.. -*- encoding: utf-8 -*-

.. meta::
   :PG.Id: 46006
   :PG.Title: The Black Tortoise
   :PG.Released: 2014-06-16
   :PG.Rights: Public Domain
   :PG.Producer: Al Haines
   :DC.Creator: Frederick Viller
   :MARCREL.trl: Gertrude Hughes Braekstad
   :DC.Title: The Black Tortoise
              Being the Strange Story of Old Frick's Diamond
   :DC.Language: en
   :DC.Created: 1901
   :coverpage: images/img-cover.jpg

==================
THE BLACK TORTOISE
==================

.. clearpage::

.. pgheader::

.. container:: titlepage center white-space-pre-line

   .. vspace:: 4

   .. class:: x-large

      THE BLACK TORTOISE

   .. class:: medium

      *Being the Strange Story of Old Frick's Diamond*

   .. vspace:: 2

   .. class:: medium

      BY

   .. class:: large

      FREDERICK VILLER

   .. class:: small

      AUTHORIZED TRANSLATION FROM THE NORWEGIAN
      BY
      GERTRUDE HUGHES BRAEKSTAD

   .. vspace:: 3

   .. class:: medium

      GARDEN CITY NEW YORK
      DOUBLEDAY, PAGE & COMPANY
      1914 

   .. vspace:: 4

.. container:: verso center white-space-pre-line

   .. class:: small

      COPYRIGHT, 1901,
      BY DOUBLEDAY, PAGE & CO.

   .. vspace:: 4

.. class:: center large bold

   CONTENTS

.. class:: center medium bold

   PART I

.. class: noindent small

CHAPTER

.. class:: noindent white-space-pre-line

I.  `Monk contemplates a Voyage to America`_
II.  `Old Frick`_
III.  `Mr. Reginald Howell`_
IV.  `The Black Tortoise again`_
V.  `At the Police Station`_
VI.  `A Morning Visit`_
VII.  `Lawyer Jurgens`_
VIII.  `The Arrest`_
IX.  `The Photograph`_

.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: center medium bold

   PART II

.. class:: noindent white-space-pre-line

I.  `The Trial`_
II.  `The Photograph cannot lie`_
III.  `In the Dark`_
IV.  `Monk's Examination`_
V.  `The Most Important Chapter in the Book.  Clara acts the Detective`_
VI.  `Old Frick Again`_
VII.  `The Yacht *Deerhound*`_





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`MONK CONTEMPLATES A VOYAGE TO AMERICA`:

.. class:: center large bold

   PART I

.. vspace:: 3

.. class:: center x-large bold

   THE BLACK TORTOISE

.. vspace:: 3

.. class:: center large bold

   CHAPTER I

.. class:: center medium bold

   MONK CONTEMPLATES A VOYAGE TO AMERICA

.. vspace:: 2

"I am off to America on Friday next."

"What! off to America?"

"Yes; I'm not joking."

"Are you really serious?  Fancy, going to
America this time of the year, at the end of November!
It must be very important business which takes you
there!  Can't you send some one else?  You know
Clara won't consider her firstborn properly baptized
if you don't stand godfather to him.  That
ceremony is to take place next Sunday."

"Unfortunately it is important business—very
important business—that only I can undertake.
I am awfully sorry to disappoint your wife, but I
must go."

This conversation took place in Monk's sitting-room.
It was my usual habit, on leaving my office
at seven o'clock, to go up to Monk's rooms and have
a chat with him, and sometimes persuade him to
come home with me.

I ought perhaps here to inform my readers that,
some years before this story begins, I had returned
to my native country after having spent several
years abroad, where I had made a small competency
as an engineer.  When I again saw Monk, the
friend of my boyhood, I found he had, strange to
say, adopted the profession of private detective.
As far as I could understand, he carried on this
business just as much out of love for his work as for
a means of earning his living, and had already won
himself a reputation by his shrewdness, honesty, and
disinterestedness.

Monk's sudden announcement took my breath
away; he had never for a moment said a word
about going to America before.

"Is it a new case you have on hand?" I asked.

"No; it is not a new case."

I looked doubtingly at him; this was not the
Monk I was accustomed to see standing quietly
before me with the handsome, open countenance,
and the intelligent grey eyes looking fearlessly into
mine.

He was now pacing restlessly up and down the
floor.  All at once he stopped in front of me.

"Can you stay with me this evening?"

"Yes; with pleasure," I replied.  "Clara has gone
to the theatre with a friend.  I am therefore free,
and it was my intention to propose to you that we
should spend the evening together."

"That's right; let us have supper at once, for I
have something to tell you, and until I have done
so I shall have no peace."

Monk rang; and soon after we sat down to
supper.  My host ate scarcely anything; indeed, he
hardly attended to his duties as host, and could not
conceal his impatience to hasten the end of the
meal.

It was quite apparent that something unusual was
the matter, so I got through my supper as quickly
as possible without interchanging many words.

When we returned again to the sitting-room,
Monk placed me in one of his comfortable chairs,
and set before me some whiskey and water and
cigars.  He himself lit a cigar, but soon threw it
half-smoked into the fire.

"You said you wanted to speak to me about
something, Monk."

"Yes; if you have patience to listen to me."

"Of course I have!"

A faint smile lit up Monk's dark countenance.

"I have put your patience to a severe test over
and over again with my lectures on detective science,
logic, deductions, and the like; but what I have in
mind this evening is nothing of that sort.  Do you
feel inclined to hear a story about myself, the story
of how it was I came to be the kind of man I am,
and to lead the life I do?"

"My dear fellow," I answered, "I am more than
ready to listen to you.  Any one can see that
sometime or another something has happened to you
which has thrown a shadow over your existence;
but, as you can understand, one does not ask one's
friends about that sort of thing.  One generally
waits until one is approached."

"You are right, and I ought to have told you all
about it long ago; especially as, for my part, I have
nothing whatever to conceal.  Yes, a man is wrong
to shut himself up in himself more than is
necessary; and in my case I am afraid I have been
foolish, and doubly stupid, not to have called to
my aid a clever friend's assistance.  I have stared
myself blind with trying to find a way out of the
dark.  It is, however, wrong of me to call the affair
my affair, since I no longer play any part in it;
but, in any case, it concerns some one who was as
dear to me as my own life.  Are you prepared to
listen to me?  If so, you shall get to know as much
of my history as I know of it myself."

"Go on, Monk; go on!  If an honest man and
an intelligent woman can help you in any way, you
have them at your disposal in Clara and myself."

I stretched out my hand to him; Monk seized it
and shook it heartily.  All doubt and restlessness
on his side had vanished.  In giving the account
of his story, I only wish that I could have given
it in his own clear language and striking words.
To detail it in full is of course impossible; but I
will do the best I can, and if the narrative should
become tedious, or wanting in clearness, it is my
fault, and not Monk's.





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`OLD FRICK`:

.. class:: center large bold

   CHAPTER II


.. class:: center medium bold

   OLD FRICK

.. vspace:: 2

When we separated, about fifteen years ago
(began Monk), that time you went to Zurich to
complete your studies as engineer, I went in
seriously for law, and was fortunate enough in four
years' time to take my degree with honours.

My friends and teachers tried to persuade me to
follow a scientific career.  An endowment could
have been had from the university; and with this,
together with a small inheritance from my father,
I could have followed without trouble the beaten
path to a professorship at the university,—so I
was told, at any rate.

But this was not to my mind; to have got free
from the student's bench only to climb immediately
to the dusty chair of a professor, seemed to me
anything but attractive.

I first got a situation in the office of a
government official, far up in the country, where there
was little to do, but plenty of game and fishing;
and I returned to Christiania the year after, a
bearded, red-cheeked, young Nimrod.

Then I became the youngest inspector in the
Christiania police office, and spent about two years
in fining young men for disorderly conduct in the
streets, and keeping order among the erratic female
population of the town.

As you can well understand, it was hardly an
occupation likely to attract a man for any length of
time, and I explained this to our amiable chief
superintendent when, one day, I placed my resignation
on his desk.

"Stop a moment, my dear Monk," he said, with
his genial smile.  "Could you not wait a little,
before you hand in this resignation?  I must admit
I have not found that you possess any special talent,
either with regard to arresting drunken students, or
as a censor of vice; still, on the other hand, I should
be much deceived, after my many years of experience,
if you do not find your right sphere in the
detective department.  Practically every one is
aware that it is to you we owe our success in the
great post office robbery, although officially you
had nothing to do with it; and I, at any rate, know
how well you cleared up the Fjorstat murder.  For
many months I have been thinking of offering you
an appointment on the detective force.  If you will
take your resignation back, you can consider the
matter as settled."

I gladly accepted the offer, but not until I had
obtained a year's leave; a year which I spent abroad
in travel, to study languages and life in the great
countries.

I need hardly mention how useful my stay abroad
has been to me.

I have no doubt that I found my right vocation
when I joined the detective police; especially if I
am to take into consideration the overwhelming
praise which my superiors gradually poured upon
me, or the flattering attention which the papers and
the public began to bestow upon me.

Monk paused, and for a few minutes paced up and
down the floor, as was his habit when he was deeply
occupied in thought.

Well, he continued, I think I have now given
you an account of my life until the day when the
incident occurred which since has played such an
important part in my life, and continues to do so to
this very day.

It was a rainy and stormy night at the end of
September, about seven years ago, when, wet to
the skin, and dead beat, I came driving up to my
lodgings in University Street.  At that time I
always had rooms on the ground floor, so that I
could get in and out quickly and unobserved.

I had been on an expedition after some burglars
high up on the Egeberg hills.  The expedition had
been long and irksome, both for myself and my
assistants, and without result.

I always employ the same cabman—you remember
Peter Lyverson, of course?  Well, he had been
waiting for us five hours in one of the small streets
in the East end, and was just as disappointed at the
lack of success and as wet as I was, so I thought
it only right to ask him inside and give him a stiff
glass of brandy.

Lyverson had just finished his glass, and with a
profusion of thanks was lighting a cigar and bowing
himself out, when we heard a ring at the telephone.

"Wait a moment," I cried to him, and rushed to
the apparatus.

"Hello! are you Monk, the police detective?"

"Yes; who is it?"

"Bartholomew Frick of Drammen Road.  Can
you come out here at once?  My house has been
broken into.  I thought that a man like you would
prefer to be the first on the spot, and as quickly as
possible!"

"All right, I will come."

It was not pleasant, for I was wet and tired; but
business is business, and Bartholomew Frick was
right in saying that I liked to be the first on the
spot.  Some minutes later the carriage was rolling
along the deserted streets in the pouring rain toward
Drammen Road.

I used the time, while we were on our way, to
recall what I knew about "Old Frick."

Bartholomew or "Captain" Frick, as he was also
called, had left Norway when quite a young
man—somewhere between twenty and thirty years of age.
For a generation or so no one heard anything of him,
until suddenly he returned to his native country,
an old man.  This was some years before my story
begins.

He came to Christiania, bringing with him a
whole shipload of curiosities and costly articles,
and was, on the whole, considered to be a very rich
man.

His title of captain he presumably got from the
fact that he had won his fortune, so people said, as
captain of a pirate ship, and later on as a
slave-dealer.

A more likely explanation, and one which carried
with it a greater conviction of truth, was that he
had acquired his fortune at gold washing in
Australia, and diamond digging in Africa.  He had, in
both places, been one of the first to discover the rich
treasures there.

On his return to Christiania he bought himself a
large house in Drammen Road, and this he filled with
the curiosities which he had collected and brought
with him from all quarters of the globe.

After becoming settled, he began to look about
him to make inquiries regarding his family, and he
found that his only remaining relations were his
brother's widow and two young children in needy
circumstances.

Apparently in order to make some reparation for
his earlier neglect, he overwhelmed the poor widow
with benefactions, and brought the poor, weak
soul to a state of great bewilderment by placing
large, and to her notions fabulous, sums at her
disposal.

After a short time she died, and Frick then
adopted her two children, a boy and a girl, and it
was generally assumed that they would inherit his
wealth.

Old Frick was a well-known figure in Christiania,
and had a widespread reputation for his riches,
benevolence, and—irascibility.

The house is situated just outside Skillebek, as
you must know.  I should not wonder, however, if
you have never seen him, although your house is not
far from his property, for during the last few years
old Frick has been confined to his house, an invalid,
and he never shows himself outside of it.  As it
usually happens, the indifference of the world to
him now is just as great as its interest in him and
his affairs was at one time.

Presently, the carriage drew up before an iron
gate, which was immediately opened by a man, the
coachman of the house, with a lantern in his hand.

Words were unnecessary; he was prepared for
my arrival, and I followed him immediately up
to the house.

We went along a passage and passed one or two
rooms, in the last of which stood some servants
whispering together, until we came, at length, into
a large room or salon which was lighted up.

This salon presented a motley appearance.  Some
of the furniture was old-fashioned, and some of it
modern.  There were tropical plants in large
tubs; Venetian pier glasses on the walls,
having between them large cases filled with wonders
from all climes, and of all ages; stuffed animals
in the middle of the room and in the corners.  On
a shelf stood some heavy altar candelabra from an
old church, and from a neighbouring shelf hung a
lamp, doubtless stolen from some Hindoo temple.
On a bracket, opposite a clock worked by sand,
a relic of the Middle Ages, ticked a splendid
specimen of a modern Parisian timepiece.  Indeed, I
might go on forever enumerating the extraordinary
and wonderful assortment of curiosities that met
one's eye at every turn.

In spite of this conglomeration, the room was
not unpleasant.  My first impression—and later
it proved to be correct—was that, though all these
things had been brought together by Bartholomew
Frick, they had been arranged by his niece.

At one end of the room only was there any
noticeable disorder.  There several chairs were
overturned, a couple of cupboards stood wide open,
and a window was entirely smashed, both glass and
woodwork.  The storm and rain, however, did not
beat in, as this room lay to the leeward side of
the house, and the cheerful fire in the grate at
the other end of the room impressed one with a
sense of warmth and comfort.

By the fireside sat old Frick in an armchair.  On
the mantelpiece before him lay a large American
revolver, with brightly polished barrel, and leaning
against his chair was an enormous Prussian cavalry
sword.

The master of the house was clad in a large-patterned
dressing-gown and slippers, and he got up
at once when I came in.

At his side stood his brother's children, a fine
young fellow with an honest face, and a very
pretty young girl.

Old Frick himself could hardly be considered
handsome.  He had a large, fat, red face, with
an enormous reddish-blue nose, white bushy hair,
which stuck out in unkempt tufts, and a white,
thick heard under his chin.  His eyes were light,
and generally friendly: but when he was angry,
which not seldom happened, they changed into a
kind of greenish colour, which was anything but
pleasant to see.

Every human being is said to resemble some
animal or another in appearance; Bartholomew
Frick would not have done discredit to a Bengal
tiger.

He came quickly across to me, and pressed my
hand in his own large ones; they were of the
fulness and size of a walrus's flippers.  He was stout,
broad, and thick-set, but moved about with youthful
energy, although somewhat clumsily.

"Oh, are you here already, Mr. Monk?  Glad
to see you!  It isn't more than twenty minutes
since I rang you up through the telephone; that's
smart work if you like!  That's the thing, young
man, promptitude above everything!  It is the
most important thing in the world.  How do you
think Napoleon managed to conquer the whole of
Europe?  What do you think it was that helped
him?  His promptitude, my friend, and nothing
else.  Don't talk to me of generalship or anything
of that sort.  He was smarter and quicker than
every one else, and that's the reason he could do
what he liked with them all.

"But now you must hear how it all happened
with regard to the burglary—ah, you wink at me,
Sigrid?  I suppose you mean that I must first
introduce you to Mr. Monk?  Very well!  This
is my niece, Sigrid Frick, and that is my nephew,
Einar Frick; both are the joy and stay of my old
age.  But now what about the—what are you now
making signs about, Einar?  I suppose you mean
Mr. Monk should be asked to take a seat."

"And a glass of wine," whispered the young girl,
casting a compassionate glance at my wet clothes.

"Yes, of course: Mr. Monk shall sit down and
have everything he wants.  But meanwhile I can
in a few words tell him how it all happened."

Bartholomew Frick was, however, not a man
of few words, and it took some time before I got
to know how he had lain sleepless, kept awake by
a "devilish unpleasant pain in his big toe," and
so toward one o'clock had heard a strange sound
in the room below,—for he slept just over the salon
where we sat.

The old man had lost not a minute in getting
out of bed; he had seized a loaded revolver, which
always lay at hand on his table, and a sword, which
was also within reach, both mementos, no doubt,
of his adventurous life.

Thus armed, and with slippers on his feet, but
with no other clothes on than his nightshirt, he
had crept down the stairs and slowly opened the
door of the salon.

Here he saw two men, who were quietly at work
breaking open his cupboards and emptying their
most valuable contents into a sack.

"I first of all fired two shots at their heads,"
continued Frick; "but when the smoke had lifted,
I saw they were both as alive as ever, and on their
way to the window to escape.  I rushed after them
with the sword, and they would not have got away
alive if I had not stumbled over that confounded
panther!" and he pointed to a large stuffed panther
which lay overturned on its side in the middle
of the room.

"But you might have killed them, uncle!"
faltered the young girl, reproachfully.

"Yes, killed them!  I only wish I had hacked
them to sausage-meat!  But just listen; now comes
the most irritating part of all.  Only one of the
scoundrels could get out through the open window,
for the one half has no hinges on it and does not
open; so the other fellow, who evidently didn't think
he had time to escape before I came up, disappeared
head foremost, through both glass and framework.
But he didn't get through quickly enough, for
when I got away from the confounded panther, his
left leg was still hanging inside the window ledge.
'You shan't take that with you, at any rate,'
thought I, for now I was only a couple of yards
from him, and the sword was just raised above my
head, ready to strike, when, one of my feet caught
in the jaw of the ice bear, and over I fell for the
second time.

"Yes, you laugh!  Perhaps you do not believe
me?  But I tell you, if that ice bear had not been
in the way, I should have been able at this moment
to place on the table before you the rascal's foot,
and perhaps a bit of his leg as well.  Here, you
can see for yourself; the sword just cut off the
heel with a bit of the sole, and more than that I
could not manage; but another inch or two would
have done it."

He triumphantly put before me a broad heel,
with a bit of the sole attached, evidently cut from
the boot with a powerful stroke.

"This was the only bit of the scoundrel that was
left behind; the rest of him ran across the garden,
over the railings, and out into the road.  The
revolver had also fallen from my grasp, or else I
should have tried a couple more shots after them.
I once shot a Zulu at seventy paces, with the same
revolver; he had stolen a hen from me, the rascal!"

I didn't quite know what to think of such a
bloodthirsty old man.  But a certain humorous
twinkle in his eyes gave me to understand that
this was not genuine, and, as the young people
didn't try to hide their merriment, we all three had
a good laugh.

I afterward learned that old Frick suffered from
many of the defects which are so often the outcome
of a hard and adventurous life, such as he had led
from his youth to old age: stubbornness, waywardness,
and tyrannical contempt for the feelings of
others when his own were aroused.  Otherwise his
heart was soft, and as good as gold.

It was plain to see that the burglary had not in
the least ruffled his temper.  On the contrary, he
felt himself considerably enlivened with this
reminder of a life which had been full of such scenes.

At last he finished his description of how the
thieves had disappeared, the house had become
aroused, and I telephoned for, etc., with the result
known.  But what he was especially proud about
was that he had given orders that nothing
should be touched or moved in the room after the
burglary.

"I myself have been a policeman," he said.  "I
was sheriff in Ballarat for three years in succession,
and I had charge of many investigations there.
One thing I have learned by experience, and that
is, that the place of a crime must remain untouched
until the police arrive, otherwise it is impossible for
them to get to work."

I thanked him for his thoughtfulness and presence
of mind, which seemed to please him.

I have described this, my first meeting with old
Frick, so fully, not because it is of any great
importance to my story, but because it will, perhaps,
give you some idea of the man and his characteristics.

Next I proceeded to examine the scene of the
burglary.  It was just as Frick had said, nothing had
been touched or moved.  Even the sack which the
thieves had used to stow away their spoil in, lay
there on the floor, just as they had flung it from
them when they took to flight.

Several of the cupboards in the room had been
filled with gold and silver articles, and precious
stones.  It was a complete museum; and the thieves
had, so far, carried out a sensible plan in having
broken open all the cupboards and drawers, but
only putting into the bag the articles which were of
the most value and the easiest of transport.
Otherwise, there was little else to discover.  We could
follow the tracks of the thieves through the
garden, over the palings, and out into Drammen Road;
but they had left nothing behind them except old
Frick's trophy, the heel with the bit of sole
adhering, and the sack.

This was emptied, and the contents set in their
places in the cupboards.  Nothing seemed to be
missing; and as each article was numbered, and the
place in which it was to stand, it was an easy matter
to control them.

Suddenly Miss Frick clasped her hands together,
and exclaimed:—

"But the tortoise, uncle! the tortoise is gone!

"It is a precious gem we have given that name—a
large diamond set in gold, and in the shape of a
tortoise," she added, when she saw my puzzled
expression.

"That is the most valuable of all my collection,"
continued Frick.  "I don't know what the diamond
can be worth when it is polished, but all I know is
that I have been offered £2000 for it as it is now.
It is black."

He raked about with his large fingers at the bottom
of the sack, and finally turned it inside out, but
there was no diamond tortoise.  Then the room,
and at last the garden, and the nearest part of
Drammen Road were searched most carefully by aid
of the lantern, but without result.

"How large was the tortoise?" I asked.

"It could at a pinch be hidden in the hollow of
a man's hand,—say about two inches in diameter
with the setting."

It was now nearly three o'clock in the morning.
There was no more for me to do there, so I prepared
to take my departure.

The old man began again to lament the loss of
the diamond, and complained in the most energetic
manner that he had not been able to shoot, or cut
in two, the rascals who had robbed him.

"It would be stupid of me to promise anything,"
said I; "but, for my own part, I am pretty sure we
shall have the birds caged before many days, and
that we shall secure the diamond as well."

With these words, I took my departure, put the
cut-off heel bits in my pocket, and went home.

My thoughts on the way were naturally taken
up with what I had heard and seen at Bartholomew
Frick's.

But, remarkably enough, it was the young girl,
Miss Frick, upon whom my thoughts dwelt most
of all.  I had only heard her speak a few words,
and this was the first time I had seen her face;
but she attracted me strangely.  I have never
been of an impressionable nature, and no woman
had ever had much of an attraction for me.  So I
was astonished to find how clearly her image stood
out before me after the few hours we had been
together.  I already felt a strong desire to please
her—a desire to do something which would compel
her admiration.

You must, in any case, get the diamond back
for her uncle, I thought; women naturally set
value upon a detective's skill.  It will at any rate
please her uncle, and bring me into her society
again.

I had at once noticed that the robbery at Frick's
was of a simple and not very complicated kind;
and though the matter from a professional
stand-point had not interested me particularly, it had
suddenly become invested with a new importance.

As soon as I arrived home, I hurriedly changed
my wet clothes, made myself a cup of coffee over
the spirit lamp, and then took out the piece of heel.

It was a broad, strong heel, with an iron rim round
it, and entirely new, just like the sole.  It did not
seem to have belonged to the usual kind of cheap
boots which our ordinary criminals are apt to
patronize; at the same time it did not seem to have
belonged to the better class of foot-gear.  The heel
somehow seemed to me to be familiar, a vague
recollection of something set my brain to work.

Ah, suddenly I saw it all!  The heel and sole
belonged to the same sort of shoes, in fact they
were a perfect match to a pair which had just
helped the police to circumstantial evidence by an
impression on soft soil in a similar case.  It was
the same kind of boot with which the prison society
provides discharged prisoners, so that they shall
not be entirely shoeless when they come out of
prison.

One of the thieves must be a discharged prisoner,
I went on reasoning.  The boots are quite new;
he must, therefore, have been just lately released,—in
all probability yesterday morning.  The burglary
must have been planned and the necessary
watch on the house undertaken by a confederate
who, of course, must have been at large for some
time previous.

Ten minutes later I stood in the anteroom to
my office at the police station.  It was not yet
morning.  The official on duty sat and dozed over
the stove.

"Find out from the ledger, if any of our burglars
have been discharged from jail in the course of
the last two or three days," I asked.

It is, unfortunately, a fact, that a large majority
of crime is committed by prisoners who have just
been let out of jail, and we therefore carefully keep
a register of those who are let loose.

In the meanwhile, I went into the guardroom
and ordered two constables to follow me.

"Black John, the Throndhjemer, as you perhaps
remember, sir, was discharged yesterday morning;
I don't see any others.

"That's all right! find out where he hangs about
when he is out."

"I know him well, sir.  He generally puts up at
'Fat Bertha's,' she who has the coffee-house and
lodgings for travellers up by Vaalerengen.  But he
often frequents the sheds in the brick fields and
round about there."

I always had a trap in readiness at the police
station, and in a quarter of an hour I, and two
officers in plain clothes, stopped at a suitable
distance from Fat Bertha's lodging-house.

Black John was not there, however, and we began
to search among the brick ovens.

Daylight was just breaking when we came to the
second oven, and the workmen were arriving with
their tin cans in hand.  Two men crept out on the
other side and began to run across a ploughed field
which adjoined one of the sheds.

We set off after them; but it seemed as if they
had got too much of a start, and were likely to get
away from us in the morning mist.

Suddenly one of them began to drop behind, and
we soon had him between us.  We let the other one
get away for the time being.

The fellow we had got hold of swore and cursed,
but otherwise made no resistance.

"If it hadn't been for that sore foot of mine,
the police wouldn't have got me this time," he
bawled.

We followed the direction of his look, and saw
how his left foot had forced its way through the
shoe, which was dragging about his ankle.

Black John's volubility did not deceive me.  I
kept a sharp eye on all his movements.  While he,
with a kind of raw good nature, joked with the
constables, he slowly passed one hand behind him, and
with a deft movement threw a small parcel some ten
or twelve paces behind him.

"You had better leave tricks of that sort alone,
Black John," I said in a friendly tone, stepping back
and picking up a dirty little packet wrapped in a
greasy piece of *The Morning Post*.

Inside three or four wrappers of the same sort I
found the strangest object I had ever seen.

It was a large black diamond, of a flattened oval
shape, tapering at the ends.  It was set in a broad
gold rim of the same form as the stone, and, to make
its likeness to a tortoise more complete, a head was
introduced, together with a little stumpy tail, and
four knobs underneath, to represent feet,—all of
gold.  In the head shone two green precious stones
for eyes.

"Oh, no; it won't be of much use to me, I can
see," said Black John, resignedly.  "I suppose I
am in for another year or two."

He exhibited a subtle humour, while he tramped
along to the town between the two policemen.  The
effects of just-from-prison libations did not seem
quite to have left him.

"Ours is a hard sort of a profession, sir," he
continued confidentially.  "I think it's just as
well to be a convict all one's life.  Then one
wouldn't get such frights at night.  Such a one
as I had last night!"

"Were you frightened, then, last night, in the
Drammen Road?" I asked sympathetically.

"Frightened, indeed!  What would you say,
sir, if you were busy rooting about in a house at
night, when you thought all was quiet and still,
and an old ourang-outang in a shirt were suddenly to
appear before you with a sword in one hand and
a pistol in the other, firing away at you till the
bullets whistled about your ears?"

In this kind of jocular strain he talked until
we reached the town, where we parted.

.. vspace:: 1

.. class:: center white-space-pre-line

   \*      \*      \*      \*      \*

.. vspace:: 1



It was half-past twelve, and the sun was shining
brightly when I again rang the bell at old Frick's
in the Drammen Road.

I had slept a few hours, handed in my report to
the superintendent, and now I wanted to have the
pleasure of giving old Frick his diamond back again.

I had taken a little more trouble than usual about
my toilet; you can guess the reason why.

I was very pleased to find Miss Frick alone when
I was ushered into the sitting-room.  I thus had
an opportunity of exchanging a few words with
her; for when old Frick came in I knew only too
well who would take up all the conversation.

She received me in a friendly manner, and when,
without further ado, I showed her the diamond,
she clapped her hands in joyful surprise.

"How glad uncle will be!  When he once gets it
back again he will look upon last night's affair
as an exceedingly pleasant diversion.  May I take
it to him?"

"Yes, of course!"

"It was I who advised him to telephone to you in
the night, Mr. Monk, and to-day I also assured him
that you would be certain to find his tortoise again."

"It is a great pleasure, Miss Frick, to find you
have such confidence in inc.  May I ask how you
got to know of my name?"

The young girl blushed a little.  "We have often
read about you in the papers, and Einar tells me
there isn't a case which you cannot clear up."

"I must thank your brother for his flattering
opinion, and I am indebted to the burglars of last
night for giving me this opportunity of making
your acquaintance and the acquaintance with your
family."

"But you must excuse me a moment, Mr. Monk.
I must hurry away and find uncle and give him
the diamond.  I haven't even told him you are here!"

She ran out of the room, and I looked after her,
enraptured.  She was even prettier by daylight
than by lamplight.  Light, reddish-golden hair,
blue eyes, a straight nose, and a beautiful shapely
mouth, yet not of the smallest.  As for her figure,
it was that of a veritable Diana as she vanished
from the room.

I stood looking out of the window, when the
door opened.

I turned round hastily, and at first I thought
it was Miss Frick who had come back again.  But
the next moment I discovered that it was a young
girl whom I had not seen before, who stood
hesitating on the threshold.

She was also tall, fair, and slight, and with
something of the same grace in her movements.  Indeed,
both in her movements and carriage she was wonderfully
like Miss Frick.  Nor was her face and especially
the shape of her head unlike Miss Frick's, but her
hair was much redder, her lips thinner, and her
mouth more sharply moulded.  Her eyes were
certainly blue and pretty, but they wore a colder
expression.

I thought at first it was Miss Frick's sister, but
a glance at the small, coquettish, servant-maid's
cap told me she held a different position in the
house.

With an excuse she hurriedly left the room; she
had thought Miss Frick was there.

Scarcely had she shut the door after her before
Miss Frick again appeared, and as she saw perhaps
that I looked a bit puzzled, she gave a low laugh
and said:—

"You have seen my double, I suppose?  She
didn't know any one was here.  All strangers are
astonished at the likeness between Evelina and me.
She is my lady's-maid."

