. And Mr. W. says I'm to have my regulars. You shall, says he. What shall we say now, a finnip? What's that, sir, says I. Oh, says he, I suppose you're a new hand. Five quid, understand that? Big up, I did understand it, and mighty placed I was to have come to a place where they pay five pun notes for carrion bags. So when he asked me, was I new to London, and should I take the same line of business? I told him I should for certain, or anything else paying like. Right, says he. Let me know when you've got anything. You'll find me all right. Any winked, friendly? Faith that I know I shall, sir, says I, with the money safe in my pocket. And I winked him back, congenial. I've a smart family about me, says he. And I treat him all fair and liberal. And saints, I thought it likely his family, had have all they wanted. See, and he was so free-handed, would a stranger. Then he asked me where I was a living in London. And when I told him nowhere, he told me I have a room in Muston Street, here by Drury Lane, that was to let, in a house his family knew very well. And I went straight there, and took it. And there I do be stayin' still, sir. I hadn't understood at first why he would took so much interest in the Irishman's narrative, but the latter part of it opened my eyes a little. It seemed that Lemie had, in his innocence, been made a conveyor of stolen property. I knew enough of Thede's slang to know that sparks meant diamonds or other jewels, that regulars was the term used for a payment made to a brother thief, who gave assistance in some small way, such as carrying the booty, and that the family was the time-honored expression for a gang of thieves. This was all on Wednesday, I understand, said Hewitt. Now tell me what happened on Thursday, the poisoning, or drugging, you know? Well, sir, I was walkin' out, and toward the evening I lost myself. Up comes a man, seemingly a stranger, and smacks me on the shoulder. Why, Mick, says he, it's Mick Lemie, I do believe. I am that, says I, but you I do not know. Not know me, says he, why I went to school with ye, and with that he hauls me off to a bar, Blarnean, and Minodorin, and orders drinks. Can ye rash me a poepleite, says he? And I turned to get it, but, lookin' back, sudden there was an onblush and thief of the world, tippin' a paper full of powder stuff into my glass. What did you do? Hewitt asked. I knocked the dirty face of him, sore, and can ye blame me? A maine scut, trying for to poison a well-mainant stranger. I knocked the face of him, and got away home. Now, the next misfortune? Faith, that was of a sort likely to turn out the last of all misfortunes. I went that day to the crystal palace, bein' disposed for a sport, seein' as I was new in London. Comin' home at night, there was a juice of a crowd on the station platform, consequence of a late thrain. Standin' by the edge of the platform at the fore-end, just as the thrain came in. Some invisible murder gives me a stupendous drive in the back, and over I went on the line mid-betwixt the rails. The engine came up and went half over me, without givin' me a scratch, because of me's centreless situation. And then the porter-men pulled me out, nigh-sick with fright, sir, as you may guess. A gentleman in the crowd sings out, I'm a medical man, and they took me in the waitin' room, and he investigated me, havin' turned everybody else out of the room. There was no broke bones, glory be, and the doctor-man, he was tellin' me so after feelin' me over, when I felt his hand in me waistcoat-pocket. And for what's this, sir, says I? Do you be lookin' for your fee the thief's way? He laughed, and said, I want no fee from ye ma man, and I did but feel your ribs. Thou on me conscience, he had done that under me waistcoat already, and so I came home. What did they do to you on Saturday? Saturday, sir, they gave me a whole holiday, and I began to think less of things. But on Saturday night, in a dark place, two black-yards took me throat from behind, nigh-toked me, flung me down, and went through all me pockets in about a quarter of a minute. And they took nothing, you say? Nothing, sir, but this mornin' I got my worst dose. I was traipsing along distressful and mighty sore in a street just away off the strand here, when I observed the doctor man that was at the Crystal Palace station, a smilein' and beckonin' at me from a door. How are ye now, says he? Well, says I, I'm moiety sore and sad bruised, says I. Is that so, says he? Step in here, so I stepped in, and before I could wink, there dropped a crack on the back of me head that sent me off as unknowledgeable as a corpse. I knew no more for a while, sore, whether half an hour or an hour, and thin I got up in a room