Guy Boothby

The Duchess of Wiltshire’s Diamonds

Guy Boothby

(1867–1905)

The Duchess of Wiltshire’s Diamonds

And

An Imperial Finale

(1897)

Table of Contents

The Duchess of Wiltshire’s Diamonds

An Imperial Finale

The Duchess of Wiltshire’s Diamonds

To the reflective mind the rapidity with which the inhabitants of the world’s greatest city seize upon a new name or idea and familiarise themselves with it, can scarcely prove otherwise than astonishing. As an illustration of my meaning let me take the case of Klimo—the now famous private detective, who has won for himself the right to be considered as great as Lecocq, or even the late lamented Sherlock Holmes.

Up to a certain morning London had never even heard his name, nor had it the remotest notion as to who or what he might be. It was as sublimely ignorant and careless on the subject as the inhabitants of Kamtchaika or Peru. Within twenty-four hours, however, the whole aspect of the case was changed. The man, woman, or child who had not seen his posters, or heard his name, was counted an ignoramus unworthy of intercourse with human beings.

Princes became familiar with it as their trains tore them to Windsor to luncheon with the Queen; the nobility noticed and commented upon it as they drove about the town: merchants, and business men generally, read it as they made their ways by omnibus or Underground, to their various shops and counting-houses; street boys called each other by it as a nickname; Music Hall Artistes introduced it into their patter, while it was even rumoured that the Stock Exchange itself had paused in the full flood tide of business to manufacture a riddle on the subject.

That Klimo made his profession pay him well was certain, first from the fact that his advertisements must have cost a good round sum, and, second, because he had taken a mansion in Belverton Street, Park Lane, next door to Porchester House, where, to the dismay of that aristocratic neighbourhood, he advertised that he was prepared to receive and be consulted by his clients. The invitation was responded to with alacrity, and from that day forward, between the hours of twelve and two, the pavement upon the north side of the street was lined with carriages, every one containing some person desirous of testing the great man’s skill.

I must here explain that I have narrated all this in order to show the state of affairs existing in Belverton Street and Park Lane when Simon Carne arrived, or was supposed to arrive in England. If my memory serves me correctly, it was on Wednesday, the 3rd of May, that the Earl of Amberley drove to Victoria to meet and welcome the man whose acquaintance he had made in India under such peculiar circumstances, and under the spell of whose fascination he and his family had fallen so completely.

Reaching the station, his lordship descended from his carriage, and made his way to the platform set apart for the reception of the Continental express. He walked with a jaunty air, and seemed to be on the best of terms with himself and the world in general. How little he suspected the existence of the noose into which he was so innocently running his head!

As if out of compliment to his arrival, the train put in an appearance within a few moments of his reaching the platform. He immediately placed himself in such a position that he could make sure of seeing the man he wanted, and waited patiently until he should come in sight. Carne, however, was not among the first batch, indeed, the majority of passengers had passed before his lordship caught sight of him.

One thing was very certain, however great the crush might have been, it would have been difficult to mistake Carne’s figure. The man’s infirmity and the peculiar beauty of his face rendered him easily recognisable. Possibly, after his long sojourn in India, he found the morning cold, for he wore a long fur coat, the collar of which he had turned up round his ears, thus making a fitting frame for his delicate face. On seeing Lord Amberley he hastened forward to greet him.

“This is most kind and friendly of you,” he said as he shook the other by the hand. “A fine day and Lord Amberley to meet me. One could scarcely imagine a better welcome.”

As he spoke, one of his Indian servants approached and salaamed before him. He gave him an order, and received an answer in Hindustani, whereupon he turned again to Lord Amberley.

“You may imagine how anxious I am to see my new dwelling,” he said. “My servant tells me that my carriage is here, so may I hope that you will drive back with me and see for yourself how I am likely to be lodged.”

“I shall be delighted,” said Lord Amberley, who was longing for the opportunity, and they accordingly went out into the station yard together to discover a brougham, drawn by two magnificent horses, and with Nur Ali, in all the glory of white raiment and crested turban, on the box, waiting to receive them. His lordship dismissed his Victoria, and when Jowur Singh had taken his place beside his fellow servant upon the box, the carriage rolled out of the station yard in the direction of Hyde Park.

“I trust her ladyship is quite well,” said Simon Carne politely, as they turned into Gloucester Place.

“Excellently well, thank you,” replied his lordship. “She bade me welcome you to England in her name as well as my own, and I was to say that she is looking forward to seeing you.”

“She is most kind, and I shall do myself the honour of calling upon her as soon as circumstances will permit,” answered Carne. “I beg you will convey my best thanks to her for her thought of me.”

While these polite speeches were passing between them they were rapidly approaching a large hoarding on which was displayed a poster setting forth the name of the now famous detective, Klimo.

Simon Carne, leaning forward, studied it, and when they had passed, turned to his friend again.

“At Victoria and on all the hoardings we meet I see an enormous placard, bearing the word ‘Klimo.’ Pray, what does it mean?”

His lordship laughed.

“You are asking a question which, a month ago, was on the lips of nine out of every ten Londoners. It is only within the last fortnight that we have learned who and what ‘Klimo’ is.”

“And pray what is he?”

“Well, the explanation is very simple. He is neither more nor less than a remarkably astute private detective, who has succeeded in attracting notice in such a way that half London has been induced to patronise him. I have had no dealings with the man myself. But a friend of mine, Lord Orpington, has been the victim of a most audacious burglary, and, the police having failed to solve the mystery, he has called Klimo in. We shall therefore see what he can do before many days are past. But, there, I expect you will soon know more about him than any of us.”

“Indeed! And why?”

“For the simple reason that he has taken No. 1, Belverton Terrace, the house adjoining your own, and sees his clients there.”

Simon Carne pursed up his lips, and appeared to be considering something.

“I trust he will not prove a nuisance,” he said at last. “The agents who found me the house should have acquainted me with the fact. Private detectives, on however large a scale, scarcely strike one as the most desirable of neighbours—particularly for a man who is so fond of quiet as myself.”

At this moment they were approaching their destination. As the carriage passed Belverton Street and pulled up, Lord Amberley pointed to a long line of vehicles standing before the detective’s door.

“You can see for yourself something of the business he does,” he said. “Those are the carriages of his clients, and it is probable that twice as many have arrived on foot.”

“I shall certainly speak to the agent on the subject,” said Carne, with a shadow of annoyance upon his face. “I consider the fact of this man’s being so close to me a serious drawback to the house.”

Jowur Singh here descended from the box and opened the door in order that his master and his guest might alight, while portly Ram Gafur, the butler, came down the steps and salaamed before them with Oriental obsequiousness. Carne greeted his domestics with kindly condescension, and then, accompanied by the ex-Viceroy, entered his new abode.

“I think you may congratulate yourself upon having secured one of the most desirable residences in London,” said his lordship ten minutes or so later, when they had explored the principal rooms.

“I am very glad to hear you say so,” said Carne.” I trust your lordship will remember that you will always be welcome in the house as long as I am its owner.”

“It is very kind of you to say so,” returned Lord Amberley warmly. “I shall look forward to some months of pleasant intercourse. And now I must be going. To-morrow, perhaps, if you have nothing better to do, you will give us the pleasure of your company at dinner. Your fame has already gone abroad, and we shall ask one or two nice people to meet you, including my brother and sister-in-law. Lord and Lady Gelpington, Lord and Lady Orpington, and my cousin, the Duchess of Wiltshire, whose interest in China and Indian Art, as perhaps you know, is only second to your own.”

“I shall be most glad to come.”

“We may count on seeing you in Eaton Square, then, at eight o’clock?”

“If I am alive you may be sure I shall be there. Must you really go? Then good-bye, and many thanks for meeting me.”

His lordship having left the house Simon Carne went upstairs to his dressing room, which it was to be noticed he found without inquiry, and rang the electric bell, beside the fireplace, three times. While he was waiting for it to be answered he stood looking out of the window at the long line of carriages in the street below.

“Everything is progressing admirably,” he said to himself. “Amberley does not suspect any more than the world in general. As a proof he asks me to dinner to-morrow evening to meet his brother and sister-in-law, two of his particular friends, and above all Her Grace of Wiltshire. Of course I shall go, and when I bid Her Grace good-bye it will be strange if I am not one step nearer the interest on Liz’s money.”

At this moment the door opened, and his valet, the grave and respectable Belton, entered the room. Carne turned to greet him impatiently.

“Come, come, Belton,” he said, “we must be quick. It is twenty minutes to twelve and if we don’t hurry, the folk next door will become impatient. Have you succeeded in doing what I spoke to you about last night?”

“I have done everything, sir.”

“I am glad to hear it. Now lock that door and let us get to work. You can let me have your news while I am dressing.”

Opening one side of a massive wardrobe that completely filled one end of the room, Belton took from it a number of garments. They included a well worn velvet coat, a baggy pair of trousers—so old that only a notorious pauper or a millionaire could have afforded to wear them—a flannel waistcoat, a Gladstone collar, a soft silk tie, and a pair of embroidered carpet slippers upon which no old clothes man in the most reckless way of business in Petticoat Lane would have advanced a single halfpenny. Into these he assisted his master to change.

“Now give me the wig, and unfasten the straps of this hump,” said Carne, as the other placed the garments just referred to upon a neighbouring chair.

Belton did as he was ordered, and then there happened a thing the like of which no one would have believed. Having unbuckled a strap on either shoulder, and slipped his hand beneath the waistcoat, he withdrew a large papier-mâché hump, which he carried away and carefully placed in a drawer of the bureau. Relieved of his burden, Simon Carne stood up as straight and well-made a man as any in Her Majesty’s dominions. The malformation, for which so many, including the Earl and Countess of Amberley, had often pitied him, was nothing but a hoax intended to produce an effect which would permit him additional facilities of disguise.