"The likeness does not strike me as being so
great," I answered; "do you think so yourself?  I
should never make such a mistake as taking her for
you."

"Oh yes, indeed!" she replied; "at first it was
almost unpleasant to me.  Her father was, in his
line, a well-to-do artisan, but things went badly with
him, and he took to drink.  The mother is not a
very desirable person either, and so my uncle, who
had known them many years, proposed that I should
take the daughter as my maid."

It was a pleasure to me to talk with this pretty
young girl.  She was more natural and free from
any affectation than any young woman I had met.
It was easy to see she had plenty of common sense,
and was well educated.

Mr. Frick did not tarry long.  He came waddling
in, clad in a large-checked, English pea-jacket, his
full-blown face beaming like the sun.  He was not
satisfied this time with shaking one of my hands,
but seized both in his gigantic paws.  His praise
of my skill was quite overwhelming and it was only
by the greatest effort that I got him to change the
subject.

After that followed an invitation to dinner at
"Villa Ballarat," as he called the house.  He would
like to have a full description of how I had managed
to discover the thieves.

This invitation clashed with my engagements that
day, and I should have felt almost duty bound to
refuse it, had I not happened to look at Miss Frick.

It appeared to me as if I could read something in
her face which spoke of anxious expectation,
and—I accepted the invitation.

The dinner went off very well.  Old Frick told
us how he had first become possessed of the
tortoise; that, however, I will return to later.

Happily there was another person present who
could listen to old Frick, while I had a much more
interesting conversation with Miss Frick.

Young Einar, who seemed a fine young fellow,
and whose occupation it was to keep his uncle's
books and accounts, alone emptied a bottle of
Pleidsieck monopole, and then stole away immediately
after dinner with a good supply of his uncle's
Havana cigars, to have a game of billiards at the
Grand Hotel.

Before I left Villa Ballarat, I had another talk
with old Frick, of a more serious nature.  I
represented to him how wrong it was to let so many
costly articles as those he had gathered together,
lie unprotected against thieves and burglars.

"You have seen yourself, Mr. Frick," I said,
"how you tempt people to become housebreakers."

Old Frick showed himself for once amenable to
advice.

"Come and see me to-morrow," he said; "I
should like to have your opinion as to how I ought
to arrange my things.  The house here is becoming
too small for me; I expect a guest in a few days.
What do you say to my building a pavilion out in
the garden, and arranging it specially as a museum
or as a place of custody for all my curiosities?  If
I built the pavilion expressly for this purpose, I
ought to be able to make it sufficiently proof against
thieves.  I could use iron safes, iron bars before the
windows, electric-alarm apparatus, and suchlike.  So
long as I am well and able to move about, I can
look after my things,—as you have seen I did last
night; but when I get older, it will be more
difficult.  One cannot depend upon the young people
in the house."

By sufficiently encouraging this plan of his, I got
him to start the work, and within a month old Frick
had a building constructed in the garden, about
forty yards from the house.  A building which
should serve as a depository for all his collection,
and at the same time give space for his office, and
containing a fire-proof room for money and
important documents.

This building will, later on, play a part in my
story, and I shall therefore give a short description
of it.

It was built nearly square, and divided into two.
The whole of the one half was fitted up to receive
Frick's collection.  It formed a large room with no
windows, but was lighted from above.  Over the
skylights were placed strong gilt iron bars to
prevent entrance from above.

The heavy iron shutters, which, being painted
white and lacquered, looked like innocent wooden
boards, could be pulled down in front of the cases
when the museum was closed.

These iron shutters were so well balanced with
hidden counter weights that the weakest child could
move them up or down.  They could be locked with
strong safety locks, of which Bartholomew Frick
alone had the keys.

The other half of the house was partitioned into
two, forming a larger and a smaller room.  The
larger did duty as Mr. Frick's office, and there his
nephew took up his residence in the morning among
the heap of business books.  The smaller room,
which, on account of the many feet thick, brick
walls, gave very little inside space, served as a
fire-proof room for money and documents.

This room had no windows, and only one very
solid, double iron door, which led into the
before-mentioned room used as the museum.

It had been made according to my suggestion;
for I reasoned thus: The office is, as a matter of
course, the least-protected room in the building.  It
has windows, and necessarily a good many strangers
will be going in and out there.  The safest thing
is to let the one door to the fire-proof room, where
Frick likes to keep a large sum of ready money, lead
out into the museum.  It is only frequented by the
people of the house and guests, and at night it is
more secure against burglary than the office.

All round the garden there was an iron railing,
twice as high as a man, and people who were going
to the house had to ring a bell at the iron gate.

At that time, when I made old Frick's acquaintance,
he had invested a great deal of his money in
various enterprises, mostly industrial undertakings,
and especially such as would bring new trade and
industry to the country.

He himself took no part in the management of
these undertakings, and the work in his office was
not more than could be managed by himself and his
nephew.

It was not long before I was a regular and, as
far as I could perceive, a welcome guest at the villa;
indeed, all through the winter there was scarcely a
day when I did not visit there.

Old Frick was never tired of asking me about
news from the police courts; but I soon realized
that it was not so much my stories that interested
him, as the fact that for each of my stories, which
I tried to make as short as possible, he found
opportunity to treat us to two or three of his own, which
always took a long time.

He was, however, an admirable story-teller, and
we often sat by the hour together, listening to him
with the greatest interest.

Generally the party was limited to old Frick,
Sigrid, and myself.  Einar was a gay young fellow,
who spent a good deal of his time and his money
with his companions, and he gave us but little of his
society.  Thus the three of us spent many pleasant
evenings together.





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`MR. REGINALD HOWELL`:

.. class:: center large bold

   CHAPTER III


.. class:: center medium bold

   MR. REGINALD HOWELL

.. vspace:: 2

Here was my first letter from Miss Frick:—

.. vspace:: 2

DEAR MR. MONK,—My uncle wants you to come
and dine with us to-morrow at five o'clock.  He is
expecting an Englishman to-day, a son of one of his
old Australian comrades, and would like you to
make his acquaintance.

.. vspace:: 1

.. class:: noindent white-space-pre-line

   Yours,
      SIGRID FRICK.

.. vspace:: 2

It was not a love letter, not even a friendly epistle,
but quite the most conventional piece of writing one
could receive; and yet it caused me great happiness
when this note arrived, in the fine bold handwriting
I got to know so well.

It was on a Saturday, a few days before Christmas.
From the first day I had seen Sigrid Frick,
until now, I had employed the time in falling in
love as deplorably as ever a man can do, and I
could see that my attentions were not displeasing
to her.  And so, as a matter of course, I accepted
the invitation for dinner next day.

On my arrival at Villa Ballarat, I found old Frick
beaming with delight.

"Here he is, Monk; here he is!—Reginald
Howell, son of my old friend Howell, who was the
best man and the most faithful friend in the whole
world.  I don't think my old friend, even when
he was young, had such a fine appearance as his
son, here; but his heart was as true as gold, and
he was as reliable as a rock."

It would have been difficult for old Frick to
get away from his reminiscences of old Howell, but
luckily his niece recalled him to the present by
intimating that he ought to introduce me to the young
Englishman before he indulged in them further.

He was a tall, handsome young fellow, about
my own age, and of the dark English type.  His
manners were easy and unaffected, as is usual with
Englishmen of good birth.

There was nothing particularly attractive about
his face, although he had fine eyes, somewhat dark,
almost black, in fact, but without the fire in them
that usually accompanies eyes of that colour.  His
manners were rather insinuating, though not at
all unpleasant.

I gradually learned to like him fairly well.

At first, it happened that he threw many a tender
glance at Miss Frick, and on that account I felt
not a little inclined to quarrel with him.  But as
this was only a repetition of what had happened
in the past two months with half a dozen other
young men who visited Villa Ballarat, I was
sensible enough to allow these feelings to have only
a momentary hold upon me.

He soon kept his eyes to himself, probably
because he saw "how the land lay," as the sailors
have it.

One thing which, in a great measure, spoke in
the young Englishman's favour, was his apparent
modesty.

When his father died the year before,—he had
until then lived in Australia,—the son decided to
go to Europe, and he took his passage on a sailing
ship.  But the vessel had caught fire in the open
sea, and the passengers and crew had had to take
to the boats.  Only one of the boats had reached
land—the one in which Reginald Howell and eight
others had saved themselves.  But the boat
foundered on a coral reef, and Mr. Howell at last
found himself, the only survivor, on a little island.
The natives were friendly to him, and after two
months' stay there, he sighted a ship which brought
him to England.

People seldom refuse to relate interesting stories
when they concern themselves; but it was only
after repeated appeals from old Frick that
Mr. Howell was at last induced to give a very sober and
curtailed description of his adventurous voyage.

It was easy to understand that he must have
behaved very coolly and bravely under such terrible
circumstances, and that it was only due to his
presence of mind and courage that he was able to save
himself, yet he seldom spoke of himself, and then
always in the most modest manner possible.

In short, he had the habit, owing either to the
way in which he had been brought up, or by nature,
seldom or never of speaking about himself,—a
habit which never fails to make a favourable
impression.

When the young man came to England, he of
course gave the authorities an exact account of the
wreck of the *Queen of the East*, and the fate of the
crew.  The account had been published in several
of the English papers, and he laughingly proffered
to show us some of these papers if we found his
verbal account not exhaustive enough.

Mr. Howell had come to Norway at the express
invitation of old Frick, who, when he had heard of
his old friend's death, had written and asked the
son to visit him in Norway.  The young man had
received Frick's letter just when he was on the
point of sailing from Australia—he had already
arranged previously to visit Europe—and had
notified his departure by telegraph.

"You did right, Reginald, in coming as quickly
as possible to your father's old friend.  I suppose
you intend to spend the winter with us.  You can
learn to go on 'ski' here; a fine sport, I can tell
you.  You must live with us.  I have had two rooms
made ready for you here in Villa Ballarat."

Mr. Howell said he thought he would avail
himself of the invitation for one or two months; he
was a keen sportsman, and had long ago made up
his mind to have a look at, and a try at, ski-running.

"That's right," cried old Frick, clinking his
champagne glass against that of the Englishman.
"The whole house and all that I possess is at the
disposal of my old friend's son.  After dinner you
shall hear what I owe him.  I don't suppose I need
offer to assist you with any money, for in his last
letter to me your father wrote that he would leave
you everything he possessed, for your mother died
when you were a little boy, and you were the only
child.  Your father was not so very rich, but I think
he wrote something about £1200 a year."

"Yes, thereabouts," replied the young man,
good-naturedly, and smiling at the kind old man's
loquacity; "and that is more than enough for me."

"Then perhaps I had better strike out your name
from my will; it has, until now, been standing beside
those of Sigrid and Einar."

We all laughed heartily and rose from the table.

When we were drinking our coffee, and had
lighted our cigars, old Frick began the story of his
friendship with Howell the elder, and the adventures
which had bound these two so closely together.

To tell the truth, I tried my best to slip away,
hoping for a chat alone with Sigrid; but that
couldn't be managed, and after having heard old
Frick's story, I must confess that only a man in
love could dream of anything more interesting than
his account of it.

I should like to give it in all its detail, and in
old Frick's words, but I cannot, and I must restrict
myself to giving you the main points in his story.

Bartholomew Frick had left Norway and run away
to sea in 1830; his desire for adventure and his
dislike for the schoolroom had driven him to this.

For many years he roamed about in the great East,
in India, South Africa, and Australia, sometimes as
a sailor, and sometimes as a hunter and adventurer
on shore.

Then, at the end of the forties, he found himself
in Australia when the gold fever was just beginning
to rage.  Soon after, a party of three people started
for Melbourne to proceed to the gold districts.  One
was Frick, who was the eldest of them, and two
Englishmen, Howell and Davis.

The acquaintanceship of these three men—they
were adventurers, but all of good family—was not
of long standing; but it developed, in the course of
the following year, into strong friendship and most
faithful comradeship.

They led the usual life of gold diggers for many
years, and sometimes, when they were lucky, they
would go off to Melbourne and spend their money
in a few days' time.

Having gone through many ups and downs in the
course of seven years, they at last came across a rich
find of gold, and realized a fortune in a couple of
months.

The partnership was then dissolved.  Howell,
who was the quietest and most level-headed of
them, bought a large piece of land and took to
sheep farming.  In this way he was able to preserve
his fortune and even to add to it, although he had
not been one of the most fortunate.

On the other hand, Frick and Davis did not think
they had enough.  The money they had made
enabled them to carry out a plan which Frick had
thought of, and which for a long time they had been
anxious to carry out.

In the middle of the thirties Frick, when quite a
young man, had been in South Africa.  He then
followed the settlers who trekked to the north
across the Orange River, and who had joined in
raids across the river Vaal, and still farther to the
north.

When on these expeditions Frick himself had
found diamonds, and had heard wonderful stories
from the natives of the great quantities of these
stones which were to be found in caverns of a
peculiar formation, reminding one more of deserted
mines than anything else.

Frick had obtained the report through a source
which did not admit of doubt that there was
at least some truth in it; and the location given
with regard to the place seemed to be efficient.
But he could not then get any companions to form
an expedition, as the supposed place lay far away in
the desert, blocked by wild and hostile negro tribes.
Nor had he at that time the means to fit out an
expedition by himself, and he was therefore obliged to
give up all thoughts of it.  These were the
diamonds in search of which Frick and Davis decided
to go.

"Davis seemed to me to be just the right sort of a
man," remarked old Frick, when he had gone thus
far in his narrative; "he was at least double as
greedy about finding the diamonds as I."

Now that they were able, the two companions
journeyed at once to the Cape, bought themselves
an excellent outfit, and hired people sufficient for a
large expedition.

The money which they did not spend on the outfit
they sent to the bank in London.

It was Davis who managed all that; he was the
most businesslike of the two.

This expedition got as far as the Vaal, but did
not return, and this is how it happened.

When they had got so far that, according to
Frick's and Davis's calculations, they should be
only a day's journey from the diamond caves, they
let the natives, with the ox wagons, camp, while
they themselves continued their journey alone.

They were lucky enough to find what Frick
maintained must have been Solomon's deserted
mines, and they filled a whole sack with diamonds.
But when they reached the camp they found it
had been plundered, and all the members of the
expedition killed by a hostile negro tribe.

Frick and Davis were also captured after a hard
struggle.

In the night Davis, who was uninjured, succeeded
in escaping, but Frick, who had received an arrow
in his thigh, could not follow him.

Davis, with Frick's consent, took with him the
bag of diamonds, and promised immediately on
reaching civilization to prepare a new expedition
for the release of Frick.

In the meantime, the blacks dragged him with
them farther and farther inland, where it was
impossible for him to think of flight, and so he
lived with them for three years.

At last a gang of European pioneers turned up
far in the interior of the dark continent where the
tribe lived, and before the blacks had thought of
keeping guard on Frick, he had joined the whites
and followed them to their own settlements.

In all probability the blacks had, after such a long
time, come to look upon Frick as one of themselves.

When Frick reached civilization the first thing
he did was to ask after his friend Davis.

Yes, he had returned safely to the Cape Colony, but
had not mentioned a word about any relief expedition
for Frick.  On the contrary, he had given out
that Frick was dead, and had gone straight to
England.  He had mentioned that he had some
diamonds with him, but he had not shown them to
any one.

Frick was not very well pleased with this information,
as you can imagine.  He still had a few small
diamonds with him, which he had found during his
stay among the blacks.  These he sold for a couple
of hundred pounds, and set out for England to find
Davis.

Here he discovered that the latter had drawn
all the money out of the bank, had sold all the
diamonds, and having bought a large country estate,
was now living, a landed proprietor, in Yorkshire.
Frick set off to visit Davis at his country house,
but was not even allowed to enter.  Davis refused
to deliver up any part whatsoever of the money
that had been deposited in the bank, or any of
that which he had received from the sale of the
diamonds.

When Frick became furious and tried to force
his way in to the scoundrel, he was turned away by
the servants.

Frick then applied to the police, but they advised
him to take legal proceedings.  He would have
to engage a lawyer in order to proceed against his
old comrade.

It was not a difficult matter to find a lawyer,
or even lawyers, but none of them would take up
the case unless Frick would guarantee them their
fees and expenses first.  Davis was rich and powerful,
and would naturally use all the weapons with which
the English law so lavishly favours those who have
few scruples and plenty of money.

Frick raged awhile like a lion in a cage, but
happily he pulled himself together and shipped to
Australia before he had become quite "mad from
anger," as he expressed it himself.

In Australia he was well received by the third
member of the late partnership, and when Howell
got to learn of the story, he became just as furious
over Davis's rascality as Frick himself.  It was,
however, an unfortunate period with Howell.  His
farm had just been visited by a huge flood, and the
larger part of his flock of sheep had been drowned.

But Howell did not give in.  He would not
hear of Frick's remonstrances, but raised, with
much difficulty, a loan of £5000 on his property.
This money he forced upon Frick, and when the
latter saw that his friend would not listen to
reason, he no longer hesitated, but went back to
England with the money.

There was now no difficulty in getting the
affair taken up.  A clever lawyer was engaged,
and the case against Davis was carried on with
all possible despatch.

Frick himself thought he should never succeed
in bringing him to bay.  Davis had understood
how to make use of the time to guard himself
well, and had employed all means to delay the
case.

Frick's £5000 was fast disappearing, when his
lawyer was fortunate enough to discover some
dark doings in Davis's life before the time when
Frick had learnt to know him.

These doings were of such a character that
Davis, who in the meantime had been elected
M.P. for his county, had to, at any price, prevent
them being made public.  He was therefore obliged
to agree to a compromise, and to pay Frick half
of what he was worth, which, after all, was only
what was Frick's due.

"In the end, I got such a good hold of the
rascal," continued old Frick, "that he not only
offered to pay all I asked for, but he even wrote
me a humble letter, and begged me, for God's sake,
not to make the affair public.  'It would
completely ruin him,' he wrote.

"As Davis had invested all the cash in his estate,
it was difficult to get ready money.  But the
affair was at last settled, and I have not told the
story to any one.  I did not give any promise to
this effect, but it's just as well that you, who have
now heard it, also keep it quiet.  If it can help
the scoundrel to repent of his sins in peace and
comfort for the rest of his days, it is no doubt
the best.

"It was not possible to get your father,
Mr. Reginald, to accept anything more than the £5000
he had lent me, although I was now much richer
than he.  No, he was as proud as Lucifer, just
as proud as he was faithful."

With the exception of Mr. Howell, we had all
listened with the greatest interest to old Frick's
long story.  In spite of Mr. Howell's good
manners, his impatience had several times been
noticeable, even to the story-teller himself.

The latter remarked: "Yes, you have, of course,
heard the story several times before from your
father, Reginald; so for your sake it was hardly
necessary to tell it.  But I am anxious that those
who stand nearest to me in the world should know
what a friend your father was to me."

Mr. Howell smiled, somewhat embarrassed;
"Yes, of course, I have heard the story from my
father two or three times.  But you can understand
he did not lay so much stress upon the help
he gave you.  It was no more, he said, than a
man's duty to a friend; and that's what I think also."

"He is his father's son!" exclaimed old Frick,
and was not satisfied until he had seized the
Englishman's hand and shaken it vigorously, although
the latter modestly tried to avoid it.

"Did you ever hear anything later about Davis?"
he asked after a pause.

"No, not much!" answered old Frick.  "He
was already married when I took proceedings
against him, but I don't think it was a very happy
marriage; his wife took care to see that a good
deal of the punishment he so well deserved was
carried out.  Later on, I also heard that he had
much trouble in managing his large property, after
he had been obliged to take out so much capital.
Ah, well, that's his own lookout; we have, thank
God, something else to talk about than that
scoundrel.  One thing, however, I forgot to mention,
is, that when Davis was forced to pay me back
half the money, I took the black diamond in its
present setting, the one we call 'the tortoise.'  I
took that over for £2000, which would be about
its value in its uncut condition.  We found it, just
as it is, up in Solomon's mines.  It was the only
one of the diamonds that Davis had not sold."





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`THE BLACK TORTOISE AGAIN`:

.. class:: center large bold

   CHAPTER IV


.. class:: center medium bold

   THE BLACK TORTOISE AGAIN

.. vspace:: 2

I have little to relate about the months which
followed after that Sunday at Mr. Frick's.

Young Mr. Howell still lived in the house; he
took a fancy to "ski" sport, and learnt it in a
surprisingly short time.

He accepted Frick's pressing invitation to remain
in Christiania till the summer, when he intended
visiting Finland and Spitsbergen.

Einar Frick and Reginald Howell became good
friends, in spite of the difference in age, much to
the satisfaction of old Frick.  They were always
together, and I fancy old Frick was not very strict
during this time with regard to his nephew's office
hours.

A detective, however, incidentally gets to know a
good many things, and I soon discovered that the
two young men did not always pursue the most
innocent pleasures.  Even in Christiania, there are
always to be found at least a dozen young
good-for-nothings, who have plenty of money and nothing to
do.  Einar and Mr. Reginald became regular visitors
in this circle, where later it became the fashion
to gamble, and not for very low stakes, either.

I became uneasy about this, and one day I spoke
to Einar and gave him a serious warning.

By the young man's blushing and frank confession,
I saw that he had not as yet entirely fallen a
victim to evil influence.  Besides, he added that he
had latterly had more pocket money from his uncle,
and didn't play higher than he could afford.
Mr. Howell had several times prevented him from
playing for high stakes.  He also promised to withdraw
altogether from the gambling circle, which
Mr. Howell had said he also was inclined to do.

This reassured me, and on the whole I must
confess that Mr. Howell's behaviour was in every
respect that of a gentleman.  That I, in spite of
this, entertained a shadow of antipathy or
suspicion about him, is one of those things which
cannot be explained.

One thing I cannot pass over in my story: one
fine day, when I summoned up courage and put the
all-important question to Miss Frick, I received as
satisfactory an answer as any man could wish.

She desired that we should, for a time, keep our
engagement secret, for she shrunk from telling her
uncle, who would scarcely take the prospect of
losing her with composure.  Old Frick was
remarkably fond of his brother's children.  The old man
had lived his life for many years without having
felt the sunshine of tenderness other than that of
comradeship; now he seemed to be making up for
it in the fond relations between him and the two
young people who were tied to him by the ties of
blood as well as by those of gratitude.

I have, all the same, a suspicion that the old fox
had an idea of what had passed between Sigrid and
me; and at the same time, I also think that I had
been fortunate enough to win his respect, so that if
he were to lose his niece, he would rather have given
her to me than to any one else.

.. vspace:: 1

.. class:: center white-space-pre-line

   \*      \*      \*      \*      \*

.. vspace:: 1



It was the tenth of May, and a beautiful day; the
spring had come unusually early that year, and the
trees were already covered with leaves.

My work was finished.  It had been a long and
troublesome day, and I was just standing in my
room, wondering if, as a reward, I should give
myself an evening off and spend it at Villa Ballarat.
I had not had time to visit Sigrid for several days.

Just then I heard the telephone bell.

"Hello! is that you, Monk?"

It was old Frick's voice; I knew it well; it was
the same voice that, eight months ago, had asked
me for the first time to come to Villa Ballarat.

"Yes, it is I."

"Can you come out here at once?  Something
has happened!"

"I shall be with you in ten minutes."

At St. Olaf's Place I took a carriage; I didn't
want to lose a minute.

An uncomfortable feeling possessed me that
some misfortune was pending, or had already
occurred.  I do not know if one can really have a
presentiment without some material cause; in this
case the feeling had sufficient ground by old Frick's
abrupt message.

At the outer gate stood Frick himself, holding
it open for me.  He locked the gate carefully after
us, stuck the key in his pocket, and then said, as he
stopped in front of me, with his hands in his
pockets:—

"The black tortoise is gone again!"

"Gone?"

"Yes, gone!  Stolen, I say," and he raised his voice.

I asked him not to speak so loudly and to explain
the matter.  It was a relief for me to hear that
it was nothing worse.  Little did I suspect that
anything worse could have happened.

"There is no one about who can hear us," said
Frick.  "It is as I say; the black tortoise has been
stolen again, and within the last few hours.  Since
five o'clock."

I looked at my watch; it was exactly twenty-five
minutes to eight.

"How can you be sure it happened after five
o'clock?  Didn't the black tortoise lie in the case
with the iron shutters, in the museum?"

"Yes, of course; but now you shall hear.  Old
Jurgens, the lawyer, you know him, of course?  He
who has that collection of curios, the old idiot!
Well, he dined with us, and afterward we drank our
coffee out in the museum, as we often do.  At five
o'clock Jurgens left, and we all went over to the
house.  For some reason, as I shall presently
explain, I forgot to lock the door of the museum and
cupboard.  In about half an hour's time I suddenly
remembered this.  I then had a look into the
cupboards before I locked them, and so discovered that
the tortoise was gone."

"Are you sure it was there at five o'clock?"

"Yes; we had been looking at it just before we
all left the museum; I was the last who went out,
and I had put it in its place before I left."

"Have you told any one that the tortoise is gone?"

"No; the first thing I did when I was sure of
what had happened was to telephone to you; since
then I have watched and seen that no one has gone
in or out of the gate."

A long life rich in changes and events had taught
this old man expediency and presence of mind.

He had done just the right thing, and his
information and answers were clearer than nine-tenths
of those which detectives are accustomed to get
under similar conditions.

"Is Miss Sigrid, or your nephew, at home?"

"No, Einar went to Hamburg on business for me
the day before yesterday; he will be there about
a week, and Sigrid went for a walk about half an
hour ago.  It was while accompanying her to the
gate that I came to remember the door of the
museum wasn't locked."

"Haven't you missed anything else in the museum
but the tortoise?"

"Not so far as I can see; in any case, there are
still a number of small and costly articles which
would be much easier to turn into ready money
than the tortoise.  It could not have been any
ordinary thief, or if so, it must have been an
unusually stupid one!"

"Has the black tortoise any special value to you
or to any one else apart from the worth of the gold
and the stone?"

"No, that I can gladly swear!  You mean, I
suppose, is there anything about this diamond, as
one reads of in the English detective stories, where
black and yellow people sneak about with daggers
in their belts and vengeance in their eyes!
No! there is nothing of that kind in this case.  We
found it in the cavern, as I told you, together with
all the other diamonds.  Man had not set foot there
for thousands of years; and the negroes who live
thereabouts do not care a fig for diamonds.  For
that reason they let Davis keep the bag, which he
took with him when he escaped in the night.  It
is only when negroes have learned to know the
blessing of civilization that they get a taste for
diamonds."

"One thing must be done," I said, "while it
is yet light.  Will you take care that no one passes
in or out through the gate, while I meanwhile
find out if any one has got into the garden over
the railing?"

As already mentioned, the whole of Frick's
property, which was about three or four acres and laid
out in a garden, was closed in by a high iron railing.

The distance between the rails was so little that
even a child could not squeeze himself through.  It
was not altogether improbable, though difficult
enough, that a daring and agile man might have
climbed over the railings, notwithstanding the
spikes.

It was, however, easy to find out if any one had
got over in that way.  It had lately rained a good
deal, and the ground on either side of the railing
was soft.  Any footstep would therefore leave a
trace, especially on the outer side, where there was
a newly ploughed field.

I went all round the garden; no one had come
that way.

Old Frick was patrolling to and fro at the gate,
when I returned.

"Nobody has got over the fence to-day," said I.

"No," he answered thoughtfully; "that has been
my belief the whole time.  I fear that we must
have thieves in the house,—but here comes Sigrid!"

He was quite right, for there was the dear girl
walking at a rapid pace toward the gate.

A warm blush overspread her face when she saw
me, but it disappeared quickly, and I noticed she
looked very pale and fatigued.

We opened the gate for her, and I gave a
sign, to Frick that I wished first to speak with her.

I went up to her, took her hand, and whispered
some words which had nothing to do with the
theft.  Then, as we came nearer her uncle, I
remarked aloud and as carelessly as possible:—

"Your uncle cannot find the black tortoise; he
thinks he must have mislaid it in some place or
another."

I said this purposely to arouse her attention, in
case the diamond really had been mislaid.  I was
afraid that if I mentioned at once that it might
have been stolen, she would have become too
excited to think quietly over the matter.

"But, dear me, isn't it in the cupboard?  I myself
saw you put it in its place before we followed
Mr. Jurgens through the garden."

I could not help noticing that Sigrid spoke in a
very absent-minded manner; she looked fagged out,
like a person who had gone through some physical
or mental exertion.

We told her not to mention anything for the
present to the servants about the disappearance of
the diamond, and then she left us and went into
the house.  It struck me as remarkable that the
affair should interest her so little.

The next thing I did was to telephone to the
police station, and order two of my men to come
out immediately to Villa Ballarat.  I then asked
old Frick to take a walk with me in the garden
until they arrived; in this way we could see that
nobody went in or out of the house without our
knowledge.

"Where is Mr. Howell?" I asked.  I suddenly
began to wonder why I had not seen or heard
anything of this gentleman.

"Oh, he went by rail to Osterdalen this afternoon.
He was invited by a man called Varingson,
I think, who owns large forests up there.  They
are going to shoot capercailzie; it is only four
days, I think he said, before close time begins."

"What time in the afternoon did he go?"

"He had sent his luggage down to the station
before mid-day; but the train was not going before
six or seven.  We can hear from Iverson when he
left.  Besides, you know, everybody goes and comes
as they like in this house."

Iverson was Frick's trusted man; he was formerly
a sergeant in the army, an unusually trustworthy
and clever fellow, whom Frick had taken into his
service at my recommendation.  He was generally
known as the gardener, but he took his turn as
gatekeeper, and with the coachman he kept the yard in
order; was joiner, smith, and many other things,
and received from old Frick a very liberal salary.
Both he and the coachman were unmarried; they
lived in quite a small lodge near the gate, but had
their meals up at the house.

In the meantime my two men arrived at the gate,
and I gave them my instructions.  One of them
was to keep watch outside the villa and arrange that
he should be relieved, so that the house and garden
should not be unwatched.  If the diamond was still
within the iron railings, the thief would at once try
to get it out of the house.

The other constable got orders to instruct
pawnbrokers and all others to whom the diamond might
be offered that, should this occur, they must inform
the police without loss of time, and that the person
bringing it must be followed and watched.

