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1.
The millionaire, pail in hand, halted for a second.
The next instant he deeply regretted his momentary pause for a vigorous shove from behind reminded him that he must get a move on because the men in the workshop were waiting for him. The millionaire's arrival with the glue-pail was indeed being awaited by his fellow inmates. They were endeavouring to while away their time by making paper-bags and for this pastime were dependent on a steady supply of glue, which they obtained from our manhandled millionaire.
This affluent gentleman noted the fact that he had been given a push with an indifference ill-becoming a man of his social class. For the millionaire, fantastic as this may sound, was an inmate of the British prison on Dartmoor. This had been his abode for the last eight years, yet the fact that he was a millionaire was not known to anyone. Most people knew little about him beyond the fact that he was a rather stand-offish, tongue-tied old bird, somewhat on the heavy-handed side, who, at a venerable age, after a service record of full thirty years in the field of crime, had been sent into well-deserved retirement, with board and lodging for life, at Dartmoor.
Here he lived the unexciting, peaceful life of the retired criminal, dividing his day between cleaning his cell, taking a walk in the prison yard, and gluing paper-bags; and there were the occasional food parcels and visitors. Old Jimmy Hogan had only one visitor: Miss Evelyn Weston. After his former school-mate had departed this life, the daughter of the deceased continued to visit him once every two months. On these occasions, conversation between caller and host was not as a rule very spirited: the young lady would venture a few remarks to which he would respond with a mutter and a scowl.
Miss Weston was a student of literature and philosophy - a circumstance which bespeaks little practical common sense in a young lady. That may seem odd but it's a fact. It is just those who acquire their wisdom from the greatest philosophers who are most incapable of turning their ideas to good advantage. Evelyn Weston, for instance, was trying to earn a livelihood by translating old French ballads into English. If you consider that at the time of our story England was being rocked to the foundations by a dramatic slump in the demand for translations of old French ballads, you will not be surprised to learn that Miss Weston and her mother lived in great penury in the garret of a tenement house in Kings' Road. The pension they received after Mr. Weston's death hardly enabled them to make ends meet. Fortunately Mrs. Weston's brother contributed sums of varying amounts to meet their household expenses. This brother - Mr. Bradford, bespoke tailor for gentlemen - though not a wealthy man, was tolerably well provided with the necessary, owing to the fact that, besides plying his trade, he engaged in business speculations which were invariably successful.
I have thought it necessary to give you these facts so that you may the better appreciate the measure of Evelyn Weston's unselfishness in not letting old sinner Hogan down, for all her modest means.
2.
When Jim Hogan had done fifteen years in jail, his case was brought before the Highest Court of all; and at this ultimate resort, nothing but acquittals are ever pronounced. Old Hogan waited in the prison hospital for release from human bondage; and as he was to stand before an Authority in whose judgment the most monstrous crime is dwarfed by the smallest good deed, he could be confident that in a matter of hours he would obtain his discharge from Dartmoor.
At eight o'clock in the evening, an unusual thing happened.
Old Hogan declared that he wanted to make his will. At first, the doctor put it down to the patient's high temperature. What could an old lifer possibly possess that he should need a will to dispose of it? His body would be committed to earth, his soul to hell, and his clothes consigned to the prison stores. However, as the prisoner persisted in his strange wish, and as even prison governors seldom refuse to grant a dying man's last request, the old gentleman's final disposition was put on record - in the presence of the chaplain and the governor, in compliance with his wish.
Next morning, old Jim Hogan was sitting on the ring of Saturn, dangling his feet cheerfully. He looked back at our dyspeptic planet from a distance of several thousand light-years, and rubbed his hands contentedly.
He had left to Miss Evelyn Weston the sum of approximately one million pounds.
3.
I think it is unfair to judge people by their foibles. Nor do I consider curiosity a sin. It may have killed the cat or it mayn't (we know for certain that it has killed very few people, if any), but it isn't a sin. However, curiosity has a rather ugly twin sister or wild offshoot - eavesdropping. Eavesdroppers I despise. Every time I've caught myself eavesdropping I've had a guilty conscience which haunted me for minutes on end. There is something about this action which resembles assassination: It's as if you, with your organ of hearing, were stabbing other people's secrets in the back. One cannot therefore condone the sneaky behaviour of Eddie Rancing, even though the poor chap happened to be head over ears in love - a condition in which we all know that even the most adamant of male hearts is liable to be eroded. (Besides, mind you, young Eddie's heart, even at its stoutest, needed little eroding to be turned into the washiest mash ever prepared for greedy infant lips.)