marked Toulette. It was a house full of offices, by the same token like this. There was a sore bad lump on me head, see it, sir? And the whole whirl was spinnin' round rampages. The things out of me pockets were liin' on the floor by me, all burrin' the key of me room, so that the demons had been through me possessions again, bad luck to them. You are quite sure, are you, that everything was there, except the key? Certain, sir? Well, I got along to me room, sick and sorry enough, and doubtsome, whether I might get in with no key. But there was the key in the open door, and by this and that, all the stuff in the room, chair, table, bed, and all, was standin' on their heads twisty ways, and the bed clothes and everything else, such a disgraceful, shmash and conglomerated thruck as you never dreamed of. The chist of drawers was liin' on its face with all the drawers out and emptied on the floor, twas as though an army had been lootin', sir. But still nothing was gone. Nothin', so far as I investigated, sir, but I didn't stay. I came out to speak to the police, and two of them laughed at me, one after another. It has certainly been no laughing matter for you. Now tell me, have you anything in your possession, documents, or valuables, or anything, that any other person, to your knowledge, is anxious to get hold of? I have not, sir. Divell a document, as to valuables. Them and me is the coldest of strangers. Just call to mind now the face of the man who tried to put powder in your drink, and that of the doctor who attended to you in the railway station. Were they at all alike, or was either, like anybody you have seen before? Lemi puckered his forehead and thought. Faith, he said presently. They were a bit alike, though one had a beard and teller whiskers only. Neither happened to look like Mr. Hollams, for instance. Lemi started. Begob, but they did. They'd have been mortal like him if they'd been shaved. Then, after a pause, he suddenly added, Holy saints, is it the family he talked of? Hewitt laughed. Perhaps it is, he said, now as to the man who sent you with the bag. Was it an old bag? Bran Cracklin knew a brown lither bag. Locked? That I never tried, sir, it was not my concern. True, now as to this Mr. W. himself. Hewitt had been rummaging for some few minutes in a portfolio, and finally produced a photograph and held it before the Irishman's eye. Is that like him? he asked. Sure it's the man himself. Is he a friend of yours, sir? No, he's not exactly a friend of mine, Hewitt answered with a grim chuckle. I fancy he's one of that very respectable family you heard about at Mr. Hollams. Come along with me now to Chelsea and see if you can point out that house in Goldstreet. I'll send for a cab. He made for the outer office, and I went with him. What's all this, Hewitt? I asked. A gang of thieves with stolen property? Hewitt looked in my face and replied. It's the Quinton Ruby. What, the Ruby? Shall you take the case up, then? I shall. It is no longer a speculation. Then do you expect to find it at Hollams' house in Chelsea, I asked? No, I don't, because it isn't there. Else why are they trying to get it from this unlucky Irishman? There has been bad faith in Hollams' gang, I expect, and Hollams has missed the ruby and suspect's lemie of having taken it from the bag. Then who is this Mr. W whose portrait you have in your possession? See here, Hewitt turned over a small pile of recent newspapers and selected one, pointing at a particular paragraph. I kept that in mind because to me it seemed to be the most likely arrest of the lot, he said. It was an evening paper of the previous Thursday, and the paragraph was a very short one, thus. The man Wilkes, who was arrested at Euston Station yesterday in connection with the robbery of Lady Quinton's jewels, has been released, nothing being found to incriminate him. How does that strike you? asked Hewitt. Wilkes is a man well known to the police, one of the most accomplished burgers in this country, in fact. I have had no dealings with him as yet, but I found means, some time ago, to add his portrait to my little collection in case I might want it, and today it has been quite useful. The thing was plain now, Wilkes must have been bringing his booty to town and calculated on getting out at Chalk Farm, and thus eluding the watch which he doubtless felt pretty sure would be kept by telegraphic instruction at Euston for suspicious characters arriving from the direction of Radkitt. His transaction with Lemie was his only possible expedient to save himself from being hopelessly taken with the swag in his possession. The paragraph told me why Lemie had waited in vain for Mr. W. in the cab. What shall you do? I asked. I