At supper I received a long detailed account from
old Frick and Sigrid of all that occurred in the house
that day.  Their statement as to time, etc., corroborated
exactly.  Sigrid had, however, a bad headache,
and looked very poorly.  Both Frick and I advised
her to go to bed, which she did, soon after.

Then I had a conference with Iverson.  The
coachman was away for the day.

Lastly, I had a talk with the housemaid and cook.
Sigrid's maid, Evelina, had been away that
afternoon to visit her mother.  She had, however, been
at Villa Ballarat about six o'clock, but had gone
out again immediately, and not yet returned.

What results or conjectures I arrived at after all
these investigations, I shall later on return to; for
the present, I can only add they were not very
satisfying; I began to be afraid that this affair would
cause me more trouble and worry than any other
business of the kind had hitherto done.

Before I parted from old Frick I got him to write
an official notification of the robbery to the police;
without this I could not take up the case in earnest.





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`AT THE POLICE STATION`:

.. class:: center large bold

   CHAPTER V


.. class:: center medium bold

   AT THE POLICE STATION

.. vspace:: 2

The next morning at eleven o'clock I stood in
the police superintendent's office; he had told me
to be there at that hour.

I had, for some weeks, figured as chief of the
detective department, during my superior's holiday.
The latter was applying for a position in another
department, and I had had the chief superintendent's
assurance that I would be appointed in his place.
"I have already spoken to the Minister of the
Interior about it, and you can consider the matter as
good as settled," were the words with which my
superior officer, some days before, had concluded a
conversation which had given me great satisfaction.
It was soon after I had been fortunate enough
in clearing up the celebrated Bjornernd case, and in
getting the murderer arrested.

My chief had always been very friendly to me,
and treated me, especially of late, almost as a
comrade; that is to say, as far as his old-fashioned
dignified and solemn manners would allow of it.

He shook me by the hand as soon as I came in,
and said:—

"Good morning, take a seat."  He beckoned to
a constable, standing stiffly in a corner, who then
pushed a large armchair toward me.  "You can
go into the anteroom for the present, Strukstad;
I have something to talk over with Mr. Monk.

"You are a lucky fellow, Monk, to have got
another interesting affair in hand.  I mean the
diamond robbery at old Frick's, in Drammen Road.
If I know you rightly, you have already made up
your mind about the case.  From what I have heard
you are a friend of the family.  Indeed, if I am not
very much mistaken, it is not only the diamond
which attracts you to the house."

I must confess I was much surprised that my
chief should know a secret which I, like all other
people in love, believed to be well guarded.

Naturally, I did not enter upon that part of the
story, neither did my superior seem to expect it;
but I began, as shortly and briefly as possible,
to explain to him a little about the state of affairs
in the house, and among the occupants.

I afterward gave him an account of the previous
day's events.

"As you may know, sir, there was a guest at the
house yesterday to dinner.  It was old Jurgens, the
lawyer; you know him, his collection and his mania
for collecting!  I have heard that his relations are
trying to prove that he is incapable of looking after
his own affairs.  He is getting imbecile from old
age, and is squandering his large fortune by
buying up all the world's curios.

"But he is still sharp enough not to let any one
pawn off any trash upon him; but if there is an
object of real value, one way or another, then he
will pay the largest sums without blinking.

"He dined with old Frick.  He came, of course,
only to see his collection, and he nearly worried
the life out of Frick with his importunate requests
to be allowed to buy this and that.

"The party at dinner consisted of Jurgens, Frick,
Miss Frick, and Mr. Howell.  Young Frick had
gone away two days before.  There were in the
house, besides, the cook, the housemaid, and the
gardener.  The coachman was on a visit to his
family at Moss.  I have already telephoned to the
police there and ascertained that he reached there
in the morning and left by the evening train at
eight o'clock.

"Miss Frick's maid, Evelina, was also away
during the afternoon; she had got permission to
go home to her mother, who was ill.

"After dinner they all went into the museum,
as the people of the house call the building which
I told you about some time ago,—the one which
Mr. Frick, upon my advice, had erected out in the
garden between the main building and the
Drammen Road.

"When they have guests at Villa Ballarat, it is
often the custom to serve the coffee in the museum,
especially when the guests wish to see the
curiosities.

"Jurgens, the lawyer, had then for the twentieth
time asked to see the black tortoise, and was
persistently pressing Frick to sell it him.

"'I will pay £500 cash for it!' shouted the old man.

"'In the first place it is worth four times as
much, my dear Jurgens,' old Frick had replied, 'and
besides, I wouldn't sell it at any price.'

"Jurgens then had to relinquish all hopes of
obtaining the diamond; but he continued asking
to be allowed to buy some of the other curiosities.
He was especially struck with a little elephant
carved in ivory with a clock in its forehead.  The
clock-works lie in the animal's body, and the
trunk acts as the pendulum.  The swinging
backward and forward of the trunk has a most comical
effect.

"He had no better success with the elephant than
he had had with the tortoise; and it was rather a
relief to the family when the tiresome old man was
taken away by his servant.  You know he has
some difficulty in walking, and has to be carried
about in a wheeled chair, pushed by his servant.

"Frick said good-by to Mr. Jurgens, and was just
going to lock the cases, after having put
everything in its place, when a cry was heard outside.

"The clumsy servant, who had apparently been
drinking, had nearly upset the old man on to one
of the flower beds.

"All rushed out from the museum into the garden.

"After having got Mr. Jurgens righted again,
and safely outside the gate, they all went into the
house.  Thus it came about that old Frick forgot
to lock both the cupboard with the iron shutters
and the door to the museum.

"It was then exactly five o'clock in the afternoon.

"Old Frick went up to his room and took his
after-dinner nap.  Miss Sigrid went out for a walk;
she had been suffering from headache the whole day.

"At six o'clock they met again; she had been
back a quarter of an hour, and awaited her uncle
with afternoon tea in the sitting-room.

"The two sat together till seven o'clock, drank
tea, and went through Sigrid's household accounts.

"At seven the young girl went again for a little
walk, as her headache was no better.

"When Frick had seen her to the gate, he
suddenly remembered that the door of the museum was
not locked, and then he made the discovery that
the diamond was gone.

"The gate-keeper Iverson had spent the time
between five and half-past seven in the little lodge;
he had been busy with some carpentering, and stood
at the windows, which looked out on the gate and
the road.

"I asked him if any one had passed in or out
during that time.  The key to the gate hung in the
room where he was working, and he had himself let
every one in and out.

"Yes, first there was Miss Sigrid, who went out at
five and came home in about half an hour or three
quarters.

"About six Evelina came home, but went out
again at about half-past six.

"About seven o'clock Mr. Howell went out; he
had a gun and game-bag, and took a four-wheeler
which was passing at the time.

"Soon after, Miss Sigrid again went out,
accompanied to the door by Mr. Frick.

"The cook and the housemaid had been in the
kitchen or their bedroom the whole time."

"I must say yours is a model of a preliminary
report, Mr. Monk; you seem to have got it all by
heart, and not even to have made any notes."

"I believe I have a special talent in that respect,
sir.  I only get confused, if I take down anything
except what is absolutely necessary.  I can see it
much clearer when I've got it in my head."

"Yes, oh yes, each one has his own method!  It
is at any rate a very useful talent for a detective.
But tell me one thing; how can you be so sure that
the different times you mention are correct?  It is
not always that the people in a house are so exact
in regard to time."

"As it happens, my statements have been confirmed
on that point.  Old Frick has a remarkably good
pocket chronometer, and he takes a pride in always
keeping it correct to the minute.

"Just before Jurgens left, a remark was made
how correctly the little watch in the elephant's
head kept time.  It stands on a shelf just over the
cupboard where the diamond had its place.
Although it had not been regulated for a long while,
it showed the right time to a minute; which was
verified by comparing it with the chronometer.

"And thus we have a safe starting-point: the time
was five minutes past five.

"Then Mr. Frick takes his afternoon tea precisely
at six each day.  The servants have got into the
habit of being most exact in that respect, as the old
man is very particular.

"Finally, Iverson looked at the clock when
Mr. Howell left, to see if he would be in time for the
train.  Mr. Howell had made the remark as he
was passing out that the time was ten minutes to
seven, which agreed exactly with Iverson's watch.

"As you see, the different times which I have
mentioned cannot be far wrong—not more than a
minute or two."

"Yes, I see that.  I suppose your inquiries at the
pawnbrokers' and jewellers' have been so far without
result?"

"Yes; up till now they have led to no result, and
I think they never will."

The superintendent nodded.  Neither of us said
as much, but we were both agreed that the thief who
could steal an article like the tortoise, which would
be so difficult to dispose of, whilst he had plenty of
other salable articles to select from, must have had
his special reasons, and would not have rushed to his
own destruction by trying to dispose of the stolen
jewel to a pawnbroker.

"Of course I know," said the superintendent,
cheerily, "that you haven't by a long way finished
with your investigations.  But it would really be
interesting to make a few guesses as to who could
have taken the diamond.  Who can have taken it,
do you think?"

I saw that my august superior wanted to discuss
the case; and I could not refuse, although I had no
mind for it at this stage of the inquiry.

"As far as I can see," I answered, "there are
only five persons who could have taken the
diamond; the gardener Iverson, Mr. Howell, the maid
Evelina, the cook, or the housemaid.  All these
people had the entry to the garden between five and
half past-seven, and also into the museum."

"You forget two people, Mr. Monk."

I stared at him.

"You forget old Frick and Miss Frick."

The superintendent smiled, and I tried also, but
it was a sorry attempt, and a most unpleasant
feeling crept over me.

The superintendent evidently took notice of this.

"Yes, I speak, of course, from quite a theoretical
standpoint.  It is part of a policeman's ABC that
he must suspect every one as long as the guilty party
is not discovered."

"Not every one, sir!"  I felt I spoke with an
earnestness which was not in harmony with the
situation, or with the genial tone of my superior; but I
could not get rid of the unpleasant feeling which the
mentioning of Sigrid's name had caused me.

"Perhaps you are right, Mr. Monk; in any case,
this will not prove the opposite.  But tell me, what
is really your opinion of Mr. Howell?"

It was obvious that the superintendent wanted
to get away as quickly as possible from the subject,
which I had been foolish enough to discuss in rather
a disagreeable manner, and I felt not a little ashamed
of my want of tact.

"It is only right, sir, that you should direct my
attention to him.  From five o'clock till ten minutes
to seven he had the opportunity of taking possession
of the diamond and getting away with it from the
house.  There would be no risk for him to enter the
museum; if any of the servants had seen him do it,
it would have attracted no attention; he is just like
a member of the Frick family.

"That is one side of the case; the other side is that
Mr. Howell in every respect gives the impression of
being a gentleman, that he is tied by the bond of
friendship to the Frick family, and finally that
pecuniarily he is so situated that he need not steal either
diamonds or anything else."

"Are you sure of this?"

"Yes; I go by what he and old Frick have said;
besides, at half-past nine this morning, I called on
Wendel, the banker.  I myself recommended this
highly respected firm to Mr. Howell, and I asked
the chief, quite confidentially, how Mr. Howell's
account stood.

"He informed me that the latter at the present
moment had from three to four hundred pounds
standing to his account.  It was the remainder of a
sum of money he had brought with him in cash and
deposited with the banker; besides which, instructions
had been received from Messrs. Hambeo and
Son, the London bankers, to open an account for
Mr. Howell to the amount of two thousand pounds."

"Well, I should be glad if I had such an account
at the bank!  It does not seem probable that the
Englishman should have taken the diamond.  By
the bye, Mr. Monk, I must not detain you any
longer; go on with the matter as you yourself think
best; you have, of course, not had much time for
inquiries, and I ought, perhaps, not to have been so
inquisitive at such an early stage of the investigations; but
you must rather look upon our conversation as a kind
of refreshment, which I take between the dustbins
and the demonstration in the theatre.  Well, good
luck to you, and let me hear from you as soon as you
have anything of interest to report."

The superintendent shook me by the hand.

"Strukstad, let the manager of the theatre come
in," he said resignedly, as I went out at the back
door.

Later in the day a letter was handed me from the
superintendent, marked "Private," which read as
follows:—


DEAR MR. MONK,—I have not been able to dismiss
old Frick's diamond from my mind.  Couldn't it
have been lost in quite an ordinary way; fallen on
the floor, put on a wrong shelf, or in some such way
got astray?

One might also imagine that some one for fun
has hidden it, to play old Frick a trick.

I confess it is not likely, but it is still more
unlikely that any one should have stolen it—the most
unsalable article of all the valuables which you say
lay in that cupboard.

I ask you to take this into consideration, and
apply the greatest caution in your investigations.

The disappearance of the diamond will soon be the
general talk of the town.

It is of the greatest importance that the police
should not make fools of themselves.  That is to
say, they must not let themselves be deceived by
people's extraordinary stupidity.

I know your good sense, and in all probability
these lines are superfluous.

.. vspace:: 1

.. class:: noindent

Yours, etc.





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`A MORNING VISIT`:

.. class:: center large bold

   CHAPTER VI


.. class:: center medium bold

   A MORNING VISIT

.. vspace:: 2

I did not forget the superintendent's good advice.
Immediately after the disappearance of the diamond
I searched the whole of Villa Ballarat most carefully.

The servants behaved with exemplary resignation,
and offered to open all their trunks.  I even took
the liberty of searching Mr. Howell's rooms.  All
his drawers and trunks were open, but contained
nothing of interest.  My investigations also made it
clear that this gentleman had proceeded direct to
the station on the day the diamond disappeared,
and from there took the train to Elverum.

I don't know how it was, but I always had a
misgiving that this young Englishman might have had
something to do with the disappearance of the
diamond.  This, perhaps, was the reason that made me
feel, more acutely than ever, that not one of us really
knew the young man, in spite of his having been
several months in Villa Ballarat.  His manners
were free and open; but—one did not learn to
know him.

I soon placed Iverson, the gardener, the cook, and
the housemaid *hors de concours*.  Iverson had for
many years shown himself to be a most respectable
and reliable person.  He was a bachelor, had a nice
little sum in the bank, and it was easy to find out
about his antecedents.  He was the son of well-to-do
peasants in Smaalenene, and when quite young
had gone into the non-commissioned officers' school
and followed a military career, until he entered
Frick's service.  He had always borne a most
irreproachable character.

Last of all, we now come to the lady's-maid,
Evelina; and should you have a suspicion that she is
likely to play an important part in the lamentable
events which now followed, one upon the other, you
will not be far wrong.

From the first, or, more correctly, from the second
day I entered old Frick's house, this young girl had
struck me as being strange.  There was something
mysterious about her, perhaps on account of her
reserved and even sulky manners.

Sigrid also considered her unusually silent, more
so by nature than most young girls are.  She
thought that she was a girl of strong character, and
liked her, in spite of her reticent ways.

During the latter days she had been still more
reserved than before, and had not given one the
impression of being in good health, although there
was little change noticeable in her appearance on
account of her naturally pale complexion.

The afternoon of the disappearance of the
diamond, Evelina had spent in the following manner
(her explanation tallied exactly with that of others):
She had, soon after dinner, when the family had
retired to the museum, served the coffee there.  When
that was finished, she had left Villa Ballarat to
visit her sick mother, just before the time
Jurgens had left the house.  At six o'clock she had
returned to the villa again to fetch something she
had forgotten, and had, at the same time, put on
another dress on account of a change in the weather;
but she had been scarcely half an hour in the house.

It struck me as strange that Evelina had suddenly
become more lively than I had ever seen her, and
Sigrid also thought that she looked better and
more cheerful since the day when the diamond
disappeared.

As regards Evelina's mother, Madame Reierson,
I found out that she made her living by washing
and ironing, and by letting a couple of her rooms;
but it was said that she was fond of drink, and that
her principal income evidently consisted in what her
daughter allowed her.  Miss Frick's generosity no
doubt enabled Evelina to give her mother considerable
help.

Madame Reierson's specialty lay in talking of
times gone by, when Reierson was alive and was a
well-to-do turner in Grönland; "she too had had
her own house and a horse and trap."

As you see, I had not gained much by my
investigations, but my opinion regarding the loss of the
diamond had, however, begun to take shape, which
made it desirable that I should make Madame
Reierson's acquaintance.

.. vspace:: 1

.. class:: center white-space-pre-line

   \*      \*      \*      \*      \*

.. vspace:: 1



At half-past nine the next morning, when the
May sun was shining warmly, a gentleman entered
the courtyard of 44 Russelök Street.

The gentleman was not very elegantly dressed;
his coat was somewhat shabby, and his trouser-bottoms
a little the worse for wear, but still he
might pass as quite a respectable person; for
instance, as a poor theological student of middle age.

I hoped, at least, that my appearance was something
like this, for this was the rôle I intended to play.

In the courtyard a woman was standing rinsing
clothes under a pump.  I asked for Madame Reierson,
and learned that she was living in the fourth
story on the right-hand side of the staircase.

"I mean the woman who takes in washing."

"Well, I don't think there's much washing done,
but there's only one Madame Reierson in this house,
at any rate," was the surly answer.

"I think you're right about the washing.  In
any case, the clothes I last got home were only half
washed," I remarked.

My depreciatory remark about her neighbour's
work evidently appealed to the woman; she deigned
to let go the wet clothes she had in her hand, and
turned round to me.

"Ah, indeed!  Really!  So she has been washing
for you, has she, and you don't like her washing?
Well, you're not the first as says that.  It's
a shame that such a drunken wretch should take
the bread out of other people's mouths, and live in
grand style, and enjoy herself."

"Well, I, for my part, have been thinking of
giving her up as my washerwoman."

"Ha! ha! you give her up?" said the worthy
woman, with a scornful laugh.  "A lot she'll care
about that!  As long as she's got that fine
daughter of hers in service at old Frick's, in the
Drammen Road, she can live in grand style, and enjoy
herself without washing a rag.  But I should say
it'll all come to a terrible end some day; when
people begin to run after them actors I wouldn't
give you a thank you for 'em!"

And with that our short but pleasant conversation
ended.

I tried to find out a little more about the actor
who had suddenly been introduced upon the scene,
but I was sharply sent about my business by the
woman, who "did not go about telling tales, let
alone to strangers."

There was nothing more to be done, so I mounted
up to the fourth story.

On a door with glass panes were fastened two
visiting-cards.  I read: Ludwig Frederiksen, actor;
Tho. Herstad, medical student.

To the left I found an ordinary kitchen door.
As I knocked at this a stout woman appeared.
Madame Reierson was clad in what I would call a
simple morning toilet.  I can hardly describe the
various articles of her dress; all of them, however,
appeared to be too tight-fitting for her buxom
figure, and to have seen better days.

I lifted my large, broad-brimmed, low-crowned,
clerical hat to her, and then explained that the
object of my visit was to ask madame to do some
washing for me.

She seemed greatly surprised that any one,
unsolicited, should intrust his clothes to her to wash,
and asked rather suspiciously who had recommended her.

"Perhaps we might go inside," said I.  "I would
like to sit down a little.  I'm not quite well, and
the stairs trouble me."

She mumbled something about "*she* didn't mind,"
and showed me through the kitchen into a
disorderly room, filled with foul air.  This served
as her parlour and her bedroom.

I sat down heavily and laid my hand on my heart.

She didn't seem, however, to be troubled with any
sympathetic feelings, for I heard her mumble
something about, "Why do folks climb stairs when they
can't manage 'em?"

"But who has shown you up to me, then," she
continued.

I could see it would be difficult for me, if not
impossible, to get into conversation with this
unpleasant woman, as she apparently had not yet
had her "morning drop," and was therefore not
amenable to any friendly approach.

I decided to come to the point at once.

"Miss Frick has recommended me to come to you,
as I wanted a good washerwoman,—Miss Frick, who
lives in Drammen Road."

The woman sat herself down in a chair right
opposite me, and looked rather astonished.

"Do you go to the Fricks'?—You?" was the
unflattering answer, as she critically surveyed me.

I regretted the plain attire, which I had thought
would be suitable for my supposed errand; but there
was no help for that now; I had to get along as
best I could.

"I am studying for the church," I said with
dignity, "and I am secretary to the women's
mission, and we generally have the committee meetings
at Miss Frick's."

"Oh, indeed!  Really!"  Suddenly there was a
gleam in the woman's eyes.  She had evidently got
an idea into her head, because from that moment
her manner was affable and insinuating.

"Oh, indeed!  Now really!  So you are going to be
a parson?  That was what our eldest son was also
to be.  Reierson wanted him to become a doctor,
but I swore that he should become a parson.  Well,
I expect you meet a lot of grand ladies there, then!
Have you seen my daughter at Miss Frick's?"

"What, your daughter?"

"Oh, well; that's no matter;" she evidently did
not find it very opportune to say anything about
her daughter, since I myself didn't appear to know
her position in Frick's house.  "But as you go to
old Frick's, you have, of course, heard summat of
his big diamond which he has lost."

I knew, of course, that the town had already
begun to talk of the diamond affair, but it came
quite unexpectedly upon me to hear this woman
talking of it.  Did she want to know what
suspicions they had at Frick's house?  Did she know
anything about it?  Had she her own suspicions,
or was it only curiosity?

"Yes, fortunately, they have got hold of the thief."

"No! now you don't say so!"

Just at this interesting point of the conversation
we heard the kitchen door open.

Madame Reierson left me, and quickly disappeared.

Then began a lively conversation in almost a
whisper, but the door was rickety and my hearing
sharp; it was Madame Reierson's voice and another
woman's voice.  I recognized it; it was her daughter's.

"—Not home?—not come home yet, do you
say?—been out the whole night—"

I heard the mother mumble something, that "he"
must soon come home.

"And he has not even left any message?  He
promised that I should meet him at ten o'clock
to-day.—A strange gentleman, do you say, whom
Miss Frick has recommended to come to you—?"

The mother must have spoken of my presence,
but the daughter seemed to have a legitimate
suspicion about the recommendation from Miss Frick.
Perhaps she was inquisitive, and wanted to see the
phenomenon who came to Madame Reierson with
his washing; for the door immediately opened, and
I stood face to face with Evelina, the lady's-maid.

She stood there, tall and erect, pretty and
tastefully dressed as usual.  When she recognized me,
her pale face became still paler, and it seemed to
me she tottered a little.  She only pressed her thin
lips together and looked calmly at me.

"Are you here?  I did not know the police were
here."  She looked at my garb and smiled a little
scornfully.

At these words, Madame Reierson forced herself
past her daughter and surveyed me angrily.

"Police, do you say?  Does he belong to the
police?  Well, I might have guessed it, since he
sneaked in here and began to talk of the stolen
diamond and suchlike."

I looked at the daughter, but her features were
immovable.  Either she had nothing to do with
the diamond robbery, or she had a stronger will
power than most people.

"You forget, Madame Reierson," said I, "that it
was you who began to talk to me of the robbery
at Mr. Frick's."

Was I mistaken, or was it really so?  It seemed
to me that the young girl's look was directed for a
second or two at her mother with great displeasure.

"Well, if it was I who began the talk, it must
have been because you fooled me on to do it," said
Madame Reierson, jumping up from her chair;
"else why did you come here?  Perhaps you fancy
we have stolen Frick's diamond!  Be so kind as to
look for yourself, and see if it is to be found in my
house."

The worthy dame began to pull out her chest of
drawers, and to open her cupboards, while her
tongue went on with startling rapidity.

"I hadn't thought of making any investigations in
your house, my dear madame," said I, trying to
pacify her; "I came really to find out a little about
your lodger, the actor, Frederiksen."

This time the daughter's self-control did not
serve her; for some seconds her face was
overspread with a deep flush, and she went away and
looked out of the window.

"Frederiksen is old enough to answer for himself,"
said Mrs. Reierson, curtly.  "He is not at
home now, and I don't know when he is likely to be."

As I had nothing further to do there, I took my
hat, nodded to the woman, and left without
ceremony.  The young girl still stood at the window, and
did not turn round when I went out.  Either she did
not notice it, or she did not wish to show her face.

When I had descended to the next floor, I heard
the sound of heavy steps coming up.  First of all
a ruffled silk hat appeared on the stairs, afterward
a pale, dissipated-looking face, with clean-shaven
cheeks, luxuriant curly hair under the brim of the
hat, a black frock coat of faultless cut but with
spotted silk revers, light trousers somewhat frayed
at the bottoms, and cracked patent-leather shoes
with large bows.  The apparition stared at me
stupidly and disappeared through the door leading
to his apartments.  It was Ludwig Frederiksen,
who had little or no reputation as an actor, but
was well known as a Don Juan, now somewhat on
the decline, but worshipped, nevertheless, by the
fair sex, not only of the better classes, but also of
the demi-monde.

He possessed the happy gift of being able to
easily forget unpleasantness, for at this moment
he evidently did not recognize me, while less than
a month before we had had a not very pleasant
conversation at my office.

The cause of this conversation was a respectful
application from the artist for a loan of some
thousand of kroners, directed to one of the merchants of
the town.  This document the merchant in question
found best to deliver into the hands of the police,
although the bewitching artist had offered to
deposit, as security, several pink and perfumed notes,
billets-doux, from the merchant's own daughter to
the owner of the curly locks.

"We shall probably have another interesting
conversation," I thought, as my eyes followed the form
of the artist as he mounted upward and disappeared;
"but not now."

The fact was that in the course of the last half
hour, certain ideas, which earlier had begun to dawn
in my mind, now assumed a more solid form, and
fitted together, so that they formed a chain.

I thought I had hold of one end of the chain, and
I was determined to fumble my way to the other
end; or perhaps it would be better with a resolute
pull to try and grasp it without fumbling at all.

The chain had, however, begun to link itself in
this way, and when I left Mrs. Reierson's parlour,
I felt convinced that Evelina knew something about
the diamond, and very likely her mother also.

As I had passed through the little kitchen my
elbow knocked against a dirty coffee-service which
stood there,—a pot and two cups with dried-up
grounds at the bottom.  This accident was sufficient
to set going a train of thoughts which, no
doubt, had already been unconsciously developing
in my mind; but which would never have been
started into active life if Mrs. Reierson's
objectionable coffee-cups had not been standing there.

They brought to my mind an expression in
Evelina's explanation the other day:—

"I went home to my mother as soon us I had
served the coffee in the museum."

She had served the coffee in the museum; she
had seen that the diamond had been shown about;
had seen Jurgens's imbecile greediness to become
possessed of it; she had heard him bid ten
thousand kroners for it!  Later on she had passed the
museum, when all were gone, and seeing the door
standing open, knew she had only to stretch out her
hand to become possessed of a large sum of money.

Perhaps she had some use or another for the
latter, of which I, as yet, had no certain
knowledge,—but of which I had a suspicion.

If this train of thought was correct, then
Mr. Jurgens had now the diamond in his possession.

The improbability that this worthy old man
should have become the receiver of stolen goods
did not concern me.  I knew that the mania for
collecting sweeps away all moral considerations like
chaff before the wind, especially when second
childhood has already begun to obscure the mind.





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`LAWYER JURGENS`:

.. class:: center large bold

   CHAPTER VII


.. class:: center medium bold

   LAWYER JURGENS

.. vspace:: 2

My decision was taken.  I would pay a visit
to the lawyer without loss of time.  The difficulty
lay in getting the old man to speak out the truth,
if he really was in possession of the black tortoise.

I dared not use strong means; it was a weakly
old man I had to do with, but to get the better of
him was not so easy.  He was possessed of not a
little cunning, and his firmness, when it was a
question of preserving any of his treasures, was
quite incredible; of this I was already aware.

Mr. Jurgens knew me well.  I had had to do
with him twice before on official business, when
some one had tried to rob him.  Besides, we had
met each other several times at Frick's, and finally,
I had now and then gone, like so many other
interested people in the town, to see if he had
any remarkable increase in his line collection.

Of course you know the Jurgens collection in
the national museum?  It has a whole department
to itself.  Some time before his death he presented
all of it to the public.

While I called at my lodgings to change clothes
I laid my plan of campaign.

It was neither particularly subtle nor cunningly
conceived—only a common trick, as you will see;
but, as you will also see, it was good enough for
the occasion.

I rang at Mr. Jurgens's house in Munkedam
Road.  He lived on the first floor.

At the back lay a kitchen and servants' room,
where his cook and housekeeper lived; on the
other side of the hall was a room which belonged
to the servant-man.  Jurgens himself lived in a
room looking out on the street, and the remaining
three rooms, which likewise looked to the street,
gave him ample space for his collection of
antiquities and other curiosities.

By my advice, he had taken a lot of precautions
to protect himself against thieves.  There were
strong doors provided with patent locks, iron bars
before the windows, and some fire-proof iron safes
as a place of deposit for the most costly articles.

The man-servant opened the door to me.  The
reason why the lawyer had a man-servant was,
as I have already mentioned, because his feet were
almost lame.  He could just manage to get along
from one room to another, with much difficulty;
but in the street he was obliged to be wheeled in
a chair.  Otherwise the lawyer was a man of small
pretensions, and notwithstanding his large fortune,
was very economical.  That is to say, in everything
possible, except what concerned his collection.
In this respect he was, as already mentioned,
irresponsibly extravagant.

The old lawyer got up with difficulty from his
armchair and tottered toward me.

He shook me by the hand, fumbling a long gold
chain, which he wore round his neck, with the
other hand, and himself began the conversation.

His voice was a little shaky, and he seemed to
be uneasy when he saw me; but it was difficult
to say if these symptoms were a natural consequence
of the man's age, or if he really had something
to hide, and felt uneasy at my appearance.

"Well, really, Mr. Monk," he said, "it is a long
time since I had the honour of seeing you at my
house.  May I perhaps have the pleasure of
showing you some rare curiosities which I have lately
acquired?  You have generally so little time that
I believe you have really never seen my collection
properly."

These words proved to me that if the old man
had the diamond in his possession, he had it in a
safe hiding place, and of these there were plenty.
The old furniture was full of the most
extraordinary corners, secret places, drawers, and
such-like.

"Many thanks, Mr. Jurgens," I answered
promptly, "but this time I am here on official
business, and have still less time than usual."

"What a pity," grumbled the old fellow, letting
himself fall back into his chair, and taking a pinch
of snuff with his shaky hands.  "Any snuff?  No,
young fellows nowadays don't take snuff; but
take a seat, Mr. Monk, take a seat!"

"Thanks!"  I brought a chair forward in front
of the old man and leaned toward him.  "The
fact is, that an audacious robbery has been
committed; an unusually costly article has been stolen,
and the superintendent has sent me to inquire
about it."

