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Roy Glashan's Library
Non sibi sed omnibus
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This work is out of copyright in countries with a copyright
period of 70 years or less, after the year of the author's death.
If it is under copyright in your country of residence,
do not download or redistribute this file.
Original content added by RGL (e.g., introductions, notes,
RGL covers) is proprietary and protected by copyright.
RGL e-Book Cover
Based on an image created with Microsoft Bing software
"THERE'S no doubt it's madness, Myra. Forget me."
The girl looked straight into the eyes of the man who stood beside her. "That I shall never do, Martin. I will wait for you years, if need be."
The strong, true ring in her voice put fresh courage into the man's heart, and he stooped and kissed her with a sort of solemnity.
"You shall never regret those words, darling," he answered. "I will succeed and claim you."
The girl disengaged herself gently from his embrace. "I believe in you, Martin. Now I must go. No, do not come with me. Good-night."
Like a soft white shadow she glided away up the wood path through summer night, and Martin Drew watched her till she disappeared, then turned on his heel and walked back to the station.
As Martin had said, it seemed utter foolishness on the face of it. She, daughter of Lord Blaxton, one of the great magnates of the Midlands, he a mere private detective, with an income all told of a couple of hundred a year!
Entering a third-class compartment at Blaxton Station, Martin secured a corner seat, and closing his eyes, began to think matters over. Just as the train was starting two men tumbled in at the last moment, and plopped down opposite him. It was habit with Martin to study faces, and glancing out under half-closed lids he presently became aware that one of the two countenances, that of the younger man, had something strangely familiar about it. For quite ten minutes, while the train roared through the sleeping countryside, he struggled to remember when or where he had seen it before, but could not do so.
"Wish he'd speak," was his inward comment, and hoping that the two might begin to talk, he closed his eyes completely and began to snore gently.
His ruse succeeded beyond all expectation. The man leant forward, making a crackle with his paper. Martin never stirred.
"Sound asleep," remarked the fellow to his companion, using, however, not ordinary English, but thieves' back-slang, which, fortunately as it proved for himself, Martin Drew understood perfectly.
"Fast as a top," grunted the other in the same lingo, and then began a rapid, whispered conversation of which Martin caught enough to make him thrill from head to foot, so that he had hard work to restrain his intense excitement. Some idea of the way in which what he overheard stirred his professional instincts may be judged from the fact that the moment the younger of the two men spoke he had known him for Gentleman Job, one of the cleverest swell mobsmen in the country, a man suspected of a score of clever villainies, yet who up to the present had never once been convicted. More than this, from the first few sentences the two interchanged he had realised that they were talking of Blaxton Hall, and that they were planning a robbery there.
At last the train glided into Euston, and Martin woke with a pretended start. His two companions hurried away, but Martin did not trouble to shadow them. He knew all he wanted.
MARTIN was first at the office next morning, waiting impatiently to see the chief. The latter came in at last, very busy.
"I'll see you shortly, Drew," he exclaimed, and passed on towards his room. Close behind him followed a tall, thin, sallow-faced man. It was Camplin, chief of the detective staff.
"You'll have to wait your turn, Drew," he remarked maliciously. "The chief'll be too busy to see new members like you this morning."
He waited a full half-hour. Then Camplin came out again, strutting like a turkey cock. He was a very vain man, and it was in a voice big with importance that he requested a clerk, loudly enough for all to hear, to make him a list of trains to Blaxton.
Martin could not restrain a slight start, and unluckily Camplin saw it. He laughed sneeringly, but made no further remark.
"Well?" exclaimed the chief impatiently, when Martin was ushered into his room.
"I believe there is a burglary contemplated at Blaxton Hall, sir," began Martin.
The chief cut him short with an impatient wave of the hand.
"I know it. I have just detailed Camplin to go down and keep watch."
Martin was too staggered to speak. The chief, not noticing his face, went on to tell him of certain work he was to set about at once, and Martin, knowing too well that the chief's word was law, and that he might as well ask for the moon as the Blaxton mission, retired.
He hurried through with his appointed work, doing it none the less thoroughly because his heart was not in it; then when the chief next day gave him a word of praise he took the opportunity to apply for three days leave on urgent private affairs. To his delight, the chief granted it at once, and Martin returned to his lodgings to make his preparations.
THE Foresters' Arms at Blaxton was unwontedly busy. They had two stage-carpenters, a commercial traveller and his assistant, and a Miss Martin, a tall, good-looking young lady, staying in the inn. The two former were at Blaxton Hall every day, busy on the erection of the stage for the amateur theatricals which were to come off on the following Thursday. It was going to be a great function, for Royalty had promised to grace it with their presence.
The play was "The Ranee's Rubies," and Lady Blaxton herself was to take the title role and to wear in it her magnificent necklace of star rubies, reported to be the finest in England, and to be worth £15,000.
A tall man, arriving at Blaxton Hall early in the morning, sent in his card to Lord Blaxton, and was at once shown into the study, where he found not only his lordship but Lady Blaxton also.
"Very glad to see you, Mr. Camplin," remarked Lord Blaxton in a quick, nervous voice. "I think you know what your duties will be this evening."
Camplin bowed and scraped.
"Yes, your lordship. Perfectly, thanks to your admirably lucid letter. I am to arrive at nine o'clock dressed in the chamberlain's costume which I have provided myself with, to wait in the wings till the end of the scene in which the Ranee—her ladyship—sends the jewels to ransom her son. When I receive my cue I am to take them from her hands, convey them behind the scenes and straight to the safe in the library, where I lock them up. I then come back to find you, my lord, and hand you the key. "
"Exactly," replied Lord Blaxton.