shall go to Gold Street House and find out what I can as soon as this cab turns up. There seemed a possibility of some excitement in the adventure, so I asked. Will you want any help? Hewitt smiled. I think I can get through it alone, he said. Then may I come and look on, I said. Of course I don't want to be in your way, and the result of the business, whatever it is, will be to your credit alone, but I am curious. Come then, by all means. The cab will be a four-wheeler, and there will be plenty of room. Gold Street was a short street of private houses, a very fair size, and of a half-varnished pretension to gentility. We drove slowly through, and Lemie had no difficulty in pointing out the house wherein he had been paid five pounds for carrying a bag. At the end the cab turned to the corner and stopped, while Hewitt wrote a short note to an official of Scotland Yard. Take this note, he instructed Lemie, to Scotland Yard in the cab, and then go home. I will pay the cabman now. I will, sir, and will I be protected? Oh, yes, stay home for the rest of the day, and I expect you'll be left alone in future. Perhaps I shall have something to tell you in a day or two. If I do, I'll send. Goodbye. The cab rolled off, and Hewitt and I strolled back along Gold Street. I think, Hewitt said, we will drop in on Mr. Hollams for a few minutes while we can. In a few hours I expect the police will have him, and his house too, if they attend promptly, to my note. Have you ever seen him? Not to my knowledge, though I may know him by some other name. Wilkes I know by sight, though he doesn't know me. What shall we say? That will depend on circumstances. I may not get my cue till the door opens, or even later. At worst I can easily apply for a reference as to Lemie, who, you remember, is looking for work. But we were destined not to make Mr. Hollams acquaintance after all. As we approached the house a great uproar was heard from the lower part, giving on to the area, and suddenly a man, hatless, and with a sleeve of his coat nearly torn away, burst through the door and up the area steps pursued by two others. I had barely time to observe that one of the pursuers carried a revolver, and that both hesitated and retired on seeing that several people were about the street, when Hewitt, gripping my arm and exclaiming, That's our man, started at a run after the fugitive. We turned to the next corner and saw the man 30 yards before us, walking, and pulling up his sleeves at the shoulder so as to conceal the rent. Plainly he felt safe from further molestation. That's Sam Wilkes, Hewitt explained as we followed. The juice of a foing gentleman who got Lemie to carry his bag, and the man who knows where the Quinton Ruby is, unless I am more than usually mistaken. Don't stare after him in case he looks round. Presently, when we get into the busier streets, I shall have a little chat with him. But for some time the man kept to the back streets. In time, however, he emerged into the Buckingham Palace road, and we saw him stop and look at a hat shop. But after a general look over the window and a glance in at the door he went on. Good sign, observed Hewitt, got no money with him, makes it easier for us. In a little while Wilkes approached a small crowd, gathered about a woman fiddler. Hewitt touched my arm, and a few quick steps took us past our man, and onto the opposite side of the crowd. When Wilkes emerged he met us, coming in the opposite direction. What, Sim! burst out Hewitt with apparent delight. I haven't piped your mug for a stretch. I thought you'd fell. Where's your caddy? Wilkes looked astonished and suspicious. I don't know you, he said. You've made a mistake. Hewitt laughed. I'm glad you don't know me, he said. If you don't, I'm pretty sure the Reelers won't. I think I faked my mug pretty well, and my cobbler too. Look here, I'll send you a new caddy. Strange blokes don't do that, eh? Wilkes was still suspicious. I don't know what you mean, he said. Then, after a pause, he added, Who are you then? Hewitt winked and screwed his face genially aside. Hooky, he said, I've had a lucky touch, and I'm Mr. Smith till I've melted the pieces. You come and damp it. I'm off, Wilkes replied, unless you're pale enough to lend me a quid, he added, laughing. I am that, responded Hewitt, plunging his hand into his pocket. I'm flush, my boy flush, and I've been wetting it pretty well today. I feel pretty jolly now, and I shouldn't wonder if I went home canon. Only a quid? Have two. If you want them, or three. There's plenty more, and you'll do the same for me some day. Here you are. Hewitt had, of a sudden, assumed the whole appearance, manners, and bearings of a slightly elevated rowdy. Now