"You don't suppose I buy stolen goods, sir?"

The lawyer's eyes blinked, and his hands and
shrivelled fingers moved up and down the watch
chain.

"No, of course not; but you know that it has
happened once or twice before, that stolen goods
have been offered to you for sale, and that you
have been of inestimable value to us in giving
the thief's description; therefore—"

"No, this time I cannot help you; no, not at all!"

"But you haven't yet heard what it is."

"No—but—but—I have not bought anything
for a long time; nothing of consequence, or
anything that could be of interest to you."

"That is tiresome—most tiresome!  Our last
hope is gone; if only the bracelet is not sent abroad!
It would then be very difficult to get."

"Bracelet, you say; was it a bracelet, you said?"

"Yes, it was a bracelet, an uncommonly costly
bracelet, set with precious stones, which disappeared
from Adelina Patti's dressing-room in the theatre
yesterday.  You know she is appearing here for a
few days.  She had had it given her by the
Emperor of Brazil."

"Indeed!  What a pity!  But as I said, no one has
tried to sell anything of the kind to me lately."

There was no doubt that the old fellow felt very
much relieved.  He took hold of the bell rope and
ordered his man-servant to bring in wine and cigars.

"Take a glass of wine with me, sir; both old and
young need a good glass of wine, and you'll not get
better than this: I brought it myself from Oporto
in '47."

We each drank a glass, and I must admit that the
wine was good.

The lawyer had hastily left the subject of the
stolen gem, and had begun upon several interesting
reminiscences from the year 1820 or so.

But it was not my plan to let him have his own
way; I had opened my trenches, and I wished to
advance to the attack.

"It is a nuisance," said I, "all these robberies of
curiosities and costly jewels, which have taken place
in the town of late.  No one knows what bother
they cause the police."

"I can understand," said the lawyer, unwilling
again to approach the same theme; and he filled the
glasses again with a shaking hand.

"Yes," I continued, "every one who possesses
such things should be just as careful as old Frick of
Drammen Road."

On hearing old Frick's name, the old fellow
almost jumped out of his chair, but I continued
mercilessly.

"This last robbery at old Frick's is a laughable
affair."  I then burst into long and hearty laughter,
which evidently affected Jurgens's nerves in the
most unpleasant manner.

"Haven't you heard about it?  Well, as you
know, old Frick possesses a whole lot of curiosities,
and many of them are of gold, silver, and precious
stones, and all are very valuable.  People are
always coming there, some as guests of the house,
and some to visit his collection.  Old Frick got
tired of always having to watch them so carefully,
and so he had imitations made of all his most valuable
objects,—gilt-brass mounts instead of gold, and
glass instead of precious stones.  This is, however,
a great secret, so much so, that even his best friends
think they are the real things they see, while these
are lying securely in the cellar of the bank."

"Eh, what do you say?"  The old fellow stretched
out his neck like a vulture.

"Yes, indeed—but listen: a few days ago the most
costly of all his curiosities disappeared; I fancy it
was a black diamond in gold setting.  It was called
the 'black tortoise.'  We expect the thief has gone
abroad with his treasure.  Ha! ha! just sixpenny
worth of brass, and half a crown's worth of cut
glass!"

I again burst into a peal of hearty laughter.  The
old man sank back, but tried to raise himself,
gasping for breath.  I thought he was going to have a
fit, and in a minute I got his necktie undone, and
rang for the servant.

We soon brought him round again; he was a
tough old bit of humanity, that I must admit.

I knew now what I wanted to know; the lawyer
had the diamond in one of his hiding places.  The
difficulty was to get him to give it up without
being obliged to resort to unpleasant means.

For this reason I took leave, as soon as I saw he
had got over his little attack, and without
suggesting anything as to what the cause might be.

The servant followed me into the hall to open
the door for me.

Having reached the hall, I asked hastily, "Do
you know who I am?"

"Yes, sir, you are Inspector Monk," answered the
man in surprise, and somewhat tardily.

"All right, let me then remain here in the hall,
but open the door and then shut it, so that your
master can hear it and think I am gone."

The man hesitated a little and looked doubtfully
at me.

"Quick!  What I do, I do in the name of the
law, but I have no time for further explanations.
Now then!"

He did as I told him and went in again to his
master.

Everything happened as I had foreseen.  The
servant came out soon afterward, sent away by his
master, and disappeared at a sign from me into his
own room.

I took off my shoes and opened the door stealthily
to the lawyer's room.  As I had expected, he had
gone into one of the other rooms, where he kept his
collection.

Without making any noise I followed him.

In the innermost room the old man stood before
the open door of one of his iron safes.  His shaky
hands were busy trying to adjust a pair of
spectacles with round glasses to his nose.

I took my time, until he had taken out from a
secret drawer an object which he held close up to
his eyes.  The next minute my hand lay on his
shoulder, and immediately after the black tortoise
was safe in my pocket!

I led the old fellow carefully across the room to a
chair.  He had never uttered a word.

He remained seated, gasping for breath with
half-shut eyes, and his withered hands dancing up and
down in his lap.

I made him drink a glass of wine, and after a
little while he found his speech again.

"What right have you to sneak in upon me and
take my property?  The diamond is mine—I have
honestly bought it—" and he stretched out his
hands, as if to get it back.

"The diamond is stolen property," I said, "and
will be delivered by me into the hands of the
authorities.  I am sorry I have been obliged to play
a trick upon you to get it from you; but I understood
at once that you wouldn't give it up of your
own free will."

"I have bought it and paid for it, and it is not
stolen property; your conduct will cost you dear,
Mr. Monk."

"No more talk about that, if you please, Mr. Jurgens,"
I said firmly.  "From whom did you buy
the diamond?"

"I bought the diamond from Miss Frick, and she
got it from her uncle."

The old man could not say another word, for my
hands were round his throat.  Only for a moment,
however.  I remembered myself, and let go my hold,
but remained standing in front of him quivering
with rage.

"What is it you dare say about the young
lady, about Sigrid, about my—I mean about
Mr. Frick's niece?  Mr. Frick himself has given
information of the robbery, and now you say that Miss
Frick has sold the diamond to you; that is the same
as saying that she has stolen it.  You can thank
your stars that you are an old man, otherwise—"

The old man stretched out his hand, as if to ring;
but no bell was near.  His eyes wandered wildly.

Then it stood clearly before me that I had nearly
frightened the life out of him, and I at once became
calmer.

"Be sensible, sir, and take the matter quietly.  It
was imprudent of you to buy the diamond, but we
all know, of course, that you did it in good faith.
But it will be necessary that you give a truthful
account of how you got it, and from whom.  If
not, it may become a disagreeable business for you.
That you can well understand."

"I only understand that I have bought the
diamond from a young lady and given five thousand
kroners for it.  She did not ask for more," said the
old man, trembling, while his eyes began to look
brighter.  "When you say it was not Miss Frick,
perhaps, after all, it was not she; but then it must
have been the other young girl in the house.  I
believe they call her Evelina.  Yes, it was she, if
you absolutely must know it."

"Well, that is far more probable, sir," I said
encouragingly, for I felt a little ashamed of my
violent conduct to the old man, "and you must
excuse me if I was a little rough with you."

I rang myself for the servant, and with him as a
witness, I gave the lawyer a receipt for the tortoise,
which I took with me, and left.

.. vspace:: 1

.. class:: center white-space-pre-line

   \*      \*      \*      \*      \*

.. vspace:: 1



The superintendent was not a little surprised
when I put the diamond before him on the table;
and when I had given my report, he congratulated
me at the result, and complimented me on the
manner in which I had conducted the affair.

I found it unnecessary to mention Jurgens's
wretched attempt to prove that it was Miss Frick
who had sold him the diamond.

The superintendent did not lay much stress on
the part Jurgens had played in the matter.

"The man must soon be pronounced incapable
of managing his own affairs, and be placed under
proper control.  He will, of course, be declared
irresponsible by the court, if the public prosecutor
should proceed against him."

In this I fully concurred.  Then I gave the
superintendent a detailed account of my visit to
Mrs. Reierson, and of how the actor's name was
mentioned, and of my hurried meeting with the
latter.

"Do I understand you aright," said the
superintendent, "that you have a suspicion that the
pretty maid and the fascinating actor are intimate?"

"Yes, I have."

"And you go still farther; in this, you seek the
reason why the unhappy girl has committed the
robbery, isn't that so?"

"Yes, indeed, I cannot deny that something of
the sort was in my mind; only it seemed strange
to me that a girl like Evelina, who not only has
the best of characters from Miss Frick, as a good
and honest girl, but who, after all I have been able
to ascertain, also possesses a certain amount of
character and love of truth, can have fallen in love
with such a man, or given herself into his power!"

"Why, my dear Monk!" broke in the superintendent,
with a smile, which could have made those
who did not know him take him for a heartless
cynic, "do you, after so many years in the police
service, still nourish illusions with regard to the
fair sex?"

"I have, of course, in my day seen a good deal of—"

"Yes, you have seen a good deal; which shows
you that the greatest Don Juan is also the greatest
liar, and that a man with a smooth face, who can
flatter and deceive, has greater power over the fair
sex than any honest man whatsoever.  Isn't that so?"

I was accustomed to my superior's humorous
exaggerations, and could not deny that my experiences
as a detective in the police force to a considerable
degree went in the same direction.

"Well," continued the superintendent, "when
you have been in the police force for a generation,
you will certainly not have much respect for
women's ideals.  But let us return to this affair
about the diamond.  You shall at once have a
warrant, and then you had better arrest the young
girl as soon as possible.  The sooner it's done the
greater the prospect of getting back the money
which she got from the lawyer."

"Pardon me, sir," I answered, "Evelina is most
probably at this moment at Mr. Frick's house, and
will remain there over night.  It would be very
unpleasant for the Fricks if the arrest took place
in the house.  Have you any objection to my
waiting until to-morrow?  Then she will probably
visit her mother, and we can avail ourselves of the
opportunity and make a domiciliary visit at the
same time.  If Mrs. Reierson is an accomplice, we
might succeed in taking her by surprise, and in
getting her to give up the money.  I have an idea
that it will be easier to take her than the daughter
by surprise."

"But are you not afraid that one of them can
make use of the time to get the money out of the
way, if it has not already been taken to some place
or other?"

"On the contrary, I believe it will be of advantage
to leave them in peace to-night.  I shall have them
watched by some of my best men meanwhile."

"And the actor?"

"He is already in good hands.  Detective Kolstad
has orders to follow him like a shadow, and
arrest him if he should attempt to leave the town."

"Well, that will do!  Do as you think right,
Monk.  I begin to think you are the better
detective of us two.  If you should meet old Frick
to-night, give him my compliments, and tell him I
shall keep his diamond until the case has been
settled in court; but in the meantime it will be in
good hands."

It was not with a light heart, however, that I
walked along the Drammen Road, after having
given the constable the necessary orders.  I knew
that the news I had to bring would greatly distress
both old Frick and Sigrid.

After having proceeded some distance, it struck
me that after all I had nothing to do at Villa
Ballarat that night.  It ought not to be known
in the house that the diamond had been found—not
so long as Evelina was there.  Old Frick and
Sigrid would naturally ask me if I had any news,
and I should be obliged to tell a lie and keep back
from them what had happened.

Although I was very anxious to see Sigrid, yet
I was sensible enough to turn back, and, after
having had some supper at a café, I went home to my
lodgings.

I telephoned to the police office, and asked if there
was any news from the constables who had to watch
the three persons before mentioned.

No, there was no news.  Evelina was quite safe
inside Villa Ballarat, and the house was being
watched.

I lighted a cigar, and gave myself up to thinking
over the day's events.  I had been successful in
everything, and yet I felt far from satisfied; it
must have been due to a certain feeling of pity for
poor Evelina, and the concern it would occasion her
master and mistress.  Or—?

If you believe in presentiment, or that great
misfortunes—without our being able to divine the
cause—throw their shadows before, you will have to
attribute it to such a cause.  But enough,—I felt
unwell and depressed, and when I had lain down
it was a long time before I went to sleep.





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`THE ARREST`:

.. class:: center large bold

   CHAPTER VIII


.. class:: center medium bold

   THE ARREST

.. vspace:: 2

"The actor has vanished, sir!"

These were the words with which I was awakened
at seven o'clock next morning.

Before the bed stood my trusty constable,
Kolstad, with a face considerably longer than usual.

"What do you say?  Have you let him slip
through your fingers?  That was a—"

"Yes; but who could possibly imagine that—"

"All right, go into the next room a bit and get
yourself a cup of coffee; I shall make haste and get
dressed, and then we can talk it over."

It was not long before I had finished dressing and
was ready to continue the discussion.

My landlady had in the meanwhile tried to serve
the worthy officer with a good breakfast, but
disappointment had evidently taken away his appetite;
it was impossible to get him to continue his meal
after my appearance.

"It is just as well that I give my report at once,
sir, and tell you how shamefully I have been made
a fool of.  Yes; that such a pomatummed lady-killer
should befool me—I who have been in the service
of the police these twenty-seven years!"

"Don't trouble yourself about that, Kolstad," I
said reassuringly, for the man was so excited that he
apparently had some difficulty in explaining himself;
"we shall soon get hold of him, if we want him.  I
am sure it is not your fault that he has disappeared
temporarily: have another cup of coffee, and let us
hear about it."

"No, thanks, no more coffee; but here is the report,
sir.  You remember that it was yesterday, at dinner
time, that I got orders to watch the actor and arrest
him if he should try and leave the town?  Well, it
was not difficult to keep my eye on him for the first
few hours, for he was sitting in a room on the first
floor of the Tivoli Restaurant, together with eight or
ten other actors and actresses.  They had the best
dinner one could get and drank so much champagne
that it was simply disgusting to see all the empty
bottles being taken out—I know the head waiter
there, you see, and went and spoke to him while the
carousing was going on.  Frederiksen paid for it all."

"You are sure it was he who paid?"

"Yes, that I am; the head waiter showed me the
bill: it was 142 kroners.  By that I knew, sir, that
you, as usual, were on the right track.  If only I
had not been so stupid, well—you must excuse me,
sir, if I am a little excited—it is the first time it has
ever happened to me that—but—"

"Now, now, let us come to the point, my good
Kolstad," I answered, with assumed severity, as the
best means of "bringing him to."

It helped, for he pulled himself together, and from
then on he did not attempt to diverge from the dry
style of an ordinary report.

"Well, sir, I telephoned to the station for
assistance, and got one of our new men.  We took it in
turn to keep watch while the actors were eating and
drinking.  After dinner they had coffee and all
kinds of liquors, and went on like that until six
o'clock in the evening.  Then Frederiksen went
home to No. 44 Russelök Street, and there he
remained till nine o'clock.  He must have slept
during that time, for he looked quite sober when he
came out again, and he had been not a little muddled
when he got home after the carousal at the Tivoli.
He had a large hand-bag in his hand, but no other
luggage.  He wore the same clothes he had had on in
the afternoon."

"Was the hand-bag new?"

"Yes, it was brand new; and now you shall hear
how sly the fellow was.

"He went up to the cab-stand at the corner of
Drammen Road, and there he took a carriage.  I and the
young officer took another carriage and drove after
him.  Whether he knew that any one was following
him or not, I can't say.  We were obliged to keep
a little behind, so that he should not be suspicious.

"He drove to the Victoria Hotel, and there we
saw him go in at the door, and the carriage drive
away empty.  Soon after I went in and asked the porter
what was the name of the gentleman who had just
entered the hotel, and what room he had obtained.
The porter, who was a new man and not one of my
acquaintances, answered that the servant was just
then upstairs with the visitor's book, but that the
new arrival had taken room No. 47.  He had not
said anything about how long he intended to remain,
or anything of significance.

"Now, for the time being, I felt entirely sure of
my bird.  After telling him who I was, I got the
porter to promise to telephone to me if the stranger
should be getting ready to leave; then I set my
young officer to watch outside, and went home to
take a nap.

"It was just about half-past ten when the porter
rang up and said that the gentleman in No. 47
had just ordered a carriage, as he was going by
the midnight train to Sweden.  As you know, sir,
the train goes eleven five, so I had only just time to
dress and go to the station; but I was, of course,
sure that the young officer would follow the actor
so that we could arrest him together.  I got to
the station seven minutes before eleven; but there
was no sign of the actor or the officer.

"A minute before the train started, I went for the
last time through all the carriages and had a railway
official with me.  There was not a sign of the actor!
In the first class there sat only one personage.  It
was Mr. D——, the ambassador from Paris, said
the official.  I went in and looked at him—yes,
quite right, it was he."

"Do you know the ambassador, then?"

"Yes, of course, I know him by sight; it is he
who is so like Peer Gynt on the stage,—not, perhaps,
in the beginning of the piece, but in the third
and fourth acts."

I couldn't help laughing.  "There, you see,
Kolstad! it's not an easy thing to have to do with
an actor.  It was just by playing his old rôle of
Peer Gynt in the fourth act that the actor made
a fool of you!"

"Yes, of course it was; but who the devil could
imagine—"

"No, you are right there; but how was it that
your assistant didn't follow him from the hotel?"

"Well, it happened like this.  The constable
saw a servant beckoning for a carriage from the
stand.  He went up to the servant and asked who
was going away.  It was Mr. D——, the ambassador,
he answered, and when the constable saw a
fine old gentleman with grey whiskers step into
the carriage he suspected nothing, but continued
to keep his watch outside, as before."

"That is all right, so far; but I can't understand
that the man's hand-bag did not betray him.
Both you and your assistant knew it well.  Besides,
it seems to me that the porter must have been
astonished to see a young, smooth-shaven man come
into the hotel, and then leave it as a 'fine old
gentleman,' as you say, 'with grey whiskers.'"

"Yes; but I have not yet told you all, sir.  You
shall hear how clever the rascal was.  Inside the
large hand-bag which he carried, he had another
suit, a false beard, and all his apparatus, besides a
smaller travelling bag to carry in the hand.  It
was in the carriage that he transformed himself
into an ambassador; the hood was well pulled
down, as it rained a little.  The hotel porter had,
therefore, only seen him as the elderly gentleman
the whole time; and we, who only saw him step
out of the carriage with his back toward us, several
hundreds of yards off, could have no idea that he
had thus changed his appearance.  It did not enter
into our minds to ask the porter about the
appearance of the man whom we had followed the whole
time."

"But the large hand-bag?"

"Well, he let that remain in the carriage, and
gave the coachman orders to take it back to his
lodgings early to-day.  I got hold of the driver at
last, and heard how all had happened.  He himself
thought it was a little strange that the man should
disguise himself during the drive; but as far as I
could understand, he was a little tipsy on this
occasion, and as he got two kroners as a tip he presumed
it was no business of his.  Now you know all, sir,
and can see how cleverly I was taken in by that
vagabond of an actor; only—"

I did not let him dilate further upon this subject,
but sent him away.  I had heard enough.

It will also be sufficient for this narrative, if I
explain that the actor, on the same day, after
telegraphic instructions from us, was arrested at
Gothenburg, where he arrived next morning, and that
he, when arrested, was only in possession of a very
small sum of money.  He was taken back to Christiania,
and it was soon ascertained that he had been
or was engaged to Evelina.  Also, that the day before
his journey he had been very flush with his money;
but it was impossible to prove any complicity in
the theft, and he was set free in a few days,
with the warning not to leave town, as he would
have to appear as witness at the trial of Evelina
Reierson.

.. vspace:: 1

.. class:: center white-space-pre-line

   \*      \*      \*      \*      \*

.. vspace:: 1



In the meantime I must return to my account of
what happened later on that day, which began
with the melancholy apparition of the disappointed
constable beside my bed.

As I have already stated, it was my intention to
have Evelina arrested that day.  There was no
longer anything to wait for after the actor had
disappeared; and when I, in addition, received
information from one of my men that she had left Villa
Ballarat to visit her mother, I decided to avail
myself of the opportunity.  As before mentioned, I
wished to prevent the arrest taking place at old Frick's.

I have no liking for this sort of work, but this
time I decided to take it in hand myself, for several
reasons.

It appeared to me, beyond all doubt, that Evelina's
motive for the robbery must be sought for in
her relations to the actor.  In any case, I felt she
deserved some pity, and I wished therefore to make
the arrest myself in order that it might be effected
as gently and considerately as possible.

It occurred to me to be quite likely that the
mother might be an accomplice, or in any case be
cognizant of the crime and the place where
Jurgens's money was to be found.  To get hold of this
was now my chief aim, and I hoped to take the
woman by surprise and get her to reveal it.

It was not later than nine o'clock in the morning
when I drove to Russelök Street with a policeman
in plain clothes.

We told the driver to wait outside the gate; the
constable remained behind in the yard, and I went
up alone.

I stopped outside Mrs. Reierson's door and
listened.  I heard voices within, but very indistinctly.
As I opened the door, I saw the first room was
empty; then I heard the voices still more plainly
in the inner room, although the door was shut.

"You should have done as your mother told you,
you unlucky child; then we should have been able
to take things as easy as any one—but—"

It was Mrs. Reierson's shrill angry voice.  It was
interrupted by a sound of suppressed sobbing, and
then by a youthful voice rendered hoarse by passion
and sorrow.  I stepped nearer to the door and
listened, although the task before me was most
repulsive to my feelings.

"Don't talk to me any more, mother! you know
that what you wanted me to do I could never have
done, never in this world! and what I already have
done cannot now be undone—I have nothing more
to do now but to put an end to myself—if only I
had the strength to—"

Here the unhappy girl's words were interrupted
by loud sobbing, and some angry exclamations from
her mother.

Soon after the door was opened, and the ugly old
woman appeared in the doorway, while her daughter
could be seen lying across the bed with her head
buried in the pillows.

I have seldom felt so uncomfortable.

The mother's shrill imprecations against the police
in general, and me in particular, passed me by
unheeded.  I only saw the young girl's deadly pale
face, as she lifted it to me, and the hopeless
expression of her eyes.

She was gifted, however, with a strength of mind
which few persons possess.  She got up hurriedly,
stroked back her hair from her face, and was the first
to speak.

Her voice was low, but wonderfully calm; every
drop of blood seemed to have fled from her lips.

"You have come to arrest me, Mr. Monk, because
I have stolen Mr. Frick's diamond.  Well, I have
been expecting it both yesterday and to-day.
Yesterday I should probably have denied it, but to-day
I don't!  I have stolen the diamond—let me be
taken to prison and be sentenced as soon as possible,
only let it be done quickly."

Her mother had become purple in the face on
hearing what her daughter said, and tried several
times to interrupt her; but there was a dignity in
her daughter's words and bearing which stayed her.

"Don't lose courage, Evelina," I said, and I hope
my voice was sympathetic.  "There are probably
extenuating circumstances which may make your
guilt less than it seems.  If you are only frank, and
confess all, your punishment will be less,—perhaps
even—"

The young girl interrupted me.  "Thank you
very much for your kindness, Mr. Monk.  You are a
good man; but I don't wish my punishment to be
lessened.  I have told you I have stolen the
diamond.  More than that I shall not say, even if
you put me on the rack."

"For God's sake don't talk like that, Evelina."

Her mother could now control herself no longer,
and began:—

"What are you saying, Evelina, you stupid fool!
Just fancy!—That one should hear one's own
flesh and blood tell lies about herself and get herself
convicted!  You can see very well, sir, that she is
out of her senses, and doesn't know what she is saying."

"You had better look after yourself, Mrs. Reierson,
and help us to get a full confession and the money
back.  The diamond has been sold for five thousand
kroners, and perhaps you have got the money yourself."

I shan't weary you by recalling the scene which
followed; suffice it to say that the mother raged
like a fury, and denied knowing anything whatever
about the diamond or the money.  The young
girl did not utter a single word from this moment
until she was taken to the police station.  I let her
mother accompany us in the carriage, to which she
seemed to have no objection.

Before the examining magistrate the same scene
was gone through.  The young girl confessed
she was guilty of the robbery, but refused to give
any further explanation.  She only asked that there
might be no delay in passing sentence upon her.
The mother declared her daughter was mad, and
denied all knowledge of the matter.

At the domiciliary visit to Mrs. Reierson's, no
trace could be found of the money.

I informed Mr. Frick, by letter, that the diamond
was found, and of Evelina's arrest and confession;
at the same time, I asked him for the present
not to mention the matter to Mr. Howell, who was
expected back about this time.

Mr. Jurgens was declared by his relations incapable
of looking after his affairs, and the authorities
decided to drop the proceedings against him for
having bought stolen goods.

It was discovered that the money for the diamond
had been paid in thousand kroner notes.  Next day
a person had changed five of these in one of the
banks in the town.  But the cashier had not taken
any particular notice of the appearance of the
person.  He declared it might possibly be Frederiksen
the actor, but he could not say anything definitely
about it.

No trace of the remaining notes could be discovered.





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`THE PHOTOGRAPH`:

.. class:: center large bold

   CHAPTER IX


.. class:: center medium bold

   THE PHOTOGRAPH

.. vspace:: 2

The next morning, as I was sitting in my office,
writing a note to Mr. Howell—it was on the day
he was expected back—to request the favour of an
interview with him, the constable came in with a
visiting card.  A gentleman desired to speak to me.
I read:—

.. figure:: images/img-120.jpg
   :align: center
   :alt: Visiting card of Mr. Reginald Howell

   Visiting card of Mr. Reginald Howell

"Ask him to step in."

Mr. Howell entered and shook my hand in his
free-and-easy English manner.

"Glad to see you."

"Welcome back again."

He had quickly mastered Norwegian, and we
always talked together in that language.

"I was just writing a note to you, Mr. Howell,
to request the favour of an interview with you; you
have forestalled me, perhaps for the same purpose."

"I—suppose so," answered the Englishman, hesitating.
"I should like to say a few words to you
in confidence, with regard to the robbery at
Mr. Frick's."

He looked round as if to assure himself that we
were alone.

"You can speak freely: we are alone; I was
wishing to ask you a few questions about this same
matter.  You were, of course, in the house on the
day, right up to seven o'clock."

"Quite right; but tell me, Mr. Monk, shall I be
called as a witness in this case?"

"When the case comes before the court, there is
every probability that you will be called to give
testimony."

"But am I bound to appear and answer?"

"Yes, you are!  I hope you have no objection."

There was something in the young man's manner
which caused me to pay the greatest attention to his
words and behaviour.

"But can the matter come before the court before
you have found the thief?"

"As soon as we have got sufficient evidence
against some person, that person will be charged
and brought before the court."

"But before this happens it is not necessary for
me to reply to any questions about the affair?"

"When the police, who are conducting the
inquiries into the matter, ask you, you should
certainly answer.  To refuse to answer would be
considered somewhat strange, and might even lead to
unpleasantnesses for you."

"Many thanks for your information," answered
Mr. Howell; he had got up and was walking restlessly
up and down the room.  "It is not pleasant for
a man to contribute to the ruin of some wretched
creature, but perhaps it is impossible to avoid it."

From the words which bad been exchanged between
us, I felt sure the young Englishman did not
know of Evelina's arrest.  As you remember, I had
requested old Frick and Sigrid not to speak to him
about the affair.  I could also see that my answers
to the questions he put to me had not told him
anything which he did not know before; he was not
altogether so ignorant about the matter.  He must
have put these questions to me as a feint, for some
purpose or another.  I was almost certain that he
knew something of importance to the discovery of
the robbery.

I decided at once to inform him of Evelina's
arrest but not of her confession.  It would, indeed,
be strange if he did not betray how far the
knowledge he had of the matter did not point in the
same direction.

"Besides," I continued, "you need not be afraid
that your evidence will be of such fatal significance.
We have already got the diamond back, and the
guilty party arrested.  It is Evelina, Miss Frick's
maid.  Circumstantial evidence is so strong that a
confession is unnecessary."

"Well," said Mr. Howell, quietly, "I can just as
well tell you now what I know, as later on.  It was
on the afternoon when the diamond disappeared,
after the old crank, Jurgens, had dined at Villa
Ballarat.  Soon after we had had some coffee in
the museum I went up to my room and loaded some
cartridges, for I was going to Osterdal for some
shooting, you know."

"Yes; I know what took place in the house that
afternoon.  Please go on."

"Well, when I was ready with the cartridges, I
went down into the garden to smoke a cigar.  The
other people had gone to their rooms, I suppose, for
I did not see any of them.  As I went by the
museum it seemed to me that the door wasn't shut,
and when I touched it it slid right up.  You know
it is a large iron door, but so well balanced and oiled
that it moves quite noiselessly.  Well, I glanced into
the museum, and there I saw a lady standing before
the cupboard on the opposite side of the room, with
her back toward me.  With one hand she held up
the iron lid, and in the other she had an article
which she seemed to have just taken from the case,
and which she was examining.  It did not occur to
me to think it was anybody but Miss Frick; I
thought I recognized the light spring jacket with
dark braid."

I looked up suddenly and met Mr. Howell's gaze;
his eyes did not impress me pleasantly, and it
appeared to me that their expression was dark and
cunning.

"Continue," I said hurriedly, and, I believe, rather
roughly.

"Well, you know, Mr. Monk, that I am very fond
of photography, and that I always go about with a
little snap-shot camera.  You know it, of course,—we
have often had fun at Villa Ballarat photographing
people when they least expected it!"

I nodded.

"I had the apparatus with me, and so it struck
me that I would photograph Miss Frick as she stood
there, without her knowing it.  I went hurriedly
and softly inside the door, took the photograph, and
went out again without her seeing me.  She stood
quite still, as if she was wondering what she should
do with what she had in her hand."

The Englishman paused, as if to give me an opportunity
to speak.  But as I did not even look up, but
went on drawing figures on the paper before me, with
as careless an expression as possible, he continued:—

"Later in the afternoon I took a carriage outside
and drove to the station.  On the way I took some
negatives to the photographer, amongst them the
picture of which I have just spoken, as there were
some of them that I wanted to get developed by the
time I got back.  On my return from Osterdal I
heard that the diamond had disappeared, and then I
remembered the photograph.  I naturally said
nothing about it to Mr. Frick or his niece, but I called
for the prints.  Would you like to see the one from
the museum?"

This was the second time that Sigrid's name had
been mentioned in connection with the disappearance
of the diamond.  It awoke the most unpleasant
feelings in me; but as I felt Mr. Howell's searching
look resting upon me, I assumed perfect calmness,
and took what he handed me.