And so we now find Eddie Rancing eavesdropping. Garret rooms are partitioned by walls so thin that for this operation he had only to press his ear to the wall-paper to be able to hear every word that passed between Evelyn Weston and her mother next-door. Later on, he glued himself more and more adhesively on to the wall and would fain have pressed his other ear to it as well, had not a killjoy Nature rendered such a feat totally impossible. Luckily for him, he could hear everything distinctly enough even with one ear.
Evelyn was reading a letter to her mother. It was old Jim Hogan's last will and it had arrived by the afternoon post.
"...The undersigned, (Evelyn read), at the request of James Hogan, convict, readily certify herewith that in our opinion as well as that of the prison doctor, the afore-named convict was compos mentis and, despite his illness, in full possession of his faculties when he dictated the testamentary disposition below, the authenticity whereof he has confirmed by his signature hereunto affixed.
"The Rev. G. H. Gladstone. M. Crickley.
Governor
"I hereby bequeath my property to the value of one million pounds, to Miss Evelyn Weston, daughter of the late Samuel Weston, of Kings' Road, London. This property, worth one million pounds sterling, is a walnut-sized diamond which was presented to me as a gift. This may sound rather improbable and extraordinary, but then it was at a time of improbable and extraordinary happenings when it came into my possession. At the end of the war, in 1919, together with certain other British servicemen, I joined General Kolchak's counter-revolutionary army. When the campaign in Siberia had ended, I managed to make my way back to the European part of Russia after incredible hardships and suffering. Armed with the papers of a dead Austrian prisoner-of-war, I managed to get into a POW train and in this manner reached Moscow. Here, I ganged up with a number of people of my ilk and floated a company whose main line of business concerned the robbing of panic-stricken propertied types who were trying to flee the country. Our custom was to nose out a few such people and offer to smuggle them across the border into Poland for which purpose we had thoughtfully provided ourselves with an army lorry. Then, at some out-of-the-way place, we would simply swipe all their possessions and leave them in the road. In this way an old gentleman, short, white-haired and bearded, a soft-spoken old fellow and our very last passenger, was caught in our trap. He promised us a fabulous sum of money if we would smuggle him into Poland: he said he would give us a round sum of fifty thousand dollars! That day, we carried no other passengers but him: we put the old man into the lorry together with all his bags and boxes, and drove him a distance of some 200 versts, to a place where the highway ran through snow-bound woods. There we robbed him. That is to say, we would have robbed him, but we couldn't. Our passenger's luggage consisted of clothing, books and other worthless stuff. There was nothing to be gained by slashing the lining of his coat, or smashing up his chest: the man had no money on him at all. My three mates rounded on him: where was he going to get the fifty thousand dollars with which to pay us? 'I will pay you more than that,' said the passenger, 'if you will take me across the border. My property isn't in Russia any more.' One of my mates whipped out his knife and would have stabbed the old man there and then if I had not pushed him aside. I have no reason now to try and whitewash myself; I was a crook and a cad and, if there was any danger of my being caught doing a job, I would not have hesitated to use a knife. But one thing I insist on; namely, that never, at no time, did I ever become entirely incapable of humane feeling. I would not allow that old man to be massacred before my very eyes. There ensued an altercation which led to blows, and in the end my partners thrust me as well as the old man out of the lorry, and they all rumbled off. I shall not go into a detailed account of how we got to the Polish border making our way past small towns and lonely farmsteads. The only fact that has any relevance to my present story is that we finally reached the crucial stage of our journey where we found ourselves in what was called the 'neutral zone' - a strip of land several kilometres wide that separated the two countries during the peace talks. It was a severe winter; and here was I roaming about in the snow, ill-equipped, with one arm wounded, and saddled with a weary old man. 'You will see, sir,' he kept repeating, apparently under the illusion that he was boosting my moral, 'that once we're out of this alive, I will make you rich.' It was touch and go I didn't beat him up. I did give him a ticking off. 'Ah, stop gassing,' I said, 'why, you haven't got anything besides those blessed trousers you're wearing!' I can still see his face as he looked at me. 'You're wrong,' he said. 'I have jewels that are worth millions - in a safe place in Paris. You see, my son got away safely in good time. It's the truth. Name your own price - and don't be modest.' I was getting hotter and hotter under the collar. 'You know what?' I shouted at him. 'Let's come to some arrangement here and now in this snow-storm. Let's say that you will one day bring to me in London the most precious piece from your family jewels. It'll be worth your while, I'm sure.' He quietly nodded. 