We entered the small room from which the Blue Rajah had been spirited away. Grimsby, who was badly puzzled, was evidently glad of Klaw’s coöperation. Moris Klaw’s letter of warning, leading to the request for Moris Klaw’s attendance, had enabled the Scotland Yard man to summon that keen intellect to his aid without compromising his professional reputation. He would lose no credit that might accrue if the gem were recovered and, in short, was congratulating himself upon a diplomatic move.
“It’s beyond me,” he said, “how the thing was got out of the room. With this door shut, the window fastened, and the other door double-locked, as it always is, practically the place is a box.”
Moris Klaw, from its hiding place in the lining of his hat, took out the scent spray and squirted verbena upon his face.
“A box--yes,” he rumbled; “and so stuffy. No air.”
“There’s no ventilation,” explained Grimsby. “That square hole over the door is intended for ventilation, but as there’s no corresponding aperture over the window or elsewhere it’s useless. Anyway, it only opens on the passage.”
“Ah. You searched them all quite thoroughly?”
“Certainly; like Kaffirs. But I didn’t expect to find it.”
“Blessed is he who expecteth little. Isis, my child, there is someone knocking.”
Isis opened the door communicating with Mr. Anderson’s office, and a boy entered carrying a tray with a coffee pot and cup upon it.
“Good,” said Moris Klaw. “I shall not sleep in this room, Mr. Searles. It is difficult to sleep in the morning and I cannot wait for night. I shall sit here at this table for one hour with my mind a perfect blank. I shall think of nothing. That is a great art, Mr. Searles--to think of nothing. Few people but ascetics can do it. Try it for yourself, and you will find that thinking of trying not to think is the nearest you will get to it! I shall expose my mind, a sensitive blank, to the etheric waves created here by mental emotion.
“I shall secure many alien impressions of horror at finding the Blue Rajah to be missing. That is unavoidable. But I hope, amongst all these, to find that other thought-thing--the fear of the robber at the critical moment of his crime! That should be a cogent and forceful thought--keener and therefore stronger to survive, because a thought of danger but of gain, than the thoughts of loss with which this atmosphere is laden.”
He stood up, removing his caped coat and revealing the shabby tweed suit which he wore. A big French knot of black silk looked grotesquely out of place beneath his yellow face with its edging of toneless beard.
“Isis,” he said, “lay my cloak carefully upon that chair by the window. I will sit there.”
Grimsby stepped forward to assist.
“No, no!” said Isis, but smiled enchantingly. “No hand but mine must touch it until my father has secured his impression!”
She laid the coat upon the chair, completely covering it; and Moris Klaw sat down.
“Another cup of coffee,” he said; and his daughter poured one out and handed it to him. “This is Java coffee and truly not coffee at all. There is no coffee but Mocha--a thing you English will never learn. Return in an hour, gentlemen. Isis, ask that no disturbing sound is allowed within or without. That Committee, it can go home. None of it has the diamond.”
“And the other gentlemen?” asked Grimsby. “They’ll be anxious to get about their business, too. There’s Sir John Carron from the India Office and Mr. Gautami Chinje--the Gaekwar’s representative.”
“Of course--certainly,” mused Moris Klaw. “But, of course, too, they will all be anxious to know immediately the result of my inquiries. Listen--Mr. Anderson will remain; he can represent the city. Mr. Chinje, you will perhaps ask him to remain, to represent the Gaekwar--the vendor; and Sir John Carron, he might be so good. Make those arrangements, Mr. Grimsby, and let nothing again disturb me.”
We left him, returning to the outer office.
Sir John Carron expressed himself willing to remain.
“If I may use your telephone for a moment, Mr. Anderson,” he said, “I can put off an engagement.”
Mr. Chinje had no other engagement, and Mr. Anderson’s duties had detained him in any event. There was some general, but subdued, conversation before the rest of the party left; but finally Sir John, Chinje, Grimsby, Isis Klaw, and myself found ourselves in a waiting room on the opposite side of the corridor, provided with refreshments, and the gentlemen of the party with cigars, whilst the hospitable and deeply anxious Messrs. Anderson piled the table with periodical literature for our entertainment.
It was a curious interlude, which I shall always remember.