THE theatricals were a huge success. Even her Royal Highness applauded. Lady Blaxton, a tall, handsome woman, looked simply magnificent in the rich oriental attire of an Eastern Queen. Upon her dusky neck the rubies scintillated in the limelight with glorious crimson lustre, arousing envy and admiration in every heart among all the brilliant audience gathered to witness the play.
At last came the great scene in which the Ranee, worked to a height of tragic passion, tears the jewels from her throat and bids her chamberlain take them as ransom for her son condemned to death by the enemy without the gates of the palace.
Lord Blaxton, sitting in the front row on the right of her Royal Highness, saw the chamberlain, his face darkened to exactly the right tint, and his costume perfect in every detail, glide forward, and bowing deeply, receive the necklace.
"That's a weight off my mind," he muttered with a sigh of relief.
Some minutes passed. His lordship began to fidget. "Why doesn't he bring the key?" he muttered to himself, and just then the curtain rang down, and her Highness turned to congratulate him. By the time she had finished speaking Lord Blaxton was in a perfect fever. Excusing himself, he slipped away and hurried to the library. No one was there. He rushed off to find his wife. She was in her dressing-room. "Where are the rubies, Annabel?" he questioned eagerly.
"In the safe, I suppose," was her amazed answer.
"But where's the detective chap? He never brought me the key!"
In another five minutes the news was all over the great house that her ladyship's rubies had been stolen. All inquiries only proved that the detective had received them from her ladyship's hands, had disappeared in the direction of the library, and been no more seen.
Through the midst of the uproar glided Myra, exquisite in dainty evening gown, her sweet face a little pale, but full of confidence, and knocked at the study door, where her father was frantically writing telegrams to the agency from which Camplin had come, and to Scotland Yard. After her followed a good-looking young man enveloped from head to foot in a long greatcoat.
Lord Blaxton looked up with a start.
"W-what is it?" he stuttered nervously. "I can't be bothered, Myra. This terrible business has quite upset me."
Myra smiled. "You need not write any more telegrams, papa," she remarked sweetly.
"W-what d'ye mean, child? Have you any news—"
Myra cut him short. "This gentleman has," she answered.
The perturbed peer stared with eyes in which a gleam of hope appeared. But before he could speak, the girl cut in again. "You spoke of a thousand pounds' reward, papa, didn't you!"
"Heavens, I'd give double to be relieved of this terrible anxiety. Your poor mother's in despair. For goodness sake, Myra, if you or this gentleman know anything, tell me."
The young man smiled, and began unbuttoning his overcoat, showing beneath it a groom's livery, which made poor Lord Blaxton stare harder than ever. For it was his own green and brown, and the brass buttons had his own crest.
But Myra interposed again. "Make out the cheque to Mr. Martin Drew, please, papa."
Lord Blaxton, with a gesture of despair, obeyed.
"Now, Mr. Drew," continued the girl. Lord Blaxton grasped as from an inner pocket the young man pulled out the missing necklace safe and intact.
"I think you'll find it quite uninjured, Lord Blaxton," he remarked, handing it over.
"B-but how—why—I don't understand," stammered the peer.
"It's simple enough," answered Martin, and began his story. He told of the conversation he had overheard in the train, and went on to explain how, disguised as a girl, he had followed the intending burglars down to Blaxton. "Camplin, the detective," he added with a smile, "left the inn about eight, and the burglars, who were disguised as commercial travellers, followed. I was close on their track. Passing Hexton Wood, our friend Gentleman Job and his pal caught up wih Camplin, and before he knew what had happened, had gagged him and lugged him away into the trees. There they stripped him, and Job coolly assumed his chamberlain's attire. They then came on to the Hall, with myself close on their heels. Their plan was for Gentleman Job to receive the jewels from her ladyship, and then to pass them out of the library window to his accomplice. As a matter of fact, he handed them to me."
"B-but where was the other man!" exclaimed Lord Blaxton.
"In a loft over your stables, Lord Blaxton—at least, that's where I left him. These are his clothes."
"And the other man—Gentleman Job!"
"Oh, he's there too, keeping his friend company."
"Who caught him!"
"I did," replied the young man modestly.
Lord Blaxton rubbed his hands together. "Splendid!" he ejaculated. "Splendid! Your achievements do you the greatest credit, sir. I have more than pleasure in handing you the reward you have so richly won."
Martin Drew took the cheque, then deliberately tore it up, and flung the pieces into the waste-paper basket. Lord Blaxton stared in stupefaction.
"I don't want money, Lord Blaxton. I want more," said Martin firmly.
The peer was beyond speech.
"I want your permission to make this young lady my wife when I can make a home for her."
"First I ever heard of it," remarked the peer ruefully. "But—well, you're a young man of infinite resource, Drew—and—"
Myra interrupted eagerly: "That means you will," and she planted a shower of kisses on the top of her parent's bald head.
Apparently it did, for to-day Mr. Martin Drew and the Hon. Mrs. Drew are well known in a certain exclusive West End côterie. Drew is no longer a detective, but has an appointment in the Foreign Office, which he fills with great credit.
Camplin? Oh, he spent a good many hours tied to that tree in the Hexton Woods, and when Martin released him he went back to London, and was promptly sacked for inefficiency.
Roy Glashan's Library
Non sibi sed omnibus
Go to Home Page
This work is out of copyright in countries with a copyright
period of 70 years or less, after the year of the author's death.
If it is under copyright in your country of residence,
do not download or redistribute this file.
Original content added by RGL (e.g., introductions, notes,
RGL covers) is proprietary and protected by copyright.