Part 42 (2/2)

”But you said you knew Mr. Lewis--the gentleman who acted as president of that mysterious conference!” Miss Hammond declared, in all innocence.

”I think, sir,” added the inspector, ”that the matter is such a grave one that you should at once reveal all you do know. You probably overlook the fact that if you persist in silence you may be arrested as an accessory.”

”But I know nothing,” I protested; ”nothing whatever concerning the robbery!”

”But you know one of the men,” said Cross the boots.

”And the lady also, without a doubt!” added the inspector.

”I refuse to be cross-examined in this manner by you!” I retorted in anger, yet full of apprehension now that I saw myself suspected of friends.h.i.+p with the gang.

”Well, sir, then I regret that I must ask you to walk over the bridge with me to the police-station. I must take you before the superintendent,” he said firmly.

”But I know nothing,” I again protested.

”Come with me,” he said, with a grim smile of disbelief. ”That you'll be compelled to prove.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

MORE STRANGE FACTS

Compelled against my will to accompany the inspector to the police head-quarters in the High Street, I made a statement--a rather lame one, I fear.

I concealed the fact that the lady of the previous night's conference was my wife, and explained my visit to Stamford, and my inquiries at the George, by the fact that I had met the man Lewis abroad, and had had some financial dealings with him, which, I now suspected, were not altogether square. So, hearing that he had motored to the north, I had followed, and had inquired at several of the well-known motoring hotels for news of him, being unsuccessful until I had arrived at Stamford.

This story would, of course, not have held water had Miss Hammond, the manageress, been present. Happily, however, she had not accompanied me, hence I was able to concoct a somewhat plausible excuse to the local superintendent.

”Then you actually know nothing concerning these people?” he asked, regarding me shrewdly.

”Nothing beyond the fact of meeting Lewis abroad, and very foolishly trusting in his honesty.”

The superintendent smiled. I think he regarded me as a bit of a fool.

Probably I had been.

”They are a clever gang, no doubt,” he declared. ”The Archd.u.c.h.ess's necklace must have been stolen by some one travelling in the train.

I've been on to Scotland Yard by telephone, and there seems a suspicion because at Grantham--the last stopping-place before London--a ticket-collector boarded the train. He was a stranger to the others, but they believed that he had been transferred from one or other of the branches to the main line, and being in the company's uniform they, of course, accepted him. He collected the tickets _en route_, as is sometimes done, and at Finsbury Park descended, and was lost sight of. Here again the busy collectors came and demanded tickets, much to the surprise of the pa.s.sengers, and the curious incident was much commented upon.”

”Then the bogus collector was the thief, I suppose?”

”No doubt. He somehow secured the dressing-bag and dropped it out at a point between Grantham and Essendine--a spot where he knew his accomplices would be waiting--a very neatly-planned robbery.”

”And by persons who are evidently experts,” I said.

”Of course,” replied the grey-haired superintendent. ”The manner in which the diamonds have been quickly transferred from hand to hand and carried out of the country is sufficient evidence of that. The gang have now scattered, and, for aught we know, have all crossed the Channel by this time.”

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