Sir John Carron, a tall, bronzed military man, middle-aged and perfectly groomed, surveyed Isis Klaw through his monocle with undisguised admiration. She bore this scrutiny with the perfect composure which was hers, and presently engaged the admiring baronet in some conversation about India, in which Mr. Chinje presently joined. Chinje had all the quiet self-possession of a high-caste Hindu, and his dark handsome face exhibited no signs of annoyance when Sir John adopted that tone of breezy patronage characteristic of some Anglo-Indian officers who find themselves in the company of a well-bred native. Grimsby, with recognition of his social inferiority written large upon him, smoked, for the most part, in silence--Isis having given him permission to light up. Seeing his covert glances at this intimate trio, I ultimately succeeded in making the conversation a general one, thereby earning the Scotland Yard man’s evident gratitude.
“You know, Inspector Grimsby,” said Sir John, “I never was searched before to-day! But, by Jove, you did it very efficiently! I was dreadfully tempted to strike you when you calmly turned out my purse! Your method was far more workmanlike than Sir Michael Cayley’s a few minutes earlier. He forgot to look in my watch case, but you didn’t!”
Grimsby smiled.
“There’s more in a simple thing like searching a man than most people take into consideration,” he replied. “I’ve known a Kaffir in the mines who--excuse me, Miss Klaw--wore no more than Adam, to walk off with stones worth my year’s wages.”
“I’m prepared to accept your assurance, Inspector,” said Sir John, “that none of us had the diamond about our persons.”
“My father has accepted it,” added Isis Klaw; “and that is conclusive.”
Which brought us face to face again with the amazing problem that we were there to solve. How, by any known natural law, had the Blue Rajah been taken out of the room? None of us could conjecture. That the detective was hopelessly mystified, his inaction, awaiting the result of Moris Klaw’s séance, was sufficient proof. I wondered if the Commissioner would have approved of his passive attitude and entire dependence upon the efforts of an amateur, yet failed to perceive what other he could adopt. One thing was certain: if the diamond was recovered, its recovery would be recorded among Detective-Inspector Grimsby’s successful cases! And there he sat placidly smoking one of Mr. Anderson’s habanas.
At the expiration of the hour specified, Isis Klaw rose and walked across to Mr. Anderson’s office. Mr. Anderson, his ruddy face--typically that of a lowland Scot--a shade paler than was its wont, I fancy, was glancing from his watch to the clock.
Isis knocked on the inner door, opened it, and entered. Sir John Carron was watching with intense interest. Mr. Chinje met my glance and smiled a little sceptically.
Moris Klaw came out with his caped coat on and carrying his bowler in his hand.
“Gentlemen,” he said, “I have secured a mental negative, somewhat foggy, owing to those other thought forms with which the atmosphere is laden. But I have identified him--the thief!”
A sound like a gasp repressed came from somewhere immediately behind me. I turned. Mr. Anderson and Mr. Anderson, junior, stood at my elbow; close by were Mr. Chinje, Grimsby, and Sir John Carron.
“Who snorts?” rumbled Moris Klaw, peering through his pince-nez.
“Not I,” said Sir John, staring about him.
We all, in turn, denied having uttered the sound.
“Then there is in this office a ghost,” declared Klaw, “or a liar!”
“Excuse me, Mr. Klaw,” began Mr. Anderson, with some heat.
Moris Klaw raised his hand. His daughter’s magnificent eyes blazed defiance at us all.
“No anger,” implored the rumbling voice. “No anger. Anger is a misuse of the emotions. There are present eight persons here. Someone snorted. Eight persons deny the snort. It is a ghost or a liar. Am I evident to you?”
“Your logic is irrefutable,” admitted the younger Mr. Anderson, glancing from face to face. “It pains me to have to admit that you are right!”
In turn, I examined the faces of those present. Grimsby was a man witless with wonder. Both the Andersons were embarrassed and angry. Isis Klaw was scornfully triumphant; her father was, as ever, nonchalant. Sir John Carron looked ill at ease; Mr. Chinje appeared to have changed his opinion of the eccentric investigator and now studied him with the calm interest of the cultured Oriental.
“I shall now make you laugh,” said Moris Klaw. “I shall tell you what he was thinking of at the psychological instant--that mysterious thief. He was thinking of two things. One was a very pretty, fair young lady, and the other was a funny thing. He was thinking of throwing twelve peanuts into a parrot’s cage!”
