CHAPTER VTHE MOST IMPORTANT CHAPTER IN THE BOOK.CLARA ACTS THE DETECTIVE"It's time to get up, sir. Missus said as 'ow I must get you up by half-past nine."I looked up in astonishment. In the doorway stood our red-faced country servant girl nodding good-humouredly at me."Where is your mistress gone?""Missus went out at half-past eight, and said as 'ow I must wake you up and have the breakfast ready by ten o'clock."There was no mistaking this order, so I hurried up, a little ashamed at having slept so long.No sooner was I dressed, than there was a ring at the front doorbell, and in stepped Monk with a very serious face.He was not one of those who are much affected by one or even two nights of sleeplessness, but to-day he looked unusually tired and weary."I'm afraid you haven't had a good night. It was dreadfully late when we left you; we shouldn't have kept you up so long!""It was rather I who kept both of you up so late. But where is your wife gone?""Clara went out at half-past eight, the girl says; but she is sure to be home soon. Why do you ask?""She telephoned to me a quarter of an hour ago. She told me to come here at once, as she had something of importance to tell me.""She must have telephoned from some place in town," I answered, somewhat surprised."Your wife made some very sensible remarks about the photograph, yesterday," said Monk, hesitatingly. "Has she said anything more on the subject?""Hullo, Monk," I answered, laughing; "so you've come to consult Clara Viller, the private detective!"Monk hadn't time to answer, for in came the very person we spoke of. Her cheeks were rosy with the sharp morning air. In her hand she carried an untidy, badly packed, brown paper parcel."Please excuse me, Mr. Monk, for keeping you waiting; but I was obliged to call in at the charcuterie establishment and get something tasty for Frederick's breakfast. Such a gourmand as he is! For you, I have got something else. But take a seat at the table and have a cup of coffee; I will just run and slip off my things—I shan't be gone a minute."She vanished from the room just as suddenly as she had appeared.Monk and I sat down at the breakfast table, and Clara soon joined us. Both she and I did good justice to the viands, but Monk only played with his knife and fork.When we were finished, Clara asked me for the key to the safe in my office.She returned with the photograph and the magnifying glass, and laid them beside Monk on the table. Monk and I looked at her in astonishment. She also placed the brown paper parcel near."Yesterday I promised to show you that the photograph had been tampered with. I could have done it at the time, but I was anxious to refute all the objections which I knew you and Frederick would bring forward, and that is why I waited until to-day. The matter is soon settled; the lady who stands in the photograph has on a little hat with a feather in it. On which side is the feather?"Monk glanced at the photograph. "On the right side!""Yes, quite so; now do you think that any lady wears feathers on the right side of her hat?""No,—now I come to think of it, ladies usually wear feathers on the left side of their hats," Monk said, looking uncertainly at us both."Usually, do you say? Not at all! No lady ever wears feathers on the right side.""There may be something in what you say, Mrs. Viller," Monk's voice was still somewhat uncertain; "but this is of course only the little wing of a woodcock, and Evelina—Miss Frick—I mean the lady in the photograph—might for once have placed it on the other side.""Not to mention," I added, "that the lady in a hurry might have put on the hat the wrong way.""That is exactly the argument I expected!" shouted Clara, triumphantly. "That's just the way men argue; but see here! Here is the selfsame hat which Evelina and Sigrid wore that day the diamond was stolen. Now you can see for yourselves!"She tore the paper off the parcel and drew out a little green felt hat with a brown wing in it, and showed it to Monk.Monk jumped up and clutched the hat greedily. His hands trembled with excitement."I have bought it from Mrs. Reierson to-day," continued Clara. "I pretended that a rich English lady was collecting curiosities from celebrated trials. As it was fortunately rather far on in the quarter, I could see that Mrs. Reierson was apparently in great need of money. She was even sober."Monk sat with the hat in his hand, staring at it; I went up to him."The feather is sewn fast," he muttered, "and there are no signs that it has ever been fixed on the other side.""But what if she had put on the hat the wrong way?"Clara laughed heartily."Here, you shall see for yourselves!" She snatched the hat out of Monk's hand and set it on her own head.I collapsed.The feather slanted backward as it did in the photograph when the hat was put on properly. But if it was turned back to front, as Clara now had it, it slanted forward in a ridiculous manner.There could be no mistake—the photograph had been tampered with!"Are you both convinced?" exclaimed Clara."Yes," I answered, "it is all fraud and trickery.""This is a very strange affair," said Monk, and began again to examine the hat which Clara had put in front of him.In the meantime I took the photograph and the magnifying glass and began again to examine it. Perhaps there's something else to discover, I thought to myself.Suddenly I laid down the magnifying glass and leant back in my chair, roaring with laughter. The other two thought, no doubt, that I had gone mad."That's a bit too much!" I exclaimed. "The person who has got up this photograph must have been audacity or ignorance personified; just imagine that such a thing as this hasn't been found out before! Look at Venus de Milo! ha, ha, ha, ... ha! Do you know the Venus de Milo, Monk?""Do you mean the little copy in ivory which stands in Frick's museum, and which has come out in the photograph you have there?" Monk's voice was gentle enough; but I saw by his face that he was full of excitement and expectation."Let me see!" Clara rushed forward and snatched the photograph and the magnifying glass out of my hand."What is the matter, then, with this Venus? As far as I can see by the photograph the little ivory copy must be quite a work of art, but I can't see anything remarkable about it.""No, because she has got no hat or clothes on her. But look here—" I turned round to Monk—"how many arms has Venus de Milo?""Only half an arm on the right side, and none on the left.""But this one has half an arm on the left side and nothing on the right. I can't understand it," remarked Clara. She had kept hold of the picture, but now passed it on to Monk, and looked at me sceptically."There, you can see!" I said triumphantly. "When a woman has fixed a feather on the wrong side of her hat, you can detect it at once; but when a woman has her only arm placed on the left side, instead of the right, then you don't notice it. But what is the matter with Monk?"He had been looking at the picture for a moment through the magnifying glass, when he suddenly let both fall and jumped up from his seat. He placed one hand over his eyes, and kept it there for some time. Then he let it fall and stared into space, muttering: "What a fool and an idiot I have been! I pretend to be a detective! I am blind—completely blind! I tried to judge others, and yet have not been able to see before my own nose! I am not worth the dust I eat!""Hold hard!" I shouted, laughing, "you don't seem to eat much dust; you live plainly, we may say, but well. I suppose you mean the dust beneath your feet."To my astonishment, Monk still remained standing and staring into space, while he repeated:—"The dust beneath my feet."I often think of that scene, and how strangely we may act when the brain is really at work. Monk afterward told me that he hadn't the faintest idea what words he had uttered at the time, but that during the few seconds which elapsed, the whole story of the affair which had taken up so many years of his life again passed through his brain—not in its old guise, but in quite a new form; in a new light, which helped him to see clearly through the veil of mystery which had hitherto enveloped the thing.But suffice it to say that Monk soon became himself again, or, better still, an improved edition of the depressed and resigned man we had seen for the last few days. His eyes sparkled and his lips trembled with joyous emotion, as he stood before Clara and me, and alternately shook our hands."All is clear now! I can prove that Sigrid is innocent. It is as clear as the day; and I can also prove who the scoundrel is"—here a dark shadow overspread his face—"who is the author of all this wretched treachery.""But how?""It is soon explained," answered Monk. "Tell me, why was