It was quite a small photograph on thin prepared
paper, and placed between two glass plates held
together by an india-rubber band.

I took it with me to the window to examine it
closely.

It was, as before said, a small picture, only two or
three inches high and very narrow, but exceedingly
clear.

A young girl stood before the well-known cupboard
in old Frick's museum.  Her position was
exactly as Mr. Howell had described it.

The one hand held the lid open, the other held
an article which was hidden by the shoulder; the
head and neck were bent somewhat forward,
examining the object.

It was a tall, fine figure in a light walking
costume, trimmed with dark braid.

There was not much to be seen of the room.  One
saw part of the cupboard on both sides, a chair, the
arm of another chair, but nothing else.  Over the
cupboard, at about the same height as the young
girl, was a shelf.  Part of this shelf, on which could
be seen several small curios, was included in the
picture.

One glance was enough for me to be certain who
the young girl was.

I turned round to Mr. Howell.  "It is Evelina,
as I suspected."

"Yes, of course; I am only astonished that I
could have taken her for Miss Frick when first I
saw her.  It must have been the costume which
deceived me.  Miss Frick has worn it all the
spring."

"Yes, I know," I answered curtly.  It was irritating
always to have to return to Sigrid in this manner.

"Very well; on this occasion I also played the
detective, Mr. Monk.  I have privately found out
from the other servants that Miss Frick had, that
same afternoon, given the costume to Evelina.  You
see everything is quite clear in that respect."

"Will you allow the police to keep the photograph,
Mr. Howell, and is there anything else you
can tell us about the matter?"  My manner was,
perhaps, somewhat abrupt.

"Wait a little," he answered; "I hope you
understand now the reason for the question which
I put to you at the beginning of our conversation?"

"Yes; you would rather not appear as a witness,
as far as I could understand."

"Exactly; and, as you yourself say, the person in
question is already arrested, and the circumstantial
evidence is so strong that my evidence cannot
be of much importance one way or other.  This
being the case, would it not be possible for me to
avoid appearing in court? and could you not
consider what I have said as confidential, so that
I might take the photograph and destroy it?
Otherwise I shall appear very much in the light
of a spy or a thief-catcher, Mr. Monk.  Also, it
would be most objectionable to me to have to
testify against the unfortunate woman."

"Your sentiments do you all honour, Mr. Howell;
but I cannot, all the same, prevent your being
called as a witness.  Neither can I, of course, keep
your photograph against your will; but I must
mention it in my report, and most earnestly request
you to preserve it.  What you have said to me in
my office, with respect to a matter concerning which
inquiries are now being conducted, I cannot, in my
capacity as a police official, consider confidential."

"Well, Mr. Monk, I see it cannot be helped, and
I ought, perhaps, to have denied all knowledge of
the matter.  But you can, at any rate, bear
evidence that I appear most reluctantly; I would like
both the unhappy girl and the Frick family to
understand this."

"I can only confirm what you yourself say, Mr. Howell,"
I answered stiffly, for I began to be more
and more convinced that the man was playing a
part.  "You will leave the photograph then in the
hands of the police?" I continued..

"Yes, I may just as well leave it; I cannot see
that I can do any one any good by not doing so.
You police deal with people in your own way,—we
speak and do just as you want us to do."

"Allow me one question, Mr. Howell,"—I had
again taken the photograph in my hand,—"this
photograph is very small; it looks as though it
had been clipped at the sides.  Was the photograph
originally broader, and did it include nothing
more of the room?"

"Yes, it was originally broader, but only the
middle part was clear and distinct.  Either side of
it was, for some reason or another, very foggy, so
I cut it off to get the picture to fit between the
two glass plates.  I had, besides, no interest for
anything but what you see there.  The young girl
is, of course, the principal object of interest,"—he
sighed gently.

"What time could it have been when you took
the photograph?"

"Well, that question I cannot answer very exactly.
I thought, of course, at the time, that I
should never be asked about it, but—let me see—it
can't have been far off six o'clock, for it was not
long after that I left for the railway station, and
that was somewhere about seven."

.. vspace:: 1

.. class:: center white-space-pre-line

   \*      \*      \*      \*      \*

.. vspace:: 1



The next minute Mr. Howell was gone, and I
sat beside my desk in deep thought.

The Englishman's visit had made an unpleasant
impression upon me, and I could not make out
what his purpose in making it really was.

The man wished to come forward as a witness—that
I felt sure about.  All the rest was mere
dissimulation; but for what purpose?  What could be
his motives?

It puzzled me at the time, and it puzzles me still!

.. vspace:: 1

.. class:: center white-space-pre-line

   \*      \*      \*      \*      \*

.. vspace:: 1



During the whole of this long story, Monk had
remained calm.  He had been speaking evenly and
dispassionately, as if he had been reading a police
report.  But now he changed in expression and
manner.  He began to pace up and down the floor
with contracted eyebrows, and I saw that the
perspiration stood on his brow.

.. vspace:: 1

.. class:: center white-space-pre-line

   \*      \*      \*      \*      \*

.. vspace:: 1



You look astonished at me (he continued).
After what you have heard, does the whole affair
seem clear to you?  It will, perhaps, seem still
clearer when you have heard me for a few minutes
longer: and you will not be able to understand
how it could become an enigma!  Yes, an enigma
which I would give half or the whole of my life to
solve!—But wait a bit!  When you have heard
the rest of my story, you will join with me in
asking, "Who stole old Frick's diamond?"  And you
will likewise understand that upon that question
my fate has depended from that day to this.  But
I shan't proceed any longer in that strain; I will
continue as impartially as I can.  On that will,
perhaps, depend how far you or anybody else can
help me—alone I can do nothing.  I, who was so
proud of my own acuteness and ability to
penetrate where others failed to see a way!—No, don't
interrupt me.  We shall discuss it afterward, when
I have finished my story.

I had got as far as Evelina's arrest and that
Mr. Howell had called on me with the photograph.
So far, everything was in order.  The accused had
confessed, and the stolen article had been brought
to light.  But it had been impossible to discover
where the five thousand kroners had disappeared.

Evelina refused positively to say a word beyond
the confession, and as we were not able to prove
any complicity against the actor and Mrs. Reierson,
they were discharged.

The state of affairs in Mr. Frick's house was
anything but satisfactory.  Sigrid had been suffering
from nervous headaches ever since a few days
before the robbery.  Old Frick was in a rage, and
spent the whole day in swearing at the duplicity
and untrustworthiness of mankind.  I believe,
however, that sympathy for the wretched Evelina was
the true cause of his anger.  The young girl's
arrest had, in fact, brought gloom and sadness into
the house.  Einar Frick was still absent on
business.  Mr. Howell decided to go to Spitzbergen as
soon as the case against Evelina was settled.

It vexed me that I could not trace the money,
or obtain any proof of the actor's complicity; and
I took it for granted that the sly fellow had
succeeded in getting it safely put away in Gothenburg,
before he was arrested.

But although we had a clever officer there, and
got all possible assistance from the Swedish police,
we did not succeed in obtaining any proofs, and as
long as Evelina would not speak we could proceed
no further in the affair.

Thus matters stood, and I think that all the
actors in this drama were only wishing that it
would come to an end as soon as possible.

Suddenly one day I received the most astonishing
news—Evelina had demanded to be brought
before the examining magistrate, and had retracted
before him her confession in full.  She had declared
that when she confessed she had not been herself,
and that she was really innocent and knew nothing
of the robbery.  She would not say anything
further, and refused to answer any questions.

Of course, those who knew the ins and the outs
of the case only shook their heads at this
unexpected development, and began to doubt her reason.
The doctors, however, who examined her, could
not discover any signs of a deranged mind.

The proofs were otherwise very strong against
her; and as there was no prospect of any new
evidence in the matter, the hearing of the case was
fixed for the first sitting of the court.

I visited the young girl in prison and found her
taciturn, depressed, and pale; but she gave me the
impression of being entirely normal.  I tried
earnestly, and in a friendly way, to prevail upon her
to adhere to her confession and to give a full
explanation; but she only smiled sadly, and begged to be
left alone.  What could have caused her to retract
her confession?  The more I pondered over this,
the more sure I became that this step must be due
to some outside influence; that she must have
received some message or communication from
without.  She did not wish to receive any visitors in
her cell.  Only the mother had obtained permission
to visit her once, and then the conversation had
been quite short, and had taken place in the
presence of a constable.

The mother had, on that occasion, until interrupted
by the constable, tried to continue her
reproaches against her daughter, because she had
confessed something which she had not done.

But her daughter had contemptuously turned
away from her, and soon after the mother was
taken away without the robbery having been
further discussed between them.

I felt sure that these reproaches from the mother,
which the daughter seemed to treat with disgust
and contempt, had had no effect, and that the
explanation must be sought for elsewhere.

By closely examining the jailer, he at last told
me that he one day surprised the young girl while
she had a small piece of paper in her hand, but that
she immediately turned away and had probably
put the paper in her mouth and swallowed it.  The
man declared, however, that it all happened so
quickly that he could hardly be quite certain about
the matter, and Evelina, as usual when I spoke to
her about it, took refuge in an obstinate silence.

My suspicion that Evelina acted on other people's
advice was now strengthened.  How far this
circumstance can have any influence upon your opinion,
when you have heard me out, I don't know.  To me,
all is dark; but I shall try to tell my story in such a
way, that nothing of what I know shall be hidden
from you.

Fortunately, I have got on so far with it that
I can now let others speak for me—at least for a
while.  The next great event in my story is the
trial of Evelina, which took place about three weeks
after her arrest.

The proceedings are to be found fully reported in
all the papers at that time, and you will get a more
complete idea of the case by reading one of these
reports, than if I give you a verbal account.

.. vspace:: 1

.. class:: center white-space-pre-line

   \*      \*      \*      \*      \*

.. vspace:: 1



Monk opened a drawer in his writing-table, and
took out a locked portfolio, from which he produced
a large grey envelope.  The envelope proved to
contain several cuttings from the *Morning News*,
which Monk laid before me.

"But," I objected hurriedly, "I would much
rather hear the account from your own lips.
Otherwise I should miss your impressions, which, to me,
have much more value than a newspaper reporter's
idiotic and irrelevant remarks.  And even if he does
report the bare facts, such a report cannot possibly
be as satisfactory as your own account."

"There is a difference in newspaper reporters,"
was Monk's dry reply.  "As you will see, the
*Morning News* man has not only reported carefully
and judiciously, but his remarks are impartial, and
show good sense and power of observation."

"That's all very well; but I depend, however,
more upon your power of observation."

"In this case, you cannot do so.  If a detective
ever has made a great fiasco, I did so on that
occasion, as you yourself will learn.  Don't you
understand that I am afraid that you are beginning
to look at the events with my eyes?  I am afraid to
lead you into the labyrinth in which I, myself, am
lost, and which I probably have myself built up!"

It struck me that Monk's reasoning was correct,
and I made no further comment.

"Only one question," I said; "have you any
objection to Clara hearing your story?"

"No; on the contrary, it was my intention to ask
you to tell her everything, when we are finished.
I hope for help from her; she is an unusually
intelligent woman, and besides, women have, in many
respects, much finer feelings,—instinct, or what you
call it,—than we men."

"Then I have a proposal to make to you.  We
shall not continue to-night, but I shall tell Clara all
that you have now told me.  Clara and I will
read the newspaper account together, and then we
will see you again."

"I gladly accept your proposal," said Monk, a
little hesitatingly; "but if I could be allowed, I
would ask you both to read the account in the
paper in my presence.  Of course I have read it,
not once, but ten times, to myself, without any
result; but now it has struck me that the whole
affair might appear to me in a new light, if I heard
some one else read an exact account of what
happened on that fateful day."

"Yes, with pleasure," I exclaimed.  "I promise
to do this, both on my own and on Clara's behalf."

Monk shook me by the hand, and asked if Clara
and I would come up to him one day, when I had
told her all I had heard from him.

"You shall see us here to-morrow," I answered
quickly, and so we parted that evening or, more
correctly, that night.  It was half-past one when
I reached my home.

I had had a busy day, and the intense interest
with which I had listened to Monk's account had
tired me.  I only longed to get to sleep as quickly
as possible.  But then happened what a more
experienced man than I might perhaps have foreseen.

When I got home Clara was sitting up waiting
for me.  So I explained to her, as casually as
possible, that next day she should hear Monk's
remarkable story,—a story, the continuation of
which we were to read together; well—what
further happened I cannot remember, but I am
sure it was past four that night before I got to
sleep, and then Clara had heard everything that
the reader knows of Monk's history.

"Pshaw! it isn't difficult to understand how
the story will end!  The horrid Englishman
naturally managed things so that Miss Frick should
be suspected of having stolen her uncle's diamond;
and—"

These were the last words I heard Clara utter
as sleep overcame me.  "Yes, if there must be a
villain in the drama, Clara must be right in
thinking that the Englishman must have played that
rôle," I thought with my last efforts, before my
senses were entirely bedimmed.

.. vspace:: 1

.. class:: center white-space-pre-line

   \*      \*      \*      \*      \*

.. vspace:: 1



The next day we all three were sitting in Monk's
study.

"We mustn't lose any time," said Clara, as she
smartly cleared aside the tea and cakes to which
Monk's kindly landlady had treated us.  "Remember,
Mr. Monk, that we now change rôles.  It is
you who seek advice and help, while Frederick
and I represent the detective firm.  Well! we
had got so far that the case was on for trial,—my
husband has told me everything,—and here are
the newspaper accounts of the case, which you
want Frederick to read aloud, isn't that so?  So
set to work, Frederick!"





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`THE TRIAL`:

.. class:: center large bold

   PART II

.. vspace:: 3

.. class:: center large bold

   CHAPTER I

.. class:: center medium bold

   THE TRIAL

.. vspace:: 2

In the *Morning News* of June 2, 189-, appeared
the following, under the heading:—

.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: center

   THE BLACK TORTOISE IN COURT

.. vspace:: 1

The court to-day was filled to overflowing, and
a large number were unable to gain admittance.

The disappearance of old Frick's diamond—we
hope our respected fellow-citizen will excuse our
using the familiar name by which he is so well
known—has been eagerly discussed and commented
upon by the newspapers for the last few weeks.

The case did not promise to become a particularly
difficult or complicated one, although it was
known that the accused had retracted her confession;
but the stolen article was of such an unusual
kind, and of such great value, and the persons who
were to appear in the case were so well-known,
that it was only to be expected that the proceedings
would attract as many people as the court
would hold.  One could hardly imagine anything
more sadly interesting than the pale and pretty
girl who stood charged before the court with the
theft of the now famous diamond.  By her side
sat her counsel, a young advocate who is already
known in legal circles as a most able and
successful counsel for the defence.

Among the witnesses was the well-known figure
of old Frick, and by his side his niece, Miss Frick.
Not far off stood Mr. Monk, acting chief of the
detective department, already a well-known and
popular figure in our town, as much appreciated for
his acuteness and boldness as for his tactful conduct
when in the execution of his duty as a police
official.

The dark distinguished-looking man beside Miss
Frick was the Englishman, Mr. Howell, who, as
everybody knows, has been compelled by a strange
coincidence to appear as a witness in the case, and
who, it is said, will give the most remarkable
evidence ever heard in our courts of justice.  The
Englishman did not appear particularly edified with his
task.  From what I hear, it seems he has tried to
escape giving evidence.  It is anything but a
pleasant duty to give evidence against a young woman
when one feels that it will mean conviction for her.

.. vspace:: 1

.. class:: center white-space-pre-line

   \*      \*      \*      \*      \*

.. vspace:: 1



The presiding judge of the court took his seat,
the case for the prosecution was stated, and the
usual questions asked of the accused as to her name,
age, etc.

She did not look up, but answered in a fairly
audible voice.  Then she was asked whether she
was guilty or not guilty.

All waited anxiously for the answer.

Her voice was this time so low that the judge had
to lean toward her and request her to speak more
loudly.

The silence was so intense that the answer,
although scarcely more than a whisper, was heard
all over the court: "Not guilty."

Had the public expected anything else?  Perhaps—perhaps
not....

The public prosecutor then began his charge:—

The crime with which the accused was charged was
not of a particularly complicated nature with regard
to the question as to how, or by whom, the theft had
been committed.  But it was a different matter with
regard to the motives and the circumstances under
which it had taken place, and he was willing to
admit that in this respect little or no light had been
thrown upon the matter.  An uncommon article,
an object of great value, in other words, the black
diamond, which now lay on the judge's table,
was stolen on May 10 from Mr. Frick, who was
now present in court as a witness.  The police were
at once informed of the theft, and they succeeded
not only in recovering the stolen object, but also in
providing such information that the public prosecutor
was able to prove fully before the court, both
how the theft had been perpetrated, by whom,
and how the thief had disposed of the stolen object.

He would call witnesses to prove at what time the
theft had been committed, that the accused at that
time had been at least half an hour in the house, that
she during that time had the opportunity of going
into the room where the diamond was kept, and at a
time when the cupboard was not locked.  He could
prove by a means which seldom fell to the lot of the
authorities, that the accused, in the time during
which the theft had taken place, had been into the
room and even opened the case where the diamond
was kept.  He could next prove that the accused at
an earlier hour of the same day had had an
opportunity of hearing an assurance from a rich man that
he would pay a large sum of money to become
possessed of the diamond.  She thus knew beforehand
that she could sell the stolen article without any
difficulty.

Finally, he could prove that the diamond was
actually sold by the accused on the same day to
the man just mentioned.

Thus far the chain of evidence was as complete
as any could be, and in order to substantiate the
guilt of the accused it was of no consequence that
she had retracted her confession, and had hitherto
refused to give any explanation whatsoever; every
experienced judge would know exactly what value to
put on circumstantial evidence of such a character.
It was just as good, if not surer, than a confession.

What still had to be explained was, what had
become of the money which the accused had
received for the diamond and what could be the
particular motives for this criminal act.

Some information might possibly be obtained during
the examination of the witnesses; but if this was
not the case, the prosecutor would be obliged to
maintain that the punishment be in accordance with
the utmost rigour of the Law.  The public
prosecutor would, therefore, conclude with the request
to the judge that he ask the accused most
earnestly to give a full explanation.  If she still
persisted in her refusal to give this explanation, he
must warn her that it would be with detriment to
her cause, and possibly to that of justice.

It was so quiet in the court, when the public
prosecutor sat down, that one could hear a pin drop.

The judge then turned and addressed the
young girl.  In calm, considerate words he called
her attention to the fact that she had the right, in
any case, to do as she pleased—either to speak or to
keep silent; and that no pressure would be brought
to bear upon her, least of all to make her confess.
This much, however, he felt it his duty to tell her,
that she was certainly not acting in her own
interests by maintaining silence.  If she were innocent,
which he still hoped, then her own explanations
would only serve to show it: and if she were guilty,
they would enable the court to consider her case
in the most lenient manner possible.

Every eye in the room was turned on the unhappy
girl, but her face remained as impassive as that of
a statue; her lips were pressed together, and her
eyes cast down.

Her counsel leaned toward her and whispered
something in her ear.  She did not raise her eyes;
her only answer was a slight inclination of the
head.

"I must request," said the young advocate, "that
my client's wish to make no further statements shall
be respected.  She has decided to say nothing; and
I know that her resolution in this respect is not to
be shaken.  Whether this decision is wise or no,
and whether or no it is taken by my advice, is not
for the moment a subject for discussion.  It is
enough to say that whatever appeals were directed
toward her to state what she knows of the case
would, however well meant, only prolong the
proceedings."

No sooner had the counsel sat down than a
murmur went around the court, giving expression to
nearly all the different feelings which move the
human heart.  Some feared that the accused would
damage her own cause, others admired her firmness,
while many expressed astonishment at her audacity.
As all the papers have already published detailed
accounts of what happened at Villa Ballarat upon
the day that the robbery was committed, it will be
sufficient to mention that the evidence of all the
witnesses only served to corroborate what the
public already knew, thanks to the unremitting zeal
of the newspaper reporters.

It also seemed as if the counsel for the defence
understood that it would be hopeless to upset that
part of the evidence.

He certainly tried to make it appear possible that
some strange person might have crept into the
garden of the villa between five and half-past seven
in the afternoon; but this attempt was stranded,
upon the gardener's definite assurance that the gate
had been locked the whole time, and on the
evidence of the chief of the detective police with
regard to the examination he had made of the
railing and the ground round the garden.

The counsel for the defence was more fortunate
in his attempt to obtain evidence of good character
and behaviour for the accused.  Mr. Frick and his
niece were especially unremitting in their praise
of the young girl.

Miss Frick caused much excitement when, in
answer to a question by the counsel for the defence,
she answered:—

"Evelina has for several years had all my trinkets
and jewels in her custody.  Thanks to my uncle's
generosity, I have more of those kinds of things
than I need, and it would have been very easy for
her to take any one of many of these, without
fear of discovery.  Her mere assertion that
something had been lost would have been enough....
No! she is honesty itself!  She could never steal
my uncle's diamond, of that I am convinced,
however much appearances are against her!..."

There was great sensation in court when Mr. Howell
was called as witness.  Every one, of course,
knew of the strange circumstances under which he
had been involved in the matter.

He began by asking the judge if he might be
excused from appearing as witness.  The judge
asked him to give his reasons for this request.
Mr. Howell explained that he was a private gentleman
and not a police spy.  It was quite by an
accident he had come to play a rôle in this affair—a
rôle which did not please him.  He had already
given his explanation to the police, and had hoped
that would have been sufficient.

The judge answered that none of these
explanations could exempt him from appearing as
witness.  One could not help respecting his
feelings; but since no lawful reasons could be given,
they must request him to give what evidence he
could.

Mr. Howell, who spoke the Norwegian language
fluently, submitted to the inevitable, and gave a
short and clear account of how he came to
photograph the accused, so to speak, "in flagrante."

The papers have already published an account of
this scene, so that I shall not repeat his evidence
"*in extenso*."  I shall only reproduce the following
of the examination.

*Public prosecutor*: "What did you do with the
film after you had taken the photograph?"

*Witness*: "I went to my room with it, took the
films out of the apparatus, and took them to the
photographer's to be developed.  I called at the
photographer's on my way to the railway station."

*Public prosecutor*: "You maintain, then, that it
is the accused whom you have photographed, but
without your being aware of it?  Are you sure
it is the accused?"

*Witness*: "Any one who has seen the accused a
few times will see that she is the person in the
photograph."

*Public prosecutor* (taking an object from the
judge's table): "Is this the photograph in question,
which you, yourself, delivered up to the police?"

*Witness* (taking the photograph in his hand and
carefully examining it): "Yes, it is."

The public prosecutor declared himself satisfied,
and the counsel for the defence began: "Now, are
you quite sure that when you photographed the
accused you did not believe her to be some one
else—for instance, Miss Frick?"

*Witness*: "Yes, I believe I have already explained
myself sufficiently clearly on that point."

*Counsel for the defence*: "I cannot understand
how you can now be so sure that the picture
represents my client, while you believed quite otherwise
when you had the living person before you.  What
is the reason for this?"

*Witness*: "I have before explained I was in a
great hurry at the time.  I wanted to get away
before the person should turn round—it was all done
in fun on my part.  Besides, I thought I recognized
Miss Frick's jacket,—she had been in the habit
of wearing a jacket trimmed with braid.  Later, I
got to hear that Miss Frick that same day had given
it to her maid as a present, and on looking at the
photo I became convinced it was the maid."

*Counsel for the defence*: "Good!  Are you also
quite sure that the picture you now see here is the
same as that you took on that occasion?  The film
has been several days out of your keeping, and in
other hands."

The young Englishman seemed rather impatient
at this examination.  "If the film has not been
tampered with at the photographer's," he exclaimed
quickly, "it is the picture of what I saw in the
museum.  Whether it has been tampered with or
not, I see here before me the same person, in the
same position, and in the same room—others
must now decide which is most probable."

He took up the picture again, examined it carefully,
and handed it back to the public prosecutor.

"I have only wanted to show," said the counsel
for the defence, quietly, "that you yourself at one
time have doubted the identity of the person who
stands in front of Miss Frick's cupboard in the
photograph.  I have now only two other questions
to ask you.

"What was the time when you took the photograph?"

*Witness*: "About six."

*Counsel for the defence*: "Are you not able to
give the time more exactly?  Might it not just
as well have been half-past six?"

*Witness*: "I cannot give the exact time.  I
didn't attach much importance to the incident.
When I had taken the photograph I went up to my
room, and was busy there for some time before I
left.  It was then about seven, so from that I
conclude that the photograph was taken about six."

*Counsel*: "Might it not have been a little over
half-past six?"

*Witness*: "No!  I can be quite certain it was
not over half-past six."

*Counsel*: "Could you see that the person held
the diamond in her hand?  In the photograph the
object which she holds is hidden by her shoulder."

*Witness*: "When first I caught sight of her, she
held the diamond somewhat higher, so that I was
able to see it; afterward she lowered her arm, and
while in that position she was photographed."

The counsel for the defence seemed to be satisfied.

Then Mr. Rodin, the photographer, was called as
witness.

The well-known artist, whose pleasant manners
have obtained for him so many customers and
friends, bowed to the judge and court, and, the
usual formalities having been observed, he
answered quickly and decisively the questions which
the public prosecutor put to him.

Public prosecutor: "Do you recognize this
photograph?  Has it been in your hands before?"

*Witness*: "Yes; this film, together with some
others, was given me to develop, by Mr. Howell,
on the evening of the 10th of May, about seven or
half-past."

Public prosecutor: "And are you sure that this
photograph is an exact reproduction of the negative?"

*Witness* (smiling): "The photograph cannot lie,
sir!  Even if I had wished it, I could not have
produced anything else than what was to be seen in
front of the apparatus at the moment it was opened
to take the photograph."

The public prosecutor finished his examination,
and the counsel for the defence began his.

*Counsel*: "Can you be certain that this photograph
is the same one which you developed several
weeks ago for Mr. Howell?  It has not been in
your possession since?"

*Witness*: "Yes, sir, I am quite sure; you can see
for yourself that my initials are written on the
back;—look, O.R. 10/5, H. 10.  The first are my
initials, then follows the date it was received, then
the initial of Mr. Howell's name, from whom I
received it, and lastly, the number in the series.
The roll which he brought me that day consisted of
ten films; this was number ten, the last photograph
he had taken."

*Counsel*: "You cannot, however, be quite certain
that this is the same picture which Mr. Howell
brought you.  During the work, some of your
people might have mixed Mr. Howell's pictures
together with other people's.  Such a thing might
happen, might it not?"

*Witness*: "No, sir; I develop all Mr. Howell's
films with my own hands.  He is very particular
about them.  As you will see, this picture is very
clear and distinct, and I flatter myself that all the
pictures which have passed through my hands are
the same,—that is to say, when such an expert
snap-shot taker as Mr. Howell has taken them."

*Counsel*: "Is there any reason, Mr. Rodin, why
one could not photograph first the room, then a
person, and then transfer that person to the first
picture, so that a person appears in the room on the
picture?"

The public had remained unusually silent and
attentive during the whole of the proceedings; at
this question the silence became still more intense.
Every one understood the counsel's object in putting
this question—that each one of his questions was
an attempt to clutch at a last straw in the interest
of his client; but all understood also that each straw
slipped out of his hand, one by one.  The same
happened to this question.  The witness answered,
without any hesitation, "It is possible, sir; but every
experienced photographer would tell you that this
has not been attempted in the present case."

The young advocate looked disappointed.  He made
a motion like one who washes his hands, and allowed
the witness to step down.

The photograph was sent round among the members
of the jury and the court, while the next
witness was being called.  It was the young chief of
the detective police, Charles Monk.  The public
hailed his appearance with murmurs of approbation
which must be just as much attributed to his
winning appearance as to the reputation he had already
gained as a police officer.  His evidence was calm,
clear, and concise, as befits a policeman, and all
listened with breathless attention to the account of how
the young chief had taken upon himself the rôle of
detective, and had not rested until Mr. Frick's
diamond was in the hands of the police.  When Mr. Monk,
in his evidence, came to speak of his visit to
Jurgens, and of the stratagem he had used to deceive
the old man, many of the spectators began to clap
their hands and shout, Bravo!  The judge's authority
for the moment had to be called into account
to produce silence.

Although there was scarcely a person in the court
who did not wish that the young girl in the dock
should be acquitted, so paradoxical is human nature
that the same people applauded the great skill with
which the net had been drawn around her.

The last hope for the prisoner seemed to vanish at
the evidence of the detective.

The counsel for the defence had not many
questions to ask.  He tried to show that both on her
arrest and upon Mr. Monk's first visit to her mother's
home, she had been in an irresponsible condition,
and for that purpose he had no doubt summoned her
mother and her lover, the actor, to give evidence.
Although their evidence was a voluntary matter,
owing to the relation in which they stood to the accused,
they both declared themselves willing to tell what
they knew.  Their evidence did not, however, throw
any new light on the matter.  Both were convinced
of the young girl's innocence, and asked the court not
to believe her, even if she should again confess.  She
had always been of a nervous temperament, and often
a little strange.

Neither the loquacious woman with the ruddy
complexion, nor the pomatummed Don Juan, whose
shady character is so well known in the town,
made a good impression; and the counsel for the
defence concluded their examination as soon as
possible.  The general impression was that he, for the
defence, had originally intended to prove that his
client was irresponsible, but that during the
proceedings before the court he had abandoned this line of
defence.

.. vspace:: 1

.. class:: center white-space-pre-line

   \*      \*      \*      \*      \*

.. vspace:: 1



I had proceeded thus far in my reading when I
stopped and looked at my friends.  Clara was
listening with her mouth open, and did not seem
as if she would tolerate any interruption.  Monk
sat silently in an armchair in the darkest corner of
the room.

"Shall I continue?" I asked, "or will you allow
me to ask a question?"

"I would rather you read the newspaper account
to the end, first," was Monk's answer; and I heard
by the tone of his voice that he was unusually agitated.

"Yes, go on reading, and let us hear what happens,"
said Clara, trying to look over my shoulder.

I read as follows:—

... The examination of the witnesses for the
defence was concluded, and the public prosecutor
rose.  His speech was short and pithy.

He thought all must agree that the charge he
had preferred against the accused had been fully
proved by the evidence given in court.

