CHAPTER II

Schedule Numbers 37, 38 and 39

When Peter entered the Galleries there were comparatively few people present. A knot of interested art-enthusiasts had gathered in front of a superb “Reynolds” dated 1765. It was described as the “Portrait of a Lady.” She held a lute in her hand and wore a satin dress cut low and edged with pearls. Although Peter was no expert in these matters, it did not take him long to realize that he was gazing at a masterpiece. But he passed on. The Galleries held other attractions that interested him more. Schedule Numbers 37, 38 and 39 were easily to be found. The three objects that had brought him to Day, Forshaw and Palmers’ almost jostled each other on the left of the room as you entered. The screen stood on the floor, the Pearl Collar and Rosary lay on a small Sheraton Inlaid Mahogany side table right against it. Their only visible protection from covetous hands was a rail that barriered them from the public, about four feet high. But as Peter looked at the three things for which he had been commissioned by Mr. Laurence P. Stewart, he became acutely aware and very definitely conscious, that he in his turn was being watched. Two men of medium height were lounging near . . . their profession was obvious to him. He had come into contact with their kind too many times before in the course of his own business not to recognize them when he saw them. “Plain-clothes,” he told himself. He walked across to the barrier and took a close inspection of the objects in which he was interested. As he did so he fancied the two men edged a little more closely to him. But he realized, upon looking round, that with the exception of the men to whom reference has been made, he was the only person in that particular part of the room; hence their keener interest in his movements. “Hang it all,” he said to himself—“this shadowing business gets on my nerves—I’ll establish my ‘bona-fides.’”

He walked back to the entrance to the Galleries. A middle-aged man was superintending the transportation of what was evidently a valuable picture. He paused in his directions as Peter came up. “Anything I can do for you, sir?” Peter caught him by the arm.

“Yes. Look here! Here’s my card! I’m Daventry—of ‘Merryweather, Linnell and Daventry.’ I want to examine items Nos. 37, 38 and 39 in the published catalogue of your sale on Friday.”

The man scratched his chin—thoughtfully. Then looked again at the proffered card.

“Young Mr. Forshaw’s here, sir. You’re Mr. Daventry, I think you said, sir.”

“That’s right.”

“I’ll tell the young governor, sir! Can I say you’ve a mind to purchase?”

“Oh yes!” cut in Peter impetuously. “I’m representing my firm on behalf of a very——”

He checked himself—suddenly. It occurred to him that there was absolutely no need to mention Stewart’s name at this juncture and perhaps more than one excellent reason for withholding it. He thought of Stewart’s phrase concerning discretion.

“Very good, sir,” said the man. “I’ll bring young Mr. Forshaw along to you in half a minute.”

He was as good as his word. A young man bustled up, wiping his hands upon a duster.

“Mr. Daventry?” queried Forshaw. Peter bowed!

“You wished to have a look at something included in to-morrow’s sale? What is it exactly?”

“It’s not an ‘it,’” responded Peter jocularly. And then with scant regard for the inclination of the verb “to be”—“it’s a ‘them.’”

“More than _one_, sir?”

“To be precise—three—the numbers are 37, 38 and 39 in your catalogue.”

“Come this way.” He escorted Peter to the handrail from which he had so recently come. Then slipped underneath with ease and handed him the Collar and the Rosary. It was impossible for Peter to form any adequate idea of the value of either. His experience of jewels was very limited, and the Rosary appeared to him to possess little value apart from its historical association. However, for the sake of appearances he feigned to make a very careful study of each.

“Aren’t your people afraid of having some of these things stolen?” he ventured to Forshaw.

“We take certain precautions, Mr. Daventry,” was the answer. “Close watch is maintained all day and all night. Anybody attempting any ‘jiggery-pokery’ would get the surprise of his life.”

Peter glanced at the two representatives of the Law. They lounged in a corner. Forshaw followed the direction of his eyes and smiled. “Exactly! And well armed too!” He replaced the Pearl Collar and the Rosary as Peter handed them across to him. Then lifted up the screen and handed it over.

“I see that you advertise these three articles as having belonged to Mary, Queen of Scots,” remarked Peter.

“That is so!” replied Forshaw. “They formed part of the late Lord Clavering’s collection. Had been in his family, I believe, for over two hundred years. No doubt whatever on that point,” he concluded decisively.

Peter looked at the screen with some interest. It stood approximately from three and a half to four feet high he estimated—on a carved-wood pedestal. Upon the tapestry, which was covered with thick glass, he could see a number of brightly colored beads. They were, to all appearances, arranged in the form of letters. Peter inspected them carefully. Then quickly grasped their meaning. The beads formed words and the words were—

“JESUS CHRIST, GOD AND SAVIOUR.”

In the top left-hand corner of the tapestry was worked the Scots Queen’s Royal Lion and in the right could be discerned the “fleur-de-lis.” The corners at the bottom showed the Leopards and Lilies of England.

“Of more ornament than use, I’m afraid, Mr. Daventry,” said Forshaw with a smile.

“I agree.” He bent down to examine it more closely.

“I expect some pretty brisk bidding for that on Friday! Just the kind of thing to appeal to a collector of antiques.”

“I suppose so,” replied Peter. He handed it back to its temporary guardian.

“Thank you—Mr. Forshaw. I’m very much obliged to you, I’m sure, for showing me round as you have. I’ll be getting along now.”

Then he was suddenly impelled to ask a question. “I suppose a good many people have had a good look at these three articles already?”