it that Evelina was acquitted? Because it was proved that she could not be the person who appeared in the photograph—do you remember?""Yes, of course! First of all, because the person in the photograph has a ring on the third finger of the left hand, while Evelina, on account of an injury to her finger when a child, could not get a ring on this finger.""Yes, quite right; and then?""Then the photograph showed the time to be twenty-one minutes to six; and at the time, it was proved that Evelina was at her mother's.""Quite so; but in the photograph, as you and your wife have shown me, a feather appears on the right side of the hat, although it should appear on the left, and the Venus de Milo has an arm on the side where there should be none—but no arm where there ought to be one. If, then, the person in the photograph in the same way has also her left arm where her right should be, and vice versa, then the great point raised by the prosecution falls to the ground. Isn't that so? It is her right-hand finger which bears the ring.""Yes, you are right; but the time? The clock in the elephant's forehead?"Instead of answering, Monk went over to a little alarm clock which stood on the writing table.He first set to work to move the hands, carefully shielding the dial from us; then he signed to us to follow him, and he led the way over to a long mirror at the other end of the room. He placed Clara and me in front of the mirror, he himself standing behind us, holding up the clock."Look in the mirror now, and tell me what the time is.""Twenty-one minutes to six," answered Clara and I at the same moment."Now turn round and look at the clock—well, what do you say now? It is twenty-one minutes past six, isn't it?"It was now Clara's and my turn to make our deductions. "You mean, then, that the picture is altogether a fraud? It is just as if everything had been turned about, so that left becomes right and right becomes wrong.""I mean," answered Monk, briskly, "that the photograph itself is all right, and the person who is in the photograph is Evelina Reierson. At the moment when she was photographed, she wore a feather on the left side of her hat, in her left hand she held the diamond, and on the right hand she wore a ring. The time was twenty-one minutes past six.""But how—?""I'll soon tell you. The whole secret lies in the fact thatthe photograph was taken from a reflection in a mirror!""In a mirror?""Yes, in a mirror.""You are right! That explains all!""Yes, all; and even a little more which, perhaps, you have not thought of. Thank heaven the scales have fallen from my eyes, and I can see once more!""This is no time for Biblical language, my dear Monk; let us hear what you mean by 'even a little more.'""You are right! Well, we have got so far that we know the picture has been taken in a mirror; but in what mirror?""Well, that is for you to find out; both Clara and I have done our duty.""You certainly have; and I shall manage the rest—at least I hope so. On the wall just opposite the cupboard in the museum—the one which appears here in the photograph—there is, right enough, a mirror, a tolerably large one, and it is in that mirror that the photograph was taken.""But then, the person who took it must have stood right beside Evelina, and he could not very well have avoided being included in the photograph." It was Clara who made this remark."You are quite right, Mrs. Viller; but he stood so much to one side that he did not come within the frame of the mirror. To prevent the frame from showing in the photograph, he has clipped it on both sides. That is why the picture is so narrow.""This is all very well," I felt compelled to remark, "but there is one thing which upsets the whole of your fine theory. Is it at all likely that Evelina would allow any one to stand beside her and photograph her in the mirror, while she was about to steal a diamond, or, more correctly, would she choose the moment to steal the diamond while she was being photographed?""Yes, it was just that point which I found to be the most difficult, a little while ago, when I was building up my theory, so to speak; but I have happily solved that question, and the solution opens up a still larger vista to us.""When you were building up your theory, you say? Do you mean those seconds a little while ago, when you stood with staring eyes, and muttering something about eating dust?""It is possible that I behaved rather strangely," laughed Monk; "and I haven't an idea how long I was away from this world. But even if it was for only a few seconds, they were, at any rate, more than sufficient to reveal to me what had really taken place behind the scenes, and which I, until now, have been quite deceived about. Just listen! If you remember my description of the little house in Frick's garden, of which the museum was a part, you will remember that from the museum there is a door leading to the fire-proof room. This door is just at the side of the cupboard which we have referred to so often. The only way in which one could, by aid of the mirror, photograph a person without being noticed in front of the cupboard, would be by standing inside the fire-proof room, leaving the door of the museum ajar.""Do you mean that the Englishman had been inside old Frick's fire-proof room? The door of that surely wouldn't be open?""No, it is a strong iron door of which old Frick had the key; but for a clever man, whose time was his own, it would not be a difficult matter to procure a false key. You remember that Howell had had the entrée to the museum whenever he liked, for many months.""But what business had the Englishman in there? He must have been a great scoundrel; and there is no reason why he should not help himself to what he could find. But perhaps there was not much cash there, and besides, you have not said anything about old Frick being robbed of any.""You are right. I cannot yet quite see what he wanted in old Frick's fire-proof room. But one thing you can be certain of, and that is, that he was there for no good. In some way or other we must get old Frick's permission to visit the room, as you call it. I fancy that is where we shall find the key to the mystery. But how shall we be able to see him? He won't receive me, and I am afraid he will have heard of our friendship, and so refuse to see you, Frederick.""I shall manage to see old Frick," said Clara, "and get you admitted, as well. But I am ashamed of you, Monk! Have you quite forgotten Sigrid?""Forgotten Sigrid!" answered Monk, blushing like a peony."Yes, forgotten her, I say. What was the exact time by the clock when the photograph was taken in the mirror?""It must have been twenty minutes past six.""And the whole of the time between six and seven Sigrid sat with her uncle, drinking tea with him. Wasn't that so?""Yes.""Then her innocence is proved, whether the Englishman had been inside old Frick's fire-proof room, or not. Why don't you telegraph to Sigrid at once? Why haven't you done so half an hour ago? Rather than marry a detective, I would see myself—"Monk tried to answer this terrible volley, but was scornfully sent about his business.So it was arranged that Clara should go to old Frick, and as soon as Monk and I had telegraphed to New York, we were to go to Villa Ballarat and wait outside till Clara gave a signal that the siege was raised.CHAPTER VIOLD FRICK AGAINAs Monk had told us, old Frick had been for many years lame, and a prisoner to his invalid chair.Imagine, then, Monk's and my surprise when we, on entering Villa Ballarat, after having been sent for from our post outside, found the master of the house standing in the middle of the room, and Clara sitting smiling in a chair.It is not necessary to describe the meeting between him and Clara, although my wife, at the time, gave a full account of it.Suffice it to say that she boldly entered the lion's den and, without much ceremony, began upbraiding old Frick with his hard treatment of his brother's children."If your nephew has erred," she said, "he was young at the time, and in bad company—that I can vouch for." She was thinking, no doubt, of Mr. Howell. "As far as your niece is concerned, you have judged her, as the whole world has judged her, on suspicion, without taking into consideration her character."Old Frick had got red in the face at these words, and his arms and legs had begun twitching violently.Clara was a little afraid the old man would have a fit, but remembering the old saying, "Joy does not kill," she continued, quite undisturbed: "Something has, however, happened, which you have not deserved, Mr. Frick. Monk and two friends, my husband and myself, have discovered, as we shall prove, that she has had nothing whatever to do with the disappearance of the