'If you and I manage to survive, I'll bring the most valuable item of my family jewels to you in London. I shall be sorry to part with that particular jewel though; for it was the finest diamond in the Tsar's old crown.' You can well imagine what I answered to that. Funnels of snow were being sucked past us on every side; we were nearly knocked off our feet by the force of the gale; and distant howls of wolves made the whole scene unforgettably fearsome. We lost our way and could only wander on as if in a nightmare. We staggered on and were at the end of our strength when we found a cart-track in the snow. On the last stretch, I had to support the old man with my wounded arm, while I was hardly able to drag my own body along. Still, I should not have had it in me to leave him lying in that frozen, white desert. I gnashed my teeth, and fumed, but I lugged him along. At last, we were intercepted by Polish frontier police. My travelling companion was taken to the nearest hospital in a serious condition. Our ordeal had taken a good deal out of me too, and I had to drain a whole bottle of vodka to get right again. I packed myself among a load of refugees in a goods waggon heading for Danzig, where I went on board a British cruiser and so returned to England. And I never gave that old man another thought. Back in London, I soon got in touch with my old pals, and we got down to work without delay. After a few successful burglaries, we managed to get caught and sent to jail. And because I was an old lag I got two years, although they could not prove me guilty of more than one case of burglary. My solicitor warned me that when I was released I should think twice before getting myself involved in anything again because if I was brought to trial again, I would be sure to get the maximum sentence. But what can you do when you're on the wrong side of forty and have never tried your hand at anything except robbing and stealing? Four days after I had been released from prison, I broke into Selwyn's Department Store. If only I had waited one more day! If I had hesitated for another twenty-four hours I should now be ending my life as a wealthy gentleman enjoying my freedom instead of dying as I am, serving a life sentence down to the last minute. Just as I was looting the stuff, the night watchman arrived and caught me in the act. There was a bit of a struggle and in the end I stabbed him and fled. I thought I'd killed him. I decided that I'd have to pack up my traps and get out of England. I felt sure that when they discovered the murder in the morning it would be me that they'd suspect. It never occurred to me that the police would be on my trail that very night. Yet that was what happened. The night watchman was not dead: though seriously wounded, he dragged himself to the alarm bell. Within a few minutes, the police were there. Even the superficial description they obtained from the wounded man was enough for them to identify me. But I knew nothing of all this. I believed that I had killed the watchman and that I had ample time to make a getaway before the store was opened. I had lodgings at 8, Lyndham Street, and the ground floor of the next house was a fancy-goods shop which specialised in ceramics and little figurines. The name of the firm is Longson & North. Please note the name carefully..."
Eddy, without removing his ear from the wall, whisked out a pencil and hurriedly scribbled the address on the wall-paper.
"It's an amazing story," said Evelyn.
"Go on," Mrs. Weston whispered excitedly. Evelyn continued reading the letter, and Eddy his eavesdropping.
"... I hurried home. The first surprise was waiting for me in front of the house, where I found a flashy, great limousine parked at the kerb although it was by now the middle of the night! I entered my room - and found myself face to face with the elderly gentleman I had helped to escape into Poland. He was sitting at the table - but how he had changed! His eyes were shining and his face, which I remembered as sad and sallow, now wore a friendly expression and there was about him an air of quiet authority. He was very neatly dressed; his hat and cane lay on the table before him. He rose and came towards me, beaming.
" 'We have a little account to settle if I remember aright,' he said. 'Let me introduce myself at last. I am Prince Radovsky. I should have shown up long ago, but I was seriously ill and bedridden for quite a long time. And afterwards, I found it extremely difficult to trace your place of residence.' "
"I stammered something. He placed his hand on my shoulder, and with the cheery manner of someone about to make a good joke, continued: 'I've come to pay my fare; though what you did for me is something that can't be paid for in diamonds. As far as I can remember, you said you'd like to have the most precious of my family jewels?' "
"He handed me a small black case containing a diamond. I had never seen such a large diamond of the first water and I don't think there are many others like it in the world. I was quite fascinated by it and stood there gaping, all thought of the murder and my escape driven from my mind."
"'I told you then that I was reluctant to part with this diamond because it came from the Tsar's old crown. But that, of course, must be no reason for me to break my promise. The members of my noble family will at any time readily attest that this diamond is Jim Hogan's rightful property which he acquired in an honest way.' "
" 'Tha-thanks,' I stammered stupidly."