With regard to the responsibility of the accused,
he also believed that this had been asserted beyond
all doubt; the opinion of the medical men was
definite, and the evidence by which the defence had
attempted to weaken these were but of little value.
He did not believe for a moment the counsel for
the defence would seriously question the responsibility
of the accused.  That the feeling of having
committed a great crime, and of having to answer
for it, might have caused the conduct of the
accused to appear strange, and to some degree
self-contradictory, was only natural.

That the accused had retracted her first confession,
and later on had refused to give any explanation
whatever in the court, might perhaps surprise some,
but it could in no way weaken the clear and distinct
proofs of her guilt.  It was perhaps to be regretted
that the police had not succeeded in ascertaining
where the money for the stolen object had
disappeared to, as this circumstance prevented any
possible accomplices being brought to justice.  It was
likewise to be regretted that motives for the crime
could not be sufficiently explained; but the accused
was no doubt herself principally to be blamed for
this, through her persistent silence.  None of these
circumstances ought, however, to have any influence
upon the answer of the jury to the question, "Guilty
or not guilty?"

The counsel for the accused rose to begin his
speech for the defence.  He seemed at first to be
somewhat uncertain, but he soon decided upon the
line he would take.

He did not want to conceal, he said, that he was
in a very difficult position, and the one who made
his position most difficult of all was his client.

All had heard that the young girl who was
charged with having stolen the diamond, which was
now lying upon the table in court, had at first
confessed, but had afterward retracted her confession,
and otherwise refused any information whatsoever
in the matter.  But what every one, in all probability,
did not know, was that she had maintained the
same silence with regard to him, her counsel and
adviser.  He had not succeeded in getting a single
word from her lips, except the assurance that she
would say nothing, would answer no questions, and
would give no information.  "I thought it only
right," continued the young advocate, "to make
this open declaration, in order that my inability to
give information which might be to the advantage
of my client, should not be misunderstood.  You
must not believe that I have received any information
from her, and that I have not found it to her
advantage to make use of it.

"It appears to me, and I hope the gentlemen of the
jury will agree with me, that the unfortunate girl,
paralyzed by the terrible blow of suspicion which
has fallen upon her, and feeling how terribly
hopeless her case is, through the strong appearances
against her at almost every step, has found it
expedient to draw within herself and keep silence, just
as the hunted deer withdraws to its cave, even if
death awaits it there.  No one has a right to
construe my client's silence as a confession, or the result
of a consciousness of guilt.

"The diamond was stolen in the interval between
five and half-past seven in the afternoon.  Of these
two hours and a half my client spent only half an
hour's time within the walls of Villa Ballarat, while
many persons were present there during the whole
time.  It has been proved, says the public
prosecutor, that no stranger could have gained admission
there during that time; but can we be so sure of
that?  An agile man can easily climb over the
railings—no one will deny that.  The police examined
the ground round about, and no trace was found,
may be said in objection.  But we know that expert
criminals are often very dexterous in destroying all
traces after them; and no one will maintain that the
police are so infallible that a trace cannot have escaped them.

"One need not be gifted with great acuteness in
order to guess what is passing through the minds of
the gentlemen of the jury at this moment: what
can be the use of all this?  The main proofs against
the accused still remain unassailable.  But let us
look into some of these proofs which, according to
the opinion of the public prosecutor, are so strong
that they are even more reliable than a confession.
The old man who bought the diamond has himself
said that he bought it of the young girl whom I
defend, and there can be no doubt about this,
although he has not appeared in court as witness; we
have the evidence of the head of the detective
department with regard to it, and that must be
sufficient.  But—here is also a 'but,' just as there is a
'but' in all the so-called infallible circumstantial
evidence against the accused—is, then, the word of
an imbecile man in his second childhood to be fully
depended upon—a man who immediately afterward
is declared incapable of managing his own
affairs; who is so infatuated with his mania that he,
whose honesty is otherwise not for a moment to be
doubted after a long life of spotless integrity, buys
a diamond which he knows must have been stolen?
Shall the evidence of such a man decide the fate of
a human being?  And besides, is this man's
evidence quite impartial?  We have heard, from the
account of the chief of the detectives, that the old
man tried to conceal the fact that he was in
possession of the diamond; in his imbecility he is,
however, conscious that he has done something wrong,
and is, to a certain degree, cunning, and on his
guard.  What, then, is more probable than that he,
who sees that he has been discovered, is wily enough
to give an explanation which makes it probable that
a servant would have the disposal of the diamond
at her command?  Who dares maintain that the
old man spoke the truth on this occasion?  It is,
however, just as much, if not more probable, that
he resorted to telling the first untruth that came
into his head!

"And what has become of the five thousand
kroners, which he says he has paid for the diamond?

"It has not been possible to ascertain, says my
opponent; but on the whole he seems to lay little
stress upon the circumstance.

"It seems to me that this circumstance—that no
trace whatever has been discovered of the money—is
quite an important one.  We know that the most able
detectives have been engaged in tracing it—even
the fiancé of my client was arrested in Copenhagen
in consequence thereof; both she and her mother
have been watched most closely—but still no clue.
Are not these circumstances important?  Is there not
more than one proof that the police have been on the
wrong track, that the thief is not the one who has
been arrested, and that they have been investigating
in a direction where there was nothing to look for?

"But it may be said that the principal proof still
remains unshaken; the accused has, by a remarkable
coincidence, been photographed in the act of
committing the theft, that cannot be denied or explained
away; yes—I venture to maintain there is no proof
of the guilt of the accused in this.  I admit that
most probably it is the young girl who has been
photographed on this film.  The hat and the jacket
which she wears were given to her by Miss Frick
about six o'clock in the afternoon of the same day:
this we know from the evidence; likewise that she
wore the same clothes when she called on her mother
between half-past six and seven.  I admit there is a
probability which approaches to certainty, that it is
my client who, in the photograph here, is standing
in front of Mr. Frick's cupboard in the so-called
museum.  One can also see that she is holding some
object in her hand.  Yes, I even go so far as to
admit that she is most likely looking at the black
diamond.  But from this moment my conclusions
cease to coincide with those of the public
prosecutor.

"Why should it follow that she also took the
diamond with her?

"What if my client, on passing through the garden
and seeing the door open to the museum, goes inside,
and out of curiosity has a look at the black diamond
about which there has been so much talk among
the people of the house while she was serving the
coffee in the afternoon, and then puts it back again
and passes out through the garden, on her way to
her mother?  What if she, later on, after hearing of
the robbery, understands that she has been imprudent,
and then does a still more imprudent thing by
trying to conceal her visit to the museum, and finally,
when almost crushed under the shame and fear of
being arrested, acts as she afterward did?

"I ask any person of common sense, is there
anything more improbable than that this young girl,
who has always shown the most exemplary honesty,
should commit this daring theft without any special
motive?  This young girl, who was not in need, and
who in her master's house had found a home almost
as if she were one of the family—this young girl
who knew that if she were in want of money for any
special object her young mistress would not deny
her it, even if it were a considerable sum!

"Is this more probable than that her presence in
the museum was due to an accidental circumstance
of no significance, and that the theft has afterward
been committed by some one else?"

The counsel for the defence was here interrupted
in a manner which was no doubt flattering to him;
from the audience came the sound of more than one
hearty *Bravo!* while a hoarse voice, full of sincere
conviction, exclaimed, "Ah! he's about right there."

Silence was soon obtained, and the counsel
concluded his speech thus: "It is an old experience of
the court that the chain of evidence which seems
strongest, and in which the links seem to fit exactly
into each other, is in reality most often the weakest.
I will ask the jury to bear this in mind.  And I
believe that I have at least shown you that in the
chain of the public prosecutor which seemed to fit so
beautifully there is not one link which can be called
faultless."

The counsel resumed his seat, and the public made
an attempt to applaud him, but the judge quickly
imposed silence, and the public prosecutor rose to
reply.

He had followed the speech of the counsel for the
defence with interest and approval, the latter no
doubt arising from the same cause which had
dictated the applause of the public—that is to say,
admiration of the counsel's ability to make something
out of nothing, or of an inconvenient subject.  At
this point the public prosecutor nodded in a friendly
way across to the counsel for the defence, who smiled
in return.

He found, on the whole, his chain of evidence so
little weakened by what the defence had brought
forward, that he did not think it necessary to go
through it again.  He had such great confidence in
the intelligence of the jury that he would take it
for granted they would have remarked, without his
pointing it out to them, that where he had produced
facts, or probabilities which almost amounted to
facts, the counsel for the defence had only set up
possibilities, and even improbable possibilities—with
this, he would leave the matter in the hands
of the jury.

The counsel for the defence then proceeded to
make his final speech.

The public prosecutor had himself admitted that
there were possibilities that the theft had not been
committed in the way the prosecution had asserted.
It would be the duty of the jury to decide as to
the probability or improbability of the possibilities.
He would conclude by saying that when to these
possibilities was added the stainless life of his
client, and the good character she bore from all
quarters—no one had brought forward anything
to the contrary—as well as the circumstance that
no one had been able to show any particular motive
for the young girl's suddenly committing a criminal
act; and finally, that it had not been possible, in
spite of the most energetic exertions of the police,
to show that his client had been in possession of,
or disposed of the money which was to have been
the reward of the crime of which she was accused—then
he did not doubt that the conscientious jury
would not pronounce the fateful "Yes" to the
question "Guilty?"

The counsel sat down, but no applause was heard
this time from the public.  All seemed to be
convinced that his exertions had been in vain.

The time approached when the jurymen had to
retire.  All seemed to feel that their deliberations
would be short, and the result an unanimous
verdict of guilty.

Of what avail could be the eloquence or the
cunning subterfuges of a counsel, against proofs and
facts as clear as those which the public prosecutor
had produced?

The judge asked the accused if she had
anything to say.  Her counsel leaned toward her, and
appeared to be urging something earnestly upon
her; but she only shook her head, as before, and
the young man sat down with an air of resignation.





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`THE PHOTOGRAPH CANNOT LIE`:

.. class:: center large bold

   CHAPTER II


.. class:: center medium bold

   THE PHOTOGRAPH CANNOT LIE

.. vspace:: 2

The public prosecutor had begun to read the
questions which were to be laid before the jury,
when he was interrupted by a noise from the back
of the court.  Many of the public rose from their
seats in order to see better.

What could be the matter?

A messenger of the court had forced his way
through the crowd to the counsel for the defence,
and handed him a letter, saying a few words, which
those nearest to him could hear.  The messenger
said, "You must read it at once, sir; it has to do
with the case now before the court."

The counsel tore open the envelope, read, passed
his hand across his forehead, and read the letter
again.

He crushed the paper in his hand, stepped quickly
forward, and as the public prosecutor had not
resumed his reading, he addressed himself to the
judge, saying, "I must ask that an hour's
postponement be granted to my client; in that time I
believe I can bring before you, gentlemen, evidence
which will throw a new light upon the case."

.. vspace:: 1

.. class:: center white-space-pre-line

   \*      \*      \*      \*      \*

.. vspace:: 1



An hour passed by, perhaps a little more, and the
court was again sitting.  The room was, if possible,
even more crowded than before; no one had been
willing to give up his seat, and there were new
arrivals.

The silence which reigned showed the excitement
that possessed everybody.

The counsel for the defence asked to be allowed
to examine the chief of the detective staff once more.

The young officer stepped forward, and took his
place in the witness box in his usual quiet manner,
although astonishment was plainly written on his face.

*The counsel*: "You have already told us that
when you paid a visit to Mr. Jurgens and so
skilfully got him to give up the diamond, he then told
you that he had bought it from the accused, Evelina
Reierson.  Isn't that so?"

"Yes."

*Counsel*: "Did he seem to be in any doubt as to
whom he had bought the diamond from?"

The detective blushed at this question, but his
answer was as unconstrained and calm as before.

"No, he gave me the impression that he was sure
it was the accused."

*Counsel*: "Did he name any one else who could
possibly have sold him the diamond?"

"At first he began, with some confused nonsense,
to excuse himself, but it was of no significance to
the case."

*Counsel*: "I must ask you, however, to give the
name or the names which Mr. Jurgens mentioned in
connection with the diamond."

One could see that the officer was angry at the
importunate examination, and that he had to exert
himself to the utmost, in order to answer calmly.

"Mr. Jurgens seemed at first to be somewhat
frightened at the consequences of his transaction,
and in order to excuse himself, he began with some
nonsense about having bought the diamond from—from
a person who is nearly related to Mr. Frick,
and who was supposed to have received the diamond
from him as a present."

*Counsel*: "What did you do to get him to speak
the truth?"

The detective hesitated a moment, and grew redder
still in the face.  At last he answered firmly
and distinctly:—

"He first mentioned Miss Frick as having sold
him the diamond, and that she had said she had got
it as a present from her uncle.  This was as much
as to say that the young lady, for whom I have—have
the greatest respect, is a thief and a liar, as
information of the robbery was given to the police
by her uncle; and I then forgot myself for the
moment and seized hold of the old man—but of
course only for a moment!"

*Counsel*: "It was after you let go of him that
he gave the name of Evelina Reierson?"

"Yes; but as you will understand—"

*Counsel* (interrupting): "I have for the present
nothing further to ask you."

"Well, I never heard such—" exclaimed a powerful
voice.  It was old Frick who rose, red as a
turkey cock in the face; the judge himself had
to call him to order.

Mr. Monk still stood in the same place, biting his
lips.  Miss Frick stared at him with an astonished
expression.  As yet she suspected nothing.

But the attention of the public was soon engrossed
by a new witness whom the counsel for the defence
brought forward.  He was a tall, squarely-built
man, with broad round shoulders, and black hair and
beard; he was dressed in shiny, threadbare black
clothes.

The examination was begun by the judge.  The
witness seemed quite unwilling to be examined.

"Your name?"

"Abraham Abrahamson."

"How old are you?"

"Fifty-three years old."

"What is your calling?"

"Pawnbroker and commission agent."

"Where do you live?"

"Bishop Street, No. 75."

"Do you know anything about the case which is
before the jury to-day?"

"I have read about it in the papers."

"Have you had anything to do with any of the
persons in the case, or have you in any other way
obtained any information which may be of
importance in this matter?"

"I know several persons here by sight"—the
witness looked round the court with his sharp, dark
eyes—"but I did not believe I could give any
information which could be of use to the court, until
I was sent for half an hour ago."

The judge concluded, and left the further
examination to the counsel for the defence.


*Counsel*: "Do you know this young girl, Evelina
Reierson?"

*Witness*: "She has been once or twice to my
place, on business."

*Counsel*: "On what sort of business?"

*Witness* (unwillingly): "To pawn a few small things."

*Counsel*: "What sort of small things?"

*Witness*: "As far as I can remember, they were
some rings and a pair of earrings."

Suddenly Miss Frick's voice was heard—not
loud, but clear and distinct:—

"The rings and earrings she got from me.  They
were presents, and she could do as she liked with
them."

The judge enjoined the young lady in a friendly
but decided tone not to speak until she was
questioned, and the young lady sat down, blushing.

*Counsel*: "Had you a visit from the young girl
on the 10th of May last?"

*Witness*: "Yes, most likely."

*Counsel*: "Most likely?  Be good enough to
explain yourself more clearly; or does it mean that
you remember nothing about that day?"

*Witness*: "Well, yes, I can well enough explain
what I mean.  I have nothing to hide—the law and
the police I have always esteemed and respected"—here
an ironical voice was heard exclaiming:—

"You are about right there, Abrahamson!"
which was followed by loud laughter.

The witness, with a scornful glance at the corner
where the interruption came from, continued: "No,
I have nothing to hide.  On the 10th of May a
lady came to me and asked if I would lend her some
money on some jewelry,—a lot of rings, brooches,
and bracelets with precious stones in them.  She
had a veil over her face; but I thought I recognized
the young girl whom you call Evelina Reierson."

*Counsel*: "Was it not, then, the young girl who
sits here?"

*Witness*: "I don't know."

*Counsel*: "Don't know?"

*Witness*: "If you will give me time, you shall
hear.  I said at once that I could not accept such
valuable things, unless she could show she was
authorized to pawn them.  Then she answered that
if we came to an understanding, she would prove
she was the owner of the jewelry.  I looked at the
things, and said that if everything was all right, I
could lend her two thousand kroners on them.  She
knew that the things were worth five thousand
kroners, she said, and if I could give her four
thousand, I could buy them of her.  I must have time
to examine them, I explained.  But she would not let
me.  She seemed on the point of crying, and asked
me for God's sake to give her four thousand kroners
immediately; she would willingly give me a few
more valuable things later on, or pay me something
back.  Then I thought the matter looked rather
suspicious, and did not like to have anything more
to do with her, so she left."

*Counsel*: "Didn't you try to find out if it was the
girl, Evelina Reierson, or not?"

*Witness* (after hesitating awhile before
answering): "Yes, I did; for I am a law-abiding man,
who likes to give the police a helping hand."

*Counsel*: "Yes, we know that, but what did you do?"

*Witness*: "I sent a boy in my office after her.  He
sat up behind the carriage—for she had come in a
hired carriage which waited outside—and he saw
her go into a house in Drammen Road."

*Counsel*: "Was it Mr. Frick's house?"

*Witness*: "Yes, so the boy said."

*Counsel*: "But you took it as a proof that it really
was Evelina Reierson?"

*Witness*: "Yes, but I am not sure that it was she,
after all, for she had a veil on, and then I don't
know Evelina Reierson so very well."

*Counsel*: "How was the lady dressed?"

*Witness*: "She had on a green hat with a feather
in it, and a jacket braided in front and at the
back."

*Counsel*: "Do you remember this distinctly?"

*Witness*: "Yes, I am not so unaccustomed to using
my eyes, and I thought it best to notice her dress,
in case the police should ask me about the matter,
later on."

*Counsel*: "What time was it when the lady
visited you?"

*Witness*: "It must have been twenty minutes past
five when she came, for she was with me a quarter
of an hour, and when she left it was twenty-five
minutes to six."

*Counsel*: "Was it also with regard to the possibility
of inquiries from the police that you looked
at the clock when the lady left you?"

*Witness*: "Yes."

*Counsel*: "You are quite certain about the time, then?"

*Witness*: "Yes, quite certain; I conferred with
my clerk."

The case had proceeded thus far when a great
commotion in the court caused the examination to
be interrupted.  It is superfluous to remark that the
two last witnesses had made a deep impression upon
all who were present at the hearing of this
remarkable case, and the excitement among the audience
rose as the examination progressed.

The pawnbroker's last words fell in complete
silence, but only to be followed by murmurings and
noise.

The alarm threatened to throw the court into
confusion, when suddenly a cry was heard, "She is
fainting!"  A large crowd had gathered round
Miss Frick, and old Frick was seen in the middle of
it, gesticulating wildly, while the young girl leant
back on the seat with a handkerchief over her face.
Mr. Monk forced his way up to her, and with the
consent of the judge conducted her out of the
court.

The judge then proceeded to call for order.
It did not take him long, for the threat to have the
court cleared had immediate effect.  No one wished
to lose the last act of the drama.

The counsel for the defence did not wish to
examine the pawnbroker any further.  The public
prosecutor had, in the meantime, nothing to comment
upon, and the young counsel was called upon to
proceed.

He began with thanking the court for giving him
the postponement he had asked for,—a postponement
which had enabled him not only to obtain
valuable evidence, but which had also given him
positive means of proving his client's innocence of
the robbery of the diamond.  He continued:—

"If any one believes that my purpose in calling
the witness Abrahamson, and in putting new questions
to the chief of the detective force, was to throw
the guilt of the robbery upon another, he is mistaken.
It is certainly unavoidable that at the same time my
client's innocence is brought to light, so at the same
time the attention is led into another direction, and
the ministers of justice have perhaps already found
a new object in their search after the guilty person.
But that is a matter which does not concern me.
It only goes to prove that the young girl whose
defence has been intrusted to me is innocent—that
the circumstantial evidence which appeared so
strong against her, on the contrary speaks in her
favour when seen in the right light.

"The object of my last examination of the chief
detective and the witness Abrahamson was only to
show that mistakes can be made, and in this case
have been made with regard to the identity of the
accused.  Mr. Jurgens said at first it was another
person who had sold the diamond to him, and it
was only after the chief detective had treated the
old man in, let us call it, a less polite manner, that
he mentioned the name of the accused.  The
witness Abrahamson believed he received a visit from
the accused on the same day the diamond was
stolen.  It appeared, however, that the lady whom
he supposed was his client was dressed in clothes
which she only became possessed of later in the
day.  We have Miss Frick's sworn evidence to
the effect that she herself wore the braided
costume between five and six o'clock, and only made
a present of these clothes to the accused at about
six o'clock.

"It is, as I have already said, not my object to
accuse any other person, and I will give up the
inquiry as to whether it was Miss Frick herself
who visited the pawnbroker that day; my object
is only to show that if Mr. Jurgens has mistaken
another woman for my client, Evelina Reierson, it
is not at any rate the first time that day that she
was the object of a mistaken identity.

"What I have now adduced ought in itself to
be sufficient to change the opinion of the jury, if
they have hitherto considered my client to be
guilty.  But I am in the fortunate position of being
able to prove that what has hitherto appeared to
be the most weighty evidence against my client is,
on the contrary, the clearest proof of her innocence.
I refer here to the circumstance that the witness,
Mr. Howell, has declared that he, at the time when
the theft must have been committed, had seen the
accused in front of the cupboard where the diamond
was kept, and that he had even photographed her
in this position.  The photograph, in which all will
recognize my client, is now here in court.  When
I say that I can prove that this circumstantial
evidence is false, I mean that here, also, we have a case
of mistaken identity, and I can prove that the
person who is photographed here (he took the
photograph in his hand) is not, and cannot be, the
accused.  The proof is a simple one, although I
must confess that only an accident has enabled me
to produce it.  (The young counsel here pulled
out a large magnifying glass from his pocket, and
handed it, together with the photograph, to the
judge.)  Will the court, and the gentlemen
of the jury, and I would ask my colleague, the
public prosecutor, to do the same, look at the
photograph through the magnifying glass?  You will
then, gentlemen, see that the person who has been
photographed wears a ring on the ring finger of
the left hand.

"Will you next examine the hand of the accused?
When she was a little girl, she broke the ring finger
of her left hand in a fall.  The bone did not set
properly, so that there is now a protuberance, which
prevents her from wearing a ring on that finger."

The counsel then raised the young girl's hand so
that all could see it, to which she quietly submitted,
but without lifting her eyes from the floor and
without a change of expression on her waxen face.

"All will be able to convince themselves of the
truth of this.  I do not think that any declaration
from a medical authority is necessary.  And,
gentlemen, let the magnifying glass show you yet another
thing.  You will at once see on the left of the lady's
head an object on the shelf above.  It is the little
ivory elephant with the clock, of which mention has
already been made in the course of evidence.  The
glass, gentlemen, will enable you not only to see the
clock in the forehead of the elephant, but also to
plainly discover the position of the hands.  What
time do the hands show?  They show the time to
be twenty minutes to six.

"Where was my client at that time?  On this point
we have full information from the evidence before
us.  She had not returned by this time.  She only
came in through the garden gate at five minutes to
six.  And she could not, under any circumstance, be
dressed at twenty minutes to six in the jacket which
she only received from Miss Frick at six o'clock, or
shortly afterward!

"Gentlemen, when you have assured yourselves as
to the correctness of what I have told you, you will
perhaps remember what the witness, Mr. Rodin, the
able photographer, said in court:—

"'The photograph cannot lie!'

"With the permission of the court, I will postpone
any further remarks till the jury have convinced
themselves that everything is as I have stated."

.. vspace:: 1

.. class:: center white-space-pre-line

   \*      \*      \*      \*      \*

.. vspace:: 1



For the first minute or so neither the judge's
voice nor his hammer was of any avail; he had to
submit to the loud applause which the public
bestowed upon the young counsel, who bowed and smiled
like an actor who is called before the curtain.

.. vspace:: 1

.. class:: center white-space-pre-line

   \*      \*      \*      \*      \*

.. vspace:: 1



But the space of a newspaper is limited, and I
must conclude my report as quickly as possible.

The examination of the photograph took some
time, as the judge and the jury had personally
to assure themselves as to what the photograph
could tell.  To all appearances, they seemed to be
satisfied with their investigations under the
magnifying glass.

Mr. Rodin and another well-known photographer,
both of whom had been summoned as experts,
declared with the greatest confidence that the
evidence of the photograph could be relied upon,
and when a medical witness declared that no ring
of the usual dimension could be worn on the finger
of the accused, the affair was settled.

The jury disappeared, only to return at once,
and the voice of the foreman rang out clearly when
he pronounced the words "Not guilty" to the
question, "Guilty or not guilty?"

.. vspace:: 1

.. class:: center white-space-pre-line

   \*      \*      \*      \*      \*

.. vspace:: 1



Thus ends the account of the proceedings in one
of our modern judicial dramas.  No one can doubt
that we shall hear of an epilogue which will
probably result in a tragedy.

Last night we received information that as soon
as the proceedings in court were over, Miss Sigrid
Frick was arrested, and charged with the theft of
her uncle's diamond.

.. vspace:: 1

.. class:: center white-space-pre-line

   \*      \*      \*      \*      \*

.. vspace:: 1







.. vspace:: 4

.. _`IN THE DARK`:

.. class:: center large bold

   CHAPTER III


.. class:: center medium bold

   IN THE DARK

.. vspace:: 2

I put the newspaper cutting on the table, and
looked at my listeners.  Clara sat with her chin
resting on her folded hands, and her elbows on
the table, staring straight in front of her.  Monk,
who had again retired to the darkest corner of the
room, now came forward.  He was very pale, but
his voice was calm as he said:—

"Now I will continue.  You must pardon me,
if the rest of my story seems dry and businesslike,
but it is the only way I can persuade myself to
speak of it at all.  There is, however, not much
more to tell."

"Yes, but tell me, Monk,—was Sigrid—Miss
Frick, I should say—"

It was Clara who spoke.  She got up eagerly and
went across to Monk.

"No, excuse me, Mrs. Viller, allow me to continue—in
any case, for a little while.  You have promised
to hear me, in order, if possible, to advise and
help me, so you must bear with my whim and not
interrupt me just now.  Later, I will answer
anything that you want to ask me."

Well, there are several things that happened in
court, which the reporter did not mention; though
I do not think that his report, together with what
I have told you, has left you in the dark with regard
to anything that could be of any help in the
clearing up of the mystery in which the diamond
robbery at old Frick's ended.

There is only one thing which I must mention,
since the reporter of the *Morning News* did not
include it.  When the judge summed up, he took
the opportunity to censure the conduct of the police
in the case.  He referred, he said, to the detective's
conduct with regard to lawyer Jurgens.  He was
certainly convinced that it had never been his
intention to exercise pressure on the old man, but
that he had in a passion laid hands on him, a
circumstance which, at the turn events had taken in
the case, appeared in a very unfavourable light.  The
detective had also committed another error in not
mentioning the incident when he gave evidence in
court.  The judge felt himself obliged to declare
that this conduct might have aided the condemnation
of an innocent person.

Any one can understand in what a painful situation
I found myself.  The worst of it was, that I
was obliged to admit that the judge was
right,—painfully right.  Also, the way in which I had
conducted the case had contributed, to a great
extent, in throwing a terrible suspicion upon the
one who was the dearest to me in the world.  So
far, I did not as yet foresee the result of the turn
which the affair had taken, and which in itself was
so surprising, that one hardly had time to reflect
before the judgment was given.

I went home immediately, and tried to think over
my position; but even then I saw only darkness
around me.  So I pulled myself together and went
to the chief superintendent's office.  He still sat
there, although it was rather late in the evening.
He was very serious.

"I have already been informed of what has taken
place in court," he said; "and it pains me greatly
to hear what has happened.  My purpose in speaking
of this, is to spare you giving any account of it.
Wait!  I have one thing to tell you before you
answer—one thing which you ought to know as
soon as possible.  I have given orders for the
arrest of Miss Frick."

I had expected that some such thing must happen,
and I succeeded in assuming an indifference
which was anything but what I felt.

"I knew this must happen, sir," I answered,
"and I have no doubt what I ought to do; I have
come to ask you to accept my resignation in the
police service.  My written application I have not
as yet made out, but you shall have it to-morrow.
I ask you to consider it as already in your hands."

The superintendent looked at me in a friendly
way, pressed my hand, and said:—

"I am sorry, more sorry than you can imagine;
but I neither can, nor will, ask you to take back
your resignation.  What you have now said was
just what I was prepared to hear from you."

"Have you heard, sir, everything that took
place in the court to-day?"

"Yes, I have obtained a verbatim report from
the officer who was present the whole time."

"And what is your opinion?"

"My opinion?  I understand you do not refer
any longer to yourself; you are thinking of the
young girl whom I have been obliged to arrest,—well,
what shall I say to you?  If I say that no
one but Miss Frick could have taken the diamond,
then you will be angry with me; and if I say the
contrary, you will think I am speaking against
my conviction—isn't that so?"

He was right, and I remained silent.

As I moved to go, the superintendent took my
hand again.

"You have met with a great misfortune, Monk,—a
little carelessness on your part, a bagatelle
which, in ninety-nine cases out of a hundred,
would have resulted in nothing, has, by force of
circumstances, driven you from a post which you
have filled with much energy and ability.  And
if I am not mistaken, a greater misfortune has
befallen, or, in any case is likely to befall, one whom
you hold dear.  With regard to the first, you
are a man of energy, and it is hardly necessary to
ask you not to lose courage; you have done
nothing wrong, and the world is wide and generally
repays one for one's labour.  As for the latter,
I have also some advice.  Wait patiently!  I read
plainly in your face what you intend doing—you
will use all your strength and energy in trying to
prove this lady's innocence, against whom everything
now seems to tell, and it is far from my intention
to dissuade you in this—perhaps you will
succeed.  This much, experience has taught
me,—that nothing is impossible.  But should you not
succeed—and who can tell?  do not make the
mistake of ruining your life for the sake of a
woman—kinder to yourself and to her to break and
have done with, it at once, before it shall be too
late.  Remember, too, that what is, is inevitable,
and that one cannot build a house of bricks which
are already crumbled to dust; break with it, the
earlier the better—before it is too late—and do
not attempt to produce the impossible from a thing
which has already proved to be dust.  If I can ever
help you, now or later, then come to me without
hesitancy."