diamond; it is the scoundrel Mr. Howell who is at the bottom of it all. In fact, in a short time you may have your niece back again, and for the remainder of your life you'll have an opportunity of making amends for your mistake."There is no doubt Clara was most successful in her appeal; for instead of old Frick having a fit, he suddenly rose from his chair, stumbled across to Clara, and in a trembling voice asked her for a fuller explanation. The excitement had cured his lameness; and though he never entirely regained the full use of his legs, yet from that moment he was, at any rate, able to move about by himself.I shall not dwell on the meeting between old Frick and Monk and myself. Many minutes had not elapsed before we seemed to have known each other for many years. He had gained a respect for Clara which, I think, will last to the end of his life.Only the most necessary explanations were given,—happily Monk was a man who expressed himself briefly and clearly,—and so it was decided to adjourn to the museum in the garden. Old Frick took with him a large bunch of keys which lay on the table beside his invalid chair, at which he now cast a scornful glance, as well as at the servant who came forward to wheel his master. There was no necessity for more witnesses, so the servant, greatly to his surprise, was dismissed, and with Frick leaning upon Monk's and my arm, we set out for the museum.It was with very mixed feelings that Clara and I saw the scene of the events which had for three days entirely engrossed our thoughts. I do not doubt that Monk and old Frick were just as much affected, even if their feelings were of quite another kind.We entered the pavilion in the garden and proceeded through the museum. Everything was in exactly the same state, old Frick and Monk said, as it was six years before.Old Frick pulled out a key and opened the door into the fire-proof room.As if by a tacit understanding Clara went across and stood in front of the cupboard in which the black tortoise glistened—which was opened by old Frick—while we others went into the room and pulled the door almost to, after us. There, sure enough, through the opening, our gaze involuntarily fell on the large mirror just opposite, and in the glass we saw the reflection of the cupboard and the shelf above it, with the little elephant and the Venus de Milo, and Clara's figure with her back to us."Confound it all!" shouted old Frick, "it is just as Monk says. The rascal has been standing in here and photographing her!"Clara said she must also see it; she went into the room, while I took her place.But Monk did not allow us to lose any more time."Have you missed anything from the fire-proof room, Mr. Frick?" he asked. "The Englishman must have had some reason for providing himself with a key to fit it.""No," answered old Frick, after having considered a moment, "I keep nothing in here but documents and papers, which only concern me. Money I always kept in the iron safe in the office.""There are two iron safes here," said Monk."Yes," answered old Frick, "in the larger safe I keep family papers, etc., which are of no value to any one. In the small one over there—which is of course nothing but an iron box, but is provided with an unusually ingenious lock—I keep my will, and a list of what I possess."The large safe was opened, and a lamp was brought in from the museum. The safe, with its contents, was carefully examined, but nothing unusual could be discovered."Now comes the turn of the box," said Monk. "Will you help me to bring it out into the museum, Frederick?"Although the whole thing was not more than sixteen or twenty inches square, it was so massive that we had to use all our strength to move it out into the daylight.It was a handsome steel box, the four sides and the lid being ornamented with chased arabesques.Old Frick brought out a key of unusual shape."Wait a bit, Mr. Frick," said Monk, holding up his arm; "when was the last time this box was opened?""Six years ago," said Frick, slowly, "when I altered my will—God be praised that I can alter it yet once again!""Did Mr. Howell know anything about the will?""Yes, of course. I made him my heir to all which does not go to charities, and legacies, and suchlike. It is about £30,000. At first I had divided it equally between Sigrid, Einar, and him, but then—then—well I don't think it necessary to explain the rest; but then came this business, and I struck Sigrid's and Einar's names out.""And he knew where you kept it?""Yes; a day or two before he left, I read it to him, here in the museum, and put it in the box, while he was looking."Monk was all the time examining the box most carefully, and some time passed before he spoke."I thought as much!" he exclaimed, with his old genial smile. "Look here!"We stooped down to see the better. He had turned the box over so that the side which had stood against the wall in the fire-proof room was uppermost. A number of artistically interwoven spirals were chased in the steel. With a penknife he scraped away the rust and dirt from one of them,—it was about five or six inches in diameter. A number of small, round spots could then be seen. He took a pin, placed its point on one of the spots, and pressed it, when, to our great surprise, the needle appeared to sink into the steel."Is there a hammer here?" He looked around, and his eye rested on an old axe from the bronze age. "That will do."A strong blow in the centre of the circle—and to our great astonishment the round steel dial disappeared into the box."Well, hang it all!" shouted old Frick; "but how in all the world—?""It is simple enough, but none the less ingeniously done," answered Monk, dryly. "Mr. Howell couldn't manage the lock, and so he bored a number of small holes in one of the spirals, and afterward, with a watch-saw, he sawed through the space between them. He has shown himself to be a clever craftsman—that can't be denied. When he had done what he wanted to do with the contents, he replaced the piece, filled the holes with putty, and smeared them over with rust and dirt.""Then he must have stolen the deeds!" said old Frick, pressing forward and putting his big fist through the hole in the box. "No; here are both the envelopes, at any rate!"He managed, though perhaps with some difficulty, in dragging out two envelopes—one was very thick, the other somewhat thinner."No, here is the will," he muttered, pointing to the thin packet, "and here are the deeds. Both with my seal unbroken.""A seal is easily broken and put right again," answered Monk; "but tell me one thing before we examine the packets. Has any one else except Mr. Howell seen the will and list of your possessions?""No," exclaimed old Frick, with decision; "lawyers have only been sent into the world by the devil, to do mischief. I wouldn't have anything to do with them. I went to the sheriff and got him to draw up the formula for me, and then I wrote the will myself. Howell knew that, as well, confound him! That such a father should have such a son!" he muttered, in quite another tone of voice."Well, let us open the packets, then," said Monk; "we shall perhaps find more traces of Mr. Howell's fingers."The small packet was opened, and we all leant over to look at the will.It was drawn in the usual legal form, and told briefly that Frick bequeathed his curiosities and collections to the state, all his movable property—ready money, bank shares, etc., etc.,—to Mr. Reginald Howell; house property, mortgages, etc., to the university, the Royal Society for Science, and other institutions.Everything was fully specified, and the sums either given exact, or reference was made to a list appended."Well, everything here seems all right; it is exactly as I wrote it myself. The coachman and gardener have signed as witnesses. I gave them each five thousand kroners cash, to avoid including them among the legatees.""Are you quite sure, Mr. Frick?" said Monk, as he leant over the paper. "Here is a figure which looks as if it had been erased.""Let me see! Yes—what the devil is this? My house, property, shares, etc.," he read, "which, according to the list, amount to about 1,000,000 kroners,—but, bless me! I possess nearer 1,900,000, which is nearly the double, and that was what I wrote—""There you are! We shall get at it, little by little," said Monk, with his most genial smile. I hadn't seen him in such a good humour for a long time."But I don't understand," grumbled old Frick. "What motive can he have in making me out to be poorer than I am? He doesn't get the 900,000 kroners which have been erased!""Let us look at the list and the mortgages," answered Monk, just as genially. "We shall be sure to find the solution."The other envelope was opened.I read out the list, and old