The master criminal

The morning was heavy with an almost unnatural calm. By nine o'clock the sun's rays glowed with the intensity of noon. The flowers drooped their heads and the leaves hung listlessly. Cornelius Jessel, passing out of the back way from the Hall, on his way to the postoffice, had not covered a dozen yards before he paused to mop his brow with his handkerchief. He bore with him the letter in which Guy announced to Hora his intention of returning to town. It was the briefest of notes, disclosing nothing of the intention of the writer. But it was not the only letter which Jessel carried. In the other envelope was the report which the shadow man had penned to the Master. The envelope was stamped and sealed, but Cornelius took it from his pocket and looked at it and frowned. He replaced it in his pocket and proceeded on his way. He did not know whether to post it or not. For the first time since he had undertaken the part of spy upon Guy's actions he had wilfully suppressed an item of information which had come into his possession concerning Guy. It was such an important item of information, too. So important that he had gasped for breath when he realised what the discovery he had made really meant.

On the previous afternoon and evening he had taken advantage of Guy's absence to make a careful examination of his master's property. He had frequently done so before, but without discovering anything of any interest. But on this occasion he was more fortunate. He had long been curious concerning the contents of a little silver-bound box which reposed in a corner of Guy's dressing case. He had oftentimes made discreet attempts to pick the lock but without success, and he dared not venture on forcing it lest by damaging the box he should excite suspicion. He guessed that sooner or later he would get the opportunity he desired for examining the contents of the little casket, and the occasion had arrived at last. Guy had left his keys on the dressing table and one of the bunch fitted the lock.

When the lid was opened, Cornelius, at first sight of its contents, gave a sniff indicative of disgust. He saw a little lace handkerchief, a glove, an opera programme, a few withered rose leaves, and an infinite contempt for the young man he served swept over him. There was no trace of sentiment hidden away in the heart of Cornelius. But when he tossed the trumpery aside he drew a long breath of surprise. Beneath the valueless trifles was concealed an article of price—a little golden frame enclosing an exquisite miniature on ivory of a girl with a wealth of fair hair, the painting surrounded with a circlet of brilliants. At first he did not grasp the significance of the discovery. The likeness of the miniature to Meriel Challys seemed to him a full explanation as to why it should be in his employer's possession. But as he turned the frame over in his hand, counting the stones in the setting, weighing the trinket delicately on two fingers to estimate the weight of the gold, he remembered that somewhere he had seen a description of some such article. Where? He had not to rack his brain very long before he was able to recall where he had seen the miniature described. Like many another person who longs for the prize without incurring the attendant risks, Cornelius had assimilated every detail which had been made public concerning the Flurscheim robbery. His mouth had watered at the published descriptions of the stolen articles and now here—if he was not greatly mistaken—was one of them in his own hand.

At the heels of this thought came another which almost made his heart cease beating. Five thousand pounds reward! Five thousand pounds had been offered for such information as would lead to the conviction of the thief and to the recovery of the stolen property. Five—thousand—pounds! Five thousand pounds was lying waiting for him, Cornelius Jessel. Yet, dazzled as he was by the prospect of the acquisition of such wealth, he hesitated a long while before he could persuade himself to make use of the information which had come into his possession. It was the thought of the Master which gave him pause. In view of the discovery which he had made he began to be timorous. He could no longer believe that the Master's interest in Guy Hora was the interest of the hawk in the pigeon. Dimly he began to comprehend that unknowingly he was being used as pawn in a game which he did not comprehend. Supposing then that any effort of his own to secure that five thousand pounds should run counter to any plan of the Master's? He shivered at the thought, for he had a very real fear of the Master's capacity for mischief. He had locked the miniature and the glove and the rose leaves away again and set his wits to work to discover a plan by which he might obtain the five thousand pounds without the fact that he was the informer being disclosed to anybody. The more he pondered upon the subject the more convinced he became that fortune was within his grasp. He could not have made the discovery at a more opportune moment. He was in the country surrounded by a lot of simple country folk, and within reach was the victim of the burglary, who had offered the reward. What better plan could be conceived than that of taking his information straight to the fountain head? He would then be able to make his own terms. But he saw that it would be necessary to have some proof of the correctness of his statements. He paid another visit to Guy's dressing case after providing himself with a pencil and oiled paper. With these he made a series of tracings of the miniature, and, clumsy as they were, yet he trusted that they might be clear enough for identification. Thus provided, he determined to take the first opportunity afforded him of communicating with Mr. Hildebrand Flurscheim.