he pulled his hand from his pocket and extended it, full of silver, with five or six sovereigns interspersed, toward Wilkes. I'll have three quid, Wilkes said, with decision, taking the money, but I'm blowed if I remember you. Who's your pal? Hewitt jerked his hand in my direction, winked, and said in a low voice, He's all right having a rest, can't stand Manchester, and winked again. Wilkes laughed and nodded, and I understood from that that Hewitt had very flatteringly given me credit for being wanted by the Manchester police. We lurched into a public house and drank very little, very bad, whiskey, and water. Wilkes still regarded us curiously, and I could see him again and again glancing doubtfully in Hewitt's face. But the loan of three pounds had largely reassured him. Presently, Hewitt said, How about our old pal down in Gold Street? Do anything with him now, seen him lately? Wilkes looked up at the ceiling and shook his head. That's a good job! It'd be awkward if you were about there today, I can tell you. Why? Never mind, so long as you're not there. I know something, if I have been away. I'm glad I haven't had any truck with Gold Street lately, that's all. Do you mean the Realers are on it? Hewitt looked cautiously over his shoulder, leaned toward Wilkes, and said, Look here, this is the straight tip. I know this, I got it from the very narc that's given the show away. By six o'clock, number eight Gold Street will be turned inside out like an old glove, and everyone in the place will be— He finished the sentence by crossing his wrists like a handcuffed man. What's more, he went on, they know all about what's gone on there lately, and everybody that's been in or out for the last two months will be wanted particular, and will be found, I'm told. Hewitt concluded with a confidential frown, a nod, and a wink, and took another mouthful of whiskey. Then he added as an afterthought. So I'm glad you haven't been there lately. Wilkes looked in Hewitt's face and asked, Is that straight? Is it? replied Hewitt with emphasis. You go and have a look if you ain't afraid of being smug to yourself. Only I shan't go near number eight just yet, I know that. Wilkes fidgeted, finished his drink, and expressed his intention of going. Very well, if you won't have another, replied Hewitt, but he had gone. Good, said Hewitt, moving toward the door. He has suddenly developed a hurry. I shall keep him in sight, but you have better take cab and go straight to Houston. Take tickets to the nearest station to Radkitz. Ketersby, I think it is, and look up the train arrangements. Don't show yourself too much, and keep an eye on the entrance. Unless I am mistaken, Wilkes will be there pretty soon, and I shall be on his heels. If I am wrong, then you won't see the end of the fun, that's all. Hewitt hurried after Wilkes, and I took the cab and did as he wished. There was an hour and a few minutes I found to wait for the next train, and that time I occupied, as best I might, keeping a sharp look out across the quadrangle. Barely five minutes before the train was to leave, and just as I was beginning to think about the time of the next, a cab dashed up and Hewitt alighted. He hurried in, found me, and drew me aside into a recess, just as another cab arrived. Here he is, Hewitt said. I followed him as far as Houston rode, and then got my cabby to spurt up and pass him. He had had his mustache shaved off, and I feared you might not recognize him, and so let him see you. From our retreat we could see Wilkes hurry into the booking office. We watched him through to the platform and followed. He wasted no time, but made the best of his way to a third-class carriage at the extreme fore-end of the train. We have three minutes, Hewitt said, and everything depends on his not seeing us get into this train. Take this cap. Fortunately we're both in tweeds. He had bought a couple of tweed cricket caps, and these we assumed, sending our bowler hats to the cloakroom. Hewitt also put on a pair of blue spectacles, and then walked boldly up the platform and entered a first-class carriage. I followed, close on his heels, in such a manner that a person looking from the fore-end of the train would be able to see but very little of me. So far so good, said Hewitt, when we receded and the train began to move off. I must keep a look out at each station in case our friend goes off unexpectedly. I waited some time, I said. Where did you both go to? First he went and bought that hat he is wearing. Then he walked some distance, dodging the main thoroughfares and keeping to the back streets in a way that made following difficult, till he came to a little tailor's shop. There he entered and came out in a