Frick opened the mortgages and deeds in the order I read:—"No. 177 Drammen Road, 'deed.'""Yes, here it is.""Karl Johans Street, 77, 'deed.'""Yes, that's all right."Etc., etc."Mortgages to the amount of 27,000 kroners, in the farm Hoff, in Hedemarken.""Yes, here it is."And so we went on."It was a long business," I said; "but we've come to the end at last.""End!" shouted old Frick. "But it hasn't come to an end! The plum is always at the bottom, and a fine plum it is too!""What do you mean? There's nothing more on the list."Old Frick fumbled about in the empty envelope."And nothing more here, either! He has stolen the mortgage deed in Ashton Abbey, and—" Old Frick tore the list out of my hand. "Just look here! Confound him! If he hasn't cut off the bottom part of the list, so that the last item is missing! But bless me, if I can understand what satisfaction he can get out of this mortgage.""Nor I," I muttered; "mortgages are not papers payable to bearer, so any one can make them into ready money. You need only write to England to get a new copy of the mortgage.""Monk knows very well what it all means," exclaimed Clara; "he is only raising our curiosity. If I had known that you would so soon begin with your superior detective ways, I wouldn't have helped you so quickly with the photograph,—that you may be quite sure about."She glanced with comic exasperation at Monk, who, in return, only smiled pleasantly."I must admit that at this moment all is clear to me; but the last knot has only been unloosened two minutes ago. Tell me, Mr. Frick, what mortgage is it that you now speak of, and what was the amount of it?""Don't you remember," answered Frick, testily, "I once told you of an old rascal, Davis by name, and how I was lucky enough at last to get at him and make him pay me my share of the money which he had stolen?""Yes, of course I remember.""Yes; and I, also.""And I, also."Old Frick looked at Clara and me in astonishment."I have told them all about the affair," remarked Monk. "Let us just hear some more about Mr. Davis.""Well, there isn't much more to say about it. He was to pay me £50,000, but he had no ready money, as he had invested all his funds in a large estate, and was quite willing to take a mortgage on it. It suited me just as well as ready money, for the estate was worth more than double that. This is the mortgage which has been stolen and cut off the list.""Well, then, the total sum of 1,000,000 kroners would be right, instead of 1,900,000 kroners," said Monk; "for £50,000 is just 900,000 kroners.""Yes, that is true; but he can't do much with it. As Mr. Viller says, he can't sell the mortgage without my signature.""Did any one know you were in possession of that mortgage?" asked Monk."No, no one in this country: those rascally lawyers I have always kept at a distance, and no one has had a chance of meddling with my papers.""No one except Mr. Howell," was Monk's dry reply. "But listen here, my friends! I will put a question to you. But excuse me, Mr. Frick, if I first ask you to answer me. If all this had not happened to-day, do you think you would ever have opened these envelopes again?""No," said old Frick, decidedly; "when my last hours approached, I might perhaps have had the iron box opened to see that the envelopes were there and the seals in order, but nothing more. I should have been satisfied that all was as it should be.""Very well. Now let me put my question to you two. If Mr. Frick had died without having discovered the theft of this mortgage, no one, of course, would have known of the existence of such a mortgage, and the owner of Ashton Abbey would not be obliged to pay any interest. Wouldn't that be a clear saving for Davis, or his heirs, of about £2500 a year?""By Jove, so it would!" exclaimed old Frick; "but why young Howell should help Davis to £2500 a year, I cannot understand. He may be a big rascal,—that I now can very easily see, although his father was the best man under the sun,—but he isn't exactly stupid.""All the same, he resembles his father in that—""Stop!" I cried. "Now I can see it all. Ashton Abbey! Ashton Abbey! Now I understand! Young Howell must be the son of old Davis!""Yes, that is also my opinion," answered Monk, not at all offended that I had taken the word out of his mouth. "He must have travelled from Australia with the real young Howell. All must have lost their lives except young Davis, who must have possessed himself of young Howell's papers, and later on, played his rôle in the old world. That, I think, explains all.""Yes, he is the son of old Davis, there's no mistake about that!" exclaimed Frick in great spirits. "Upon my soul it was the best discovery of all, for now I need not mourn that my old friend had such a son. But what was it you said about Ashton Hall? It is the neighbouring estate to Ashton Abbey. Once they were both one estate.""Monk told us earlier to-day that his agent had informed him that Mr. Howell, or rather Davis junior, often visited that estate. It was, of course, in order to confer with his worthy father, old Davis. I suppose that was what set you on the track, Monk.""Just so!"CHAPTER VIITHE YACHT "DEERHOUND"Monk kept his word. The following Friday he sailed for America; but our hope that he would soon return was not fulfilled.When he arrived in New York he found Sigrid laid up with a dangerous illness. Sorrow, and over-exertion in nursing her brother, had completely prostrated her. I believe Monk's telegram, which we sent directly the discovery about the photograph was made, saved her life.She had made great progress toward recovery by the time Monk arrived, but she was still exceedingly weak.It was a month afterward before they were able to get married; but the crossing over the Atlantic was not to be thought of during the stormy winter months.At last, in the beginning of May, we heard from them. They had sailed. And fourteen days afterward we welcomed them in Christiania.The lady we saw on Monk's arm on the steamer's deck was remarkably pretty, and looked exceedingly happy; although sorrow and trouble had imparted a sad and serious expression to her face, which is never likely to leave it.Before the gangway could be properly adjusted, Clara had jumped on board and taken her in her arms, a proceeding which seemed to both to be the most natural thing in the world, although they had never seen each other before.Old Frick hobbled restlessly about on the quay, like a large dog which has done something wrong, and is not quite sure whether it will be forgiven or no.He could not speak a word when his niece clasped her arm round his neck and sprinkled his white hair with joyous tears. But his eloquence was the greater, when we were all gathered in the evening at Villa Ballarat. It was there that the newly married couple were to stay for the present.* * * * *About a week after their return home, Monk came to me with a face more serious than usual. "I have still a duty to fulfil in the matter of the black tortoise," he said. "You won't come with me to Stavanger to-morrow, I suppose? I hope to meet Mr. Howell there, or more correctly speaking, Mr. Davis, junior.""Monk, Monk!" I exclaimed threateningly. "Is the detective on the warpath again? Will you desert your wife already?"Monk blushed slightly."No, this time it is not the detective. But it is my duty to justice and to my wife to get at the bottom of the diamond affair. Remember that more than half of what we believe we have discovered is only the fruits of guesswork and putting two and two together."'"You are right. I shall come with you. May I ask how you intend to proceed in the matter against the Englishman? There are not, I suppose, sufficient proofs to get a warrant of arrest?""No, I am afraid not; and I haven't got my plans quite ready yet. But I fancy we must content ourselves with compelling him to give us a complete proof of Sigrid's innocence, and letting him off from any further unpleasantness. It is hard; but Sigrid is now very nervous, and shudders at the thought of appearing before the court, and all that kind of thing, you know.""Well, let us start to-morrow evening on the west coast steamer. I shall be ready. But are you sure to meet him there?""Yes, my agent in London writes that he has already sailed from England in his yachtDeerhound, and is bound for the Ryfylke fjord to fish for salmon, but in Stavanger he'll await a party which will arrive here by the mail steamer in a few days."
CHAPTER V
THE MOST IMPORTANT CHAPTER IN THE BOOK.CLARA ACTS THE DETECTIVE
"It's time to get up, sir. Missus said as 'ow I must get you up by half-past nine."
I looked up in astonishment. In the doorway stood our red-faced country servant girl nodding good-humouredly at me.
"Where is your mistress gone?"
