The Bartenstein Case/Chapter 17
CHAPTER II
HIDDEN TREASURE
Inspector Dwayne regarded his caller with a sort of indulgent and good-natured weariness.
"I dare say it could tell a good many strange stories, sir," he said, "if it only had the power of speech. As it hasn't———"
"There are other ways of telling things than by speech, Inspector," remarked Mr. Tyndale in his wisest fashion. "Looks, for instance. Now, seriously, I know a bit about these sticks—my father collected a lot of 'em, and my mother has them now. You don't mind my pulling this chap about a bit?"
"For Heaven's sake don't injure it, sir!" exclaimed the Inspector. "It'll be wanted at the inquest, and the police-court, and the trial—if there ever is a trial. It—it's got his blood on the blade, you know, Mr. Tyndale."
"All right," said Mr. Tyndale imperturbably. "I'll take great care. Now, look here, Inspector, you see this solid silver top—you also see beneath it these two small projections, about the size of a pea split in two, which look like ornaments?" The Inspector nodded a careless consent—he saw, but comprehended nothing.
"Well, now," continued Mr. Tyndale, who seemed to be enjoying himself, "I press these two split-pea projections. And———"
A slight metallic click sounded within the interior of the stick. The Inspector started and grew suddenly interested.
"Now then," continued the manipulator, who had turned up the sleeves of his elegant morning coat, thereby displaying the latest thing in heliotrope shirts, "now, then, I draw this beautiful, seemingly solid silver head out of its cunningly arranged socket. There! And you perceive, Inspector, that it is not solid, but hollow! You will further perceive what I confess I am much surprised at—that it is—empty!"
"God bless my soul!" exclaimed Inspector Dwayne. "You're a very clever young gentleman, Mr. Tyndale. Who on earth would have thought of that?"
"There's nothing at all clever about me," said Mr. Tyndale. "What seems cleverness is genius—it was born, not made, like the chaps who write bad poetry. Besides, I've seen a stick like this before. And, Inspector, this is not solid silver—I mean the shell of the hollow—but lead, thickly coated with silver. If the stick had ever been in long and constant use the silver would have worn through. But the stick has been kept for the most part as an heirloom."
"And you're surprised it's empty, sir?" said the Inspector
"I am—very Now I invite you to a further examination," continued Mr Tyndale.
"You perceive that, the head having been removed, that part of the stick which we will call the hilt is hollow and is lined with a leaden tubing That hollow is some six inches deep. What do you suppose this hollow hilt and hollow head were intended for, Inspector? Don't know and can't guess? Well, I'll tell you—to conceal precious stones in!"
"Bless me!" exclaimed Inspector Dwayne. "You don't say so?"
"I do," answered Mr. Tyndale assertively. "You could have packed a small, ay, a big fortune in diamonds into those two cavities. Why, look, the hollow head would hold a stone as big as a pigeon's egg comfortably; the hollow tube in the hilt is at least six inches long and a good inch in diameter. How many loose diamonds do you suppose you could pack in that, Inspector?"
But Inspector Dwayne, lost in wonderment, could only shake his head. His visitor replaced the head of the sword-stick and returned the blade to the sheath. He balanced the whole across his fingers. And suddenly he glanced sharply at the ferrule end of the stick, balanced it again, and gave the Inspector a queer, speculative look.
"Inspector," he said, "I—I shouldn't wonder if this stick contains something. See where it balances. And look at the ferrule."
The ferrule, Inspector Dwayne admitted, was certainly uncommon. Like the head, it was of silver, terminating in a leaden shoe, quite half an inch thick, and the fact that the latter was little worn showed that the stick had never been subjected to much usage. It was secured to the cane by two silver screws. Mr. Tyndale looked at them longingly.
"I dare say it's two or three centures since the screws were put in, Inspector," he said insinuatingly. "Shall I take them out?"
Inspector Dwayne showed signs of much perturbation.
"I really don't know what to say, Mr. Tyndale," he said. "I really don't, sir! I should like that stick to be shown to the Coroner and to the magistrate just as it was found, but———"
"But it might be just as well to make a thorough examination of it first, eh, Inspector?" said Mr. Tyndale. "Now I've a very useful tool in one of my pockets that I never fail to carry about and that will help us considerably."
Inspector Dwayne, who was in reality very curious to know what his caller was after, held the cane down, while Mr. Tyndale produced a curious-looking implement which seemed to be a compound of all sorts of things, and was really a superior combination tool that could be turned to many useful purposes.
"The very best Sheffield steel," said Mr. Tyndale, drawing out of this strange-looking implement a neat screwdriver. "You get one, Inspector—they're awfully useful. Now, then!"
The first screw came out steadily.
"Turn him over," commanded Mr. Tyndale.
The second screw presented no greater difficulty.
"Now then, Inspector," said the operator, "let's have this ferrule off."
