SV - 05 - Sergeant Verity and the Swell Mob. (19 page)

Just
before eight o'clock a hansom cab drew up outside the corner house. Cosima
Bremer, with Jolly in attendance, came out and entered it. As the cab moved
off, Meiklejohn's closed carriage pulled out and followed it at a little
distance. Verity took a dozen steps down the pavement and resumed his watch on
the corner of Brunswick Place and the square itself. He rocked a little on his
heels and surveyed the scene with a sense of ownership.

12

Stunning Joe was
not in darkness for long. Old Mole and Jack Strap had brought the coal wagon to
rest conveniently outside Madame Rosa's academy in Brunswick Square. After that
it was simple. The greenest stickman would never have attempted to open the
round iron cover of the Baron Lansing's coal chute, while a private-clothes
jack watched from Brunswick Place. But this was quite different. At the worst,
Madame Rosa would merely find that she had received an unexpected delivery of
coal, when the trick was pulled.

Old
Mole and Jack Strap were rendered completely anonymous by their disguise, the
grimed faces and the soot-blackened headscarves. Strap had undertaken most of
the coal-heaving until half a dozen hundredweight sacks stood in a huddle on
the pavement, where Madame Rosa's cellar chute had been opened. Stunning Joe's
light-boned, childish body was crouched in the last of these, which Jack Strap
lowered carefully so that it stood upon the iron chute-cover of the Baron
Lansing's cellar.

Thin,
strong wire, of the sort used for wiring moss and flowers into a wreath, had
given Joe's sack a plausible, bulging outline. When his two accomplices had
gone through their pantomime of filling Madame Rosa's cellar and loading the
two unwanted sacks of coal on to the wagon again, the shape of this one would
remain unaltered.

Joe
worked quickly at the first and easiest part of his task. Slipping a razor from
the pocket of his dark clothes, he cut open the bottom of the sack which
concealed him and stuffed the piece of sacking out of sight. His fingers ran on
the smooth iron of the coal-hole lid where it was set in the pavement. He
jacked it up easily with a short chisel and began to lower himself carefully
into the darkness. It was just large enough to accommodate a man of Joe's build
with the head and shoulders of a skinny urchin-boy. From the day that he was
full grown it was assumed that nature had formed him to be a thief.

There was no chute inside the
cellar, but Joe hung deftly by one hand, easing the iron cover back into place
with his other. Then he dropped, light as a squirrel, on to the loose coal
beneath. It was no more than a minute or two later when he heard the rumble of
the cartwheels, iron rims on stone, and knew that Old Mole and Jack Strap were
on their way back to Mr Kite.

Of
course, he thought, the worst part of the whole thing was that he must wait in
the gloom of the coal cellar for several hours, until Cosima Bremer and the
pretty nark had left for the regimental ball. The fires of the house would be
kept banked up whatever the season and there was a risk that the servant would
open the door to fill the coal scuttle. But Stunning Joe doubted that she
would do more than put her head into the cellar and he was confident of
concealing himself in that case.

He tried the latch gently and
found, as he expected, that the cellar was unlocked. After all, the occupants
of the tall houses were hardly in danger from thieves walking down the basement
steps in full view to steal a few lumps of coal. No servant girl would want the
bother of locking and unlocking the cellar every time that she came out of the
house to fetch a scuttleful.

Joe's
consolation was that he knew his patience must be rewarded. Like the officers
of the surveillance detail, he was fully informed about Cosima Bremer. What
chance was there for a German governess to make off with the riches of the Shah
Jehan clasp? Now that the man who had kept her was dead, she had no friends and
no refuge except her own country. But Joe knew, as well as any police officer,
that she would be stripped and close-searched at the first attempt to make a
bolt abroad.

He took
out a little pocket-watch and saw that it was nearly eight. Presently he heard
the lighter wheels of a hansom cab above him, the sound of voices, one
belonging to Cosima Bremer, the other to her maid, Jolly. That Jolly had been
planted by the law was obvious enough, even to Cosima herself, Joe supposed.
He listened and heard the cab door slam. Then the light wheels rolled forward
and there was a profound silence. He reached for the latch of the cellar door.