"Missus went out at half-past eight, and said as 'ow I must wake you up and have the breakfast ready by ten o'clock."
There was no mistaking this order, so I hurried up, a little ashamed at having slept so long.
No sooner was I dressed, than there was a ring at the front doorbell, and in stepped Monk with a very serious face.
He was not one of those who are much affected by one or even two nights of sleeplessness, but to-day he looked unusually tired and weary.
"I'm afraid you haven't had a good night. It was dreadfully late when we left you; we shouldn't have kept you up so long!"
"It was rather I who kept both of you up so late. But where is your wife gone?"
"Clara went out at half-past eight, the girl says; but she is sure to be home soon. Why do you ask?"
"She telephoned to me a quarter of an hour ago. She told me to come here at once, as she had something of importance to tell me."
"She must have telephoned from some place in town," I answered, somewhat surprised.
"Your wife made some very sensible remarks about the photograph, yesterday," said Monk, hesitatingly. "Has she said anything more on the subject?"
"Hullo, Monk," I answered, laughing; "so you've come to consult Clara Viller, the private detective!"
Monk hadn't time to answer, for in came the very person we spoke of. Her cheeks were rosy with the sharp morning air. In her hand she carried an untidy, badly packed, brown paper parcel.
"Please excuse me, Mr. Monk, for keeping you waiting; but I was obliged to call in at the charcuterie establishment and get something tasty for Frederick's breakfast. Such a gourmand as he is! For you, I have got something else. But take a seat at the table and have a cup of coffee; I will just run and slip off my things—I shan't be gone a minute."
She vanished from the room just as suddenly as she had appeared.
Monk and I sat down at the breakfast table, and Clara soon joined us. Both she and I did good justice to the viands, but Monk only played with his knife and fork.
When we were finished, Clara asked me for the key to the safe in my office.
She returned with the photograph and the magnifying glass, and laid them beside Monk on the table. Monk and I looked at her in astonishment. She also placed the brown paper parcel near.
"Yesterday I promised to show you that the photograph had been tampered with. I could have done it at the time, but I was anxious to refute all the objections which I knew you and Frederick would bring forward, and that is why I waited until to-day. The matter is soon settled; the lady who stands in the photograph has on a little hat with a feather in it. On which side is the feather?"
Monk glanced at the photograph. "On the right side!"
"Yes, quite so; now do you think that any lady wears feathers on the right side of her hat?"
"No,—now I come to think of it, ladies usually wear feathers on the left side of their hats," Monk said, looking uncertainly at us both.
"Usually, do you say? Not at all! No lady ever wears feathers on the right side."
"There may be something in what you say, Mrs. Viller," Monk's voice was still somewhat uncertain; "but this is of course only the little wing of a woodcock, and Evelina—Miss Frick—I mean the lady in the photograph—might for once have placed it on the other side."
"Not to mention," I added, "that the lady in a hurry might have put on the hat the wrong way."
"That is exactly the argument I expected!" shouted Clara, triumphantly. "That's just the way men argue; but see here! Here is the selfsame hat which Evelina and Sigrid wore that day the diamond was stolen. Now you can see for yourselves!"
She tore the paper off the parcel and drew out a little green felt hat with a brown wing in it, and showed it to Monk.
Monk jumped up and clutched the hat greedily. His hands trembled with excitement.
"I have bought it from Mrs. Reierson to-day," continued Clara. "I pretended that a rich English lady was collecting curiosities from celebrated trials. As it was fortunately rather far on in the quarter, I could see that Mrs. Reierson was apparently in great need of money. She was even sober."
Monk sat with the hat in his hand, staring at it; I went up to him.
"The feather is sewn fast," he muttered, "and there are no signs that it has ever been fixed on the other side."
"But what if she had put on the hat the wrong way?"
Clara laughed heartily.
"Here, you shall see for yourselves!" She snatched the hat out of Monk's hand and set it on her own head.
I collapsed.
The feather slanted backward as it did in the photograph when the hat was put on properly. But if it was turned back to front, as Clara now had it, it slanted forward in a ridiculous manner.
There could be no mistake—the photograph had been tampered with!
"Are you both convinced?" exclaimed Clara.
"Yes," I answered, "it is all fraud and trickery."
"This is a very strange affair," said Monk, and began again to examine the hat which Clara had put in front of him.
In the meantime I took the photograph and the magnifying glass and began again to examine it. Perhaps there's something else to discover, I thought to myself.
Suddenly I laid down the magnifying glass and leant back in my chair, roaring with laughter. The other two thought, no doubt, that I had gone mad.
"That's a bit too much!" I exclaimed. "The person who has got up this photograph must have been audacity or ignorance personified; just imagine that such a thing as this hasn't been found out before! Look at Venus de Milo! ha, ha, ha, ... ha! Do you know the Venus de Milo, Monk?"
"Do you mean the little copy in ivory which stands in Frick's museum, and which has come out in the photograph you have there?" Monk's voice was gentle enough; but I saw by his face that he was full of excitement and expectation.
"Let me see!" Clara rushed forward and snatched the photograph and the magnifying glass out of my hand.
"What is the matter, then, with this Venus? As far as I can see by the photograph the little ivory copy must be quite a work of art, but I can't see anything remarkable about it."
"No, because she has got no hat or clothes on her. But look here—" I turned round to Monk—"how many arms has Venus de Milo?"
"Only half an arm on the right side, and none on the left."
"But this one has half an arm on the left side and nothing on the right. I can't understand it," remarked Clara. She had kept hold of the picture, but now passed it on to Monk, and looked at me sceptically.
"There, you can see!" I said triumphantly. "When a woman has fixed a feather on the wrong side of her hat, you can detect it at once; but when a woman has her only arm placed on the left side, instead of the right, then you don't notice it. But what is the matter with Monk?"
He had been looking at the picture for a moment through the magnifying glass, when he suddenly let both fall and jumped up from his seat. He placed one hand over his eyes, and kept it there for some time. Then he let it fall and stared into space, muttering: "What a fool and an idiot I have been! I pretend to be a detective! I am blind—completely blind! I tried to judge others, and yet have not been able to see before my own nose! I am not worth the dust I eat!"
"Hold hard!" I shouted, laughing, "you don't seem to eat much dust; you live plainly, we may say, but well. I suppose you mean the dust beneath your feet."
To my astonishment, Monk still remained standing and staring into space, while he repeated:—
"The dust beneath my feet."
I often think of that scene, and how strangely we may act when the brain is really at work. Monk afterward told me that he hadn't the faintest idea what words he had uttered at the time, but that during the few seconds which elapsed, the whole story of the affair which had taken up so many years of his life again passed through his brain—not in its old guise, but in quite a new form; in a new light, which helped him to see clearly through the veil of mystery which had hitherto enveloped the thing.
But suffice it to say that Monk soon became himself again, or, better still, an improved edition of the depressed and resigned man we had seen for the last few days. His eyes sparkled and his lips trembled with joyous emotion, as he stood before Clara and me, and alternately shook our hands.
"All is clear now! I can prove that Sigrid is innocent. It is as clear as the day; and I can also prove who the scoundrel is"—here a dark shadow overspread his face—"who is the author of all this wretched treachery."
"But how?"
"It is soon explained," answered Monk. "Tell me, why was it that Evelina was acquitted? Because it was proved that she could not be the person who appeared in the photograph—do you remember?"