The hump discarded, and the grey wig fitted carefully to his head in such a manner that not even a pinch of his own curly-locks could be seen beneath it, he adorned his cheeks with a pair of crépu-hair whiskers, donned the flannel vest and the velvet coat previously mentioned, slipped his feet into the carpet slippers, placed a pair of smoked glasses upon his nose, and declared himself ready to proceed about his business. The man who would have known him for Simon Carne would have been as astute as, well, shall we say, as the private detective—Klimo himself.

“It’s on the stroke of twelve,” he said, as he gave a final glance at himself in the pier-glass above the dressing-table, and arranged his tie to his satisfaction. “Should anyone call, instruct Ram Gafur to tell them that I have gone out on business, and shall not be back until three o’clock.”

“Very good, sir.”

“Now undo the door and let me go in.” Thus commanded, Belton went across to the large wardrobe which, as I have already said, covered the whole of one side of the room, and opened the middle door. Two or three garments were seen inside suspended on pegs, and these he removed, at the same time pushing towards the right the panel at the rear. When this was done a large aperture in the wall between the two houses was disclosed. Through this door Carne passed drawing it behind him.

In No. 1, Belverton Terrace, the house occupied by the detective, whose presence in the street Carne seemed to find so objectionable, the entrance thus constructed was covered by the peculiar kind of confessional box in which Klimo invariably sat to receive his clients, the rearmost panels of which opened in the same fashion as those in the wardrobe in the dressing-room. These being pulled aside, he had but to draw them to again after him, take his seat, ring the electric bell to inform his housekeeper that he was ready, and then welcome his clients as quickly as they cared to come.

Punctually at two o’clock the interviews ceased, and Klimo, having reaped an excellent harvest of fees, returned to Porchester House to become Simon Carne once more.

Possibly it was due to the fact that the Earl and Countess of Amberley were brimming over with his praise, it may have been the rumour that he was worth as many millions as you have fingers upon your hand that did it; one thing, however, was self evident, within twenty-four hours of the noble Earl’s meeting him at Victoria Station, Simon Carne was the talk, not only of fashionable, but also of unfashionable, London.

That his household were, with one exception, natives of India, that he had paid a rental for Porchester House which ran into five figures, that he was the greatest living authority upon China and Indian art generally, and that he had come over to England in search of a wife, were among the smallest of the canards set afloat concerning him.

During dinner next evening Carne put forth every effort to please. He was placed on the right hand of his hostess and next to the Duchess of Wiltshire. To the latter he paid particular attention, and to such good purpose that when the ladies returned to the drawing-room afterwards Her Grace was full of his praises. They had discussed china of all sorts, Carne had promised her a specimen which she had longed for all her life, but had never been able to obtain, and in return she had promised to show him the quaintly carved Indian casket in which the famous necklace, of which he had, of course, heard, spent most of its time. She would be wearing the jewels in question at her own ball in a week’s time, she informed him, and if he would care to see the case when it came from her bankers on that day, she would be only too pleased to show it to him.

As Simon Carne drove home in his luxurious brougham afterwards, he smiled to himself as he thought of the success which was attending his first endeavour. Two of the guests, who were stewards of the Jockey Club, had heard with delight his idea of purchasing a horse in order to have an interest in the Derby. While another, on hearing that he desired to become the possessor of a yacht, had offered to propose him for the R.C.Y.C. To crown it all, however, and much better than all, the Duchess of Wiltshire had promised to show him her famous diamonds.

“By this time next week,” he said to himself, “Liz’s interest should be considerably closer. But satisfactory as my progress has been hitherto it is difficult to see how I am to get possession of the stones. From what I have been able to discover they are only brought from the bank on the day the Duchess intends to wear them, and they are taken back by His Grace the morning following.

“While she has got them on her person it would be manifestly impossible to get them from her. And as, when she takes them off, they are returned to their box and placed in a safe, constructed in the wall of the bedroom adjoining, and which for the occasion is occupied by the butler and one of the under footmen, the only key being in the possession of the Duke himself, it would be equally foolish to hope to appropriate them. In what manner therefore I am to become their possessor passes my comprehension. However, one thing is certain, obtained they must be, and the attempt must be made on the night of the ball if possible. In the meantime I’ll set my wits to work upon a plan.”

Next day Simon Carne was the recipient of an invitation to the ball in question, and two days later he called upon the Duchess of Wiltshire at her residence in Belgrave Square with a plan prepared. He also took with him the small vase he had promised her four nights before. She received him most graciously, and their talk fell at once into the usual channel. Having examined her collection and charmed her by means of one or two judicious criticisms, he asked permission to include photographs of certain of her treasures in his forthcoming book, then little by little he skilfully guided the conversation on to the subject of jewels.

“Since we are discussing gems, Mr. Carne,” she said, “perhaps it would interest you to see my famous necklace. By good fortune I have it in the house now, for the reason that an alteration is being made to one of the clasps by my jewellers.”

“I should like to see it immensely,” answered Carne. “At one time and another I have had the good fortune to examine the jewels of the leading Indian Princes, and I should like to be able to say that I had seen the famous Wiltshire necklace.”

“Then you shall certainly have that honour,” she answered with a smile. “If you will ring that bell I will send for it.”

Carne rang the bell as requested, and when the butler entered he was given the key of the safe and ordered to bring the case to the drawing-room.

“We must not keep it very long,” she observed while the man was absent. “It is to be returned to the bank in an hour’s time.”

“I am indeed fortunate,” Carne replied, and turned to the description of some curious Indian wood carving, of which he was making a special feature in his book. As he explained, he had collected his illustrations from the doors of Indian temples, from the gateways of palaces, from old brass work, and even from carved chairs and boxes he had picked up in all sorts of odd corners. Her Grace was most interested.

“How strange that you should have mentioned it,” she said. “If carved boxes have any interest for you, it is possible my jewel case itself may be of use to you. As I think I told you during Lady Amberley’s dinner, it came from Benares, and has carved upon it the portraits of nearly every god in the Hindu Pantheon.”

“You raise my curiosity to fever heat,” said Carne.

A few moments later the servant returned, bringing with him a wooden box, about sixteen inches long, by twelve wide, and eight deep, which he placed upon a table beside his mistress, after which he retired.

“This is the case to which I have just been referring,” said the Duchess, placing her hand on the article in question. “If you glance at it you will see how exquisitely it is carved.”

Concealing his eagerness with an effort, Simon Carne drew his chair up to the table, and examined the box.

It was with justice she had described it as a work of art. What the wood was of which it was constructed Carne was unable to tell. It was dark and heavy, and, though it was not teak, closely resembled it. It was literally covered with quaint carving, and of its kind was a unique work of art.

“It is most curious and beautiful,” said Carne when he had finished his examination. “In all my experience I can safely say I have never seen its equal. If you will permit me I should very much like to include a description and an illustration of it in my book.”

“Of course you may do so; I shall be only too delighted,” answered Her Grace. “If it will help you in your work I shall be glad to lend it to you for a few hours in order that you may have the illustration made.”

This was exactly what Carne had been waiting for, and he accepted the offer with alacrity.

“Very well, then,” she said. “On the day of my ball, when it will be brought from the bank again, I will take the necklace out and send the case to you. I must make one proviso however, and that is that you let me have it back the same day.”

“I will certainly promise to do that,” replied Carne.

“And now let us look inside,” said his hostess.

Choosing a key from a bunch she carried in her pocket, she unlocked the casket, and lifted the lid. Accustomed as Carne had all his life been to the sight of gems, what he saw before him then almost took his breath away. The inside of the box, both sides and bottom, was quilted with the softest Russia leather, and on this luxurious couch reposed the famous necklace. The fire of the stones when the light caught them was sufficient to dazzle the eyes, so fierce was it.

As Carne could see, every gem was perfect of its kind, and there were no fewer than three hundred of them. The setting was a fine example of the jeweller’s art, and last, but not least, the value of the whole affair was fifty thousand pounds, a mere fleabite to the man who had given it to his wife, but a fortune to any humbler person.

“And now that you have seen my property, what do you think of it?” asked the Duchess as she watched her visitor’s face.

“It is very beautiful,” he answered, “and I do not wonder that you are proud of it. Yes, the diamonds are very fine, but I think it is their abiding place that fascinates me more. Have you any objection to my measuring it?”

“Pray do so, if it is likely to be of any assistance to you,” replied Her Grace.

Carne thereupon produced a small ivory rule, ran it over the box, and the figures he thus obtained he jotted down in his pocket book.

Ten minutes later, when the case had been returned to the safe, he thanked the Duchess for her kindness and took his departure, promising to call in person for the empty case on the morning of the ball.

Reaching home he passed into his study, and, seating himself at his writing table, pulled a sheet of note paper towards him and began to sketch, as well as he could remember it, the box he had seen. Then he leant back in his chair and closed his eyes.

“I have cracked a good many hard nuts in my time,” he said reflectively, “but never one that seemed so difficult at first sight as this. As far as I see at present, the case stands as follows: the box will be brought from the bank where it usually reposes to Wiltshire House on the morning of the dance. I shall be allowed to have possession of it, without the stones of course, for a period possibly extending from eleven o’clock in the morning to four or five, at any rate not later than seven, in the evening. After the ball the necklace will be returned to it, when it will be locked up in the safe, over which the butler and a footman will mount guard.

“To get into the room during the night is not only too risky, but physically out of the question; while to rob Her Grace of her treasure during the progress of the dance would be equally impossible. The Duke fetches the casket and takes it back to the bank himself, so that to all intents and purposes I am almost as far off the solution as ever.”

Half-an-hour went by and found him still seated at his desk, staring at the drawing on the paper, then an hour. The traffic of the streets rolled past the house unheeded. Finally Jowur Singh announced his carriage, and, feeling that an idea might come to him with a change of scene, he set off for a drive in the park.

