Ellery Queen's Mystery Magazine, Vol. 11, No. 51, February 1948

The case of the Cockfosters emeralds by Arnold Bennett[4]

Lord Trent has several times re-marked to me that I am a philosopher. And I am one. I have guided my life by four rules: To keep my place, to make others keep theirs, lo save half my income, and to beware of women. The strict observance of these rules has made me (in my station) a successful and respected man. Once, and only once, I was lax in my observance, and that single laxity resulted in a most curious and annoying adventure, which I will relate.

It was the fourth rule that I transgressed. I did not beware of a woman. The woman was Miss Susan Berry, lady’s maid to the Marchioness of Cockfosters.

The Cockfosters family is a very old one. To my mind its traditions are superior to anything in the peerage of Great Britain; but then I may be prejudiced. I was brought up in the Cockfosters household, first at Cockfosters Castle in Devon, and afterwards at the well-known town house at the southeast corner of Eaton Square.

My lather was valet to the old Marquis for thirty years; my mother rose from the position of fifth housemaid to be housekeeper at the Castle. Without ever having been definitely assigned to the situation, I became, as it were by gradual attachment, valet to Lord Trent — eldest son of the Marquis, and as gay and good-natured a gentleman as ever drank brandy-and-soda before breakfast.

When Lord Trent married Miss Edna Stuyvesant, the American heiress, and with some of her money bought and furnished in a superb manner a mansion near the northwest corner of Eaton Square, I quite naturally followed him across the Square, and soon found myself, after his lordship and my lady, the most considerable personage at No. 441. Even the butler had to mind his “p’s” and “q’s” with me.

Perhaps it was this pre-eminence of mine which led to my being selected for a duty which I never cared for and which ultimately I asked his lordship to allow me to relinquish — of course he did so. That duty related to the celebrated Cockfosters emeralds. Lady Trent had money (over a million sterling, as his lordship himself told me), but money could not buy the Cockfosters emeralds, and having seen these, she desired nothing less fine. With her ladyship, to desire was to obtain. I have always admired her for that trait in her character. Being an American, she had faults, but she knew her own mind, which is a great thing; and I must admit that, on the whole, she carried herself well and committed few blunders. She must have been accustomed to good servants.

In the matter of the emeralds, I certainly took her side. Strictly speaking, they belonged to the old Marchioness, but the Marchioness never went into society; she was always engaged with temperance propaganda, and that sort of thing, and consequently never wore the emeralds. There was no valid reason, therefore, why Lady Trent should not have the gratification of wearing them. But the Marchioness, I say it with respect, was a woman of peculiar and decided views. She had, in fact, fads; and one of her fads was the emeralds. She could not bear to part with them. She said she was afraid something might happen to the precious heirlooms.

A prolonged war ensued between the Marchioness and my lady, and ultimately a compromise was effected. My lady won permission to wear the emeralds whenever she chose, but they were always to be brought to her and taken back again by Susan Berry, in whom the Marchioness had more confidence than in anyone else in the world. Consequently, whenever my lady required the emeralds, word was sent across the Square in the afternoon; Susan Berry brought them over, and Susan Berry removed them at night when my lady returned from her ball or reception.

The arrangement was highly inconvenient for Susan Berry, for sometimes it would be very late when my lady came home; but the Marchioness insisted, and since Susan Berry was one of those persons who seem to take a positive joy in martyrizing themselves, she had none of my pity. The nuisance was that someone from our house had to accompany her across the Square. Eaton Square is very large (probably the largest in London, but I may be mistaken on such a trivial point); its main avenue is shut in by trees; and at 2 A.M. it is distinctly not the place for an unprotected female in charge of valuable property. Now the Marchioness had been good enough to suggest that she would prefer me to escort her maid on this brief nocturnal journey. I accepted the responsibility, but I did not hide my dislike for it. Knowing something of Miss Berry’s disposition, I knew that our household would inevitably begin, sooner or later, to couple our names together, and I was not deceived.

Such was the situation when one night — it was a Whit-Monday, I remember, and about a quarter past one — Lord and Lady Trent returned from an entertainment at a well-known mansion near St. James’s Palace. I got his lordship some whisky in the library, and he then told me that I might go to bed, as he should not retire for an hour or so. I withdrew to the little office off the hall and engaged in conversation with the second footman, who was on duty. Presently his lordship came down into the hall and began to pace about — it was a strange habit of his — smoking a cigarette. He caught sight of me.

“Saunders,” he said, “I told you could go to bed.”

“Yes, my lord.”