"Yes, of course! First of all, because the person in the photograph has a ring on the third finger of the left hand, while Evelina, on account of an injury to her finger when a child, could not get a ring on this finger."
"Yes, quite right; and then?"
"Then the photograph showed the time to be twenty-one minutes to six; and at the time, it was proved that Evelina was at her mother's."
"Quite so; but in the photograph, as you and your wife have shown me, a feather appears on the right side of the hat, although it should appear on the left, and the Venus de Milo has an arm on the side where there should be none—but no arm where there ought to be one. If, then, the person in the photograph in the same way has also her left arm where her right should be, and vice versa, then the great point raised by the prosecution falls to the ground. Isn't that so? It is her right-hand finger which bears the ring."
"Yes, you are right; but the time? The clock in the elephant's forehead?"
Instead of answering, Monk went over to a little alarm clock which stood on the writing table.
He first set to work to move the hands, carefully shielding the dial from us; then he signed to us to follow him, and he led the way over to a long mirror at the other end of the room. He placed Clara and me in front of the mirror, he himself standing behind us, holding up the clock.
"Look in the mirror now, and tell me what the time is."
"Twenty-one minutes to six," answered Clara and I at the same moment.
"Now turn round and look at the clock—well, what do you say now? It is twenty-one minutes past six, isn't it?"
It was now Clara's and my turn to make our deductions. "You mean, then, that the picture is altogether a fraud? It is just as if everything had been turned about, so that left becomes right and right becomes wrong."
"I mean," answered Monk, briskly, "that the photograph itself is all right, and the person who is in the photograph is Evelina Reierson. At the moment when she was photographed, she wore a feather on the left side of her hat, in her left hand she held the diamond, and on the right hand she wore a ring. The time was twenty-one minutes past six."
"But how—?"
"I'll soon tell you. The whole secret lies in the fact thatthe photograph was taken from a reflection in a mirror!"
"In a mirror?"
"Yes, in a mirror."
"You are right! That explains all!"
"Yes, all; and even a little more which, perhaps, you have not thought of. Thank heaven the scales have fallen from my eyes, and I can see once more!"
"This is no time for Biblical language, my dear Monk; let us hear what you mean by 'even a little more.'"
"You are right! Well, we have got so far that we know the picture has been taken in a mirror; but in what mirror?"
"Well, that is for you to find out; both Clara and I have done our duty."
"You certainly have; and I shall manage the rest—at least I hope so. On the wall just opposite the cupboard in the museum—the one which appears here in the photograph—there is, right enough, a mirror, a tolerably large one, and it is in that mirror that the photograph was taken."
"But then, the person who took it must have stood right beside Evelina, and he could not very well have avoided being included in the photograph." It was Clara who made this remark.
"You are quite right, Mrs. Viller; but he stood so much to one side that he did not come within the frame of the mirror. To prevent the frame from showing in the photograph, he has clipped it on both sides. That is why the picture is so narrow."
"This is all very well," I felt compelled to remark, "but there is one thing which upsets the whole of your fine theory. Is it at all likely that Evelina would allow any one to stand beside her and photograph her in the mirror, while she was about to steal a diamond, or, more correctly, would she choose the moment to steal the diamond while she was being photographed?"
"Yes, it was just that point which I found to be the most difficult, a little while ago, when I was building up my theory, so to speak; but I have happily solved that question, and the solution opens up a still larger vista to us."
"When you were building up your theory, you say? Do you mean those seconds a little while ago, when you stood with staring eyes, and muttering something about eating dust?"
"It is possible that I behaved rather strangely," laughed Monk; "and I haven't an idea how long I was away from this world. But even if it was for only a few seconds, they were, at any rate, more than sufficient to reveal to me what had really taken place behind the scenes, and which I, until now, have been quite deceived about. Just listen! If you remember my description of the little house in Frick's garden, of which the museum was a part, you will remember that from the museum there is a door leading to the fire-proof room. This door is just at the side of the cupboard which we have referred to so often. The only way in which one could, by aid of the mirror, photograph a person without being noticed in front of the cupboard, would be by standing inside the fire-proof room, leaving the door of the museum ajar."
"Do you mean that the Englishman had been inside old Frick's fire-proof room? The door of that surely wouldn't be open?"
"No, it is a strong iron door of which old Frick had the key; but for a clever man, whose time was his own, it would not be a difficult matter to procure a false key. You remember that Howell had had the entrée to the museum whenever he liked, for many months."
"But what business had the Englishman in there? He must have been a great scoundrel; and there is no reason why he should not help himself to what he could find. But perhaps there was not much cash there, and besides, you have not said anything about old Frick being robbed of any."
"You are right. I cannot yet quite see what he wanted in old Frick's fire-proof room. But one thing you can be certain of, and that is, that he was there for no good. In some way or other we must get old Frick's permission to visit the room, as you call it. I fancy that is where we shall find the key to the mystery. But how shall we be able to see him? He won't receive me, and I am afraid he will have heard of our friendship, and so refuse to see you, Frederick."
"I shall manage to see old Frick," said Clara, "and get you admitted, as well. But I am ashamed of you, Monk! Have you quite forgotten Sigrid?"
"Forgotten Sigrid!" answered Monk, blushing like a peony.
"Yes, forgotten her, I say. What was the exact time by the clock when the photograph was taken in the mirror?"
"It must have been twenty minutes past six."
"And the whole of the time between six and seven Sigrid sat with her uncle, drinking tea with him. Wasn't that so?"
"Yes."
"Then her innocence is proved, whether the Englishman had been inside old Frick's fire-proof room, or not. Why don't you telegraph to Sigrid at once? Why haven't you done so half an hour ago? Rather than marry a detective, I would see myself—"
Monk tried to answer this terrible volley, but was scornfully sent about his business.
So it was arranged that Clara should go to old Frick, and as soon as Monk and I had telegraphed to New York, we were to go to Villa Ballarat and wait outside till Clara gave a signal that the siege was raised.
CHAPTER VI
OLD FRICK AGAIN
As Monk had told us, old Frick had been for many years lame, and a prisoner to his invalid chair.
Imagine, then, Monk's and my surprise when we, on entering Villa Ballarat, after having been sent for from our post outside, found the master of the house standing in the middle of the room, and Clara sitting smiling in a chair.
It is not necessary to describe the meeting between him and Clara, although my wife, at the time, gave a full account of it.
Suffice it to say that she boldly entered the lion's den and, without much ceremony, began upbraiding old Frick with his hard treatment of his brother's children.
"If your nephew has erred," she said, "he was young at the time, and in bad company—that I can vouch for." She was thinking, no doubt, of Mr. Howell. "As far as your niece is concerned, you have judged her, as the whole world has judged her, on suspicion, without taking into consideration her character."
Old Frick had got red in the face at these words, and his arms and legs had begun twitching violently.
Clara was a little afraid the old man would have a fit, but remembering the old saying, "Joy does not kill," she continued, quite undisturbed: "Something has, however, happened, which you have not deserved, Mr. Frick. Monk and two friends, my husband and myself, have discovered, as we shall prove, that she has had nothing whatever to do with the disappearance of the diamond; it is the scoundrel Mr. Howell who is at the bottom of it all. In fact, in a short time you may have your niece back again, and for the remainder of your life you'll have an opportunity of making amends for your mistake."