quarter of an hour with his coat mended. This was in a street in Westminster. Presently he worked his way up to Tottle Street, and there he plunged into a barber's shop. I took a cautious peep at the window, saw two or three other customers also waiting, and took the opportunity to rush over to a notion shop and buy these blue spectacles, and to a hatters for these caps, of which I regret to observe that yours is too big. He was rather a long while in the barbers, and finally came out, as you saw him, with no mustache. This was a good indication. It made it plainer than ever that he had believed my warning as to the police dissent on the house in Gold Street and its frequenters, which was right and proper for what I told him was quite true. The rest you know. He cabbed to the station, and so did I. And now, perhaps, I said, after giving me the character of a thief wanted by Manchester Police, forcibly depriving me of my hat in exchange for this all-too-large cap, and rushing me out of London without any definite idea of when I'm coming back, perhaps you'll tell me what we're after. Hewitt laughed. You wanted to join in, you know, he said, and you must take your luck as it comes. As a matter of fact there is scarcely anything in my profession so uninteresting and so difficult as this watching and following business. Often it lasts for weeks when we alight, we shall have to follow Wilkes again under the most difficult possible conditions. In the country there it is often quite impossible to follow a man unobserved. It is only because it is the only way that I am undertaking it now. As to what we're after, you know that as well as I, the Quinton Ruby. Wilkes has hidden it, and without his help it would be impossible to find it. We are following him so that he will find it for us. He must have hidden it, I suppose, to avoid sharing with Hollams. Of course, and availed himself of the fact of Lemie having carried the bag to direct Hollams's suspicion to him. Hollams found out, by his repeated searches of Lemie and his lodgings, that this was wrong, and this morning evidently tried to persuade the Ruby out of Wilkes' possession with a revolver. We saw the upshot of that. Ketterby's station was about forty miles out. At each intermediate stopping station he would watch earnestly, but Wilkes remained in the train. What I fear, he would observe, is that at Ketterby he may take a fly. To stalk a man on foot in a country is difficult enough, but you can't follow one vehicle in another without being spotted. But if he's so smart as I think he won't do it, a man travelling in a fly is noticed and remembered in these places. He did not take a fly. At Ketterby we saw him jump out quickly and hasten from the station. The train stood for a few minutes and he was out of the station before we alighted. Through the railings behind the platform we could see him walking briskly away to the right. From the ticket collector we ascertained that radcut lay in that direction three miles off. To my dying day I shall never forget that three miles. They seemed three hundred. In the still country almost every footfall seemed audible for any distance. And in the long stretches of road one could see half a mile behind or before. Hewitt was cool and patient, but I got into a fever of worry, excitement, want of breath and backache. At first for a little the road zigzagged and then the chase was comparatively easy. We waited behind one bend till Wilkes had passed the next and then hurried in his trail treading in the dustiest parts of the road or on the side grass when there was any to deaden the sound of our steps. At the last of these short bends we looked ahead and saw a long white stretch of road with the dark form of Wilkes a couple of hundred yards in front. It would never do to let him get to the end of this great stretch before following as he might turn off at some branch road out of sight and be lost. So we jumped the hedge and scuttled along as we best might on the other side with backs bent and our feet often many inches deep in wet clay. We had to make continual stoppages to listen and peep out and on one occasion happening unconsciously to stand erect looking after him. I was much startled to see Wilkes with his face toward me gazing down the road. I ducked like lightning and fortunately he seemed not to have observed me but went on as before. He had probably heard some slight noise but looked straight along the road for its explanation instead of over the hedge. At hilly parts of the road there was extreme difficulty indeed on approaching a rise it was usually necessary to lie down under the hedge till Wilkes had passed the top since from the higher ground he could have seen