These were my superior's friendly and fatherly
words.  In the years which have passed by I
have only spoken with him once since then upon
this matter.

.. vspace:: 1

.. class:: center white-space-pre-line

   \*      \*      \*      \*      \*

.. vspace:: 1



I was at that time twenty-seven years old, and
when the next day dawned, my courage and energy
had returned.

The superintendent was right when he had read
in my face the determination to leave no stone
unturned, in order to prove the innocence of my
fiancée—for she was still my fiancée.  But I was
not to proceed far in the matter before I discovered
that my position at the time—for I was no longer
at the head of a large detective department of the
police—made my work both difficult and
unremunerative.  It seemed as if an inexorable fate had
decided that the drama, as it had begun, should be
played out to the end, and that no human intervention
would be tolerated.

"Didn't you see Sigrid at once?" asks Clara,
suddenly.

"No, it was impossible; I'll tell you just how
matters stood: the very next day all the papers in the
town began to speak of the conduct of the police
as it was called.  Some even hinted that I should
be prosecuted, as my concealment of the truth had
almost led to an innocent person being convicted.
This, however, soon passed over, as my resignation
was accepted without delay.  But the result was
that in many places I was received with distrust,
and that the superintendent, with whom I had
corresponded about the matter, dared on no account to
give me permission to see the young girl who was
under arrest."

I have here some notes from my diary, following
from that time on; let me read them to you.  It is
not my habit to keep a diary; that kind of self-confession
has never been to my taste, but at that time
I did it from purely professional reasons—in order
to have notes to help me in my work.

Monk pulled out a small thick note-book and
began to turn over the leaves.

"Oh no, don't," said Clara, at the sight of it;
"put away the book.  I would rather you told it
to us instead."

Monk could not help smiling.  "I shall not use
the book for long, Mrs. Viller; but I think it is best
to get to the end of the story—the sooner the better.
And it will save me much time if I may be allowed
to read a few pages."  So Clara gave her permission
and Monk read:—

"*June* 23.—Not possible to obtain permission to
see Sigrid.—Tried, therefore, to see old Frick.
Ill! couldn't see me—I don't believe much in that illness.
In the afternoon went to see Evelina's counsel,
and asked him about the letter which had been
delivered to him in court at the time when he asked
for postponement.  He refused again to give me any
information about the letter or its contents; he was
bound to secrecy, he said.  I think very much hangs
on this letter; some one must have given the lawyer
weapons to use, not only in defence of Evelina, but
against Sigrid.  Who can it be?  What can the
motive be, and what is the object?"

I then spoke to the court attendant.  He had
received the letter from a commissionaire, with
injunctions to deliver it to the counsel for the defence,
without delay.  I shall try to find the commissionaire,
but that will perhaps take some days—in the
meantime, time flies.

*June* 25.—Now I have spent two days in looking
for the commissionaire.  I began with No. 1, and
only when I had got up to 87 did I find the right
man.  He had had the letter from a little newspaper
boy outside the grand café.  At last I got hold of
the little newspaper boy.  He had received it from
a "gentleman," but whether the gentleman was old
or young, fair or dark, he could not remember—in
fact, nothing—and there I stand!

I tried again to see old Frick.  He said he was
not at home, but in the afternoon he sent me the
following letter:—

.. vspace:: 2

HONOURED SIR,—I had better at once inform
you that I do not consider we two can any longer
have any pleasure in each other's acquaintance.
Neither Einar nor Sigrid Frick will ever again set
foot in my house, and your name will never be
mentioned here.

Your part, Mr. Monk, in the latter month's events,
I am not so sure about, and I do not intend to
trouble myself about it any further.

It is sufficient for me to know that you have
assisted in the attempt to conceal the criminal
conduct of my brother's children.  That there may be
circumstances which render your conduct excusable,
I know well enough; but at any rate, I do not see
why we should meet or see each other again.

.. vspace:: 1

.. class:: noindent white-space-pre-line

Yours truly,
   BARTHOLOMEW FRICK.

.. vspace:: 2

Monk looked up from his notes.  "Since then I
have never spoken to old Frick."

"But you surely tried to get some explanation
from him?"

"I tried, yes; but it was easier said than done.
Since that time he has scarcely spoken with any one,
least of all with me.  He is as obstinate as an old
goat.  But let me proceed, for the sooner I get to
the end of these miserable reminiscences the better."

*June* 28.—I spent the day in keeping my eye on
the actor, Evelina, and her mother—a difficult task
now, since I have to manage without my trusted
constable, and exclusively rely upon myself or some
wretched hireling.  Evelina never goes out; she is
said to be ill.  Her mother enjoys greatly the rôle
of martyr on her daughter's behalf.  She is said to
have received a considerable sum of money from old
Frick.  The actor continues his gay life.  He seems
to have a little money, but nothing extraordinary.

I have spoken with Mr. Howell.  He behaves and
speaks like a gentleman, but ... I have no belief
in him.  He expressed the greatest regret in having
been mixed up in the case.  Nothing could have
persuaded him that it was not Evelina he had
photographed in front of the cupboard with the diamond
in her hand.  (Yes, but what does that help, when
the hands of the clock and the dress tell another
story.)  He was going to England in a few days he
said, whatever the police might say or do.  He
would not appear in court; but they had, of course,
his evidence from the last proceedings.

I asked what old Frick had to say against his
nephew Einar.  Mr. Howell said he could not
understand; he had in vain tried to bring the old
fellow round.  Mr. Howell apparently speaks very
openly; but I have learned nothing new from him.
Does he know nothing? or does he conceal something?

*July* 5.—-A whole week gone, and I have done
nothing!  The time draws near when the case will
come again before the court, and every one seems to
be of the opinion—though it is dreadful to have to
write it down—that Sigrid will be found guilty.

I have written twice to Einar Frick in Hamburg,
but have not received any reply, although by
telegraphing to his hotel, I have found out that he has
been there and has received my letters.

It seems as if I am beating my head against a
stone wall.

I have been to the pawnbroker, Abrahamson.  At
first I only saw a humpbacked clerk, who stared at
me with a derisive smile, but afterward Abrahamson
himself appeared.  He said he had told everything
he knew in court, and had no time to talk
with me.  It is very different now from the time
when I was chief of the detective force!

The day before yesterday an important thing
happened.  The actor Frederiksen left by the night
train for Copenhagen.  I couldn't keep him back,
and the police wouldn't stop him; and now I suspect
that with him has disappeared one of the few
possible chances of getting the robbery cleared up.

*July* 6.—All the morning papers announce
to-day in big type the news that Evelina Reierson has
committed suicide; she has hanged herself in her
own room in her mother's house.  All agree that
she committed suicide while insane.  After her
arrest she had several times betrayed signs of
insanity, which at last resulted in this deplorable
act—so say the reports.  All the papers speak in
regretful terms of the event, and the *Truthseeker*
and several other papers are untiring in expatiating
upon the responsibilities which the "real culprit"
and the police must take upon themselves for
what has happened.

I hardly understand how I, in the long run, am
going to hold out, powerless as I am to do anything.

*July* 7.—I went to-day to Mrs. Reierson's to see
if I could possibly find out if the dead girl had left
behind her any message or confession.  As I had
expected, however, I was received by the worthy
dame with a shower of curses and abuse.  It was
impossible to do anything in that quarter.

Old Frick seems entirely overwhelmed by his
niece's guilt, and does not allow her name to be
mentioned.  He has, however, engaged the best
lawyer in Christiania as her counsel.  Will that be
of any use?

*July* 9.—Only three days before the court meets,
and not a step more forward!  Yes, I have done
something.  I have spoken with the lawyer who
will take up Sigrid's case.  He confided to me that
Sigrid had informed him that it was really she who
had visited the pawnbroker that afternoon, to get
him to lend her money on her trinkets; but she
refused to explain how she wanted to use the
money.  The lawyer had impressed upon her that
it was absolutely necessary that she should explain
herself on that point, but the young girl was
obdurate.

What can this mean?

What use could Sigrid have for four thousand
kroners? and why couldn't she explain what she
wanted them for?  This has given me much food
for reflection.

In the meantime, I asked the lawyer if he had
taken note of the fact that the pawnbroker's time
by the clock had made it impossible that Miss Frick
could be back at Villa Ballarat at the time when
the photograph was taken.  According to the
pawnbroker's account, she drove from there twenty-five
minutes to six, and the clock in the photograph
showed it to be twenty minutes to six.  The way
from Bishop Road to Villa Ballarat cannot be
covered in five minutes.

The lawyer promised to prove this—but what
could Sigrid want with four thousand kroners?
What could she have to hide?

.. vspace:: 2

Monk closed his note-book.

Yes, thus far go my notes, and the rest is quickly
told.

Three days afterward the case came before the
court.  I was myself called as witness, but my
recollections of that day are very indistinct.  I felt as
if I were walking in my sleep or in the throes of
a dreadful dream.  If I had been the accused I
should have acted calmly and with presence of mind,
I am sure.  But I was not accused, though guilty of
having been the cause of bringing the young girl
whom I loved more than my life before a court of
justice, and having her accused of having
committed a despicable theft from her benefactor.  It
was some time afterward that I, through reading
the accounts in the paper, got some idea of what had
taken place that day in the court.

Nearly all the witnesses who appeared against
Evelina were also summoned on this occasion.  The
evidence threw no new light on the case, so I do
not think it necessary to go more than is absolutely
necessary into the events of that terrible day.

When I gave my explanation of my visit to Mr. Jurgens,
the public attempted to assail me with terms
of abuse and derision.  The judge soon called them
to order, but I was subjected to the most offensive
glances while I told the story of my own folly.

Sigrid did not attempt to hide her visit to the
pawnbroker, but refused to explain for what
purpose she required the money.  On the other hand,
she absolutely denied having set foot in the museum
between five and half-past seven.

The public prosecutor in his address especially
laid stress upon the following:—

The accused had herself admitted that she, on the
day of the robbery, had taken most unusual steps
to become possessed of a large sum of money, but
that she had not succeeded in this at the
pawnbroker's.  It was clear that it was of the greatest
importance for her to obtain at least four thousand
kroners that day, and that all other ways out of the
difficulty seemed to be closed against her.

She was one of the few who could, without creating
suspicion, go in and out of the museum where
the diamond was kept.

Then there was the photograph taken by
Mr. Howell of her standing with the diamond in her
hand at twenty minutes to six that afternoon.
That the photograph represented Miss Frick,
although she denied having visited the museum
during that time, there was no longer any doubt, after
an examination with the magnifying glass.

Finally, there was the evidence of the late chief
detective, that Mr. Jurgens at the beginning had
declared he had bought the diamond of the accused.
Only later had the old man, frightened by the
detective's improper behaviour, changed his statement.

These were, in brief, the chief points in the public
prosecutor's address, and it is not necessary to add
that after the evidence and his speech, there was
scarcely a person in the court who doubted but
that Miss Frick was guilty.

The counsel for the accused had no other defence
than the point which I mentioned in my diary; but
this he turned to account beyond all expectation.
It appeared that the time when Miss Frick left the
pawnbroker's could be substantiated to the minute,
by the circumstance that the pawnbroker on this
occasion had looked at his watch and asked his clerk
if the time was not twenty-five minutes to six.  The
clerk had then leant out of the window, looked at
the clock in the church tower, and answered in the
affirmative.

The counsel had also examined the driver who
had driven Miss Frick,—I have perhaps forgotten
to tell you that meanwhile I had been able to trace
this person,—and he could clearly remember that
on this occasion he had driven at his usual pace,
neither more quickly nor more slowly.

The counsel had, as experiments, taken several
drives with the same horse and carriage, and had
found that the distance was never made in less
than fifteen minutes, when driving at the usual
pace, and at a more rapid pace not less than ten
minutes.

He had thereby shown, he said, that if Miss Frick
was the lady who had left the pawnbroker's at
twenty-five minutes to six—which was now an established
fact—it could not be she who had been photographed
with the diamond in her hand at twenty minutes to
six!  That the little clock in the elephant's head
was right to the minute, had been proved by
Mr. Frick's evidence.

The public prosecutor, in the reply, stated that it
was a well-known fact that there was often a difference
of several minutes in the clocks of the town.

The counsel maintained that such a great difference
as would be necessary in such a case, at least
ten minutes, was scarcely possible.  Altogether, he
utilized this circumstance to the utmost, and made
his final appeal to the jury so impressive that when
the jury retired, there was great uncertainty as to
the result.

Here Mr. Monk opened his memorandum book
and produced a newspaper cutting, from which he
read the conclusion of the counsel's address:—

"It would be foolish of me to maintain that I have
proven that my client is not guilty of the theft of
which she is accused.  But I have the right to ask:
Is there any one who believes that the public
prosecutor has proved her guilt?  I have, at any rate,
shown that in order that the assertion of the
prosecution may hold good, the young lady must have
been in two places at the same time.  If she had
been at the pawnbroker's at the time when all the
evidence went to show she was there, then she
cannot be the person who was photographed by
Mr. Howell with the stolen diamond in her hand.

"I admit that there is weighty circumstantial
evidence against the young lady; but have I not also
shown that there is also weighty circumstantial
evidence in contradiction?  All will agree that this is
an unusual case.  This robbery, which has now been
twice before the court, in the form of two different
charges against two different persons, will remain a
mystery, whatever the verdict of the jury may be
to-day.

"I venture to say, that whatever your judgment
may be to-day, we shall to-morrow hear that half of
the public approve of it, and the other half disapprove.

"The theft is, and will remain, a mystery.

"Any one who was present at the former trial, will
remember that when the case was nearly concluded,
in fact, just before the jury retired, there was scarcely
a person in court who was not convinced that the
case was as clear as any could be, and that the
conscience of the jurymen would not be troubled in any
way by pronouncing a verdict of 'Guilty.'  But an
hour or two afterward all were agreed that they
might with just as easy a mind pronounce a verdict
of 'Not guilty.'  Might not the same thing happen
to-day?

"I am not so fortunate, it is true, as my colleague,
who was the counsel for the defence on the first
occasion.  I have not, at any rate, succeeded in
producing evidence which would compel the prosecution
to drop the case,—but I have at least succeeded
in showing that if the public prosecutor is correct in
his statements, then my client must be a
super-natural being!"

The counsel concluded with a passionate appeal to
the jury on behalf of his client, and sat down.

"The jury consulted for three hours," continued
Monk, and when they at last returned into court,
their answer to the question of "Guilty or not
guilty" was: "No!  Not guilty."

A sigh of relief escaped simultaneously from Clara
and myself, and Monk looked up with a strange
melancholy smile.

"Yes, I understand.  I felt just as you now feel
when the verdict was made known.  The first
impression was one of infinite joy and relief; but it
was not to last long.  The verdict was received by
the public with deep silence; and when Sigrid was
liberated, and about to leave the court, she was
received with hooting and hissing by the large crowd
which in an incredibly short time had collected
outside.  Stones were thrown after her carriage, and it
was with the greatest difficulty that the police got
her safely away."

"How terrible!" said Clara.  "How could any
one have the heart to torture the poor girl any
further.  Did they believe then that she was guilty?"

"Guilty!" exclaimed Monk, with another melancholy
smile.  "I don't believe there were ten people
in Christiania the next day who were not convinced
that Sigrid Frick had stolen her uncle's diamond,
and that there were dark pages in her life which
were the cause of her being in need of money.  Then,
besides this, she was looked upon as the cause of
Evelina's suicide."

The next day the papers contained accounts of
what had happened the day before in the court, and
the trial was the general topic of conversation.  No
one seemed to doubt that Miss Frick was guilty.
The suicide of Evelina had especially tended to
inflame the minds of the public.  Most people were
convinced that the cause of the suicide was, as I
have already mentioned, the treatment to which she
had been exposed while being accused of a crime
of which she was innocent.

In one paper appeared a furious leader with the
heading: "Is there one law for the rich, and
another for the poor?"  It dwelt at some length upon
the position of the poor young girl in the service
of the rich young lady.  How the rich lady had
stolen the diamond in order to use the money
for—well, I will not repeat the words;—how the
poor girl was arrested by the police, driven out
of her wits, and eventually to suicide.  How the
police, who apparently seemed to be on a friendly
footing with the rich lady, tried to screen her guilt,
and how riches had eventually succeeded in getting
the wealthy criminal acquitted.

The result of this article was that a large mob
proceeded next day to Frick's villa, in the belief
that Sigrid was still there, and broke all the
windows, hooting and hissing all the time.

Old Frick naturally became furious, and, armed
with his revolver and his sabre, he single-handed
attacked the mob which surrounded the house.

He was no doubt under the impression that he
was followed by a force consisting of the coachman
and the gardener; but these cautious warriors did
not follow him further than the gate.

Fortunately, old Frick had forgotten to load his
revolver, so no great mischief was done.  He was
at once surrounded and forced up against his railings.
He managed, however, to use his sword, if not
with dexterity, at least with such fury that it took
some time before any one ventured to come near him.

He had succeeded in wounding several half-tipsy
roughs, who attempted to close with him, when
finally an ingenious young cattle driver caught up
a garden seat and rushed at him, using this as a
shield.  Old Frick's sword got jammed in the seat;
he was disarmed, and struck on the head with an
empty bottle, and thrown to the ground.  Some
mounted police at last appeared on the scene,
charged the crowd, and saved the old man, after
which the mob dispersed quietly.

The blow which old Frick received on his head
resulted in concussion of the brain.  For several
days he lingered between life and death, and has,
since that time, owing to paralysis in his legs, not
been able to leave his chair without assistance.





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`MONK'S EXAMINATION`:

.. class:: center large bold

   CHAPTER IV


.. class:: center medium bold

   MONK'S EXAMINATION

.. vspace:: 2

I haven't much more to tell you now, (continued
Monk).  A few days afterward, Sigrid left to join
her brother in Hamburg, whence they both sailed
for America, and I have not seen either of them
since.  With regard to the life I have led these
last few years, you, Frederick, know about as much
as I do myself.  If I have not left the country, it
was because an irresistible impulse forced me to
haunt the place where my happiness and my
expectations had been overthrown, and to try again and
again to clear up the mystery which had destroyed
the happiness of so many.

My profession of private detective has provided
me with sufficient means, both in finances and
other respects, to continue my attempts—attempts
which up to now have unfortunately brought no
results whatever.

At first I had many difficulties to contend against,
before I could attain to the position I now occupy.
The part I played in the diamond case had made
me unpopular with the public, and all my friends
advised me to leave the country.

Still, the public does not remain of the same
opinion from one day to another.  The feeling
against me gradually subsided.  I fancy people had
an idea that a hard and entirely undeserved fate
had befallen me and others concerned in this matter.
I was fortunate in being able to clear up one or two
mysterious affairs, and now, in short, I can no longer
complain of want of sympathy from the public.

I have nothing more to add than that I still
consider it the object of my life to unravel this
mysterious affair.  I have not followed the
superintendent's advice, and I intend continuing as I have
begun, if necessary, to the end of my days.  All
the people who have played a part in the events
which I have told you of, I keep well under my
surveillance, either personally, or through my agents.
Sometimes I feel as if I could give up everything
in despair, for, as I have told you, up till now I
have no result to show.  Then again my common
sense and my experience—not my presentiments—tell
me that the solution must come in time, perhaps
before I expect it.

.. vspace:: 2

"But why have you decided so suddenly to go
to America?"  This time it was I who spoke.

"Some days ago," he replied, "I received the
notice of Einar Frick's death.  I shall once again
speak to Sigrid.  I have certain things to ask her
about; perhaps she will now answer me."

We were all silent.  Monk went over to the
bookcase and began to put some books to rights
which were disarranged on the shelf.

Clara got up and crossed over to him, but he did
not turn round, although he must have heard her
steps.  He did not even look when she laid her hand
on his shoulder.

"But even now, you have not told us everything!"

"Yes, everything that can be of interest to others."

"No, you are wrong, Monk," said my wife, in a
friendly tone, not removing her hand from his
shoulder.  "Did you not ask us to help you?"

"Yes, I did."

"Well, and however strange it may seem, yet I
believe that one of these little mice can this time
help the lion.  But you must first tell us everything.
When Miss Frick left, why didn't you go
with her?  Perhaps you thought then that she had
stolen the diamond?"

"No, I didn't—but—well, how can I explain
myself; you will not understand me—I believe in
her, and yet there are moments when—"

"You men are a miserable lot of creatures when
it comes to a question of trust," said Clara, with
unction.  "You, Monk, and very likely you,
Frederick, would do the same.  You do not hesitate to
assure a woman that you respect and love her above
everything in the world; but if only there comes a
wretched photograph, or some accidental coincidence,
then you believe the same woman to be capable of
committing the lowest and most degrading of
crimes.  Yes, I speak not so much with regard to
the robbery, as that she, if she were guilty, allowed
another to suffer in her place!  Let me tell you
what passed between you and Sigrid, and then you
shall tell me if I am right?"

Monk only nodded, with his face half turned
away, and my wife continued in a severe tone:—

"You went to Sigrid and assured her that you
believed in her innocence, in spite of all, and you
proposed that you should get married at once and
go abroad!"

Monk nodded again.

"But she answered that she read doubt at the
bottom of your heart, and that it was better that
you should both part; isn't that so?"

"Yes," answered Monk, turning round to us—he
was dreadfully pale—"I tried hard to get her
to tell me why she had attempted that day to get
money at the pawnbroker's.  If it could clear the
matter and prove my innocence, she said, then she
would do it; but as the affair stands, it would not
serve any purpose, and only bring disgrace upon
another.

"'It was to get your brother out of some difficulty,'
I urged.

"'It is of no use talking about it,' she said.  'It
will not take away the doubt from your heart.  Even
if you fancy it gone, it will come again and again;
and do you think we can get away from people's talk
and malice?  No, the world is too small for that!
And if we got married, and had children, could
we be sure that they would never get to know of
their mother's past?  I have also a duty to fulfil
to my brother; and in that you could not take part.
To you he would always be the one who had
poisoned our life.'

"Such were her words, as near as possible.  I felt
I had only empty and meaningless words to say in
reply to them, and so we parted."

"There, didn't I tell you so!" exclaimed Clara.
"It is your own doubt which is the cause of your
weakness.  That is the reason you have not been
able to penetrate the darkness."

"I think you are wrong there, Mrs. Viller,"
answered Monk, gently, "but the work has been too
much for my strength.  I fancy it would have been
too much for any man.  Mention anything I ought
to have done, and I think I can answer you that it
has already been tried."

"Don't be angry," were Clara's next words, and
this time they were as gentle as Monk's own.  "I
know you have as much feeling as you have
common sense, and perhaps more feeling than most
people; but with you men, reason always comes
off victorious in the end.  You cannot alter your
natures, I suppose.  Now we must see how we can
help Monk, Frederick, as he can't help himself;
isn't that so?"

"Yes," I answered as cheerfully as I possibly
could; "it would be strange if we three, when we
have put our heads together, should not be able to
clear up the mystery.  You have here what you
hitherto have lacked, Monk—the experience of
an expert in many branches, as represented by me,
and a woman's intuition and instinct, as represented
by Clara.  But as a preliminary, Monk will have to
be examined.  Have you anything to ask Monk,
Clara?  You shall be the first, then my turn comes."

"Yes, I must begin," answered Clara, looking in
a very friendly manner at Monk, as if to appease
him if she had wounded him with her remarks.
"Tell me, was not the Englishman, Howell, as he
was called, in love with Sigrid?  Didn't he pay
his attentions to her, and wasn't he rejected?"

Monk began to smile.  "I fancy he did try a
little at first, but he soon saw that I had forestalled
him, and so, with a good grace I'll admit, he left the
field clear.  If he had made any definite advances, I
think Sigrid would have told me."

"Are you quite sure about that?" answered
Clara, with an air of superiority.  "One is not of
course father confessor to one's fiancée.  But can
you tell me any other reason why he should hate
both of you?"

"Are you sure he hated us?"

"Yes, I am quite sure about it; he is the cause
of the whole mischief.  The photograph was of
course nothing but humbug."

Monk smiled resignedly.  "The photograph was
only too genuine."

"And then there was that wretched actor," continued
Clara; "he left, I understand, just before
Evelina committed suicide.  Have you heard anything
of him since?  It was of course on his account
that the young girl killed herself.  I believe he
first of all got her to steal the diamond, and then
left her.  That was the reason of the poor girl
committing suicide."

"I also thought of that," was Monk's answer,
"and I had him watched after he left Christiania.
He went first to Gothenburg and later to
Copenhagen.  But it is not probable that the money
which Jurgens paid for the diamond has at any
time been in his hands.  He lived the whole time
from hand to mouth, and often in the greatest
misery."

"Are you quite certain of this?" I asked.  "If
the actor didn't get the money, all my theories are
upset."

"Yes, isn't that so?" said Monk, smiling again,
in the same resigned way.  "And you would have
had the same experience, not only in one, but in
ten points of the case, if you had weighed them
and turned them over in your head as long as I
have done."

"But there must be one theory which is right,"
I exclaimed.  "Some one must have stolen the
diamond!"

"Yes, that's the dreadful part of it all!" groaned
Monk.  "There is only one theory which can be
applied to all that has happened in this dreadful
affair, and that is—" here his voice sank almost
to a whisper,—"and that is, that—that Sigrid
took the diamond to help her brother, was
photographed by Mr. Howell, and then sold the diamond
to Mr. Jurgens.  No, don't say what you want
to say, Mrs. Viller.  Rather bear in mind that it
is my fixed determination, in a few days to go to
America, and again offer Sigrid my hand.  Can I
better show my faith in her?"

Clara did not answer.

"Where is the actor now?" I asked.

"He died in delirium tremens, in a public hospital
in Denmark.  I had an agent there for some time,
who tried to get something out of him, but it was
of no use.  The agent was under the impression
that the actor knew nothing of the diamond
robbery,—nothing of any importance to us, at least."

"And Mrs. Reierson—have you tried her?"

"By all possible means, through a third person.
She will not see me.  If I show myself to her, she
swears and curses me for having brought about her
daughter's death.  Old Frick gives her a yearly
pension; but as she has completely given herself
over to drink, it does not last very long, and between
each quarterly payment she lives in the greatest
destitution."

"And Mr. Howell?"

"I have not lost sight of him, although it is often
difficult enough to keep an eye on him.  He leads
the life of so many rich Englishmen.  He spends
the season in London, the autumn in the country,
and the rest of the year in travelling.  He has a
yacht, and has several times visited Norway in the
summer.  He has, however, been only three or four
times in Christiania all these years, and then only
for a short time.  He has on these occasions stayed
at Villa Ballarat with old Frick.  My agent in
England informs me that he is well known as a
gambler and as a man who spends more money
than he can afford.  He has for many years paid
frequent visits to a country house in Yorkshire,—Ashton
Hall,—belonging to a rich gentleman, Mr. Ashton.
They say it will end in his marrying the
gentleman's eldest daughter, a lady who is no longer
young.  The reason for this long courtship no one
can explain.  They think he'll not swallow the
bitter pill until he is obliged.  Here, people believe
that he will inherit old Frick's money.  Very likely
that is the reason he goes on courting so long.
Very likely, too, the old man's death might put
him on his legs again, and save him from marrying
the lady in Yorkshire."

"You seem no longer to like the Englishman!"

"I have never liked him particularly, and, as I
have told you earlier, his conduct frequently
appeared to me to be suspicious.  Yet I cannot very
well account for the reason of my distrust for him.
I have an idea that he played a part in the drama,
which I do not comprehend.  I believe your wife's
instinct tells her the same."

"*Instinct!*" repeated Clara, witheringly.  "We
women must always hear, when we in some way or
other hit upon a right solution, that it is our instinct
which has come to our aid—never a word is said
about logical deduction!  Look here, Mr. Monk.
What I mean to say is, that I am sure that
Mr. Howell tampered with the photograph in order to
ruin Sigrid.  This result I arrive at from the
following reasoning.  If the photograph is to be
relied upon, Sigrid must have had the diamond in
her hand that day; but she denied this
absolutely.  No, don't try to avoid it, Monk!  You
are afraid to tell me that now I am illogical—isn't
that what you call it?—like all women, and
so you won't even look at me.  But I haven't
finished yet.  Suppose Sigrid could and would tell a
lie, what could have been easier for her than to
admit she had that afternoon been into the museum,
had taken out the diamond and looked at it for a
moment, and then put it back in its place again?
No one could have said a word against this
explanation as to how the photograph was taken.  No!
Sigrid was not a fool; and you must admit that if
she wanted to tell a lie, she would not do it in such
a foolish way.  Admit that I am right, Monk!  All
probabilities go to prove that Sigrid spoke the truth.
She had not set foot in Mr. Frick's museum that
day between five and half-past seven, and—the
photograph was tampered with."

Monk could not help smiling; but it was the same
smile—the hopeless smile with which the giant who
has in vain attempted to lift a burden watches the
dwarf endeavouring to lift it for him.

He went across to a small iron safe in the
corner of the room, and came back at once with a
little object which he laid on the table before us.
It was a small photograph placed between glass
plates, which were held together by india-rubber
bands.

"This is the photograph."

Both Clara and I stretched out our hands at
the same moment, and Monk laid it on the table
between us, together with an oblong magnifying
glass of unusual size.

"Now you can look at it for yourselves.  What
cannot be seen with the naked eye can be easily
discerned through the magnifying glass."

Clara and I used it in turn.

"I have to thank my old friend, the chief
superintendent, that I am in possession of the
photograph," continued Monk.

"At my earnest request he gave it up to me,
but not till two years after the trial.  He made
me promise, however, that I should keep it in a
fire-proof safe, and take the greatest care of it.
Heavens! it was hardly necessary to request me
to do that."

The photograph answered to the brief description
which Monk had already given of it.  It was
three or four inches in height, but very narrow,
so much so that little was to be seen but the
girlish figure in front of the open cupboard with the
shelves.  These shelves were filled with all sorts
of curiosities, which appeared most distinctly on
the plate.  On the whole, the photograph was
unusually clear and distinct.

"Look at the girl's left hand," said Monk.

I held the magnifying glass over the photograph.
"Yes, I see, she has a ring on the ring finger."

"Yes; and the finger is quite normal—not at
all deformed."

"No, it is quite well shaped."

"You see the little elephant on the shelf over
the cupboard, and the clock in its forehead?
What time does it show?"