It required some vigorous wrist-work on the part of both of them to twist the ferrule off, but at last, Mr. Tyndale grasping the stick and the Inspector twisting the ferrule, the latter came away with a squeak of reproach at having been disturbed after such a long term of repose, and Mr. Tyndale held the unshod end up and peered at it through his monocle.
"Ha," he said triumphantly, "just what I expected or, at any rate, hoped to find. Another hollow, another leaden tube and, Inspector, this one is not empty. See?"
The tube fixed in the hollow seemed to be filled with wool—fine wool, snowy white, and packed and compressed so tightly as to form a solid wad. Mr. Tyndale almost danced with joy, and Inspector Dwayne felt his pulses throb faster.
"Here's larks!' exclaimed Mr. Tyndale. "Inspector, hold the stick on the desk while I draw out its treasure. I'll lay you a thousand to one we're going to find something. But what, Inspector, what?"
The Inspector was too excited and too inquisitive to answer. He watched his companion produce a pair of tweezers from his wonderful combination tool and apply them to the end of the wad of wool.
"Now, then!" said Mr. Tyndale. "By George, Inspector, it's wedged in like the foundation of a church. Now again—ah!"
He drew out an object some eight inches in length which looked like a great caterpillar, and was in reality an elongated wad of the finest wool, wound closely about from end to end with the purest silk thread. And as it lay there on the desk, the elder man and the younger stared at it open-mouthed, wondering what it concealed.
"Inspector," said Mr. Tyndale, becoming, for him, unusually grave, "I wonder what there is in that roll of wool. There's something," he continued, picking it up and letting it fall on the blotting-pad again. "And it's something hard. It—it'll be like unwrapping a mummy to unwrap that, won't it, Inspector?"
Inspector Dwayne mopped his forehead.
"Look here, Mr. Tyndale, sir," he said, "we'll not open that without proper authority and supervision. I'll see if the Chief will step this way, sir, if you'll keep an eye on the stick and—that. It's too much of a responsibility for me single-handed, is this."
"Do," said Mr. Tyndale. "He'll be interested. And he knows me—I dined with him last week at my aunt's, and beat him at billiards afterwards. I'll see that the things don't run away, Inspector."
Thereupon he lighted a cigar and sat down to ruminate until the return of Inspector Dwayne, who not only brought back with him his Chief, but two or three other high-and-mighty personages whom, on the way, he made acquainted with the history of the sword-stick up to that point.
"It strikes me you've got a sort of natural bent for this sort of thing, my young friend," said the Chief quizzically, after greeting Mr. Tyndale and glancing at the find. "A species of genius, eh?"
"All our family are afflicted with curiosity which is hard to repress," replied Mr. Tyndale. "We don't boast of it. And you see, we know something about old sticks because we collect 'em. I thought I could be of some service—in suggesting things, you know."
"Well, let's see what there is in this cocoon-looking thing," said the Chief. "I am not without curiosity myself."
The fine silk which wrapped the wool formed a coil which they estimated at several scores of yards in length. It took some time to wind it off upon an improvised spool, but at last the compressed wool was free, and the Chief broke it open, while they all stood excited and expectant round the desk.
And then they saw what Mr. Tyndale's ingenuity had discovered.
Ten magnificent pearls!
They stood gazing in silence at these treasures of the sea, wondering whose hand had placed them in this strange receptacle, and when, and for what purpose. And then they fell to discussing the probability of the hollow in the handle having contained similar treasure, and if so, as to when it had been removed, and the Chief invited Mr. Tyndale to give his opinion. Mr. Tyndale modestly replied that although he certainly knew a great deal, he didn't know that, and added that, if his opinion on the whole matter was wanted, it amounted simply to this—that the whole affair was a jolly queer business and a most interesting mystery.
In order to do something further towards solving the mystery, Inspector Dwayne, who was so busy that he scarcely had time to snatch his meals, paid a second visit to the City and to the genuine Mr. Olivares. He was somewhat astonished, on entering the outer office of the wine-merchant's establishment, to find his knock answered by Mr. Olivares himself, who greeted him politely, led him into his own room, and asked how he could serve him further.
"The fact is, sir," answered Inspector Dwayne, "I want to ask your clerk a few questions about the matter on which I called here yesterday."
"Yes," said the wine-merchant, showing his surprise. "Well, I am afraid that is not possible—at least, not just now. The fact is, Mr. Fernandes received news late yesterday afternoon of the illness of a brother who lives in Paris, and he would leave for there by the night mail and may not be back for some days."
Inspector Dwayne consulted his memory—it was past eleven o'clock on the previous day when he had seen Fernandes in Regent Street. He debated the question quickly—should he say more on the matter to Mr. Olivares or not? He decided to say nothing, and merely remarking that he would call on the clerk later, he went away, leaving the wine-merchant wondering why he had been at all.
Mitchell was awaiting his return and was evidently full of news and impatient.
"I'm glad you've come, Inspector," he said. "I've been waiting some little time. There's some news come in from Highbury about an old gentleman who's missing, and from certain things in the description, I'm pretty sure it's that old Grandfather Punctuality."