us easily. This improved neither my clothes, my comfort, nor my temper. Luckily we never encountered the difficulty of a long and high wall but once we were nearly betrayed by a man who shouted to order us off his field. At last we saw just ahead the square tower of an old church set about with thick trees. Opposite this Wilkes paused, looked irresolutely up and down the road and then went on. We crossed the road, availed ourselves of the opposite hedge and followed. The village was to be seen some three or four hundred yards farther along the road and toward it Wilkes sauntered slowly. Before he actually reached the houses he stopped and turned back. The churchyard exclaimed Hewitt under his breath lie close and let him pass. Wilkes reached the churchyard gate and again looked irresolutely about him. At that moment a party of children who had been playing among the graves came chattering and laughing toward and out of the gate and Wilkes walked hastily away again this time in the opposite direction. That's the place clearly Hewitt said. We must slip across quietly as soon as he's far enough down the road. Now we hurried stealthily across through the gate and into the churchyard where Hewitt threw his blue spectacles away. It was now nearly eight in the evening and the sun was setting. Once again Wilkes approached the gate and did not enter because a laborer passed at the time. Then he came back and slipped through. The grass about the graves was long and under the trees it was already twilight. Hewitt and I two or three yards apart to avoid falling over one another in case of sudden movement watched from behind gravestones. The form of Wilkes stood out large and black against the fading light in the west as he came stealthily approaching through the long grass. A light cart came clattering along the road and Wilkes dropped at once and crouched on his knees till it had passed. Then staring warily about him he made straight for the stone behind which Hewitt waited. I saw Hewitt's dark form swing noiselessly round to the other side of the stone. Wilkes passed on and dropped on his knee beside a large weather-worn slab that rested on a brick under structure a foot or so high. The long grass largely hid the bricks and among it Wilkes plunged his hand feeling along the brick surface. Presently he drew out a loose brick and laid it on the slab. He felt again in the place and brought forth a small dark object. I saw Hewitt rise erect in the gathering dusk and with extended arm stepped noiselessly toward the stooping man. Wilkes made a motion to place the dark object in his pocket but checked himself and opened what appeared to be a lid as though to make sure of the safety of the contents. The last light, straggling under the trees, fell on a brilliantly sparkling object within and like a flash Hewitt's hand shot over Wilkes' shoulder and snatched the jewel. The man actually screamed one of those curious sharp little screams that one may hear from a woman very suddenly alarmed but he sprang it Hewitt like a cat only to meet a straight drive of the fist that stretched him on his back across the slab. I sprang from behind my stone and helped Hewitt to secure his wrists with a pocket handkerchief. Then we marched him, struggling and swearing to the village. When in the lights of the village he recognized us, he had a perfect fit of rage. But afterward he calmed down and admitted that it was a very clean cup. There was some difficulty in finding the village constable and Sir Valentine Quinton was dining out and did not arrive for at least an hour. In the interval, Wilkes grew communicative. How much do you think I'll get? He asked. Can't guess, Hewitt replied. And as we shall probably have to give evidence, you'll be giving yourself away if you talk too much. Oh, I don't care. That'll make no difference. It's a fair cop and I'm in for it. You got me nicely, lending me three quid. I never knew a realer do that before. That blinded me. But was it kid about Gold Street? No, it wasn't. Mr. Hollams is safely shut up by this time, I expect. And you are avenged for your little trouble with him this afternoon. What do you know about that? Well, you've got it up nicely for me, I must say. Suppose you've been following me all the time. Well, yes, I haven't been far off. I guess you'd want to clear out of town if Hollams was taken. And I knew this, Hewitt tapped his breast pocket, was what you'd care to get hold of first. You hid it, of course, because you knew that Hollams would probably have you searched for it, if he got suspicious. Yes, he did, too. Two blokes went over my pockets one night, and somebody got into my room. But I expected that. Hollams is such a greedy