By this time his elegant mail phaeton, with its magnificent horses and Indian servant on the seat behind, was as well-known as Her Majesty’s state equipage, and attracted almost as much attention. To-day, however, the fashionable world noticed that Simon Carne looked preoccupied. He was still working out his problem, but so far without much success. Suddenly something, no one will ever be able to say what, put an idea into his head. The notion was no sooner born in his brain than he left the park and drove quickly home. Ten minutes had scarcely elapsed before he was back in his study again, and had ordered that Wajib Baksh should be sent to him.

When the man he wanted put in an appearance, Carne handed him the paper upon which he had made the drawing of the jewel case.

“Look at that,” he said,” and tell me what thou seest there.”

“I see a box,” answered the man, who by this time was well accustomed to his master’s ways.

“As thou say’st, it is a box,” said Carne. “The wood is heavy and hick, though what wood it is I do not know. The measurements are upon the paper below. Within, both the sides and bottom are quilted with soft leather as I have also shown. Think now, Wajib Baksh, for in this case thou wilt need to have all thy wits about thee. Tell me is it in thy power, oh most cunning of all craftsmen, to insert such extra sides within this box that they, being held by a spring, shall lie so snug as not to be noticeable to the ordinary eye? Can it be so arranged that, when the box is locked, they shall fall flat upon the bottom thus covering and holding fast what lies beneath them, and yet making the box appear to the eye as if it were empty. Is it possible for thee to do such a thing?”

Wajib Baksh did not reply for a few moments. His instinct told him what his master wanted, and he was not disposed to answer hastily, for he also saw that his reputation as the most cunning craftsman in India was at stake.

“If the Heaven-born will permit me the night for thought,” he said at last, “I will come to him when he rises from his bed and tell him what I can do, and he can then give his orders as it pleases him.”

“Very good,” said Carne. “Then tomorrow morning I shall expect thy report. Let the work be good and there will be many rupees for thee to touch in return. As to the lock and the way it shall act, let that be the concern of Hiram Singh.”

Wajib Baksh salaamed and withdrew, and Simon Carne for the time being dismissed the matter from his mind.

Next morning, while he was dressing, Belton reported that the two artificers desired an interview with him. He ordered them to be admitted, and forthwith they entered the room. It was noticeable that Wajib Baksh carried in his hand a heavy box, which, upon Carne’s motioning him to do so, he placed upon the table.

“Have ye thought over the matter?” he asked, seeing that the men waited for him to speak.

“We have thought of it,” replied Hiram Singh, who always acted as spokesman for the pair. “If the Presence will deign to look he will see that we have made a box of the size and shape such as he drew upon the paper.”

“Yes, it is certainly a good copy,” said Carne condescendingly, after he had examined it.

Wajib Baksh showed his white teeth in appreciation of the compliment, and Hiram Singh drew closer to the table.

“And now, if the Sahib will open it, he will in his wisdom be able to tell if it resembles the other that he has in his mind.”

Carne opened the box as requested, and discovered that the interior was an exact counterfeit of the Duchess of Wiltshire’s jewel case, even to the extent of the quilted leather lining which had been the other’s principal feature. He admitted that the likeness was all that could be desired.

“As he is satisfied,” said Hiram Singh, “it may be that the Protector of the Poor will deign to try an experiment with it. See, here is a comb. Let it be placed in the box, so—now he will see what he will see.”

The broad, silver-backed comb, lying upon his dressing-table, was placed on the bottom of the box, the lid was closed, and the key turned in the lock. The case being securely fastened, Hiram Singh laid it before his master.

“I am to open it, I suppose?” said Carne, taking the key and replacing it in the lock.

“If my master pleases,” replied the other.

Carne accordingly turned it in the lock, and, having done so, raised the lid and looked inside. His astonishment was complete. To all intents and purposes the box was empty. The comb was not to be seen, and yet the quilted sides and bottom were, to all appearances, just the same as when he had first looked inside.

“This is most wonderful,” he said. And indeed it was as clever a conjuring trick as any he had ever seen.

“Nay, it is very simple,” Wajib Baksh replied. “The Heaven-born told me that there must be no risk of detection.”

He took the box in his own hands and, running his nails down the centre of the quilting, dividing the false bottom into two pieces; these he lifted out, revealing the comb lying upon the real bottom beneath.

“The sides, as my lord will see,” said Hiram Singh, taking a step forward, “are held in their appointed places by these two springs. Thus, when the key is turned the springs relax, and the sides are driven by others into their places on the bottom, where the seams in the quilting mask the join. There is but one disadvantage. It is as follows: When the pieces which form the bottom are lifted out in order that my lord may get at whatever lies concealed beneath, the springs must of necessity stand revealed. However, to anyone who knows sufficient of the working of the box to lift out the false bottom, it will be an easy matter to withdraw the springs and conceal them about his person.”

“As you say that is an easy matter,” said Carne, “and I shall not be likely to forget. Now one other question. Presuming I am in a position to put the real box into your hands for say eight hours, do you think that in that time you can fit it up so that detection will be impossible?”

“Assuredly, my lord,” replied Hiram Singh with conviction. “There is but the lock and the fitting of the springs to be done. Three hours at most would y suffice for that.”

“I am pleased with you,” said || Carne. “As a proof of my satisfaction, when the work is finished you will each receive five hundred rupees. Now you can go.”

According to his promise, ten o’clock on the Friday following found him in his hansom driving towards Belgrave Square. He was a little anxious, though the casual observer would scarcely have been able to tell it. The magnitude of the stake for which he was playing was enough to try the nerve of even such a past master in his profession as Simon Carne.

Arriving at the house he discovered some workmen erecting an awning across the footway in preparation for the ball that was to take place at night. It was not long, however, before he found himself in the boudoir, reminding Her Grace of her promise to permit him an opportunity of making a drawing of the famous jewel case. The Duchess was naturally busy, and within a quarter of an hour he was on his way home with the box placed on the seat of the carriage beside him.

“Now,” he said, as he patted it good-humouredly, “if only the notion worked out by Hiram Singh and Wajib Baksh holds good, the famous Wiltshire diamonds will become my property before very many hours are passed. By this time to-morrow, I suppose, London will be all agog concerning the burglary.”

On reaching his house he left his carriage and himself carried the box into his study. Once there he rang his bell and ordered Hiram Singh and Wajib Baksh to be sent to him. When they arrived he showed them the box upon which they were to exercise their ingenuity.

“Bring your tools in here,” he said, “and do the work under my own eyes. You have but nine hours before you, so you must make the most of them.”

The men went for their implements, and as soon as they were ready set to work. All through the day they were kept hard at it, with the result that by five o’clock the alterations had been effected and the case stood ready. By the time Carne returned from his afternoon drive in the Park it was quite prepared for the part it was to play in his scheme. Having praised the men, he turned them out and locked the door, then went across the room and unlocked a drawer in his writing table. From it he took a flat leather jewel case which he opened. It contained a necklace of counterfeit diamonds, if anything a little larger than the one he intended to try to obtain. He had purchased it that morning in the Burlington Arcade for the purpose of testing the apparatus his servants had made, and this he now proceeded to do.

Laying it carefully upon the bottom he closed the lid and turned the key. When he opened it again the necklace was gone, and even though he knew the secret he could not for the life of him see where the false bottom began and ended. After that he reset the trap and tossed the necklace carelessly in. To his delight it acted as well as on the previous occasion. He could scarcely contain his satisfaction. His conscience was sufficiently elastic to give him no trouble. To him it was scarcely a robbery he was planning, but an artistic trial of skill, in which he pitted his wits and cunning against the forces of society in general.

At half-past seven he dined and afterwards smoked a meditative cigar over the evening paper in the billiard room. The invitations to the ball were for ten o’clock, and at nine-thirty he went to his dressing-room.

“Make me tidy as quickly as you can,” he said to Belton when the latter appeared, “and while you are doing so listen to my final instructions.

“To-night, as you know, I am endeavouring to secure the Duchess of Wiltshire’s necklace. To-morrow morning all London will resound with the hubbub, and I have been making my plans in such a way as to arrange that Klimo shall be the first person consulted. When the messenger calls, if call he does, see that the old woman next door bids him tell the Duke to come personally at twelve o’clock. Do you understand?”

“Perfectly, sir.”

“Very good. Now give me the jewel case, and let me be on. You need not sit up for me.”

Precisely as the clocks in the neighbourhood were striking ten Simon Carne reached Belgrave Square, and, as he hoped, found himself the first guest.

His hostess and her husband received him in the ante-room of the drawing-room.

“I come laden with a thousand apologies,” he said as he took Her Grace’s hand, and bent over it with that ceremonious politeness which was one of the man’s chief characteristics. “I am most unconscionably early, I know, but I hastened here in order that I might personally return the jewel case you so kindly lent me. I must trust to your generosity to forgive me. The drawings took longer than I expected.”

“Please do not apologise,” answered Her Grace. “It is very kind of you to have brought the case yourself. I hope the illustrations have proved successful. I shall look forward to seeing them as soon as they are ready. But I am keeping you holding the box. One of my servants will take it to my room.”

She called a footman to her and bade him take the box and place it upon her dressing-table.

“Before it goes I must let you see that I have not damaged it either externally or internally,” said Carne with a laugh. “It is such a valuable case that I should never forgive myself if it had even received a scratch during the time it has been in my possession.”

So saying he lifted the lid and allowed her to look inside. To all appearance it was exactly the same as when she had lent it to him earlier in the day.

“You have been most careful,” she said. And then, with an air of banter, she continued: “If you desire it I shall be pleased to give you a certificate to that effect.”

They jested in this fashion for a few moments after the servant’s departure, during which time Carne promised to call upon her the following morning at eleven o’clock, and to bring with him the illustrations he had made and a queer little piece of china he had had the good fortune to pick up in a dealer’s shop the previous afternoon. By this time fashionable London was making its way up the grand staircase, and with its appearance further conversation became impossible.

