The Strand Magazine, Vol. 07, Issue 39, March 1894: An Illustrated MonthlyVarious
General
The Strand Magazine, Vol. 07, Issue 39, March 1894: An Illustrated Monthly
Various
English literature -- Periodicals; Short stories, English -- Periodicals
At Twyford Station Sir James Norris was waiting with a dog-cart. Sir
James was a tall, florid man of fifty or thereabout, known away from
home as something of a county historian, and nearer his own parts as
a great supporter of the hunt, and a gentleman much troubled with
poachers. As soon as he and Hewitt had found one another, the baronet
hurried the detective into his dog-cart. "We've something over seven
miles to drive," he said, "and I can tell you all about this wretched
business as we go. That is why I came for you myself, and alone."
[Illustration: "SIR JAMES NORRIS WAS WAITING WITH A DOG-CART."]
Hewitt nodded.
"I have sent for you, as Lloyd probably told you, because of a robbery
at my place last evening. It appears, as far as I can guess, to be
one of three by the same hand, or by the same gang. Late yesterday
afternoon----"
"Pardon me, Sir James," Hewitt interrupted, "but I think I must ask
you to begin at the first robbery and tell me the whole tale in proper
order. It makes things clearer, and sets them in their proper shape."
"Very well. Eleven months ago, or thereabout, I had rather a large
party of visitors, and among them Colonel Heath and Mrs. Heath--the
lady being a relative of my own late wife. Colonel Heath has not been
long retired, you know--used to be political resident in an Indian
native State. Mrs. Heath had rather a good stock of jewellery of one
sort and another, about the most valuable piece being a bracelet
set with a particularly fine pearl--quite an exceptional pearl, in
fact--that had been one of a heap of presents from the Maharajah of his
State when Heath left India.
"It was a very noticeable bracelet, the gold setting being a mere
featherweight piece of native filigree work--almost too fragile to
trust on the wrist--and the pearl being, as I have said, of a size
and quality not often seen. Well, Heath and his wife arrived late one
evening, and after lunch the following day, most of the men being
off by themselves--shooting, I think--my daughter, my sister (who is
very often down here), and Mrs. Heath took it into their heads to go
walking--fern-hunting, and so on. My sister was rather long dressing,
and while they waited, my daughter went into Mrs. Heath's room, where
Mrs. Heath turned over all her treasures to show her--as women do, you
know. When my sister was at last ready they came straight away, leaving
the things littering about the room rather than stay longer to pack
them up. The bracelet, with other things, was on the dressing-table
then."
"One moment. As to the door?"
"They locked it. As they came away my daughter suggested turning the
key, as we had one or two new servants about."
"And the window?"
"That they left open, as I was going to tell you. Well, they went on
their walk and came back, with Lloyd (whom they had met somewhere)
carrying their ferns for them. It was dusk and almost dinner time. Mrs.
Heath went straight to her room, and--the bracelet was gone."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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