"Let me see!  It is twenty-one minutes to six.
The figures are not easy to distinguish, but the
position of the hands is plain enough."

"Yes, although the elephant is scarcely three
inches high, that and the other small things on
the shelf over the cupboard are the masterpieces
of an ivory carver in Naples.  Do you see, for
example, a little copy of Venus de Milo at the
side of it?"

"Yes, I see it.  But tell me, Monk, who does
the girl in the photograph resemble, Miss Frick or
Evelina?"

"Oh, Evelina!  I was, of course, accustomed to
see Sigrid in that costume—the braided jacket and
the little hat with the bird's wing on it—so at first
glance I might have doubted; but after a more
careful inspection I should never have hesitated in
saying that it was Evelina,—she and no one else,
if only this question of the finger hadn't cropped up."

"The photograph was examined, wasn't it?"

"If any photograph in this world has been
examined, this is the one.  As you may remember,
the photographer Rodin and another expert gave
their opinion upon it at the first trial.  Later on
it was examined at the physical laboratory of the
university.  All were of one mind in saying that
no attempt had been made either to tamper with
or to make any alteration in it,—neither by
retouching nor by any other means."

While I continued to converse with Monk, Clara
took possession of the picture.  I handed her the
magnifying glass, but she pushed it aside, and
continued studying the photograph without once
looking up.

"You must be quite tired," I said to Monk, "with
all our questioning, but if it will not be too tedious
to you to answer me, I should like to examine you
a little."

"On the contrary, I would prefer nothing better
than listening to your remarks.  What I wish is
to get out of this vicious circle in which my
thoughts have run during the last six years."

"Have you any guarantee that this photograph
was taken that afternoon—the 10th of May—between
five and half-past seven?"

"Yes, only too positive proof; but the report in
the *Morning News* is perhaps not sufficiently clear.
The facts are these: The snap-shot apparatus used
by Mr. Howell had a roll of prepared paper
sufficient to take ten photographs.  I suppose you have
seen these apparatus.  For every new picture you
want to take you turn a little screw outside, which
is connected with the roller, until a new number
appears on the indicator.  When all the paper on
the roll has been used, it is taken out, in order to
get the pictures developed, and a new roll is
inserted.  On the back of this photograph you will
find number ten printed.  Number nine, which
was also produced in court, was a group which
Mr. Howell had taken in the museum before
Jurgens left.  The next, that is to say, number ten,
must therefore have been taken in the interval
before the roll was handed over to the photographer,—in
other words, between five and seven o'clock.
You will at once see that even if Mr. Howell
had wanted to deceive us, it would not have been
possible."

"Yes, I fear, it is only too true.  I have now
nothing else to ask, except whether the hands of
the watch in the elephant's forehead might not
have been moved backward, or forward, by some
one, either accidentally or purposely?"

"You ask the same question which I have been
asking myself for many years.  What we do know
is that the watch was right at five o'clock, and
again at half-past seven.  It is impossible that it
could have been altered in the meantime.  It
appears that the glass which covers the dial is not
movable.  If the watch has to be regulated, the
whole of the clockwork must be exposed by
removing a small metal plate under the stomach of
the elephant.  On examining the elephant, two days
after Evelina's acquittal, it was found that there
were no marks whatever to be found in the thin
layer of dust which had settled in the joint
between the ivory and this plate."

"But then we have the question of the time to
settle," I said.  "It proves that Miss Frick could
not have returned from the pawnbroker at the time
which the watch in the photograph shows.  As far
as I understand you, it was this circumstance alone
which saved her at the trial."

"I'll tell you exactly what I think.  It was that
fact which saved her as far as it gave the jury a
pretext to answer 'No' to the question whether she
was guilty or not—or, more correctly, an excuse for
not answering 'Yes' to it.  I do not believe there
was a person in the court who, in their heart of
hearts, did not believe that Sigrid was guilty.  But
her counsel very cleverly laid stress on the obscurity
which enveloped the whole matter, and the possibility
that they might give an unjust verdict and
that the truth afterward might transpire.  They,
or, more correctly, five of them, chose, therefore, so
the rumour goes, and I think it is correct, to answer
'No,' as the discrepancy with regard to the time
gave them the opportunity to do.  You understand
what I mean?"

"Yes, I understand; but what is your personal
opinion with regard to the discrepancy in the time?"

"Well, for my own part, I cannot deny that those
who believed in Sigrid's guilt were right in saying:
Supposing that the driver had driven rather more
quickly than ordinarily, then the discrepancy in
the time would not be greater than five minutes.
It might easily happen that this difference in the
time was due to the fact that the clocks in the
different parts of the town did not tally."

"May I take the photograph home with me?"

It was Clara who interrupted us.  She had sat
staring hard at the picture, and now she stood
before Monk with it hidden in her hand.

Monk reflected a moment.

"If you will promise me to keep it in Frederick's
safe when you have not got it in your hand."

"I promise everything," was Clara's answer;
"and among other things, that the photograph has
been tampered with!!!"

There was such conviction in my wife's voice that
Monk's cheeks flushed with excitement.  This time
I saw nothing of the hopeless smile.  He did not
have a chance of replying, however, for Clara
began hurriedly to put on her hat and cape.

"Come now, Frederick, it is past three in the
morning, and to-morrow we have still another day's
work."

"Goodnight, Monk."

"Goodnight."

"Stop a minute; two things I must ask you
before we go.  Where does Mrs. Reierson live?"

"She lives in her old den in Russelök Street,
No. 44."

"Where could one find the clothes which Evelina
had on that day when the robbery was committed?
I mean the hat and jacket which she wears in the
photograph."

"Very probably Mrs. Reierson still has them, if
she hasn't sold them.  They were produced in
court, but were later on naturally given back to the
unhappy girl's mother.  But why do you ask about
them?  You know, of course, that—"

"That is my business for the present; good night,
once more."

The last conversation was carried on between
Clara and Monk.  I listened to them in astonishment.
What in all the world did Clara mean by
these questions?

As we wandered homeward in the moonlight, with
Clara on my arm, I tried to find out what her
purpose had been with regard to her last questions to
Monk.

"You surely don't intend to visit Mrs. Reierson?"

"I don't intend to tell you," was the reply; "but
even if I do, what harm is there in that?"

"No, of course there's no harm; but according to
Monk's description, there was nothing very prepossessing
about Mrs. Reierson six years ago, and in
the course of these years she is not likely to have
changed for the better."

"Don't let us talk about it any more.  Remember
I have been to less prepossessing houses before in
my life, on mysterious errands.  Do you remember
that time when I paid my fruitless visit to the
pawnbroker, and, in my despair, had to go to
Monk?"

"Yes, you were lucky that time," I answered
gayly.  "If you hadn't gone that day to Monk, you
would never have met me, and then perhaps you
would never have been married."

"Of course I do not want to keep any secrets
from you, either big or small," said Clara.  "It is
my intention to go to Mrs. Reierson to-morrow
morning.  But you shall not go with me; first,
because I consider it will serve my purpose better if
I go alone.  Men are such blunderers, you know.
She is naturally suspicious about men, and would
perhaps recognize you as a friend of Monk's, and
secondly, I am very anxious to carry out my little
plan all by myself.  Fancy, if I can help him, as
he once helped me,—wouldn't that be a triumph!"





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`THE MOST IMPORTANT CHAPTER IN THE BOOK.  CLARA ACTS THE DETECTIVE`:

.. class:: center large bold

   CHAPTER V

.. class:: center medium bold white-space-pre-line

   THE MOST IMPORTANT CHAPTER IN THE BOOK.
   CLARA ACTS THE DETECTIVE

.. vspace:: 2

"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 that *the 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.





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`OLD FRICK AGAIN`:

.. class:: center large bold

   CHAPTER VI


.. class:: center medium bold

   OLD FRICK AGAIN

.. vspace:: 2

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!"





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`THE YACHT *DEERHOUND*`:

.. class:: center large bold

   CHAPTER VII


.. class:: center medium bold

   THE YACHT "DEERHOUND"

.. vspace:: 2

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.

.. vspace:: 1

.. class:: center white-space-pre-line

   \*      \*      \*      \*      \*

.. vspace:: 1



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 yacht *Deerhound*,
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."

.. vspace:: 1

.. class:: center white-space-pre-line

   \*      \*      \*      \*      \*

.. vspace:: 1



It was on a morning in the beginning of June
that the steamer glided into Stavanger harbour.
We had had rain and southerly wind the whole
way, and the night outside Jædren had been
anything but pleasant, although neither Monk nor I
suffered from seasickness.

Toward the morning, the wind sprung around to
the north, and drove rain, fog, and clouds in front
of it, out into the North Sea.  The sun shone on
the small rippling billows, which merrily splashed
against the gaudily painted coasting vessels and
warehouses in the harbour.

Among the ships in the harbour, there were two
which attracted our attention.  One was a pretty
English cutter—her blue flag flying at her stern.
She had only one mast, although her tonnage must
have been about fifty; but the lofty lower mast and
the big boom betrayed that she, on this one mast,
could carry a sail, the mainsheet of which would
be no easy matter to haul in, when the wind had
filled it.  She seemed to have a numerous crew in
proportion to her size—for six or eight men were
seen busily engaged in hoisting the wet sails to
be dried.  She was riding by one of her anchors,
and had boats hanging on their davits; while only a
small jolly-boat was lying at her stern.

The other ship was painted light grey, and had
a large yellow funnel.  The Norwegian naval flag
waved at the stern, and on the bow could be
seen the name, "Viking."

"We are in luck!" exclaimed Monk.  "There
is the gunboat, *Viking*.  The commander on board
is Captain Holst; you know him, of course,
Trygive Holst?"

"Yes, I know him; but how can he help?  Surely
you don't want to get him to sink the Englishman?"

"Not exactly that; but none the less he will be of
use to us."

Monk had again taken the lead.  I had sunk
down into my modest rôle of historian, and allowed
him to have his way.

Our first business, after leaving the steamer, was
to visit the gunboat and pay our respects to the
officers.

Monk went below into the captain's cabin, where
they spent a quarter of an hour together.

I knew they were good friends of old, and I could
very well understand he wished to be alone with his
friend and inform him of the turn events had taken.

Then we went on land, and gave ourselves good
time to visit the remarkable cathedral and one or
two other places of interest.

"Shall we visit Mr. Howell now?" I asked.

"Yes, but not before twelve o'clock," was Monk's reply.

"Why not?"

"Isn't it a fact that you love a bit of excitement?"

"Yes, but—"

"Then you had better not ask any further questions,
and you will probably have plenty of it."

At last it was twelve o'clock, and a one-eyed,
weather-beaten boatman rowed us out to the yacht.
Abaft the mast stood a tall, handsome man, with a
heavy black mustache.

Monk was the first to go on board.  He went
right up to the owner of the yacht—for it was he.
I followed behind.

Mr. Howell—-we must still call him so—did not
appear particularly pleased at the visit.  He stepped
back involuntarily, and his face became dark, but
only for a moment; then he smiled and exclaimed
in good Norwegian:—

"What a surprise!  Have I at last the pleasure
of seeing you, after so many years, Mr. Monk?"

"Yes, the world contains many surprises,
Mr. Howell," was Monk's dry reply, while he did not
appear to notice the hand which the Englishman
stretched out to him.  "Allow me to present an
engineer friend, Mr. Frederick Viller, Mr. Howell."

The Englishman bowed stiffly, and gave me a
searching look.  "Engineer?" he repeated
inquiringly.  In his own mind he no doubt added,
"Probably a police official."

"Yes, an engineer.  Here in Norway we must all
be something, we cannot only be gentlemen."

The Englishman did not seem to appreciate
Monk's humour.  He frowned, and made no reply.

"We have a few words to say to you," said Monk,
quietly; "will it be convenient to take us down to
your cabin?"  He cast a glance full of significance
at the two sailors who were busy near us.

The Englishman seemed to consider for a moment.
He looked out over the sea and up at the rigging;
then he put a little silver whistle to his mouth, and
a man who appeared to be the steward appeared.

"Show these gentlemen down into the saloon—I
am coming directly.  I have just a word or two to
say to the captain.  He has to keep a lookout for the
English steamer, and to fetch my party on board here."

His expression appeared to me to be somewhat
strained and peculiar, and I cast a questioning
glance at Monk; but as he seemed to be quite
unconcerned, I had nothing else to do but to follow him
and the steward below.

We went first along a corridor with two cabins on
each side, then through a small saloon, which took
up the whole width of the yacht, and then into a
smaller one with a cabin on each side.  The place
was lighted by a skylight of opaque glass.

This was apparently the owner's private cabin.
The size of the yacht did not admit of any large
dimensions, but the cabin was luxuriously fitted,
and four or five people could sit down in it very
comfortably.

The owner of the yacht came down soon after;
his face wore a friendly smile.

"May I offer you anything to drink, gentlemen?
Shall I get my steward to make you a cocktail?  I
can assure you, he is a master of the art.  Or would
you prefer a glass of champagne?"

We refused any refreshments, and the Englishman
smiled resignedly.

"We shall not keep you long," began Monk, looking
the Englishman in the face.  "It will rest with
yourself whether the proceedings are long or short."

"You have, perhaps, come to bring me a greeting
from dear old Mr. Frick, his charming niece, or the
gay Einar?"

"Yes, I have come with greetings from them all, but—"

"Have a cigar?"  The Englishman rose, took a
box from a shelf, and handed it to us.  "Not even
a cigar?  Then you will, at any rate, allow me to light
one.  Tell me, you who are Norwegians, and who
understand the weather here, do you think we shall
have good weather for the next few days?  I and my
friends think of going to the Ryfylke fjord, and—"

"It will be all the worse for yourself if you waste
time," said Monk, in a sharp and threatening voice.
"You had better listen to what I have to say, and
answer quickly."

"Ho, ho!  Have you come on board to threaten
me?  You, Mr. Viller, who seem to be a gentleman,
ought to tell your friend that he should not make
himself unpleasant to an Englishman on board
his own yacht."

I wisely left it to Monk to answer for himself,
and only glanced contemptuously at him; the
thought of what he had done filled me with disgust.
I would rather have taken him by the neck and
given him a good thrashing.

"You can't get away from us, Mr. Howell,"
continued Monk, undisturbed.  "We are come to settle
an account with you, and we don't intend to leave
here before it is done."

A peculiar smile passed over Howell's face at
Monk's last words.

"Go on, then," he said.  "I must, at any rate,
know what it is all about.  I don't know that I
have any business with Mr. Monk, the private
detective,—for you are, I understand, no longer in
the service of the police."

"What I am or am not has nothing to do with
the case.  You remember the diamond robbery at
Mr. Frick's, in Christiania, six years ago?  Well, by
a shameful deception, you succeeded in throwing
suspicion on Miss Frick.  She is now my wife—"

The Englishman interrupted with a long, low
whistle.  Monk's face crimsoned, and for the
moment I thought he would have thrown himself upon
the rascal; but he continued quietly: "No, it is
not necessary for you to fumble about in your drawer
for the revolver.  I am not so stupid as to give you
an opportunity of shooting me in self-defence.  It
would suit you too well."

The Englishman uttered a horrible oath, and we
heard a heavy object fall back into the drawer.

"Go on with your business, then," he shouted;
"but I shall teach you what it costs to insult me
on board my own yacht.  Do you hear?  Go on!"

I got the impression that his noisy anger was to a
great extent assumed, and while Monk continued,
he seemed to be listening to something quite different.

"We demand of you," said Monk, "that you give
a full account of the deception which was practised
on the occasion which I refer to and that you
enable me to prove my wife's innocence."

"Yes, I'll give you a full account,—you may take
your oath on that, you wretched police spy, trying
to threaten a gentleman!  You haven't yet
mentioned how much money you intend to blackmail
me for."

He got up and struck the table so that the cigar
boxes and ash trays jumped about.

"Why do you make all this noise?"

"Noise?  May I not do what I like on board my
own yacht?  Wait a bit, and you'll see something
which will perhaps astonish you."

The Englishman laughed triumphantly, and got up.

I also got up.  I had a suspicion that our host, if
I may call him so, was evilly disposed toward us.
I had for some time felt that the ship was in
motion; first, I thought it was the effect of the small
waves which the passing steamers caused; but the
last few minutes made it clear to me that the yacht
was steadily leaning over on one side, and when
both the Englishman and I got up, we could
clearly hear the rippling sound that water makes
when it is being forced aside by a ship in motion.
"What do you think now, gentlemen?"  The
Englishman threw open the door to the cabin on
the starboard side, opened the port-hole, and pointed
out.

It was as I had suspected.  The yacht had got
under way, and was sailing out of the harbour to
eastward, between the islands, as the wind did not
admit of steering in a northerly direction.  We
were already about a quarter of a mile away from
the anchorage.

"On our next tack we shall clear Tungendess,"
continued Mr. Howell, "and then you know for
yourselves how far it is out to sea."

I looked at Monk, and I must confess my heart
beat quicker than usual; but Monk smiled back
in a manner which plainly said that nothing
unexpected had happened.

Presently a great whining sound cut through
the air and forced its way through the open
porthole in the cabin.  Monk, with a friendly nod to
the Englishman, asked:—

"What do you think that is?"

"It is the grey gunboat, which is trying her
steam whistle; but I promise we shall not be long
troubled by her infernal noise; the wind freshens."

The Englishman threw himself comfortably into
a chair.

"This won't do any longer, Mr. Howell," said
Monk, and this time his voice was again sharp and
stern.  "I suspected you would try and play us
this trick, and so make your position worse, and
so I allowed you to try it."

"What the devil do you mean?"

"Be silent, and listen to me.  It is time we
came to the serious part of the business.  The
noise we heard comes, as you say, from the
gunboat, and it was the signal which to me means
that at this moment she is getting under way
and making for this yacht.  When she is alongside
us, she will, by persuasion or force, compel you
to turn back to Stavanger harbour.  With this
wind the yacht makes five or six knots, while the
gunboat makes sixteen; so you can calculate for
yourself how long it will take before she is
alongside us."

It was a study to watch the Englishman's face
as Monk spoke; it became pale and green with
anger and disappointment.  But he still tried to
hold the position.

"Do you mean to tell me that a Norwegian gunboat
dares stop an English yacht which has done
nothing unlawful?  It will cost the captain his
position, if no more; you know that, as well as I do."

"This morning, at nine o'clock," answered Monk,
quietly, "I was on board the gunboat, and after
having stated my case, the captain gave orders to
fire up.  At twelve the steam would be up, and
until then I postponed my visit to your yacht.  I
informed the captain that I had business on board
here, but that it was not improbable we might be
exposed to violent treatment.  It was arranged
that if we did not leave the yacht within two
hours, the captain was to send a boat and fetch us;
and if the yacht weighed anchor without our
having left, the gunboat was to follow and
compel the yacht to return.  Do you think the
captain, will hesitate at stopping the yacht, when he
knows that two Norwegian subjects are retained
on board by force?  Give orders to tack about,
and let the yacht again anchor, and the gunboat
will not trouble us.  That's the only way in which
you can avoid a scandal.  Do you understand me?"

The Englishman did not at first answer a word,
but he made a wry face.  After a short pause he
violently pulled a bell rope, which hung beside his
chair, and the captain of the yacht entered, with
his gold-braided cap in hand.

"Let her tack about again and anchor where she
was lying, Captain Watkins.  These gentlemen
have forgotten something: we must put off our
little cruise till to-morrow."

"I am glad to see you have come back to your
senses, Mr. Howell; you know your attempt to
carry me and my friend away has made your case
still worse.  I will openly admit that I have no
warrant of arrest against you, but the result of
this little escapade will be that neither the captain
of the gunboat nor the police will hesitate in
detaining you here until such a warrant can be
obtained from Christiania."

"What do you demand of me?"

"I have told you once before—a clear and
concise account of all you know about the diamond
robbery in Mr. Frick's house six years ago."

There was again a pause for some seconds.  The
Englishman then threw his cigar on the floor with
an oath.  "You can put the questions, and I will
answer.  But it must be also understood that you
take no proceedings against me for any part in the
case."

"It is very wise of you to make that condition.
You have deceived the court, and committed
perjury.  It would cost you many years of your
liberty if the arm of the law reached you.  But we
undertake not to proceed against you, if you will
provide us with proof that Miss Frick, as she was
then, had nothing to do with the robbery."

"Very well, I am willing.  Ask, and I will reply."

"Who was it you photographed in the museum
in front of the cupboard with the black diamond
in her hand?  I mean the photograph which you
later on handed over to the court."

"It was the maid,—Evelina Reierson; wasn't
that her name?"

"And you saw that she took the diamond and
went away with it?"

"Yes."

"Was it quite accidentally that you happened to
take the photograph?  It was taken from the
reflection in a mirror, was it not?"

"Yes, it was taken in a mirror.  I came quite by
accident into the museum, and she was so taken
up with examining the diamond, that she did not
notice my presence until I had already
photographed her.  I knew she was doing something
wrong, and thought there would be no harm in
photographing her."

"Why did you turn toward the glass, instead of
taking the photograph direct?  You stood behind
her, did you not?"

"Well, yes," said the Englishman, looking
suspiciously at Monk, whose face was immovable.
"Yes, I did.  It was by mere chance I turned my
apparatus toward the glass."

"How did the diabolical idea enter your head to
make use of the photograph as evidence against
Miss Frick?"

"Diabolical or not diabolical, she had offended me,
no matter how, and I revenged myself.  I had
never taken a photograph in a mirror before, and so
I examined the picture with the magnifying glass.
You know how interested I am in snap-shots."

"Oh, yes; and then you observed all that about
the clock—the right and left hands, and all the rest
of it?"

"Exactly; it occurred to me that it might turn out
unpleasant enough for Miss Frick.  So I waited till
the case came before the court, and then I sent a
note to the counsel for the defence, which told him
how he could get his client off."

"How did you know Miss Frick had been to the
pawnbroker's?  Speak out; for the sooner this is
over, the better."

"Well, I knew young Frick had got into
difficulties—the young greenhorn would insist on
playing high with me and my friends—and I knew, too,
that he had written his uncle's name on a bill for
four thousand kroners."

"And you did not help him?  It would have been
an easy matter for you."

"That's nothing to do with the matter.  The
sooner we are finished, the better.  Wasn't that
what you said?  Well, he wrote from Hamburg to his
sister, and begged her to pay in the four thousand
kroners to a well-known bill-discounter.  That is
why she tried to raise money on her jewels.  That
failed, and so the bill-discounter applied to old Frick,
who, without saying a word, paid the bill.  He
guessed at once that his nephew had forged his name."

"How did you get to know all this?"

"Well, that's nothing to do with the matter.  It
is enough for you to know that I had my interests
to look after, and that one always finds helpers when
one has got money."

"And then what about your relation with Evelina?
How do you explain that?"

"To hell with you and your questions!  Is it
necessary for you to know any more?  Well, never
mind!  I got to know of her relations with the
actor; I surprised them once in the garden at
Ballarat.  After the arrest I sent her a letter wherein
I professed deep sympathy with her case, and told
her if she would deny everything and keep silent I
would do my best to get her acquitted so that she
could marry her lover.

"It was, then, to get money for him that she
stole the diamond?"

"The actor, as you may guess, had seduced her,
but refused to marry her unless she would
provide money so that they could leave the country.
He made a fool of her twice.  I fancy, however,
it was more for the sake of giving the child a
father, than anything else, that made her so
anxious to marry that fellow."

"He got the five thousand kroners, then?  What
did he do with them?"

"He succeeded in depositing them with a friend
in Gothenburg, before he was arrested; but when
he came there again his friend had vanished.  In
any case, he wrote to that effect, when he
afterward tried to get money out of me.  I told him,
of course, to go to the devil."

"Will you write down what you have told us,
and put your name to it?  Remember, we must
have a positive proof of my wife's innocence.
That was the condition upon which we were to
let you go, without mixing up the police in the
matter."

We heard the noise and trample of feet on the
deck, and the rattling of the chain cable when the
anchor fell.

We were again in Stavanger harbour.  Soon
after a grating sound, was heard alongside the
yacht, and the sound of many oars which were
shipped.

"There is the boat from the gunboat,"
exclaimed Monk.  "You have not much time for
considering."

"You shall have the proof.  I have something
which is just as good as a written declaration."

"Wait a bit," said Monk, quickly.  "I must go
up on deck and tell the boat to wait.  If the
quartermaster does not see we are safe, he will no
doubt search the yacht.  If I know my good
friend, Captain Holst, rightly, he must have already
given some such order."

Monk went up on deck.

"Your friend, the detective, seems to think he
is a devil of a fellow, since he has got the better
of me this time," grumbled the Englishman, when
we were alone; "but we shall meet again
sometime, perhaps, when we are more equally placed,
and then I shall pay him out."

"Monk knows well enough how to take care of
himself," I answered reluctantly.  I felt disgusted
with the cold-blooded scoundrel.  "You ought
rather to hope you will never see him again."

The subject of our conversation appeared again
at this moment.

"Now, Mr. Howell, where is the proof you speak
of?  You will no doubt agree that the sooner this
interview comes to an end, the better."

The Englishman opened a cupboard, rummaged
awhile in a drawer, and came back to the table with
something which looked like a folded letter in his
hand.

"Everything may be of use in time—that is the
reason I did not burn it.  Here is a letter from
Evelina, written the same day she hanged herself.  It
will be more than sufficient for you.  But it's
understood that no difficulty will be placed in my way to
leave, if I give up the letter?"

"You have our word of honour that no information
will be given to the police, and that nothing shall
hinder your departure if you furnish us with
sufficient proofs of my wife's innocence."

The Englishman threw the letter across the table.
Monk opened it and read it aloud:—

.. vspace:: 2

DEAR MR. HOWELL,—You are the only one
who has shown any kindness to me in my misfortune,
but all your kindness is wasted on a creature who is
doomed to destruction.  You warned me, long ago,
against the wretch whom I believed in so blindly,
but more than that was necessary to open my eyes.

He first persuaded me to steal in order to find
the means for our marriage, and then he deserted me
with the fruits of my crime.  All the same, I was glad
of your offer to get me acquitted, and thus enable me
to marry the man I loved, not so much for my own
sake, as for—

Then he deceived me again.  I know that yesterday
he left the country, and at the same time I
learnt that my benefactress, Miss Frick, is accused of
the crime which I have committed.

I know of course you will not let her suffer—you,
who are her friend, and that of her family.  But
how can you prove her innocence without revealing
that you deceived the court in order to help me, a
poor girl whom you pitied?

I do not understand much of this kind of thing;
but I see that my life is useless, and that there is one
way in which I can prove Miss Frick's innocence
without being imprisoned myself.

When you get to hear I am no longer alive, then
cut off the lowest slip of this letter and send it to the
authorities.  I cannot rely on my mother.  She has a
suspicion it was I who took the diamond, and worries
me every day to tell her what has become of the
money.

.. vspace:: 2

At the bottom was written in large, but irregular
letters:—

.. vspace:: 2

*I and no one else stole Mr. Frick's diamond, and
sold it to Mr. Jurgens for five thousand kroners.  I,
and no one else, shall suffer for my crime!*

.. vspace:: 1

EVELINA REIERSON.

.. vspace:: 1

June, 18—.

.. vspace:: 2

I could not control myself any longer.  "You
are the greatest scoundrel that ever walked in
shoes, Mr. Howell, or Davis, or whatever you call
yourself!" I shouted, and rushed at him.  I
believe I should have knocked him down, if Monk
had not quickly intervened.

It was hardly necessary, however, to strike him,
for at my words he staggered back, as if stupefied,
and leant against the wall.

Monk was the first to speak.

"You may thank my friend you have been warned,
Mr. Davis; otherwise it had been my intention to
let you find out for yourself that your forgeries
and frauds have been discovered."

The Englishman was deadly pale.  He opened a
cupboard with trembling hands, took out a bottle,
and poured himself out a large glass of cognac.

"Have you anything more to say to him?  If
not, let us go; I can no longer stand the sight of
the scoundrel."

"All right," answered Monk, and we went
quickly up the cabin stairs and into the long-boat
which awaited us.

"You weren't going to tell him, then, that all
his rascality had been discovered?"

"No, I wanted him to fall into the hands of
the English police.  But now he'll take good care
not to put his foot on English soil any more."

"You ought to have warned me beforehand."

"It is not worth bothering about.  For the
rest of his life he will be a wretched exile,
without money and without friends; I know he has
already ruined his father, old Davis.  He possesses
nothing now but his yacht.  It was by the skin
of his teeth that he got away from his creditors
in England this time."

.. vspace:: 1

.. class:: center white-space-pre-line

   \*      \*      \*      \*      \*

.. vspace:: 1



Some months later, the following paragraph
appeared in the paper:—

.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: center

   ANOTHER VICTIM TO THE DEMON OF GAMBLING

.. vspace:: 1

The well-known yacht *Deerhound*, which last
year won the queen's cup at the Cowes regatta, has
just arrived at Monaco.  The owner, a certain
Mr. Howell, sold the yacht, as he had lost all his
money at the tables.  He afterward continued
to play, with the result that this morning he was
found in the park with a bullet-hole in his head and
a discharged pistol in his hand.

.. vspace:: 1

.. class:: center white-space-pre-line

   \*      \*      \*      \*      \*

.. vspace:: 1



It was full summer, and the fruit trees stood
white with blossoms, in the garden of Villa Ballarat.

A party of five people sat in the cool shade of the
museum, while the warm summer air blew in at the
open door.

"The hand of justice reached him sooner than we
had expected," said I, when Monk had read these
lines aloud.

"Peace be with his bones!" said old Frick, with
unction.  "Old Davis was a big scoundrel; but upon
my soul, I think the son was worse."

"But what are you going to do now?" said Clara.
"Cannot the matter be taken up again?  I think it
would be a great shame if the world did not get
to know of all that has taken place; especially those
who at the time threw stones at Sigrid."

"No one was found guilty," said Monk; "and I
do not believe we could get the matter taken up
again, except—"  Here Monk glanced at his wife.

"All the people whose opinion I value," answered
Mrs. Monk, softly, "know my story as well as I
know it myself, and I shudder at the thought of
appearing again in court."

"I have an idea," I exclaimed, "which solves the
difficulty.  I will write a novel about old Frick's
diamond!  The whole town will read it, of course.
And then everybody will know about the affair."

.. vspace:: 6

.. pgfooter::