Joe
edged out into the twilight of the basement area, the steps to the pavement at
one end and the kitchen door at the other. As a precaution, he raised himself
slightly and peered quickly an inch or so above the pavement level. The fat figure
of a private-clothes jack stood in tall hat and frock-coat on the far side of
the square. But the basement itself, including the kitchen door, was concealed
from watching eyes, at least for the time being. Joe took a thin strip of steel
from his pocket. As he suspected, the lock on the kitchen door was of the
simplest kind, three levers each of which could be operated in turn to open the
bolt. When the great houses had been built, the servants' basement was
constantly occupied and so there was no fear of a break-in. The owners of the
houses were far more concerned about robbery by dishonest servants themselves.

With
the lock open, the door was held on the inside by two ordinary bolts. Joe
produced a "teaser', scissor-shaped blades of metal thin enough to pass
through the crack between the door and jamb. The strong slim blades began to
close on the bolt and edge it back, little by little. Five minutes later, Joe
opened the door of the kitchen gently and stepped inside. Then, as a final
precaution, he bolted himself in.

There was no question of
lighting the gas, but fortunately the summer evening was still bright enough to
show him the interior of the rooms. In case he should have to explore darker
areas with no external windows, he helped himself to an oil-lamp from the
kitchen and then began to climb the basement stairs.

At the top his progress was
ended by another door, securely locked. Of course Cosima Bremer would not let
her servant girl run all over the house. Except when called, Jolly was
evidently banished from the upper floors. Joe smiled as he worked on the lock.
At least he was sure that the Shah Jehan clasp was not concealed anywhere to
which Jolly might have access.

There were two rooms on the
ground floor. Joe entered the First, overlooking the square and its gardens.
The walls were covered with a dark-red paper, thick with a pattern of
honeysuckle flowers which shaded from salmon into cream. Two little
display-cabinets, their shelves covered by blue velvet, stood either side of
the window, set out with ornamental china. Joe swept the china to the floor and
found nothing. The deep crimson window-curtains were edged with gold cord and
crowned with pelmets of similar design. Taking care not to show any movement
outside he examined them gently. An ornate moderator-lamp, deeply fringed with
red silk, hung from the centre of the ceiling. He inspected it by standing on a
padded stool. But it was still warm from use and only a fool would have hidden
the clasp among its intense flames.

The rest of the furniture
yielded nothing, but Joe had felt from the first that this was not the room in
which the clasp would be hidden. He made a final tour of inspection, throwing
over the little occasional tables, upending the padded chairs and sofa,
smashing to the floor the two jardinieres and seeing the fern-pots break apart.
There was nothing.

The room at the back was even
less promising. It was a housekeeper's parlour, barely furnished, a curtain on
a brass rod behind the door to match those at the windows. Joe shook his head.
It was all too neat and clean. Instinct and experience told him that even
Cosima Bremer would not choose to hide the clasp in a room swept and tidied by
a copper's nark.

He
went up the stairs to the first-floor drawing-room. This was the grandest of
all the rooms in the house, the scene of summer dances and evening parties. The
partition doors were folded back and the room extended the full depth of the
house. Joe looked about him. The drawing-room was furnished in Louis Philippe
style with ormolu tables and buhl cabinets upon which statuettes and other
ornaments stood under glass cases. Filigreed gas-brackets and groups of
water-colours cluttered the yellow walls. Gilded tables, cabinets,
glass-shades, and heavy picture-frames gave a gloomy richness to the interior.
Joe looked fretfully at it all. He took down the pictures one by one and
examined their backs. He made a careful inspection of each cabinet and table.
Where there were drawers in the tables, he drew them out and turned their
contents on to the floor. Paper and trinkets were scattered from the front
drawing-room to the back, but there was no sign of anything which might lead to
the clasp.

