The dream detective: being some account of the methods of Moris Klaw (13 page)

"Isis," he said, "lay my cloak carefully upon that chair by the window. I will sit there."

Grimsby stepped forward to assist.

"No, no!" said Isis, but smiled enchantingly. "No hand but mine must touch it until my father has secured his impression!"

She laid the coat upon the chair, completely covering it; and Moris Klaw sat down.

"Another cup of coffee," he said; and his daughter poured one out and handed it to him. "This is Java coffee and truly not coffee at all. There is no coffee but Mocha —a thing you English will never learn. Return in an hour, gentlemen. Isis, ask that no disturbing sound is allowed within or without. That Committee, it can go home. None of it has the diamond."

"And the other gentlemen ?" asked Grimsby. "They'll be anxious to get about their business, too. There's Sir John Carron from the India Office and Mr. Gautami Chinje—the Gaekwar's representative."

"Of course—certainly," mused Moris Klaw. " But, of course, too, they will all be anxious to know immediately the result of my inquiries. Listen—Mr. Anderson will remain; he can represent the city. Mr. Chinje, you will perhaps ask him to remain, to represent the Gaekwar—the vendor; and Sir John Carron, he might be so good. Make those arrangements, Mr. Grimsby, and let nothing again disturb

me.

We left him, returning to the outer office.

Sir John Carron expressed himself willing to remain.

"If I may use your telephone for a moment, Mr. Anderson," he said, "I can put off an engagement."

Mr. Chinje had no other engagement, and Mr. Anderson's duties had detained him in any event. There was some general, but subdued, conversation before the rest of the party left; but finally Sir John, Chinje, Grimsby, Isis Klaw, and myself found ourselves in a waiting room on the opposite side of the corridor, provided with refreshments, and the gentlemen of the party with cigars, whilst the hospitable and deeply anxious Messrs. Anderson piled the table with periodical literature for our entertainment.

It was a curious interlude, which I shall always remember.

Sir John Carron, a tall, bronzed military man, middle-aged and perfectly groomed, surveyed Isis Klaw through his monocle with undisguised admiration. She bore this scrutiny with the perfect composure which was hers, and presently engaged the admiring baronet in some conversation about India, in which Mr. Chinje presently joined. Chinje had all the quiet self-possession of a high-caste Hindu, and his dark handsome face exhibited no signs of annoyance when Sir John adopted that tone of breezy patronage characteristic of some Anglo-Indian officers who find themselves in the company of a well-bred native. Grimsby, with recognition of his social inferiority written large upon him, smoked, for the most part, in silence—Isis having given him permission to light up. Seeing his covert glances at this intimate trio, I ultimately succeeded in making the conversation a general one, thereby earning the Scotland Yard man's evident gratitude.

"You know, Inspector Grimsby," said Sir John, "I never was searched before to-day! But, by Jove, you did it very efficiently! I was dreadfully tempted to strike you when you calmly turned out my purse! Your method was far more workmanlike than Sir Michael Cayley's a few minutes earlier. He forgot to look in my watch case, but you didn't!"

Grimsby smiled.

"There's more in a simple thing like searching a man than most people take into consideration," he replied. "I've known a Kaffir in the mines who— excuse me, Miss Klaw—wore no more than Adam, to walk off with stones worth my year's wages."

"I'm prepared to accept your assurance, Inspector," said Sir John, "that none of us had the diamond about our persons."

"My father has accepted it," added Isis Klaw; "and that is conclusive."

Which brought us face to face again with the amazing problem that we were there to solve. How, by any known natural law, had the Blue Rajah been taken out of the room ? None of us could conjecture. That the detective was hopelessly mystified, his inaction, awaiting the result of Moris Klaw's seance, was sufficient proof. I wondered if the Commissioner would have approved of his passive attitude and entire dependence upon the efforts of an amateur, yet failed to perceive what other he could adopt. One thing was certain: if the diamond was recovered, its recovery would be recorded among Detective-Inspector Grimsby's successful cases! And there he sat placidly smoking one of Mr. Anderson's habanas.

At the expiration of the hour specified, Isis Klaw rose and walked across to Mr. Anderson's office. Mr. Anderson, his ruddy face—typically that of a lowland Scot—a shade paler than was its wont, I fancy, was glancing from his watch to the clock.

Isis knocked on the inner door, opened it, and entered. Sir John Carron was watching with intense interest. Mr. Chinje met my glance and smiled a little sceptically.

