A movement at the door, and a dry, rasping cough interrupted them again.
It was the thickset policeman, Sergeant Cuff. “Well, Mr. Dickens… for someone who did not know the corpse, you seemed to have reached here pretty quickly.”
There was a little scream from the girl. She had gone pale, the back of her hand to her mouth, staring at the detective.
Dickens made an irritated clicking noise with his tongue. “Miss Hexton was a friend of Wraybrook,” he admonished.
“ ‘E’s dead?” cried the girl in a curious wail.
“Murdered, miss,” the policeman confirmed without sympathy.
The girl let out another wail and went running out of the room. They heard her ascending the stairs outside.
“Congratulations on your diplomatic touch, Sergeant,” Dickens reproved sarcastically.
Sergeant Cuff sniffed. “The girl’s a dredgers daughter. Gaffer Hexton. He would rob a corpse without thinking any more about it. In fact, he was going to be one of my next port of calls. He and his daughter probably set Wraybrook up to be done in, if they didn’t do it themselves. Wraybrook was a godsend to these river thieves. Whoever did him in has made themselves a fortune.”
Dickens frowned. “You seem very positive that it was a robbery.” Then he started. “You’ve just implied that you knew Wraybrook and knew that he had something of value on him. Look around you, Sergeant Cuff. Would a rich man be living in these frugal rooms?”
Sergeant Cuff had a superior smile. “We’re not stupid in the force, Mr. Dickens. Of course I knew Wraybrook. Been watching him for some months. I recognized the body at once but had to wait for a constable to arrive before I came on here. I suppose that you haven’t touched anything?”
“Nothing to touch,” retorted Dickens in irritation.
“I don’t suppose there would be. How did you come to know Wraybrook?”
“I didn’t. His name was on his shirt collar. A laundry mark. I deduced he was a solicitor by the cut of his cloth and went to look him up in Kelly’s. Miss Mary at the Grapes saved me the trouble as she knew of a Eugene Wraybrook and indicated where he lived. It was as simple as that.”
“Very clever. Had you confided in me that you had seen the name, I would have saved you the trouble of coming along. Wraybrook arrived in London six months ago from India. We had word from the constabulary in Bombay that Wraybrook was suspected of a theft from one of the Hindu temples. The theft was of a large diamond that had been one of the eyes in the statute of some heathenish idol. But while he was suspected, there was no firm evidence to arrest the man. He was allowed to travel to England, and we were asked to keep a watch on him. It was expected that he would try to sell the diamond and make capital on it. He was a clever cove, Mr. Dickens. I suppose, being a solicitor and all, he was careful. Settled in these rooms and plied for business. Not much business, I assure you. Seems he was eking out some living from his savings. We’re a patient crowd, Mr. Dickens, we watched and waited. But that’s all…. Until tonight. I guess someone else had found out about the diamond. He must have kept it on his person the whole time, because we searched these rooms several times, unbeknown to him.” Sergeant Cuff sighed deeply. “I suspect the girl and Gaffer Hexton, and that’s where my steps take me next.”
He touched his hat to Dickens and Collins and turned from the room.
Dickens stood rubbing his jaw thoughtfully.
Collins sighed and picked up the lamp. Its crystal hangings tinkled a little as he did so.
“That’s that. I think we should return to our decanter of port.”
Dickens was staring at the lamp. There was an odd expression on his face.
“Let’s take that lamp into the office where we can have a look at it under the gaslight.”
Collins frowned but did not argue.
Dickens stood, appearing to examine the dangling crystals for a while, and then he grunted in satisfaction. He instructed Collins to put the lamp on the table, turn it out, and then he bent forward and wrenched one of the crystals from its slight chain with brute force, wrenching the links of the chain open. He held up the crystal to the gas burner. Then he walked to the window and drew it sharply across the surface. The score mark had almost split the glass pane.
“And that, dear Charley, unless I am a complete moron, is the missing diamond. By heavens, it’s quite a big one. No wonder anyone would get light-fingered in proximity to it. I suspect that on the proceeds of a sale to an unscrupulous fence, even allowing for such exorbitant commission that such a person would take, one could live well for the rest of one’s life.”
His son-in-law frowned. “What made you spot it?”
“Look at the crystals-clear, pure white glass. When this bauble was hanging by them, it emitted a strange yellow luminescence, a curious quality of light. If it was crystal, then it could not be the same crystal, and it is entirely a different shape. Round and yellow. When I peered closely at it just now, I saw that its fitting on the chain was unlike the others. My dear Charley, if you are going to hide something, the best place to hide it is where everyone can see it. Make it a commonplace object. I assure you that nine times out of ten it will not be spotted.”
Collins grinned. “I’ll tell Wilkie that. My brother likes to know these things.”
“Well, let’s follow the redoubtable Sergeant Cuff. I think that this will take the main plank out of his theory that Wraybrook was murdered for the sake of the diamond.”
As they left the late Eugene Wraybrook’s rooms, a thickset man was hurrying down the stairs. He moved so quickly that he collided with Dickens, grunting as he staggered with the impact. Then, without an apology, the man thrust him aside and continued on.
“Mr. Bert Hegeton,” muttered Dickens, straightening his coat. “He seems in a great hurry. Oops. I think he’s dropped something.”
Indeed, a small thin leather covering of no more than two and a half inches by three and a half inches lay on the top stair where it had fallen from the man’s pocket.
“What is it?” asked Collins.
Dickens bent and retrieved it. “A card case, that’s all. Visiting cards. Not the sort of thing one would expect a schoolteacher in this area to have.” He was about to put it on the wooden three-cornered stand in the corner of the landing when he paused and drew out the small pieces of white cardboard inside. He grimaced and showed one to Collins.
They were cheaply printed and bore the same legend as on the handwritten pasteboard on Wraybrook’s door. Dickens smiled grimly.
They ascended the stairs. They could hear Sergeant Cuff’s gruff tones and Beth Hexton’s sobbing replies.
Sergeant Cuff looked annoyed when they entered the room unannounced.
“You’ll excuse me, Sergeant.” Dickens smiled, turning directly to the girl. “Does Mr. Hegeton live in this tenement?”
The girl stared at him from a tearstained face.
“Mr. Dickens…,” began the sergeant indignantly, but Dickens cut him short with a gesture. “I need an answer,” he said firmly.
“On the next floor above this,” the girl said, trying to regain some of her composure.
“A jealous type?”
“Jealous?”
“Come, Miss Hexton. You said that he was attracted to you and you rejected him. Isn’t that so? In turn, you were attracted to Mr. Wraybrook?”
The girl nodded. “Gene was a gen’leman.”
“So you have told us. But Bert Hegeton was not?”
“He was a beast. Yes, he and Gene had an argument this morning over me.” Her eyes suddenly widened. “Bert said he would do for Gene. ‘E said that. Told Gene that he wouldn’t stand for him pinching ‘is girl. I was never Berts girl. Straight out, I wasn’t.”
Sergeant Cuff was shaking his head. “Come, Mr. Dickens, this won’t do at all. We know that whoever killed Wraybrook robbed him and the cause was-”