The determination carried with it as a necessary corollary the decision to keep his discovery concealed from everybody, particularly from the Master. He would have felt quite easy in his mind if he could have assured himself that the Master was not already acquainted with the fact that Guy possessed the miniature. On the other hand, Cornelius argued that it was quite possible that the man who was paying him to keep a watch upon Guy might be actuated by dread of a confederate playing him false. That was a strong reason why he should not postpone communicating with Flurscheim. The reward would go to the first in the field with the information. Then if the Master were implicated, and if he should be captured, Cornelius saw safety for himself. Therefore when he wrote his daily report to the Master of Guy's movements he entirely omitted to mention the momentous discovery he had made, and yet so terrified was he that he should bring his employer's vengeance upon himself by his failure to report it, that a dozen times on the way to the postoffice he drew the letter from his pocket and looked at it and considered whether he should not reopen the envelope and add the information which he had suppressed.

Even when he had dropped the letter into the box he nearly entered the postoffice to ask for it back again, and only prevented himself from doing so by declaring to himself that it would be easy to give the information thereafter if circumstances pointed to the desirability of his doing so. But once the letter was posted Cornelius became bolder. The posting of the letter was in the nature of a definite act committing him to a definite policy. It was no use looking back, especially with the prospect of five thousand pounds to be earned by merely speaking a few words. He forgot the heat. He walked briskly away from the postoffice towards the little embankment which Whitsea village proudly designated "The Front."

It seemed hotter than ever there. The tide was low and the air shimmered in the heat reflected from the silvery banks of mud. He placed his hand on the stone parapet of the low wall and drew it back hastily. The stone was nearly hot enough to have blistered his hand. He looked out on the river. Almost opposite him was Mr. Hildebrand Flurscheim's yacht, and if Cornelius's eyes were to be trusted Mr. Hildebrand Flurscheim himself was reclining beneath an awning on the deck. The opportunity was too good to be missed. Cornelius looked around for a boatman to put him aboard. There was none visible, and he could not muster up courage to hail the yacht. The Whitsea hotel showed an inviting open door just handy. Cornelius felt suddenly thirsty. He accepted the invitation of the open door, and while he quenched his thirst with a bottle of iced ginger beer with something in it, he made known his desire to be put aboard Mr. Flurscheim's yacht to the barmaid.

Before the words were well out of his mouth a man who had followed Cornelius into the hotel remarked, "I'll put you aboard the boat with pleasure, Mr. Jessel."

Jessel's first impulse was to fly. To be suddenly accosted by name when so far as he knew there was no one in Whitsea except the servants at the Hall who could be aware of his identity, was disconcerting to say the least. He stifled the impulse as best he could, and, turning on his heel, faced the speaker. He saw a pleasant, open-faced man of fifty or thereabouts holding out his hand.

"Didn't expect to see me here, eh, any more than I expected to have the pleasure of meeting you? But the world's a little place, and this sort of weather, if one is likely to knock up against old acquaintances, there's no spot more likely than where you find a pretty girl mixing long drinks with a lot of ice in 'em. That's right, isn't it, miss?"

The barmaid giggled.

"A slice of lemon, a bottle of Schweppe, a lump of ice, and a suspicion of white satin, if you please," he said before turning again to Jessel and continuing volubly. "You don't recognise me, eh? Well, I'm not surprised, for now I come to think of it we haven't exchanged more than a dozen words in our lives. My name's Kenly."

"Oh!" Cornelius remembered and immediately felt easy in his mind. He had no reason for dreading his late landlord. He took the proffered hand.

"This is a surprise," he said. "Who would ever have expected to meet you here?"

"The same to you," said Kenly. He pointed to Jessel's glass. "Drink up and have another and tell how you are getting on," he said. "The missis will be pleased to hear, for she's always telling me that she's never likely to have such a nice gent in the house to do for, and she's always cracking on about your being obliged to leave, and how certain she is never to get another like you."

Cornelius smiled and emptied his glass. "Well, as you insist——" he said.

"Another of the same," said Kenly affably.

"And what brings you down here?" asked Cornelius.

"Taking my holiday," remarked Kenly expansively. "This is just the sort of a place that suits me. No sand, no niggers. Plenty of fresh air and sunshine, a boat to potter about in, and some of the real sort to drink when you're thirsty, that's the place that suits me down to the ground, so I'm here. I suppose you're down for a change, too?"

"Not exactly," replied Cornelius. "I have to combine business and pleasure, too." He took a long draught of the fresh brew which the barmaid handed to him, and, assuming his most important air, he changed the topic.

"I suppose Mrs. Kenly is with you?"

"Not much," answered the detective with a broad wink. "I know a bit too much to bring the missis on a holiday, and, if you are married, you'd understand."

Cornelius laughed and glanced at the barmaid. "You can't tell me anything," he said.

"No," answered Kenly. "Half the bachelors to-day know more than the married people, and that's a fact, ain't it, miss?"