Finally,
Joe looked at the walnut canterbury which held the albums of piano music, and
at the piano itself. The instrument was a fine Erard upright in a flame-pattern
case of polished rosewood. He knew at once that he had found Cosima's secret.
Not in the mechanism, among the strings and dampers, but in the place where
such pianos offered the facilities of a good-sized family safe. The very place
that a governess would choose!

He
looked into the dark and narrow space which separated the back of the piano
from the wall. At a glance it appeared solid enough. Only on closer inspection
was it evident that the back of the instrument had been covered by a fine wire
mesh held lightly in place by corner screws. Joe lugged out one end of the
piano from the wall and detached two of the screws. A considerable recess now
appeared in one end of the rosewood case. This was where the shorter treble
strings were housed and where, in consequence, the inner case which covered
them tapered away towards the top corner.

Joe
slid his hand under the mesh and felt something move beneath his touch. It was
the hard polished leather of jewel cases. He grinned at his own expertise. He brought
them out, one by one, until he was quite sure the space was empty. Seven of
them lay on the floor beside him. Sitting there he broke them open in quick
succession.

Two were empty. The other five
contained baubles which even to Joe's casual glance were nothing more than
glass and paste. Of the Shah Jehan clasp there was no sign.

In his
frustration he threw the last case across the room, with such power that it
shattered the glass door of a cabinet. Despite his fury, his mind continued to
weigh chances and probabilities. If she had not chosen the best hiding-place on
this floor, then the clasp must be elsewhere. He headed for the stairs again
and, to his relief, found another locked door at the top where the upper floor
of bedrooms began. If Cosirna Bremer had left him a trail of messages she could
not have been more informative as to which floor contained the greatest
treasure.

He had the door open in a
minute and was ransacking the three rooms. Only one appeared to have been used.
The servant girl was evidently made to sleep by the kitchen fire. Better than a
nark deserved, Joe thought.

The room which claimed his
attention was Cosima's own. Its centrepiece was the bed, upon which she had
given such pleasure to her elderly master that he had died of it. The polished
brass rose from the corners of the bedrails to join in a crown, high in the air
above the bed's centre. On this framework a 'tent' of delicate blue silk was
hung, creating an effect which Joe had never seen before except in one of the
most expensive bawdy houses off Panton Street. Like vines on a trellis, brass
fruit ornamented the bedframe and the air was musty with stale feminine
perfumes.

Joe
was startled suddenly by a chirrup from the space before the window. Turning he
saw a pet canary in its cage. The tall brass stand from which the cage hung,
and indeed the cage itself, had been made to match the bed. In its elegant
bell-shape, the bird-cage seemed a work of industrial art. The canary cocked
its head, regarding him with its small black pupil.

'Pretty bird!' said Joe
encouragingly, and then he began to look about him. The room was in a good deal
of disorder. Gowns and petticoats hung from the posts of the bed. Undergarments
lay scattered on a black horsehair divan. The matching chairs were a litter of
stockings and slips. It was a room where the servant was never admitted, Joe
guessed. Somewhere within it lay the great Shah Jehan heirloom.

Jacking
open his razor again he slit the mattress and bolster of the bed, filling the
air with a blizzard of tiny feathers. The custard-yellow canary hopped
excitedly between its perches and sang with renewed enthusiasm. But neither the
folds of the bedclothes, nor the gutted mattress and bolster yielded any sign
of the clasp. Joe hacked open the horsehair divan and chairs. He scattered the
drawers of the dressing-table and overturned the furniture. Neither the pockets
of the clothes nor the velvet window-curtains contained a single jewel. Finally
he pushed back the bed and began heaving up the carpet. But the polished wood
of the floor with its black lacquered surround showed no trace of interference,
not even the scratch of a knife-blade where a board had been levered up to make
a hiding-place. The boards were tongue-and-groove, impossible for a girl like
Cosima to open without leaving obvious marks.