Shortly after midnight Carne bade his hostess good night and slipped away. He was perfectly satisfied with his evening’s entertainment, and if the key of the jewel case were not turned before the jewels were placed in it, he was convinced they would become his property. It speaks well for his strength of nerve when I record the fact that on going to bed his slumbers were as peaceful and untroubled as those of a little child.

Breakfast was scarcely over next morning before a hansom drew up at his front door and Lord Amberley alighted. He was ushered into Carne’s presence forthwith, and on seeing that the latter was surprised at his early visit, hastened to explain.

“My dear fellow,” he said as he took possession of the chair the other offered him, “I have come round to see you on most important business. As I told you last night at the dance, when you so kindly asked me to come and see the steam yacht you have purchased, I had an appointment with Wiltshire at half-past nine this morning. On reaching Belgrave Square, I found the whole house in confusion. Servants were running hither and thither with scared faces, the butler was on the borders of lunacy, the Duchess was well-nigh hysterical in her boudoir, while her husband was in his study vowing vengeance against all the world.”

“You alarm me,” said Carne, lighting a cigarette with a hand that was as steady as a rock. “What on earth has happened?”

“I think I might safely allow you fifty guesses and then wager a hundred pounds you’d not hit the mark; and yet in a certain measure it concerns you.”

“Concerns me? Good gracious. What have I done to bring all this about?’

“Pray do not look so alarmed,” said Amberley. “Personally you have done nothing. Indeed, on second thoughts, I don’t know that I am right in saying that it concerns you at all. The fact of the matter is, Carne, a burglary took place last night at Wiltshire House, and the famous necklace has disappeared, “

“Good Heavens! You don’t say so?”

“But I do. The circumstances of the case are as follows: When my cousin retired to her room last night after the ball, she unclasped the necklace, and, in her husband’s presence, placed it carefully in her jewel case, which she locked. That having been done, Wiltshire took the box to the room which contained the safe, and himself placed it there, locking the iron door with his own key. The room was occupied that night, according to custom, by the butler and one of the footmen, both of whom have been in the family since they were boys.

“Next morning, after breakfast, the Duke unlocked the safe and took out the box, intending to convey it to the Bank as usual. Before leaving, however, he placed it on his study-table and went upstairs to speak to his wife. He cannot remember exactly how long he was absent, but he feels convinced that he was not gone more than a quarter of an hour at the very utmost.

“Their conversation finished, she accompanied him downstairs, where she saw him take up the case to carry it to his carriage. Before he left the house, however, she said: “I suppose you have looked to see that the necklace is all right?’ ‘How could I do so?’ was his reply. ‘You know you possess the only key that will fit it.’

“She felt in her pockets, but to her surprise the key was not there.”

“If I were a detective I should say that that is a point to be remembered,” said Carne with a smile. “Pray, where did she find her keys?”

“Upon her dressing-table,” said Amberley. “Though she has not the slightest recollection of leaving them there.”

“Well, when she had procured the keys, what happened?”

“Why, they opened the box, and to their astonishment and dismay, found it empty. The jewels were gone!”

“Good gracious. What a terrible loss! It seems almost impossible that it can be true. And pray, what did they do?”

“At first they stood staring into the empty box, hardly believing the evidence of their own eyes. Stare how they would, however, they could not bring them back. The jewels had without doubt disappeared, but when and where the robbery had taken place it was impossible to say. After that they had up all the servants and questioned them, but the result was what they might have foreseen, no one from the butler to the kitchenmaid could throw any light upon the subject. To this minute it remains as great a mystery as when they first discovered it.”

“I am more concerned than I can tell you,” said Carne. “How thankful I ought to be that I returned the case to Her Grace last night. But in thinking of myself I am forgetting to ask what has brought you to me. If I can be of any assistance I hope you will command me.”

“Well, I’ll tell you why I have come,” replied Lord Amberley. “Naturally they are most anxious to have the mystery solved and the jewels recovered as soon as possible. Wiltshire wanted to send to Scotland Yard there and then, but his wife and I eventually persuaded him to consult Klimo. As you know, if the police authorities are called in first he refuses the business altogether. Now, we thought, as you are his next door neighbour, you might possibly be able to assist us.”

“You may be very sure, my lord, I will do everything that lies in my power. Let us go in and see him at once.”

As he spoke he rose and threw what remained of his cigarette into the fireplace. His visitor having imitated his example, they procured their hats and walked round from Park Lane into Belverton Street to bring up at No. 1. After they had rung the bell the door was opened to them by the old woman who invariably received the detective’s clients.

“Is Mr. Klimo at home?” asked Carne. “And, if so, can we see him?”

The old lady was a little deaf, and the question had to be repeated before she could be made to understand what was wanted. As soon, however, as she realised their desire she informed them that her master was absent from town, but would be back as usual at twelve o’clock to meet his clients.

“What on earth’s to be done?” said the Earl, looking at his companion in dismay. “I am afraid I can’t come back again, as I have a most important appointment at that hour.”

“Do you think you could intrust the business to me?” asked Carne. “If so, I will make a point of seeing him at twelve o’clock, and could call at Wiltshire House afterwards and tell the Duke what I have done.”

“That’s very good of you,” replied Amberley. “If you are sure it would not put you to too much trouble, that would be quite the best thing to be done.”

“I will do it with pleasure,” Carne replied. “I feel it my duty to help in whatever way I can.”

“You are very kind,” said the other. “Then, as I understand it, you are to call upon Klimo at twelve o’clock, and afterwards to let my cousins know what you have succeeded in doing. I only hope he will help us to secure the thief. We are having too many of these burglaries just now. I must catch this hansom and be off. Goodbye, and many thanks.”

“Goodbye,” said Carne, and shook him by the hand.

The hansom having rolled away, Carne retraced his steps to his own abode.

“It is really very strange,” he muttered as he walked along, “how often chance condescends to lend her assistance to my little schemes. The mere fact that His Grace left the box unwatched in his study for a quarter of an hour may serve to throw the police off on quite another scent. I am also glad that they decided to open the case in the house, for if it had gone to the bankers’ and had been placed in the strong room unexamined, I should never have been able to get possession of the jewels at all.”

Three hours later he drove to Wiltshire House and saw the Duke. The Duchess was far too much upset by the catastrophe to see anyone.

“This is really most kind of you, Mr. Carne,” said His Grace when the other had supplied an elaborate account of his interview with Klimo. “We are extremely indebted to you. I am sorry he cannot come before ten o’clock to-night, and that he makes this stipulation of my seeing him alone, for I must confess I should like to have had someone else present to ask any questions that might escape me. But if that’s his usual hour and custom, well, we must abide by it, that’s all. I hope he will do some good, for this is the greatest calamity that has ever befallen me. As I told you just now, it has made my wife quite ill. She is confined to her bedroom and quite hysterical.”

“You do not suspect anyone, I suppose,” inquired Carne.

“Not a soul,” the other answered. “The thing is such a mystery that we do not know what to think. I feel convinced, however, that my servants are as innocent as I am. Nothing will ever make me think them otherwise. I wish I could catch the fellow, that’s all. I’d make him suffer for the trick he’s played me.”

Carne offered an appropriate reply, and after a little further conversation upon the subject, bade the irate nobleman goodbye and left the house. From Belgrave Square he drove to one of the clubs of which he had been elected a member, in search of Lord Orpington, with whom he had promised to lunch, and afterwards took him to a ship-builder’s yard near Greenwich in order to show him the steam yacht he had lately purchased.

It was close upon dinner time before he returned to his own residence. He brought Lord Orpington with him, and they dined in state together. At nine the latter bade him good-bye, and at ten Carne retired to his dressing-room and rang for Belton.

“What have you to report,” he asked, “with regard to what I bade you do in Belgrave Square?”

“I followed your instructions to the letter,” Belton replied. “Yesterday morning I wrote to Messrs. Horniblow and Jimson, the house agents in Piccadilly, in the name of Colonel Braithwaite, and asked for an order to view the residence to the right of Wiltshire House. I asked that the order might be sent direct to the house, where the Colonel would get it upon his arrival. This letter I posted myself in Basingstoke, as you desired me to do.

“At nine o’clock yesterday morning I dressed myself as much like an elderly army officer as possible, and took a cab to Belgrave Square. The caretaker, an old fellow of close upon seventy years of age, admitted me immediately upon hearing my name, and proposed that he should show me over the house. This, however, I told him was quite unnecessary, backing my speech with a present of half-a-crown, whereupon he returned to his breakfast perfectly satisfied, while I wandered about the house at my own leisure.

“Reaching the same floor as that upon which is situated the room in which the Duke’s safe is kept, I discovered that your supposition was quite correct, and that it would be possible for a man, by opening the window, to make his way along the coping from one house to the other, without being seen. I made certain that there was no one in the bedroom in which the butler slept, and then arranged the long telescope walking stick you gave me, and fixed one of my boots to it by means of the screw in the end. With this I was able to make a regular succession of footsteps in the dust along the ledge, between one window and the other.

“That done, I went downstairs again, bade the caretaker good morning, and got into my cab. From Belgrave Square I drove to the shop of the pawnbroker whom you told me you had discovered was out of town. His assistant inquired my business and was anxious to do what he could for me. I told him, however, that I must see his master personally as it was about the sale of some diamonds I had had left me. I pretended to be annoyed that he was not at home, and muttered to myself, so that the man could hear, something about its meaning a journey to Amsterdam.

“Then I limped out of the shop, paid off my cab, and, walking down a bystreet, removed my moustache, and altered my appearance by taking off my great coat and muffler. A few streets further on I purchased a bowler hat in place of the old-fashioned topper I had hitherto been wearing, and then took a cab from Piccadilly and came home.”

“You have fulfilled my instructions admirably,” said Carne. “And if the business comes off, as I expect it will, you shall receive your usual percentage. Now I must be turned into Klimo and be off to Belgrave Square to put His Grace of Wiltshire upon the track of this burglar.”