The barmaid giggled again. "You're a caution," she said. The conversation progressed swimmingly, and ten minutes later Cornelius embarked on a dingey, having graciously allowed Kenly to put him aboard Mr. Flurscheim's yacht. He lounged in the stern, assuming his most important air, while Kenly pulled away at the oars. He was fully alive to the fact that he would create a much better impression going aboard thus than if he had been compelled to borrow a boat and pull himself out to the yacht.

Kenly ran him up alongside, steadied the boat by the side of the ladder, and then let his dingey drop astern to a sufficient distance to allow him to observe Cornelius introduce himself to Flurscheim. He saw that the two men were strangers, and he gathered that the connoisseur was annoyed at Jessel's invasion of his privacy. He saw the connoisseur jump up suddenly at something which was said and begin to pace the deck in manifest agitation. He saw Jessel standing unmoved, and then after a brief conference both men went down the companion into the saloon.

The detective immediately realised that there was a chance of his learning what errand had taken Jessel to the yacht. Half a dozen strokes took him alongside again, and, making his painter fast to the yacht's anchor chain, he stood up in the dingey as it drifted level with an open port. As he had suspected the porthole gave upon the saloon, and as the dingey came opposite he could hear two voices in excited colloquy. One was easily recognised as Jessel's, and the other Kenly had just as little difficulty in recognising as Flurscheim's.

"Is that anything like the face on one of your miniatures?" said Jessel.

"I could swear to it," said Flurscheim.

"And the portrait—is it like anyone you know?" asked the valet.

"You've seen it," cried the Jew eagerly. "You must have done, for the miniature is so like Miss Challys that she might have sat for the portrait."

"I have seen it and I can tell you where it is at the present moment," answered the valet.

"Where? Where?" cried the Jew eagerly.

"You don't expect me to tell you straight away, do you?" asked Jessel in an injured tone.

The Jew took no notice. "And the other boxes and the pictures—can you tell me where my Greuze is?"

"No, I can't, at least not at present," said the valet coolly, "but I reckon that if once I put you on the track of one of the things that has been stolen it won't be my fault if you don't find out where the rest of 'em are."

"Well, well," said Flurscheim, impatiently, "tell me where the miniature is?"

There was silence and the detective listened impatiently.

"Have you lost your tongue?" demanded Flurscheim angrily.

"What about the reward you offered?" said Jessel. "Five thousand pounds, wasn't it, for such information as shall lead to the conviction of the thieves or the recovery of the stolen property?"

"You shall have the reward, all right," said Flurscheim impatiently.

"I'm not misdoubting your word," said Jessel, "but in cases like this it's better to 'ave everything in black and white. 'Ave it in black and white, that's my motto."

Kenly heard the connoisseur give a grunt of disgust, and he smiled. He could even hear the scratching of a pen on paper. Then Flurscheim's voice remarked sharply:

"Mind, I'll give nothing to any confederate in the robbery. If you have had anything to do with it and will make a clean breast of the matter, I'll do my best for you, but I'm not going to be blackmailed by any d——d thief."

The detective smiled again at the injured tone of Jessel's reply. "I'm a respectable man, Mr. Flurscheim, though I am a poor one, an' the hinformation 'as come to me quite unexpected like. If I was rich I'd be 'appy to tell you all I know for the cause of justice, but being only poor, I've my old age to think of."

"Well, I only warned you, that's all," grumbled Flurscheim.

"Which there was no need," answered Cornelius with dignity. "And there's another matter," he added, and now the detective could detect a note of anxiety in his voice. "There's them as is connected with this job that won't stick at nothing to get even with them as gives 'em away, if they has so much as a hint as to who done it. You'll have to give me your word of honour as a gentleman as you'll not so much as mention my name, or my life'll not be worth two pennorth of gin."

This time Flurscheim was silent a while before he replied.

"If I don't know your name it is not possible for me to mention it."

"You can easy find out," answered Jessel, "when I tell you what I have to tell you."

"I promise," replied Flurscheim shortly.

Jessel dropped his voice, but, low as it was, the detective's keen ears overheard every word of the information which was imparted. He was thunderstruck at the intelligence that a part of the stolen property was in the possession of Guy Hora. He could not conceive the motive which had prompted Jessel to disclose the fact, even if it were true. He wanted time to arrange his ideas on the subject. But he listened eagerly to every word that passed. He missed not a word of the long conversation that ensued when Jessel had imparted the information he possessed. He drank in all Flurscheim's questions and all the valet's answers, and was so anxious to lose nothing of what passed that he had barely time to cast the boat loose and drift astern when he heard them rise to leave the saloon. Still he presented a picture of perspiring innocence when he pulled up alongside to take his late lodger back to the quay.

Cornelius was obviously elated. "Sorry to 'ave kept you so long, Kenly," he remarked. "But I 'ad to wait for an answer to something. We must have another drink."

They had it and the detective learned that Cornelius was expecting to return to town the following day.