There is no doubt Clara was most successful in her appeal; for instead of old Frick having a fit, he suddenly rose from his chair, stumbled across to Clara, and in a trembling voice asked her for a fuller explanation. The excitement had cured his lameness; and though he never entirely regained the full use of his legs, yet from that moment he was, at any rate, able to move about by himself.
I shall not dwell on the meeting between old Frick and Monk and myself. Many minutes had not elapsed before we seemed to have known each other for many years. He had gained a respect for Clara which, I think, will last to the end of his life.
Only the most necessary explanations were given,—happily Monk was a man who expressed himself briefly and clearly,—and so it was decided to adjourn to the museum in the garden. Old Frick took with him a large bunch of keys which lay on the table beside his invalid chair, at which he now cast a scornful glance, as well as at the servant who came forward to wheel his master. There was no necessity for more witnesses, so the servant, greatly to his surprise, was dismissed, and with Frick leaning upon Monk's and my arm, we set out for the museum.
It was with very mixed feelings that Clara and I saw the scene of the events which had for three days entirely engrossed our thoughts. I do not doubt that Monk and old Frick were just as much affected, even if their feelings were of quite another kind.
We entered the pavilion in the garden and proceeded through the museum. Everything was in exactly the same state, old Frick and Monk said, as it was six years before.
Old Frick pulled out a key and opened the door into the fire-proof room.
As if by a tacit understanding Clara went across and stood in front of the cupboard in which the black tortoise glistened—which was opened by old Frick—while we others went into the room and pulled the door almost to, after us. There, sure enough, through the opening, our gaze involuntarily fell on the large mirror just opposite, and in the glass we saw the reflection of the cupboard and the shelf above it, with the little elephant and the Venus de Milo, and Clara's figure with her back to us.
"Confound it all!" shouted old Frick, "it is just as Monk says. The rascal has been standing in here and photographing her!"
Clara said she must also see it; she went into the room, while I took her place.
But Monk did not allow us to lose any more time.
"Have you missed anything from the fire-proof room, Mr. Frick?" he asked. "The Englishman must have had some reason for providing himself with a key to fit it."
"No," answered old Frick, after having considered a moment, "I keep nothing in here but documents and papers, which only concern me. Money I always kept in the iron safe in the office."
"There are two iron safes here," said Monk.
"Yes," answered old Frick, "in the larger safe I keep family papers, etc., which are of no value to any one. In the small one over there—which is of course nothing but an iron box, but is provided with an unusually ingenious lock—I keep my will, and a list of what I possess."
The large safe was opened, and a lamp was brought in from the museum. The safe, with its contents, was carefully examined, but nothing unusual could be discovered.
"Now comes the turn of the box," said Monk. "Will you help me to bring it out into the museum, Frederick?"
Although the whole thing was not more than sixteen or twenty inches square, it was so massive that we had to use all our strength to move it out into the daylight.
It was a handsome steel box, the four sides and the lid being ornamented with chased arabesques.
Old Frick brought out a key of unusual shape.
"Wait a bit, Mr. Frick," said Monk, holding up his arm; "when was the last time this box was opened?"
"Six years ago," said Frick, slowly, "when I altered my will—God be praised that I can alter it yet once again!"
"Did Mr. Howell know anything about the will?"
"Yes, of course. I made him my heir to all which does not go to charities, and legacies, and suchlike. It is about £30,000. At first I had divided it equally between Sigrid, Einar, and him, but then—then—well I don't think it necessary to explain the rest; but then came this business, and I struck Sigrid's and Einar's names out."
"And he knew where you kept it?"
"Yes; a day or two before he left, I read it to him, here in the museum, and put it in the box, while he was looking."
Monk was all the time examining the box most carefully, and some time passed before he spoke.
"I thought as much!" he exclaimed, with his old genial smile. "Look here!"
We stooped down to see the better. He had turned the box over so that the side which had stood against the wall in the fire-proof room was uppermost. A number of artistically interwoven spirals were chased in the steel. With a penknife he scraped away the rust and dirt from one of them,—it was about five or six inches in diameter. A number of small, round spots could then be seen. He took a pin, placed its point on one of the spots, and pressed it, when, to our great surprise, the needle appeared to sink into the steel.
"Is there a hammer here?" He looked around, and his eye rested on an old axe from the bronze age. "That will do."
A strong blow in the centre of the circle—and to our great astonishment the round steel dial disappeared into the box.
"Well, hang it all!" shouted old Frick; "but how in all the world—?"
"It is simple enough, but none the less ingeniously done," answered Monk, dryly. "Mr. Howell couldn't manage the lock, and so he bored a number of small holes in one of the spirals, and afterward, with a watch-saw, he sawed through the space between them. He has shown himself to be a clever craftsman—that can't be denied. When he had done what he wanted to do with the contents, he replaced the piece, filled the holes with putty, and smeared them over with rust and dirt."
"Then he must have stolen the deeds!" said old Frick, pressing forward and putting his big fist through the hole in the box. "No; here are both the envelopes, at any rate!"
He managed, though perhaps with some difficulty, in dragging out two envelopes—one was very thick, the other somewhat thinner.
"No, here is the will," he muttered, pointing to the thin packet, "and here are the deeds. Both with my seal unbroken."
"A seal is easily broken and put right again," answered Monk; "but tell me one thing before we examine the packets. Has any one else except Mr. Howell seen the will and list of your possessions?"
"No," exclaimed old Frick, with decision; "lawyers have only been sent into the world by the devil, to do mischief. I wouldn't have anything to do with them. I went to the sheriff and got him to draw up the formula for me, and then I wrote the will myself. Howell knew that, as well, confound him! That such a father should have such a son!" he muttered, in quite another tone of voice.
"Well, let us open the packets, then," said Monk; "we shall perhaps find more traces of Mr. Howell's fingers."
The small packet was opened, and we all leant over to look at the will.
It was drawn in the usual legal form, and told briefly that Frick bequeathed his curiosities and collections to the state, all his movable property—ready money, bank shares, etc., etc.,—to Mr. Reginald Howell; house property, mortgages, etc., to the university, the Royal Society for Science, and other institutions.
Everything was fully specified, and the sums either given exact, or reference was made to a list appended.
"Well, everything here seems all right; it is exactly as I wrote it myself. The coachman and gardener have signed as witnesses. I gave them each five thousand kroners cash, to avoid including them among the legatees."
"Are you quite sure, Mr. Frick?" said Monk, as he leant over the paper. "Here is a figure which looks as if it had been erased."
"Let me see! Yes—what the devil is this? My house, property, shares, etc.," he read, "which, according to the list, amount to about 1,000,000 kroners,—but, bless me! I possess nearer 1,900,000, which is nearly the double, and that was what I wrote—"
"There you are! We shall get at it, little by little," said Monk, with his most genial smile. I hadn't seen him in such a good humour for a long time.
"But I don't understand," grumbled old Frick. "What motive can he have in making me out to be poorer than I am? He doesn't get the 900,000 kroners which have been erased!"
"Let us look at the list and the mortgages," answered Monk, just as genially. "We shall be sure to find the solution."
The other envelope was opened.
I read out the list, and old Frick opened the mortgages and deeds in the order I read:—
"No. 177 Drammen Road, 'deed.'"
"Yes, here it is."