Before he retired to rest that night Simon Carne took something, wrapped in a red silk handkerchief, from the capacious pocket of the coat Klimo had been wearing a few moments before. Having unrolled the covering, he held up to the light the magnificent necklace which for so many years had been the joy and pride of the ducal house of Wiltshire. The electric light played upon it, and touched it with a thousand different hues.

“Where so many have failed,” he said to himself, as he wrapped it in the handkerchief again and locked it in his safe, “it is pleasant to be able to congratulate oneself on having succeeded. It is without its equal, and I don’t think I shall be overstepping the mark if I say that I think when she receives it Liz will be glad she lent me the money.”

Next morning all London was astonished by the news that the famous Wiltshire diamonds had been stolen, and a few hours later Carne learnt from an evening paper that the detectives who had taken up the case, upon the supposed retirement from it of Klimo, were still completely at fault.

That evening he was to entertain several friends to dinner. They included Lord Amberley, Lord Orpington, and a prominent member of the Privy Council. Lord Amberley arrived late, but filled to overflowing with importance. His friends noticed his state, and questioned him.

“Well, gentlemen,” he answered, as he took up a commanding position upon the drawing-room hearthrug, “I am in a position to inform you that Klimo has reported upon the case, and the upshot of it is that the Wiltshire Diamond Mystery is a mystery no longer.”

“What do you mean?” asked the others in a chorus.

“I mean that he sent in his report to Wiltshire this afternoon, as arranged. From what he said the other night, after being alone in the room with the empty jewel case and a magnifying glass for two minutes or so, he was in a position to describe the modus operandi, and what is more to put the police on the scent of the burglar.”

“And how was it worked?” asked Carne.

“From the empty house next door,” replied the other. “On the morning of the burglary a man, purporting to be a retired army officer, called with an order to view, got the caretaker out of the way, clambered along to Wiltshire House by means of the parapet outside, reached the room during the time the servants were at breakfast, opened the safe, and abstracted the jewels.”

“But how did Klimo find all this out?” asked Lord Orpington.

“By his own inimitable cleverness,” replied Lord Amberley. “At any rate it has been proved that he was correct. The man did make his way from next door, and the police have since discovered that an individual, answering to the description given, visited a pawnbroker’s shop in the city about an hour later and stated that he had diamonds to sell.”

“If that is so it turns out to be a very simple mystery after all,” said Lord Orpington as they began their meal.

“Thanks to the ingenuity of the cleverest detective in the world,” remarked Amberley.

“In that case here’s a good health to Klimo,” said the Privy Councillor, raising his glass.

“I will join you in that,” said Simon Carne. “Here’s a very good health to Klimo and his connection with the Duchess of Wiltshire’s diamonds. May he always be equally successful! “

“Hear, hear to that,” replied his guests.

An Imperial Finale

OF all the functions that ornament the calendar of the English social and sporting year, surely the Cowes week may claim to rank as one of the greatest, or at least the most enjoyable. So thought Simon Carne as he sat on the deck of Lord Tremorden’s yacht, anchored off the mouth of the Medina River, smoking his cigarette and whispering soft nothings into the little shell-like ear of Lady Mabel Madderley, the lady of all others who had won the right to be considered the beauty of the past season. It was a perfect afternoon, and, as if to fill his flagon of enjoyment to the very brim, he had won the Queen’s Cup with his yacht The Unknown Quantity only half-an-hour before. Small wonder, therefore, that he was contented with his lot in life, and his good fortune of that afternoon in particular.

The tiny harbour was crowded with shipping of all sorts, shapes, and sizes, including the guardship, his Imperial Majesty the Emperor of Westphalia’s yacht the Hohenszrallas, the English Royal yachts, steam yachts, schooners, cutters, and all the various craft taking part in England’s greatest water carnival. Steam launches darted hither and thither, smartly equipped gigs conveyed gaily dressed parties from vessel to vessel, while, ashore, the little town itself was alive with bunting, and echoed to the strains of almost continuous music.

“Surely you ought to consider yourself a very happy man, Mr. Carne,” said Lady Mabel Madderley, with a smile, in reply to a speech of the other’s. “You won the Derby in June, and to-day you have appropriated the Queen’s Cup.”

“If such things constitute happiness, I suppose I must be in the seventh Heaven of Delight,” answered Carne, as he took another cigarette from his case and lit it. “All the same, I am insatiable enough to desire still greater fortune. When one has set one’s heart upon winning something, besides which the Derby and the Queen’s Cup are items scarcely worth considering, one is rather apt to feel that fortune has still much to give.”

“I am afraid I do not quite grasp your meaning,” she said. But there was a look in her face that told him that, if she did not understand, she could at least make a very good guess. According to the world’s reckoning, he was quite the best fish then swimming in the matrimonial pond, and some people, for the past few weeks, had even gone so far as to say that she had hooked him. It could not be denied that he had been paying her unmistakable attention of late.

What answer he would have vouchsafed to her speech it is impossible to say, for at that moment their host came along the deck towards them. He carried a note in his hand.

“I have just received a message to say that his Imperial Majesty is going to honour us with a visit,” he said, when he reached them. “If I mistake not, that is his launch coming towards us now.”

Lady Mabel and Simon Carne rose and accompanied him to the starboard bulwarks. A smart white launch, with the Westphalian flag flying at her stern, had left the Royal yacht and was steaming quickly towards them. A few minutes later it had reached the companion ladder, and Lord Tremorden had descended to welcome his Royal guest. When they reached the deck together, his Majesty shook hands with Lady Tremorden, and afterwards with Lady Mabel and Simon Carne.

“I must congratulate you most heartily, Mr. Carne,” he said, “on your victory to-day. You gave us an excellent race, and though I had the misfortune to be beaten by thirty seconds, still I have the satisfaction of knowing that the winner was a better boat in every way than my own.”

“Your Majesty adds to the sweets of victory by your generous acceptance of defeat,” Carne replied. “But I must confess that I owe my success in no way to my own ability. The boat was chosen for me by another, and I have not even the satisfaction of saying that I sailed her myself.”

“Nevertheless she is your property, and you will go down to posterity famous in yachting annals as the winner of the Queen’s Cup in this justly celebrated year.”

With this compliment his Majesty turned to his hostess and entered into conversation with her, leaving his aide-de-camp free to discuss the events of the day with Lady Mabel. When he took his departure half-an-hour later, Carne also bade his friends goodbye, and, descending to his boat, was rowed away to his own beautiful steam yacht, which was anchored a few cables’ length away from the Imperial craft. He was to dine on board the latter vessel that evening.

On gaining the deck he was met by Belton, his valet, who carried a telegram in his hand. As soon as he received it, Carne opened it and glanced at the contents, without, however, betraying very much interest.

An instant later the expression upon his face changed like magic. Still holding the message in his hand, he turned to Belton.

“Come below,” he said quickly. “There is news enough here to give us something to think of for hours to come.”

Reaching the saloon, which was decorated with all the daintiness of the upholsterer’s art, he led the way to the cabin he had arranged as a study. Having entered it, he shut and locked the door.

“It’s all up, Belton,” he said. “The comedy has lasted long enough, and now it only remains for us to speak the tag, and after that to ring the curtain down as speedily as may be.”

“I am afraid, sir, I do not quite take your meaning,” said Belton. “Would you mind telling me what has happened?”

“I can do that in a very few words,” the other answered. “This cablegram is from Trincomalee Liz, and was dispatched from Bombay yesterday. Read it for yourself.”

He handed the paper to his servant, who read it carefully, aloud:

To CARNE, Porchester House, Park Lane, London.—Bradfield left fortnight since. Have ascertained that you are the object. TRINCOMALEE.

“This is very serious, sir,” said the other, when he had finished.

“As you say, it is very serious indeed,” Carne replied. “Bradfield thinks he has caught me at last, I suppose; but he seems to forget that it is possible for me to be as clever as himself. Let me look at the message again. Left a fortnight ago, did he? Then I’ve still a little respite. By Jove, if that’s the case, I’ll see that I make the most of it.”

“But surely, sir, you will leave at once,” said Belton quickly. “If this man, who has been after us so long, is now more than half way to England, coming with the deliberate intention of running you to earth, surely, sir, you’ll see the advisability of making your escape while you have time.”

Carne smiled indulgently.

“Of course I shall escape, my good Belton,” he said. “You have never known me neglect to take proper precautions yet; but before I go I must do one more piece of business. It must be something by the light of which all 1 have hitherto accomplished will look like nothing. Something really great, that will make England open its eyes as it has not done yet.”

Belton stared at him, this time in undisguised amazement.

“Do you mean to tell me, sir,” he said with the freedom of a privileged servant, “that you intend to run another risk, when the only man who knows sufficient of your career to bring you to book is certain to be in England in less than a fortnight? I cannot believe that you would be so foolish, sir. I beg of you to think what you are doing.”

Carne, however, paid but small attention to his servant’s intreaties.

“The difficulty,” he said to himself, speaking his thoughts aloud, “is to understand quite what to do. I seem to have used up all my big chances. However, I’ll think it over, and it will be strange if I don’t hit upon something. In the meantime, Belton, you had better see that preparations are made for leaving England on Friday next. Tell the skipper to have everything ready. We shall have done our work by that time; then hey for the open sea and freedom from the trammels of a society life once more. You might drop a hint or two to certain people that I am going, but be more than careful what you say. Write to the agents about Porchester House, and attend to all the other necessary details. You may leave me now.”

Belton bowed, and left the cabin without another word. He knew his master sufficiently well to feel certain that neither intreaties nor expostulations would make him abandon the course he had mapped out for himself. That being so, he bowed to the inevitable with a grace which had now become a habit to him.