Moris Klaw came out with his caped coat on and carrying his bowler in his hand.

"Gentlemen," he said, "I have secured a mental negative, somewhat foggy, owing to those other thought forms with which the atmosphere is laden. But I have identified him—the thief!"

A sound like a gasp repressed came from somewhere immediately behind me. I turned. Mr. Anderson and Mr. Anderson, junior, stood at my elbow; close by were Mr. Chinje, Grimsby, and Sir John Carron.

"Who snorts?" rumbled Moris Klaw, peering through his pince-nez.

"Not I," said Sir John, staring about him.

We all, in turn, denied having uttered the sound.

"Then there is in this office a ghost," declared Klaw, "or a liar!"

"Excuse me, Mr. Klaw," began Mr. Anderson, with some heat.

Moris Klaw raised his hand. His daughter's magnificent eyes blazed defiance at us all.

"No anger," implored the rumbling voice. "No anger. Anger is a misuse of the emotions. There are present eight persons here. Someone snorted.

CASE OF THE BLUE RAJAH 151

Eight persons deny the snort. It is a ghost or a liar. Am I evident to you?"

"Your logic is irrefutable," admitted the younger Mr. Anderson, glancing from face to face. "It pains me to have to admit that you are right!"

In turn, I examined the faces of those present. Grimsby was a man witless with wonder. Both the Andersons were embarrassed and angry. Isis Klaw was scornfully triumphant; her father was, as ever, nonchalant. Sir John Carron looked ill at ease; Mr. Chinje appeared to have changed his opinion of the eccentric investigator and now studied him with the calm interest of the cultured Oriental.

"I shall now make you laugh," said Moris Klaw. "I shall tell you what he was thinking of at the psychological instant—that mysterious thief. He was thinking of two things. One was a very pretty, fair young lady, and the other was a funny thing. He was thinking of throwing twelve peanuts into a parrot's cage!"

There are speeches so entirely unexpected that their effect is unappreciable until some little time after the utterance. This speech of Moris Klaw's was of that description. For some moments no one seemed to grasp exactly what he had said, simple though his words had been. Then, it was borne

home to us—that grotesque declaration; and I think I have never seen men more amazed.

Could he be jesting?

"Mr. Klaw " began Sir John Carron. But—

"One moment, Sir John," interrupted Klaw. "Let all remain here for one moment. I shall re-turn.

Whilst we stared, like so many fools, he shuffled from the office with his awkward gait. During his brief absence no one spoke. We were restrained, undoubtedly, by the presence of Isis Klaw, who, one hand upon her hip and with the other swinging her big ermine muff, smiled at us with a sort of pitying scorn for our stupidity.

Moris Klaw returned.

"Let me see," he rumbled, reflectively, "have you, Sir John Carron or Mr. Chinje, a specimen of the handwriting of the Gaekwar of Nizam?"

Chinje and Sir John stared.

"At the office—possibly," replied Sir John.

"I have my instructions, signed by him," said Mr. Chinje. "But not here."

"At your hotel, yes?"

"Yes," replied Chinje, shortly.

He gave me the impression that he resented Moris Klaw's catechizing as that of a fool and an incompetent meddler with affairs of great importance.

"Then, gentlemen," said Klaw, "we must adjourn to examine that signature."

"Really," the younger Mr. Anderson burst out, "I must protest against this! You will pardon me, Mr. Klaw; I believe you to be sincere in your efforts on our behalf, but such an expedition can be no more than a wild-goose chase! What can the Gaekwar's signature have to do with the theft of the diamond?"

"I will tell you something, my feverish friend," said Moris Klaw, slowly. "The Blue Rajah is not on these premises. It is gone! It went before I came. If it is ever to come back you will put on your hat and accompany me to examine the signature to Mr. Chinje's instructions."

"I must add my protest to Mr. Anderson's," remarked Chinje. "This is mere waste of time."

"Mr. Grimsby," resumed Klaw, placidly, "it is a case to be hushed up, this. There must be no arrests!"

"Eh?" cried Grimsby.

"Sir John Carron will ring up the Commissioner and he will say that Detective-Inspector Grimsby has traced the Blue Rajah, which was stolen, but that, for reasons of state, Detective-Inspector Grimsby will make a confidential report and no arrest!"

"Really " began Sir John.

"Mr. Klaw," cried Anderson, interrupting excitedly. "You are jesting with men who are faced by a desperate position! I ask you, as man to man, if you know who stole the Blue Rajah and where it is?"