"Karl Johans Street, 77, 'deed.'"
"Yes, that's all right."
Etc., etc.
"Mortgages to the amount of 27,000 kroners, in the farm Hoff, in Hedemarken."
"Yes, here it is."
And so we went on.
"It was a long business," I said; "but we've come to the end at last."
"End!" shouted old Frick. "But it hasn't come to an end! The plum is always at the bottom, and a fine plum it is too!"
"What do you mean? There's nothing more on the list."
Old Frick fumbled about in the empty envelope.
"And nothing more here, either! He has stolen the mortgage deed in Ashton Abbey, and—" Old Frick tore the list out of my hand. "Just look here! Confound him! If he hasn't cut off the bottom part of the list, so that the last item is missing! But bless me, if I can understand what satisfaction he can get out of this mortgage."
"Nor I," I muttered; "mortgages are not papers payable to bearer, so any one can make them into ready money. You need only write to England to get a new copy of the mortgage."
"Monk knows very well what it all means," exclaimed Clara; "he is only raising our curiosity. If I had known that you would so soon begin with your superior detective ways, I wouldn't have helped you so quickly with the photograph,—that you may be quite sure about."
She glanced with comic exasperation at Monk, who, in return, only smiled pleasantly.
"I must admit that at this moment all is clear to me; but the last knot has only been unloosened two minutes ago. Tell me, Mr. Frick, what mortgage is it that you now speak of, and what was the amount of it?"
"Don't you remember," answered Frick, testily, "I once told you of an old rascal, Davis by name, and how I was lucky enough at last to get at him and make him pay me my share of the money which he had stolen?"
"Yes, of course I remember."
"Yes; and I, also."
"And I, also."
Old Frick looked at Clara and me in astonishment.
"I have told them all about the affair," remarked Monk. "Let us just hear some more about Mr. Davis."
"Well, there isn't much more to say about it. He was to pay me £50,000, but he had no ready money, as he had invested all his funds in a large estate, and was quite willing to take a mortgage on it. It suited me just as well as ready money, for the estate was worth more than double that. This is the mortgage which has been stolen and cut off the list."
"Well, then, the total sum of 1,000,000 kroners would be right, instead of 1,900,000 kroners," said Monk; "for £50,000 is just 900,000 kroners."
"Yes, that is true; but he can't do much with it. As Mr. Viller says, he can't sell the mortgage without my signature."
"Did any one know you were in possession of that mortgage?" asked Monk.
"No, no one in this country: those rascally lawyers I have always kept at a distance, and no one has had a chance of meddling with my papers."
"No one except Mr. Howell," was Monk's dry reply. "But listen here, my friends! I will put a question to you. But excuse me, Mr. Frick, if I first ask you to answer me. If all this had not happened to-day, do you think you would ever have opened these envelopes again?"
"No," said old Frick, decidedly; "when my last hours approached, I might perhaps have had the iron box opened to see that the envelopes were there and the seals in order, but nothing more. I should have been satisfied that all was as it should be."
"Very well. Now let me put my question to you two. If Mr. Frick had died without having discovered the theft of this mortgage, no one, of course, would have known of the existence of such a mortgage, and the owner of Ashton Abbey would not be obliged to pay any interest. Wouldn't that be a clear saving for Davis, or his heirs, of about £2500 a year?"
"By Jove, so it would!" exclaimed old Frick; "but why young Howell should help Davis to £2500 a year, I cannot understand. He may be a big rascal,—that I now can very easily see, although his father was the best man under the sun,—but he isn't exactly stupid."
"All the same, he resembles his father in that—"
"Stop!" I cried. "Now I can see it all. Ashton Abbey! Ashton Abbey! Now I understand! Young Howell must be the son of old Davis!"
"Yes, that is also my opinion," answered Monk, not at all offended that I had taken the word out of his mouth. "He must have travelled from Australia with the real young Howell. All must have lost their lives except young Davis, who must have possessed himself of young Howell's papers, and later on, played his rôle in the old world. That, I think, explains all."
"Yes, he is the son of old Davis, there's no mistake about that!" exclaimed Frick in great spirits. "Upon my soul it was the best discovery of all, for now I need not mourn that my old friend had such a son. But what was it you said about Ashton Hall? It is the neighbouring estate to Ashton Abbey. Once they were both one estate."
"Monk told us earlier to-day that his agent had informed him that Mr. Howell, or rather Davis junior, often visited that estate. It was, of course, in order to confer with his worthy father, old Davis. I suppose that was what set you on the track, Monk."
"Just so!"
CHAPTER VII
THE YACHT "DEERHOUND"
Monk kept his word. The following Friday he sailed for America; but our hope that he would soon return was not fulfilled.
When he arrived in New York he found Sigrid laid up with a dangerous illness. Sorrow, and over-exertion in nursing her brother, had completely prostrated her. I believe Monk's telegram, which we sent directly the discovery about the photograph was made, saved her life.
She had made great progress toward recovery by the time Monk arrived, but she was still exceedingly weak.
It was a month afterward before they were able to get married; but the crossing over the Atlantic was not to be thought of during the stormy winter months.
At last, in the beginning of May, we heard from them. They had sailed. And fourteen days afterward we welcomed them in Christiania.
The lady we saw on Monk's arm on the steamer's deck was remarkably pretty, and looked exceedingly happy; although sorrow and trouble had imparted a sad and serious expression to her face, which is never likely to leave it.
Before the gangway could be properly adjusted, Clara had jumped on board and taken her in her arms, a proceeding which seemed to both to be the most natural thing in the world, although they had never seen each other before.
Old Frick hobbled restlessly about on the quay, like a large dog which has done something wrong, and is not quite sure whether it will be forgiven or no.
He could not speak a word when his niece clasped her arm round his neck and sprinkled his white hair with joyous tears. But his eloquence was the greater, when we were all gathered in the evening at Villa Ballarat. It was there that the newly married couple were to stay for the present.
* * * * *
About a week after their return home, Monk came to me with a face more serious than usual. "I have still a duty to fulfil in the matter of the black tortoise," he said. "You won't come with me to Stavanger to-morrow, I suppose? I hope to meet Mr. Howell there, or more correctly speaking, Mr. Davis, junior."
"Monk, Monk!" I exclaimed threateningly. "Is the detective on the warpath again? Will you desert your wife already?"
Monk blushed slightly.
"No, this time it is not the detective. But it is my duty to justice and to my wife to get at the bottom of the diamond affair. Remember that more than half of what we believe we have discovered is only the fruits of guesswork and putting two and two together."'
"You are right. I shall come with you. May I ask how you intend to proceed in the matter against the Englishman? There are not, I suppose, sufficient proofs to get a warrant of arrest?"
"No, I am afraid not; and I haven't got my plans quite ready yet. But I fancy we must content ourselves with compelling him to give us a complete proof of Sigrid's innocence, and letting him off from any further unpleasantness. It is hard; but Sigrid is now very nervous, and shudders at the thought of appearing before the court, and all that kind of thing, you know."
"Well, let us start to-morrow evening on the west coast steamer. I shall be ready. But are you sure to meet him there?"
"Yes, my agent in London writes that he has already sailed from England in his yachtDeerhound, and is bound for the Ryfylke fjord to fish for salmon, but in Stavanger he'll await a party which will arrive here by the mail steamer in a few days."