When he was alone, Carne once more sat for upwards of an hour in earnest thought. He then ordered his gig, and, when it was ready, set out for the shore. Making his way to the telegraph office, he dispatched a message which at any other, and less busy, time would have caused the operator some astonishment. It was addressed to a Mahommedan dealer in precious stones in Bombay, and contained only two words in addition to the signature. They were;

“Leaving—come.”

He knew that they would reach the person for whom they were intended; and that she would understand their meaning and act accordingly.

The dinner that night on board the Imperial yacht Hohenszrallas was a gorgeous affair in every sense of the word. All the principal yacht owners were present, and, at the conclusion of the banquet, Carne’s health, as winner of the great event of the regatta, was proposed by the Emperor himself, and drunk amid enthusiastic applause. It was a proud moment for the individual in question, but bore his honours with that quiet dignity that had stood him in such good stead on so many similar occasions. In his speech he referred to his approaching departure from England, and this, the first inkling of such news, came upon his audience like a thunder-clap. When they had taken leave of his Majesty soon after midnight, and were standing on deck, waiting for their respective boats to draw up to the accommodation ladder, Lord Orpington made his way to where Simon Carne was standing.

“Is it really true that you intend leaving us so soon?” he asked.

“Quite true, unfortunately,” Carne replied. “I had hoped to have remained longer, but circumstances over which I have no control make it imperative that I should return to India without delay. Business that exercises a vital influence upon my fortunes compels me. I am therefore obliged to leave without fail on Friday next. I have given orders to that effect this afternoon.”

“I am extremely sorry to hear it, that’s all I can say,” said Lord Amberley, who had just come up. “I assure you we shall all miss you very much indeed.”

“You have all been extremely kind,” said Carne, “and I have to thank you for an exceedingly pleasant time. But, there, let us postpone consideration of the matter for as long as possible. I think this is my boat. Won’t you let me take you as far as your own yacht?”

“Many thanks, but I don’t think we need trouble you,” said Lord Orpington. “I see my gig is just behind yours.”

“In that case, good night,” said Carne. “I shall see you, as arranged, to-morrow morning, I suppose?”

“At eleven,” said Lord Amberley. We’ll call for you and go ashore together. Good night.”

By the time Carne had reached his yacht he had made up his mind. He had also: hit upon a scheme, the daring of which almost frightened himself. If only he could bring it off, he told himself, it would be indeed a fitting climax to all he had accomplished since he had arrived in England. Retiring to his cabin, he allowed Belton to assist him in his preparations for the night almost without speaking. It was not until the other was about to leave the cabin that he broached the subject that was occupying his mind to the exclusion of all else.

“Belton,” he said, “I have decided upon the greatest scheme that has come into my mind yet. If Simon Carne is going to say farewell to the English people on Friday next, and it succeeds, he will leave them a legacy to think about for some time after he has gone.”

“You are surely not going to attempt anything further, sir,” said Belton in alarm. “I did hope, sir, that you would have listened to my intreaties this afternoon.”

“It was impossible for me to do so,” said Carne. “I am afraid, Belton, you are a little lacking in ambition. I have noticed that on the last three occasions you have endeavoured to dissuade me from my endeavours to promote the healthy excitement of the English reading public. On this occasion fortunately I am able to withstand you. To-morrow morning you will commence preparations for the biggest piece of work to which I have yet put my hand.”

“If you have set your mind upon doing it, sir, I am quite aware that it is hopeless for me to say anything,” said Belton resignedly. “May I know, however, what it is going to be?”

Carne paused for a moment before he replied.

“I happen to know that the Emperor of Westphalia, whose friendship I have the honour to claim,” he said, “has a magnificent collection of gold plate on board his yacht. It is my intention, if possible, to become the possessor of it.”

“Surely that will be impossible, sir*” said Belton. “Clever as you undoubtedly are in arranging these things, I do not see how you can do it. A ship at the best of times is such a. public place, and they will be certain to guard it very closely.”

“I must confess that at first glance I do not quite see how it is to be managed, but I have a scheme in my head which I think may possibly enable me to effect my purpose. At my rate, I shall be able to tell you more about it to-morrow. First, let us try a little experiment.”

As he spoke he seated himself at his dressing-table, and bade Belton bring him a box which had hitherto been standing in a corner. When he opened it, it proved to be a pretty little cedar-wood affair divided into a number of small compartments, each of which contained crepe hair of a different colour. Selecting a small portion from one particular compartment, he unravelled it until tie had obtained the length he wanted, and then with dexterous fingers constructed a moustache, which he attached with spirit gum to his upper lip. Two or three twirls gave it the necessary curl, then with a pair of ivory-backed brushes taken from his dressing-table he brushed his hair back in a peculiar manner, placed a hat of uncommon shape upon his head, took a heavy boat cloak from a cupboard near at hand, threw it round his shoulders, and, assuming an almost defiant expression, faced Belton, and desired him to tell him whom he resembled.

Familiar as he was with his master’s marvellous power of disguise and his extraordinary faculty of imitation, the latter could not refrain from expressing his astonishment.

“His Imperial Majesty the Emperor of Westphalia,” he said. “The likeness is perfect.”

“Good,” said Carne. “From that exhibition you will gather something of my plan. To-morrow evening, as you are aware, I am invited to meet his Majesty, who is to dine ashore accompanied by his aide-de-camp, Count Von Walzburg. Here is the latter’s photograph. He possesses, as you know, a very decided personality, which is all in our favour. Study it carefully.”

So saying, he took from a drawer a photograph, which he propped against the looking-glass on the dressing-table before him. It represented a tall, military-looking individual with bristling eyebrows, a large nose, a heavy grey moustache, and hair of the same colour. Belton examined it carefully.

“I can only suppose, sir,” he said, “that, as you are telling me this, you intend me to represent Count Von Walzburg.”

“Exactly,” said Carne. “That is my intention. It should not be at all difficult. The Count is just your height and build. You will only need the moustache, the eyebrows, the grey hair, and the large nose to look the part exactly. To-morrow will be a dark night, and, if only I can control circumstances sufficiently to obtain the chance I want, detection, in the first part of our scheme at any rate, should be most unlikely, if not almost impossible.”

“You’ll excuse my saying so, I hope, sir,” said Belton, “but it seems a very risky game to play when we have done so well up to the present.”

“You must admit that the glory will be the greater, my friend, if we succeed.”

“But surely, sir, as I said just now, they keep the plate you mention in a secure place, and have it properly guarded.”

“I have made the fullest inquiries, you may be sure. It is kept in a safe in the chief steward’s cabin, and, while it is on board, a sentry is always on duty at the door. Yes, all things considered, I should say it is kept in a remarkably secure place.”

“Then, sir, I’m still at a loss to see how you are going to obtain possession of it.”

Carne smiled indulgently. It pleased him to see how perplexed his servant was.

“In the simplest manner possible,” he said, “provided always that I can get on board the yacht without my identity being questioned. The manner in which we are to leave the vessel will be rather more dangerous, but not sufficiently so to cause us any great uneasiness. You are a good swimmer, I know, so that a hundred yards should not hurt you. You must also have a number of stout canvas sacks, say six, prepared, and securely attached to each the same number of strong lines; the latter must be fifty fathoms long, and have at the end of each a stout swivel hook. The rest—is only a matter of detail. Now, what have you arranged with regard to matters in town?”

“I have fulfilled your instructions, sir, to the letter,” said Belton. “I have communicated with the agents who act for the owner of Porchester House. I have caused an advertisement to be inserted in all the papers to-morrow morning to the effect that the renowned detective, Klimo, will be unable to meet his clients for at least a month, owing to the fact that he has accepted an important engagement upon the Continent, which will take him from home for that length of time. I have negotiated the sale of the various horses you have in training, and I have also arranged for the disposal of the animals and carriages you have now in use in London. Ram Gafur and the other native servants at Porchester House will come down by the midday train to-morrow, but, before they do so, they will fulfil your instructions and repair the hole in the wall between the two houses. I cannot think of any more, sir.”

“You have succeeded admirably, my dear Belton,” said Carne, “and I am very pleased. To-morrow you had better see that a paragraph is inserted in all the daily papers announcing the fact that it is my intention to leave England for India immediately, on important private business. I think that will do for to-night.”

Belton tidied the cabin, and, having done so, bade his master good-night. It was plain that he was exceedingly nervous about the success of the enterprise upon which Carne was embarking so confidently. The latter, on the other hand, retired to rest and slept as peacefully as if he had not a care or an anxiety upon his mind.

Next morning he was up by sunrise, and, by the time his friends Lords Opington and Amberley were thinking about breakfast, had put the finishing touches to the scheme which was to bring his career in England to such a fitting termination.

According to the arrangement entered into on the previous day, his friends called for him at eleven o’clock, when they went ashore together. It was a lovely morning, and Carne was in the highest spirits. They visited the Castle together, made some purchases in the town, and then went off to lunch on board Lord Orpington’s yacht. It was well-nigh three o’clock before Carne bade his host and hostess farewell, and descended the gangway in order to return to his own vessel. A brisk sea was running, and for this reason to step into the boat was an exceedingly difficult, if not a dangerous, matter. Either he miscalculated his distance, or he must have jumped at the wrong moment; at any rate, he missed his footing, and fell heavily on to the bottom. Scarcely a second, however, had elapsed before his coxswain had sprung to his assistance, and had lifted him up on to the seat in the stern. It was then discovered that he had been unfortunate enough to once more give a nasty twist to the ankle which had brought him to such grief when he had been staying at Greenthorpe Park on the occasion of the famous wedding.

“My dear fellow, I am so sorry,” said Lord Orpington, who had witnessed the accident. “Won’t you come on board again? If you can’t walk up the ladder we can easily hoist you over the side.”

“Many thanks,” replied Carne, “but I think I can manage to get back to my own boat. It is better I should do so. My man has had experience of my little ailments, and knows exactly what is best to be done under such circumstances; but it is a terrible nuisance, all the same. I’m afraid it will be impossible for me now to be present at his Royal Highness’s dinner this evening, and I have been looking forward to it so much.”