“On the contrary—you’re the first, Mr. Daventry. That is, of course, up to the moment. They haven’t been on show very long.”

Peter shook hands and laughed. “My remarks seem to miss fire every time.”

“Good afternoon, sir.”

“Good afternoon.” He passed by the middle-aged man at the entrance and pushed something into his hand. The man looked at it and smiled—then put his finger to his forehead in salute.

“Thank you, sir. You’re a gentleman. Still—there was no necessity——”

Peter waved a sympathetic hand and departed.

Half an hour later saw him back at the office in Cornhill.

“Well?” said Linnell as he entered the room, “everything satisfactory?”

Peter sat on the corner of the table and swung his leg.

“I went up there, as we arranged, and I had a look at the stuff we’ve been asked to get.” He paused.

“Yes?” interrogated Linnell. “What did you think of it?”

“Hard to say. The Pearl Collar is really magnificent, and the screen I should say will prove a tremendous attraction for the ‘genus’ collector—the species that we are deputed to represent—the Rosary, in my opinion, won’t fetch anything like so much.”

“H’m,” said Linnell reflectively. He traced a pattern on his blotting-paper with his pen. Then he looked up at his companion.

“Has it struck you, Daventry—that we may possibly be running a big risk over this business?”

Peter looked startled. “How do you mean?”

Linnell opened a drawer and handed over a letter. “Supposing that letter hadn’t come from Stewart; supposing that signature—purporting to be Stewart’s——was a forgery?”

Peter’s eyes opened even wider. “That’s interesting. Go on!”

Linnell from Lancashire went on. And emphasized his points with quick jerks of the head. “We are instructed to _purchase_! That is to say Stewart in no way restricts us. He mentions no limit. Supposing we pay, for argument’s sake, £25,000—thinking we’re acting for Stewart—and then Stewart repudiates ever having commissioned us! And then, after that, we find our £25,000 worth of stuff is worth say—only £15,000. Where are we then, Daventry? I’ve inflated the figures purposely.”

“Down the mine, Daddy,” declared Peter. “But what’s the Big Idea—who would ever——?”

“Who would? Seems to me Day, Forshaw and Palmers might find it a very healthy proposition,” replied Linnell.

“And that’s what you really think?” asked Peter incredulously.

“No—I don’t!” said Linnell grimly. “But I’m damned well going to find out.”

“How? Go and see Stewart?” Peter was all alertness now.

“No! I’ve telegraphed to him—this morning. The answer should be here at any moment! That should be sufficient.”

He looked at his watch.

Peter selected a cigarette—then handed his case to Linnell.

“Thanks! I don’t mind if I do.”

Before Peter had had time to take his eyes from the match with which he lit his companion’s cigarette——there was a tap at the door—Plunkett entered. Linnell tore open the telegram that was handed to him. Then he smiled. Peter looked over his shoulder. Then he smiled in his turn, and read aloud what he saw.

“Say! What the hell’s biting you—when I say Buy—then Buy. Got that? Stewart.”

That was the intelligent rendering of the message. A message which looked and sounded even cruder and terser in the unpunctuated word-arrangement of telegrams.

Linnell’s smile developed into a ringing laugh. “I’ve been barking up the wrong tree, after all, Peter. Still—one can’t be too careful. You’ll go along then on Friday and——”

Plunkett reappeared in the doorway. “Another telegram, sir.” Linnell looked surprised. Then read the second message.

“Say—you don’t _look_ before you leap—you take a magnifying glass. Same name as before.”

“Mr. Stewart has a decided sense of humor,” commented David Linnell. “But I’d sooner he took liberties with my ‘_amour propre_’ than with my pocket.”

Peter laughed.

“Some people wouldn’t,” continued Linnell, determined to justify himself, “but I _would_. And even if he is a millionaire—to put four words where he could have used one—should have used one in fact, is just a piece of reckless and shameless waste—and that’s all there is to it.”

He turned to Daventry, proudly conscious that he was safeguarding an important principle.

“I think I’ll go myself and have a glance at the stuff to-morrow, Peter—after all he’s a millionaire—and business is business. Where did you lunch?”

“At the ‘Violette,’” was the reply. “And, by the by, whatever you do—don’t upset the cruet.”

“What do you mean?” Linnell looked at him curiously.

Peter recounted the incident that had occurred earlier in the day.

“Probably quite an accident,” he concluded, “and a coincidence—still it took my breath away, as it were, for just the moment.”

Linnell thought for a moment or two. “Probably nothing in it, Peter. You had the thing on your mind and were over-imaginative. What are you doing to-night? Anything special?”

“I’m dining at the Club. And I may have a rubber or two afterwards.”

“Good. I sha’n’t be in, in the morning. I may run down to Berkshire this evening, and in any case I’ll go straight on to Day, Forshaw and Palmers’ first thing to-morrow. I’m really very anxious to see the actual objects of this extraordinary commission of ours!”

But just as Peter was destined never to buy them, so Linnell was fated not to see them on the morrow.

For when he arrived at Day, Forshaw and Palmers’ next morning he found a condition of extreme excitement and agitation. Detective-Inspector Goodall was in charge of the case—a case that had cost Day, Forshaw and Palmers Schedule Nos. 37, 38 and 39 in their sale catalogue, and their night-watchman his life. Linnell’s hand shook when he heard what had happened. The conviction came to him that he was connected with the affair. Acting upon a sudden impulse, he went in.