"I reply," rumbled Moris Klaw, "that I suspect who stole it, that I am doubtful how it was stolen, and that when I have examined the Gaekwar's signature I may know where it is!"

His reply had a tone of finality quite unanswerable. His attitude was that of a stone wall; and he had, too, something of the rugged strength of such a wall— of a Roman wall, commanding respect.

Sir John got into communication with the Commissioner, as desired by Klaw, and we all left the office and went down in the lift to the hall.

"Two cabs will be needful," said Moris Klaw; and two cabs were summoned.

Sir John Carron, the Andersons, and Moris Klaw entered one; Isis Klaw, Grimsby, Chinje, and I the other.

"The Hotel Astoria," directed Chinje.

Throughout the drive to the Strand, Isis chatted to Grimsby, to his great delight. Mr. Chinje contented himself with monosyllabic replies to my occasional observations. He seemed to be disgusted with the manner in which the inquiry was being conducted. When the two cabs drove into the courtyard of the hotel, the one in which I was seated followed the other. Mr. Chinje, on my left, descended first, and Moris Klaw also descended first from the cab in front. As he did so he stumbled on the step and clutched at Chinje for support. Isis leapt forward to his assistance.

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"Ah," growled Klaw, hobbling painfully, and resting one hand upon Chinje's shoulder and the other upon his daughter's. "That foolish ankle of mine! How unfortunate! An accident, Mr. Chinje, which I met with in Egypt. I fell quite twenty feet in the shaft of a tomb and broke my ankle. At the least strain, I suffer yet."

"Allow me, Mr. Chinje," said Grimsby, stepping forward.

"No, no!" rumbled Klaw. "If you will hand me my hat which I have dropped, and see that my verbena has not fallen out—thank you—Mr. Chinje and Isis will be so good as to walk with me to the lift. A few moments' rest in Mr. Chinje's apartments will restore me."

This arrangement accordingly was adopted, and we presently came to the rooms occupied by the Gaekwar's representative, upon the fourth floor of the hotel. At the door, Mr. Chinje asked me to take his place whilst he found his key.

I did so and Chinje opened the door. To my great surprise he entered first. To my greater surprise, Moris Klaw, scorning my assistance and apparently forgetting his injury, rapidly followed him in. The rest of us flocked behind, possessed with a sense of something impending. We little knew what impended.

One thing, as I entered the little sitting room, struck my vision with a sensation almost of physical

shock. It was a large, empty parrot cage standing on the table!

I had an impression that Chinje dashed forward in a vain attempt to conceal the cage ere Moris Klaw entered. I saw, as one sees figures in a dream, a pretty, fair-haired girl in the room. Then the Hindu had leapt to an inner door—and was gone!

"Quick!" cried Klaw, in a loud voice. "The door! The door!"

He brushed the girl aside with a sweep of his arm and hurled himself against the locked door.

"Mr. Grimsby! Mr. Searles! Someone! Help with this door. Isis! hold her back, this foolish girl!"

The inner meaning of the scene was a mystery to us all, but the urgency of Moris Klaw's instructions brooked no denial. With a shrill scream the girl threw herself upon him, but Isis, exhibiting unsuspected strength, drew her away.

Then Sir John Carron joined Klaw at the door and they applied their combined weights to the task of forcing it open.

Once they put their shoulders to it; twice—and there was a sound of tearing woodwork; a third time —and it flew open, almost precipitating them both into the room beyond. Hard on the din of the opening rang the crack of a pistol shot. A wisp of smoke came floating out.

"Ah, just God!" said Moris Klaw, hoarsely, "we are too late!"

And, at his words, with a leap like that of a wild thing, the fair girl broke from Isis, and passing us all, entered the room beyond. Awed and fearful, we followed and looked upon a pitiful scene.

Gautami Chinje lay dead upon the floor, a revolver yet between his nerveless fingers and a red spot in his temple. Beside him knelt the girl, plucking with both hands at her lower lip, her face as white as paper and her eyes glaring insanely at the distorted features.

"Dearest," she kept whispering, in a listless way, "my dearest—what is the matter? I have the diamond—I have it in my bag. What is it, my dearest ?"

We got her away at last.

"He had only been in London six months/' Moris Klaw rumbled in my ear, "and you see, she adored him—helped him to steal. It is wonderful, snakelike, the power of fascination some Hindus have over women—and always over blondes, Mr. Searles, always blondes. It is a psychological problem."