“We shall all be exceedingly sorry,” said Lord Amberley. “I shall come across in the afternoon to see how you are.”

“You are very kind,” said Carne, “and I shall be immensely glad to see you if you can spare the time.”

With that he gave the signal to his men to push off. By the time he reached his own yacht his foot was so painful that it was necessary for him to be lifted on board—a circumstance which was duly noticed by the occupants of all the surrounding yachts, who had brought their glasses to bear upon him. Once below in his saloon, he was placed in a comfortable chair and left to Belton’s careful attention.

“I trust you have not hurt yourself very much, sir,” said that faithful individual, who, however, could not prevent a look of satisfaction coming into his face, which seemed to say that he was not ill-pleased that his master would, after all, be prevented from carrying out the hazardous scheme he had proposed to him the previous evening.

In reply, Carne sprang to his feet without showing a trace of lameness.

“My dear Belton, how peculiarly dense you are to-day,” he said, with a smile, as he noticed the other’s amazement. “Cannot you see that I have only been acting as you yourself wished I should do early this morning-namely, taking precautions? Surely you must see that, if I am laid up on board my yacht with a sprained ankle, society will say. that it is quite impossible for me to be doing any mischief elsewhere. Now, tell me, is everything prepared for to-night?”

“Everything, sir,” Belton replied. “The dresses and wigs are ready. The canvas sacks, and the lines to which the spring hooks are attached, are in your cabin awaiting your inspection. As far as I can see, everything is prepared, and I hope will meet with your satisfaction.”

“If you are as careful as usual, I feel sure it will,” said Carne. “Now get some bandages and make this foot of mine up into as artistic a bundle as you possibly can. After that help me on deck and prop me up in a chair. As soon as my accident gets known there will be certain to be shoals of callers on board, and I must play my part as carefully as possible.”

As Carne had predicted, this proved to be true. From half-past three until well after six o’clock a succession of boats drew up at his accommodation ladder, and the sufferer on deck was the recipient of as much attention as would have flattered the vainest of men. He had been careful to send a letter of apology to the illustrious individual who was to have been his host, expressing his sincere regrets that the accident which had so unfortunately befallen him would prevent the possibility of his being able to be present at the dinner he was giving that evening.

Day closed in and found the sky covered with heavy clouds. Towards eight o’clock a violent storm of rain fell, and when Carne heard it beating upon the deck above his cabin, and reflected that in consequence the night would in all probability be dark, he felt that his lucky star was indeed in the ascendant.

At half-past eight he retired to his cabin with Belton in order to prepare for the events of the evening. Never before had he paid such careful attention to his make-up. He knew that on this occasion the least carelessness might lead to detection, and he had no desire that his last and greatest exploit should prove his undoing.

It was half-past nine before he and his servant had dressed and were ready to set off. Then, placing broad-brimmed hats upon their heads, and carrying a portmanteau containing the cloaks and headgear which they were to wear later in the evening, they went on deck and descended into the dinghy which was waiting for them alongside. In something under a quarter of an hour they had been put ashore in a secluded spot, had changed their costumes, and were walking boldly down beside the water towards the steps where they could see the Imperial launch still waiting. Her crew were lolling about, joking and laughing, secure in the knowledge that it would be some hours at least before their Sovereign would be likely to require their services again.

Their astonishment, therefore, may well be imagined when they saw approaching them the two men whom they had only half-an-hour before brought ashore. Stepping in and taking his seat under the shelter, his Majesty ordered them to convey him back to the yacht with all speed. The accent and voice were perfect, and it never for an instant struck any one on board the boat that a deception was being practised. Carne, however, was aware that this was only a preliminary; the most dangerous portion of the business was yet to come.

On reaching the yacht, he sprang out on the ladder, followed by his aide-de-camp, Von Walzburg, and mounted the steps. His disguise must have been perfect indeed, for when he reached the deck he found himself face to face with the first lieutenant, who, on seeing him, saluted respectfully. For a moment Carne’s presence of mind almost deserted him; then, seeing that he was not discovered, he determined upon a bold piece of bluff. Returning the officer’s salute with just the air he had seen the Emperor use, he led him to suppose that he had important reasons for coming on board so soon, and, as if to back this assertion up, bade him send the chief steward to his cabin, and at the same time have the sentry removed from his door and placed at the end of the large saloon, with instructions to allow no one to pass until he was communicated with again.

The officer saluted and went off on his errand, while Carne, signing to Belton to follow him, made his way down the companion ladder to the Royal cabins. To both the next few minutes seemed like hours. Reaching the Imperial state room, they entered it and closed the door behind. Provided the sentry obeyed his orders, which there was no reason to doubt he would do, and the Emperor himself did not return until they were safely off the vessel again, there seemed every probability of their being able to carry out their scheme without a hitch.

“Put those bags under the table, and unwind the lines and place them in the gallery outside the window. They won’t be seen there,” said Carne to Belton, who was watching him from the doorway. “Then stand by, for in a few minutes the chief steward will be here. As soon as he enters you must manage to get between him and the door, and, while I am engaging him in conversation, spring on him, clutch him by the throat, and hold him until I can force this gag into his mouth. After that we shall be safe for some time at least, for not a soul will come this way until they discover their mistake. It seems to me we ought to thank our stars that the chief steward’s cabin was placed in such a convenient position. But hush, here comes the individual we want. Be ready to collar him as soon as I hold up my hand. If he makes a sound we are lost.”

He had scarcely spoken before there was a knock at the door. When it opened, the chief steward entered the cabin, closing the door behind him.

“Schmidt,” said his Majesty, who was standing at the further end of the cabin, “I have sent for you in order that I may question you on a matter of the utmost importance. Draw nearer.”

The man came forward as he was ordered, and, having done so, looked his master full and fair in the face. Something he saw there seemed to stagger him. He glanced at him a second time, and was immediately confirmed in his belief.

“You are not the Emperor,” he cried. “There is some treachery in this. I shall call for assistance.”

He had half turned, and was about to give the alarm, when Carne held up his hand, and Belton, who had been creeping stealthily up behind him, threw himself upon him and had clutched him by the throat before he could utter a sound. The fictitious Emperor immediately produced a cleverly constructed gag and forced it into the terrified man’s mouth, who in another second was lying upon the floor bound hand and foot.

“There, my friend,” said Carne quietly, as he rose to his feet a few moments later, “I don’t think you will give us any further trouble. Let me just see that those straps are tight enough, and then we’ll place you on this settee, and afterwards get to business with all possible dispatch.”

Having satisfied himself on these points, he signed to Belton, and between them they placed the man upon the couch.

“Let me see, I think, if I remember rightly, you carry the key of the safe in this pocket.”

So saying, he turned the man’s pocket inside out and appropriated the bunch of keys he found therein. Choosing one from, it, he gave a final look at the bonds which secured the prostrate figure, and then turned to Belton.

“I think he’ll do,” he said. “Now for business. Bring the bags, and come with me.”

So saying, he crossed the cabin, and, having assured himself that there was no one about to pry upon them, passed along the luxuriously carpeted alley way until he arrived at the door of the cabin, assigned to the use of the chief steward, and in which was the safe containing the magnificent gold plate, the obtaining of which was the reason of his being there. To his surprise and chagrin, the door was closed and locked. In his plans he had omitted to allow for this contingency. In all probability, however, the key was in the man’s pocket, so, turning to Belton, he bade him return to the state room and bring him the keys he had thrown upon the table.

The latter did as he was ordered, and, when he had disappeared, Carne stood alone in the alley way waiting and listening to the various noises of the great vessel. On the deck overhead he could hear someone tramping heavily up and down, and then, in an interval of silence, the sound of pouring rain. Good reason as he had to be anxious, he could not help smiling as he thought of the incongruity of his position. He wondered what his aristocratic friends would say if he were captured and his story came to light. In his time he had impersonated a good many people, but never before had he had the honour of occupying such an exalted station. This was the last and most daring of all his adventures.

Minutes went by, and, as Belton did not return, Carne found himself growing nervous. What could have become of him? He was in the act of going in search of him, when he appeared carrying in his hand the bunch of keys for which he had been sent. His master seized them eagerly.

“Why have you been so long?” he asked in a whisper. “I began to think something had gone wrong with you.”

“I stayed to make our friend secure,” the other answered. “He had well-nigh managed to get one of his hands free. Had he done so, he would have had the gag out of his mouth in no time, and have given the alarm. Then we should have been caught like rats in a trap.”

“Are you quite sure he is secure now?” asked Carne anxiously.

“Quite,” replied Belton. “I took good care of that.”

“In that case we had better get to work on the safe without further delay. We have wasted too much time already, and every moment is an added danger.”

Without more ado, Carne placed the most likely key in the lock and turned it. The bolt shot back, and the treasure chamber lay at his mercy.

The cabin was not a large one, but it was plain that every precaution had been taken to render it secure. The large safe which contained the Imperial plate, and which it was Carne’s intention to rifle, occupied one entire side. It was of the latest design, and when Carne saw it he had to confess to himself that, expert craftsman as he was, it was one that would have required all his time and skill to open.

With the master key, however, it was the work of only a few seconds. The key was turned, the lever depressed, and then, with a slight pull, the heavy door swung forward. This done, it was seen that the interior was full to overflowing. Gold and silver plate of all sorts and descriptions, inclosed in bags of wash-leather and green baize, were neatly arranged inside. It was a haul such as even Carne had never had at his mercy before, and, now that he had got it, he was determined to make the most of it.

“Come, Belton,” he said, “get these things out as quickly as possible and lay them on the floor. We can only carry away a certain portion of the plunder, so let us make sure that that portion is the best.”