" 'Don't mention it,' he replied. 'This diamond is a meagre reward for your services. Good-bye.' "
"He shook hands with me, and left. Out in the street, the engine of the car hummed. I gazed after it from the window - and none too soon a large car pulled up behind the prince's and began to discharge policemen and detectives. It was a tragicomical situation. Here I was, with a priceless diamond in my hand - a robber and a murderer with the police hot on my trail. I had only one second in which to think. I knew that the diamond would still be mine even if I was arrested. But I also knew just how many people whom I had robbed would come forward to claim damages as soon as they learned that Jim Hogan owned a diamond worth a mint of money! I had to hide it! But where?... The cops might be already swarming up the stairs. I looked around; at that moment, the bell rang. I jumped through the bathroom window into the light well. There was an open window in the farther wall and I climbed in. I found myself in a large room littered with packing cases, shavings and wrapping paper. I heard a shot fired behind me and I ran on. In the adjoining room, the light of dawn filtered in through a window giving onto the street, and so I was able to get my bearings. I was in the workshop attached to the fancy-goods store. In a corner of the room, there was a bulky oven which had been bricked in: I was cornered. Through the shop window I could see the patrol car still standing in the street, with half a dozen detectives hanging around waiting to catch sight of me popping up somewhere. I noticed some half-finished statuettes on a desk... one of them a small Buddha surmounting an enamelled box. I touched it accidentally and found that the material was still soft. Swiftly I began to knead the diamond into the soft clay of the Buddha statuette, and then I smoothed over the surface to remove all traces of what I'd done. I was compelled to part with the diamond and to have enough faith in my own ingenuity to believe that one day if I was ever released from prison I should be able to trace the enamelled box with the ceramic statuette. In the meantime, the statuette might get broken and some other person get hold of the diamond; but at least there was a chance that I would lay hands on it myself. Big firms like this no doubt kept records of their sales, and I would be able to find some clue that would lead me to the statuette. I would have to check about fifty people, not an impossible task, I reckoned, even after the passage often years. A few minutes later, I was rushed in the police car to Scotland Yard. The night watchman did not die, but they gave me a life sentence all the same. For years, I clung to the hope that I might manage to escape or be granted a pardon; then I could go in search of the little Buddha sitting on the enamelled case. Now my last earthly chance has gone and I do not want to take the secret with me to the grave. I leave the diamond to Miss Evelyn Weston, and I trust that she will be able to find the Buddha containing it; if necessary, Prince Radovsky's family will testify that I acquired it in an absolutely honest way. The time has long since gone by when the victims of my early crimes could claim damages against the value of the diamond. Miss Weston should find the name of the person - or persons - to whom one or more cases of boxes decorated with figures of Buddha were sold from May 9th, 1922, onwards. The statuette represented Buddha in a most unusual posture: not the conventional sitting position with a straight back but with the trunk bent from the waist and the head bowed low. I know that the firm Longson & North is still in the business. That will make the first step easier for her. I am grateful to Miss Weston and her family for their charity and kindness to an undeserving man. God bless them, and may He have mercy on me.
James Hogan."
Eddy had heard enough. He clapped his hat on his head and dashed for the door. What luck! His uncle happened to be in London! He would touch him for a useful sum; the old bounder was sure to unbelt! Then he would seize the diamond from under Evelyn's very nose and present it to her as a gift! To a fellow of Eddy Rancing's wit and cheek, it would be mere child's play to beat the girl from scratch. And once he was rich, she would certainly not persist in her obstinate refusal to marry him! Two diamonds with one stone!
He buzzed off.
But it would have been better for him had he continued eavesdropping a little longer; for with the convict's last will, the governor of the prison had enclosed a private letter addressed to the executors, as follows:
"I feel it is my duty to inform you that while the present will was being recorded, a prisoner was lying in the adjoining ward (which we had supposed to be empty) who later claimed that he had been sleeping and heard nothing of James Hogan's confession. However, we have strong reason to suppose that the said prisoner, Charles Gordon (who at the moment is serving a sentence of six years for forging cheques) was not sleeping, but was eavesdropping and is thus possibly aware of the content of the said will.
"I hasten to inform you of this circumstance because the afore-named prisoner's term expires tomorrow and, once released, he is likely to make a violent and unlawful attempt to gain possession of the estate of the deceased, the late James Hogan. Charles Gordon is 6ft. 3in. in height, totally bald, and inclined to obesity. He can be recognised by a disfiguring scar across his nose, the result of an injury sustained years ago.
"In apprising you of these facts..."
Mrs. Weston and her daughter looked at each other in bewilderment. They scarcely knew whether to be pleased or otherwise by this news of the legacy. The treasure had been immured in a piece of pottery made sixteen years ago! Who could say what had become of it by now? It might have been smashed to smithereens long ago. Or, if it was still in one piece, who knew in what lumber-room it might have been stowed away?
"Before we do anything," Evelyn declared firmly, "I think we'd better go and see Uncle Marius."
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