pig. Once he's got you under his thumb, he don't give you half your markings. And if you kick him, they'll have you smugged, so that I wasn't going to give him that, if I could help it. I suppose it ain't any good asking how you got put onto our mob. No, said Hewitt. It isn't. We didn't get back till the next day, staying for the night, despite an inconvenient want of requisites at the hall. There were, in fact, no late trains. We told Sir Valentine the story of the Irishman, much to his amusement. Lemie's tale sounded unlikely, of course, Hewitt said. But it was noticeable that every one of his misfortunes pointed in the same direction, that certain persons were tremendously anxious to get out something they supposed he had. When he spoke of his adventure with the bag, I had once remembered Wilk's arrest and subsequent release. It was a curious coincidence, to say the least, that this should happen at the very station to which the proceeds of this robbery must come, if they came to London at all, and on the day following the robbery itself. Ketterby is one of the few stations on this line where no trains would stop after the time of the robbery, so that the thief would have to wait till the next day to get back. Lemie's recognition of Wilk's portrait made me feel pretty certain. Plainly he had carried stolen property. The poor innocent fellow's conversation with Hollam showed that, as in fact, did the sum five pounds pay to him by way of regulars, or customary toll, from the plunder of services of carriage. Hollam's obviously took Lemie for a criminal friend of Wilk's, because of his use of the thief's expression sparks and regulars, and suggested, in terms which Lemie misunderstood, that he should sell any plunder he might obtain to himself, Hollam's. Altogether it would have been very curious if the plunder were not that from Radcud Hall, especially as no other robbery had been reported at the time. Now among the jewels taken, only one was of a very preeminent value, the famous Ruby. It was scarcely likely that Hollam's would go to so much trouble and risk attempting to drug, injuring, waylaying, and burgling the rooms of the unfortunate Lemie for a jewel of small value, for any jewel, in fact, but the Ruby, so that I felt a pretty strong presumption at all events that it was the Ruby Hollam's was after. Lemie had not had it, I was convinced, from his tale and his manner, and from what I judged of the man himself. The only other person was Wilk's, and certainly he had a temptation to keep this to himself and avoid, if possible, sharing with his London director or principal, while the carriage of the bag by the Irishman gave him a capital opportunity to put suspicion on him with the results seen. The most daring of Hollam's attacks on Lemie was doubtless the attempted maiming or killing at the railway station, so as to be able in the character of a medical man to search his pockets. He was probably desperate at the time, having, I have no doubt, been following Lemie about all day at the Crystal Palace without finding an opportunity to get at his pockets. The struggle and flight of Wilk's from Hollam's confirmed my previous impressions. Hollam's finally satisfied that very morning that Lemie certainly had not the jewel, either on his person or at his lodging, and knowing, from having so closely watched him, that he had been nowhere where it could be disposed of, concluded that Wilk's was cheating him and attempted to extort the Ruby from him by the aid of another Ruffian and a pistol. The rest of my way was plain. Wilk's I knew would seize the opportunity of Hollam's being safely locked up to get at and dispose of the Ruby. I supplied him with funds and left him to lead us to his hiding place. He did it, and I think that's all. He must have walked straight away from my house to the churchyard, Sir Valentine remarked, to hide that pendant. That was fairly cool. Only a cool hand could carry out such a robbery single-handed, he would answered. I expect his tools were in the bag that Lemie carried, as well as the jewels. They must have been a small and neat set. They were. We ascertained, on our return to town the next day, that the bag, with all its contents intact, including the tools, had been taken by the police at their surprise visit to number eight Gold Street, as well as much other stolen property. Hollam's and Wilk's each got very wholesome doses of penal servitude to the intense delight of Mick Lemie. Lemie himself, by the by, is still to be seen, clad in a noble uniform, guarding the door of a well-known London restaurant. He has not had any more five-pound notes for carrying bags, but knows London too well now to expect it. End of chapter five.