A few moments later the entire cabin was strewn with salvers, goblets, bowls, epergnes, gold and silver dishes, plates, cups, knives, forks, and almost every example of the goldsmith’s art. In his choice Carne was not guided by what was handsomest or most delicate in workmanship or shape. Weight was his only standard. Silver he discarded altogether, for it was of less than no account. In something under ten minutes he had made his selection, and the stout canvas bags they had brought with them for that purpose were full to their utmost holding capacity.

“We can carry no more,” said Carne to his faithful retainer, as they made the mouth of the last bag secure. “Pick up yours and let us get back to the Emperor’s state room.”

Having locked the door of the cabin, they returned to the place whence they had started.

There they found the unfortunate steward lying just as they had left him on the settee. Placing the bags he carried upon the ground, Carne crossed to him and, before doing anything else, carefully examined the bonds with which he was secured.

Having done this, he went to the stern windows, and, throwing one open, stepped into the gallery outside. Fortunately for what he intended to do, it was still raining heavily, and in consequence the night was as dark as the most consummate conspirator could have desired. Returning to the room, he bade Belton help him carry the bags into the gallery, and, when this had been done, made fast the swivel hooks to the rings in the mouth of each.

“Take up your bags as quietly as possible,” he said, “and lower them one by one into the water, but take care that they don’t get entangled in the propeller. When you’ve done that, slip the rings at the other end of the lines through your belt, and buckle the latter tightly.’’

Belton did as he was ordered, and in. a few moments the six bags were lying at the bottom of the sea.

“Now off with these wigs and things, and say when you’re ready for a swim.”

Their disguises having been discarded and thrown overboard, Carne and Belton clambered over the rails of the gallery and lowered themselves until their feet touched the water. Next moment they had both let go, and were swimming in the direction of Carne’s own yacht.

It was at this period of their adventure that the darkness proved of such real service to them. By the time they had swum half a dozen strokes it would have needed a sharp pair of eyes to distinguish them as they rose and fell among the foam-crested waves. If, however, the storm had done them a good turn in saving them from notice, it came within an ace of doing them an ill service in another direction. Good swimmers though both Carne and Belton were, and they had proved it to each other’s satisfaction in the seas of almost every known quarter of the globe, they soon found that it took all their strength to make headway now. By the time they reached their own craft, they were both completely exhausted. As Belton declared afterwards, he felt as if he could not have managed another twenty strokes even had his life depended on it.

At last, however, they reached the yacht’s stern and clutched at the rope ladder which Carne had himself placed there before he had set out on the evening’s excursion. In less time than it takes to tell he had mounted it and gained the deck, followed by his faithful servant. They presented a sorry spectacle as they stood side by side at the taffrail, the water dripping from their clothes and pattering upon the deck.

“Thank goodness we are here at last,” said Carne, as soon as he had recovered his breath sufficiently to speak. “Now slip off your belt, and hang it over this cleat with mine.”

Belton did as he was directed, and then followed his master to the saloon companion ladder. Once below, they changed their clothes as quickly as possible, and, having donned mackintoshes, returned to the deck, where it was still raining hard.

“Now,” said Carne, “for the last and most important part of our evening’s work. Let us hope the lines will prove equal to the demands we are about to make upon them.”

As he said this, he took from the cleat upon which he had placed it one of the belts, and, having detached a line, began to pull it in, Belton following his example with another. Their hopes that they would prove equal to the confidence placed in them proved well founded, for, in something less than a quarter of an hour, the six bags, containing the Emperor of Westphalia’s magnificent gold plate, were lying upon the deck, ready to be carried below and stowed away in the secret place in which Carne had arranged to hide his treasure.

“Now, Belton,” said Carne, as he pushed the panel back into its place, and pressed the secret spring that locked it, “I hope you’re satisfied with what we have done. We’ve made a splendid haul, and you shall have your share of it. In the meantime, just get me to bed as quickly as you can, for I’m dead tired. When you’ve done so, be off to your own. To-morrow morning you will have to go up to town to arrange with the bank authorities about my account.”

Belton did as he was ordered, and half-an-hour later his master was safely in bed and asleep.

It was late next morning when he woke. He had scarcely breakfasted before the Earl of Amberley and Lord Orpington made their appearance over the side. To carry out the part he had arranged to play, he received them seated in his deck chair, his swaddled up right foot reclining on a cushion before him. On seeing his guests, he made as if he would rise, but they begged him to remain seated.

“I hope your ankle is better this morning,” said Lord Orpington politely, as he took a chair beside his friend.

“Much better, thank you,” Carne replied. “It was not nearly so serious as I feared. I hope to be able to hobble about a little this afternoon. And now tell me the news, if there is any?”

“Do you mean to say that you have not heard the great news?” asked Lord Amberley, in a tone of astonishment.

“I have heard nothing,” Carne replied. “Remember I have not been ashore this morning, and I have been so busily engaged with the preparations for my departure tomorrow that I have not had time to look at my papers. Pray what is this news of which you speak with such bated breath?”

“Listen, and I’ll tell you,” Lord Orpington answered. “As you are aware, last night his Imperial Majesty the Emperor of Westphalia dined ashore, taking with him his aide-de-camp, Count Von Walzburg. They had not been gone from the launch more than half-an-hour when, to all intents and purposes, they reappeared, and the Emperor, who seemed much perturbed about something, gave the order to return to the yacht with all possible speed. It was very dark and raining hard at the time, and whoever the men may have been who did the thing, they were, at any rate, past masters in the art of disguise.

“Reaching the yacht, their arrival gave rise to no suspicion, for the officers are accustomed, as you know, to his Majesty’s rapid comings and goings. The first lieutenant met them at the gangway, and declares that he had no sort of doubt but that it was his Sovereign. Face, voice, and manner were alike perfect. From his Majesty’s behaviour he surmised that there was some sort of trouble brewing for somebody, and, as if to carry this impression still further, the Emperor bade him send the chief steward to him at once, and, at the same time, place the sentry, who had hitherto been guarding the treasure chamber, at the end of the great saloon, with instructions to allow no one to pass him, on any pretext whatever, until the chief steward had been examined and the Emperor himself gave permission. Then he went below to his cabin.

“Soon after this the steward arrived, and was admitted. Something seems to have excited the latter’s suspicions, however, and he was about to give the alarm when he was seized from behind, thrown upon the floor, and afterwards gagged and bound. It soon became apparent what object the rascals had in view. They had caused the sentry at the door of the treasure chamber to be removed and placed where not only he could not hinder them in their work, but would prevent them from being disturbed. Having obtained the key of the room and safe from the chief steward’s pocket, they set off to the cabin, ransacked it completely, and stole all that was heaviest and most valuable of his Majesty’s wonderful plate from the safe.”

“Good gracious,” said Carne. “I never heard of such a thing. Surely it’s the most impudent robbery that has taken place for many years past. To represent the Emperor of Westphalia and his aide-de-camp so closely that they could deceive even the officers of his own yacht, and to take a sentry off one post and place him in such a position as to protect them while at their own nefarious work, seems to me the very height of audacity. But how did they get their booty and themselves away again? Gold plate, under the most favourable circumstances, is by no means an easy thing to carry.”

As he asked this question, Carne lit another cigar with a hand as steady as a rock.

“They must have escaped in a boat that, it is supposed, was lying under the shelter of the stern gallery,” replied Lord Amberley.

“And is the chief steward unable to furnish the police with no clue as to their identity?”

“None whatever,” replied Orpington. “He opines to the belief, however, that they are Frenchmen. One of them, the man who impersonated the Emperor, seems to have uttered an exclamation in that tongue.”

“And when was the robbery discovered?”

“Only when the real Emperor returned to the vessel shortly after midnight. There was no launch to meet him, and he had to get Tremorden to take him off. You can easily imagine the surprise his arrival occasioned. It was intensified when they went below to find his Majesty’s cabin turned upside down, the chief steward lying bound and gagged upon the sofa, and all that was most valuable of the gold plate missing.”

“What an extraordinary story!”

“And now, having told you the news with which the place is ringing, we must be off about our business,” said Orpington. “Is it quite certain that you are going to leave us to-morrow?”

“Quite, I am sorry to say,” answered Carne. “I am going to ask as many of my friends as possible to do me the honour of lunching with me at one o’clock, and at five I shall weigh anchor and bid England goodbye. I shall have the pleasure of your company, I hope.”

“I shall have much pleasure,” said Orpington.

“And I also,” replied Amberley.

“Then good-bye for the present. It’s just possible I may see you again during the afternoon.”

The luncheon next day was as brilliant a social gathering as the most fastidious in such matters could have desired. Everyone then in Cowes who had any claim to distinction was present, and several had undertaken the journey from town in order to say farewell to one who had made himself so popular during his brief stay in England. When Carne rose to reply to the toast of his health, proposed by the prime Minister, it was observable that he was genuinely moved, as, indeed, were most of his hearers.

For the remainder of the afternoon his yacht’s deck was crowded with his friends, all of whom expressed the hope that it might not be long before he was amongst them once more. To these kind speeches Carne invariably offered a smiling reply.

“I also trust it will not be long,” he answered. “I have enjoyed my visit immensely, and you may be sure I shall never forget it as long as I live.”

An hour later the anchor was weighed, and his yacht was steaming out of the harbour amid a scene of intense enthusiasm. As the Prime Minister had that afternoon informed him, in the public interest, the excitement of his departure was dividing honours with the burglary of the Emperor of Westphalia’s gold plate.

Carne stood beside his captain on the bridge, watching the little fleet of yachts until his eyes could no longer distinguish them. Then he turned to Belton, who had just joined him, and, placing his hand upon his shoulder, said:

“So much for our life in England, Belton, my friend. It has been glorious fun, and no one can deny that from a business point of view it has been eminently satisfactory. You, at least, should have no regrets.”

“None whatever,” answered Belton. “But I must confess I should like to know what they will say when the truth comes out.”

Carne smiled sweetly as he answered:

“I think they’ll say that, all things considered, I have won the right to call myself ‘A Prince of Swindlers.’”

The End