ERNEST BRAMAH Ultimate Collection: 20+ Novels & Short Stories in One Volume. Bramah Ernest

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      “A couple of months later Karsfeld has a little unpleasantness with us and resigns. Resignation accepted. We have nothing against him, you understand. At the same time there is an impression among the directors that he has been perhaps a little too easy in his ways, a little too—let us say, expansive, in some of his valuations and too accommodating to his own clients in recommending to us business of a—well—speculative basis; business that we do not care about and which we now feel is foreign to our traditions as a firm. However”—the General Manager threw apart his stubby hands as though he would shatter any fabric of criminal intention that he might be supposed to be insidiously constructing—“that is the extent of our animadversion against Karsfeld. There are no irregularities and you may take it from me that the man is all right.”

      “You would propose accepting the fact that a five-thousand-pound necklace was submitted to him?” suggested Mr Carlyle.

      “I should,” acquiesced the Manager, with a weighty nod. “Still—this brings us to April the third—this break, so to speak, occurring in our routine, it seemed a good opportunity for us to assure ourselves on one or two points. Mr Bellitzer—you know Bellitzer, of course; know ofhim, I should say—was appointed vice Karsfeld and we wrote to certain of our clients, asking them—as our policies entitled us to do—as a matter of form to allow Mr Bellitzer to confirm the assessment of his predecessor. Wrapped it up in silver paper, of course; said it would certify the present value and be a guarantee that would save them some formalities in case of ensuing claim, and so on. Among others, wrote to the Hon. Mrs Straithwaite to that effect—April fourth. Here is her reply of three days later. Sorry to disappoint us, but the necklace has just been sent to her bank for custody as she is on the point of leaving town. Also scarcely sees that it is necessary in her case as the insurance was only taken so recently.”

      “That is dated April the seventh?” inquired Mr Carlyle, busy with pencil and pocket-book.

      “April seventh,” repeated the Manager, noting this conscientiousness with an approving glance and then turning to regard questioningly the indifferent attitude of his other visitor. “That put us on our guard—naturally. Wrote by return regretting the necessity and suggesting that a line to her bankers, authorizing them to show us the necklace, would meet the case and save her any personal trouble. Interval of a week. Her reply, April sixteenth. Thursday last. Circumstances have altered her plans and she has returned to London sooner than she expected. Her jewel-case has been returned from the bank, and will we send our man round—‘our man,’ Mr Carlyle!—on Saturday morning not later than twelve, please.”

      The Manager closed the record book, with a sweep of his hand cleared his desk for revelations, and leaning forward in his chair fixed Mr Carlyle with a pragmatic eye.

      “On Saturday Mr Bellitzer goes to Luneburg Mansions and the Hon. Mrs Straithwaite shows him the necklace. He examines it carefully, assesses its insurable value up to five thousand, two hundred and fifty pounds, and reports us to that effect. But he reports something else, Mr Carlyle. It is not the necklace that the lady had insured.”

      “Not the necklace?” echoed Mr Carlyle.

      “No. In spite of the number of pearls and a general similarity there are certain technical differences, well known to experts, that made the fact indisputable. The Hon. Mrs Straithwaite has been guilty of misrepresentation. Possibly she has no fraudulent intention. We are willing to pay to find out. That’s your business.”

      Mr Carlyle made a final note and put away his book with an air of decision that could not fail to inspire confidence.

      “To-morrow,” he said, “we shall perhaps be able to report something.”

      “Hope so,” vouchsafed the Manager. “‘Morning.”

      From his position near the window, Carrados appeared to wake up to the fact that the interview was over.

      “But so far,” he remarked blandly, with his eyes towards the great man in the chair, “you have told us nothing of the theft.”

      The Manager regarded the speaker dumbly for a moment and then turned to Mr Carlyle.

      “What does he mean?” he demanded pungently.

      But for once Mr Carlyle’s self-possession had forsaken him. He recognized that somehow Carrados had been guilty of an appalling lapse, by which his reputation for prescience was wrecked in that quarter for ever, and at the catastrophe his very ears began to exude embarrassment.

      In the awkward silence Carrados himself seemed to recognize that something was amiss.

      “We appear to be at cross-purposes,” he observed. “I inferred that the disappearance of the necklace would be the essence of our investigation.”

      “Have I said a word about it disappearing?” demanded the Manager, with a contempt-laden raucity that he made no pretence of softening. “You don’t seem to have grasped the simple facts about the case, Mr Carrados. Really, I hardly think——Oh, come in!”

      There had been a knock at the door, then another. A clerk now entered with an open telegram.

      “Mr Longworth wished you to see this at once, sir.”

      “We may as well go,” whispered Mr Carlyle with polite depression to his colleague.

      “Here, wait a minute,” said the Manager, who had been biting his thumb-nail over the telegram. “No, not you”—to the lingering clerk—“you clear.” Much of the embarrassment that had troubled Mr Carlyle a minute before seemed to have got into the Manager’s system. “I don’t understand this,” he confessed awkwardly. “It’s from Bellitzer. He wires: ‘Have just heard alleged robbery Straithwaite pearls. Advise strictest investigation.’”

      Mr Carlyle suddenly found it necessary to turn to the wall and consult a highly coloured lithographic inducement to insure. Mr Carrados alone remained to meet the Manager’s constrained glance.

      “Still, he tells us really nothing about the theft,” he remarked sociably.

      “No,” admitted the Manager, experiencing some little difficulty with his breathing, “he does not.”

      “Well, we still hope to be able to report something to-morrow. Good-bye.”

      It was with an effort that Mr Carlyle straightened himself sufficiently to take leave of the Manager. Several times in the corridor he stopped to wipe his eyes.

      “Max, you unholy fraud,” he said, when they were outside, “you knew all the time.”

      “No; I told you that I knew nothing of it,” replied Carrados frankly. “I am absolutely sincere.”

      “Then all I can say is, that I see a good many things happen that I don’t believe in.”

      Carrados’s reply was to hold out a coin to a passing newsboy and to hand the purchase to his friend who was already in the car.

      “There is a slang injunction to ‘keep your eyes skinned.’ That being out of my power, I habitually ‘keep my ears skinned.’ You would be surprised to know how very little you hear, Louis, and how much you miss. In the last five minutes up there I have had three different newsboys’ account of this development.”

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