“Why don’t you go?”

“Your lordship forgets the emeralds.”

“Ah yes, of course.” He laughed. I motioned to the footman to clear out.

“You don’t seem to care for that job, Saunders,” his lordship resumed, quizzing me. “Surely Berry is a charming companion. In your place I should regard it as excellent fun. Hut I have often told you that you have no sense of humor.”

“Not all men laugh at the same jokes, my lord,” I observed.

As a matter of fact, in earlier and wilder days, his lordship had sometimes thrown a book or a boot at me for smiling too openly in the wrong place.

The conversation might have continued further, for his lordship would often talk with me, but at that moment Susan Berry appeared with the bag containing the case in which were the emeralds. Lady Trent’s own maid was with her, and the two stood talking for an instant at the foot of the stairs, while Lady Trent’s maid locked the bag and handed the key to Berry. Heaven knows how long that simple business would have occupied had not the voice of my lady resounded from the first floor somewhat excitedly calling for her maid, who vanished with a hurried good-night. His lordship had already departed from the hall.

“May I relieve you of the bag, Miss Berry?” I asked.

“Thank you, Mr. Saunders,” she replied, “but the Marchioness prefers that I myself should carry it.”

That little dialogue passed between us every time the emeralds had to be returned.

We started on our short walk, Miss Berry and I, proceeding towards the main avenue which runs through the centre of the Square east and west. It was a beautiful moonlight night. Talking of moonlight nights, I may as well make my confession at once. The fact is that Miss Berry had indeed a certain influence over me. In her presence I was always conscious of feeling a pleasurable elation — an excitement, a perturbation, which another man might have guessed to be the beginning of love.

I, however, knew that it was not love. It was merely a fancy. It only affected me when I was in her company. When she was absent I could regard her in my mind’s eye as she actually was — namely, a somewhat designing young woman, with dark eyes and too much will of her own. Nevertheless, she had, as I say, a certain influence over me, and I have already remarked that it was a moonlight night.

Need I say more? In spite of what I had implied to Lord Trent, I did enjoy the walk with Susan Berry. Susan Berry took care that I should. She extended herself to fascinate me; turning her brunette face up to mine with an air of deference and flashing upon me the glance of those dark lustrous eyes.

She started by sympathizing with me in the matter of the butler. This was, I now recognize, very clever of her, for the butler has always been a sore point with me. I began to think (be good enough to remember the moonlight and the trees) that life with Susan Berry might have its advantages.

Then she turned to the topic of her invalid sister, Jane Mary, who was lame and lived in lodgings near Sloane Street, and kept herself, with a little aid from Susan, by manufacturing artificial flowers. For a month past Miss Berry had referred regularly to this sister, who appeared to be the apple of her eye. I had no objection to the topic, though it did not specially interest me; but on the previous evening Miss Berry had told me, with a peculiar emphasis, that her poor dear sister often expressed a longing to see the famous Cockfosters emeralds, and that she resided quite close too. I did not like that.

Tonight Miss Berry made a proposition which alarmed me. “Mr. Saunders,” she said insinuatingly, “you are so good-natured that I have almost a mind to ask you a favor. Would you object to walking round with me to my sister’s — it is only a few minutes away — so that I could just give her a peep at these emeralds? She is dying to see them, and I’m sure the Marchioness wouldn’t object. We should not be a quarter of an hour away.”

My discretion was aroused. I ought to have given a decided negative at once; but somehow I couldn’t, while Susan was looking at me.

“But surely your sister will be in bed,” I suggested.

“Oh no!” with a sigh. “She has to work very late — very late indeed. And besides, if she is, I could take them up to her room. It would do her good to see them, and she has few pleasures.”

“The Marchioness might not like it,” I said, driven back to the second line of fortification. “You know your mistress is very particular about these emeralds.”

“The Marchioness need never know,” Susan Berry whispered, putting her face close up to mine. “No one need know, except just us two.”

The accent which she put on those three words “just us two” was extremely tender.

I hesitated. We were already at the end of the Square and should have turned down to the left towards Cockfosters House.

“Come along,” she entreated, placing her hand on my shoulder.

“Well, you know—” I muttered, but I went along with her towards Sloane Street. We passed Eaton Place.

“Really, Miss Berry—” I began again, collecting my courage.

Then there was a step behind us, and another hand was placed on my shoulder. I turned round sharply. It was a policeman.

“Your name is Charles Saunders,” he said to me; “and yours Susan Berry,” to my companion.

“True,” I replied, for both of us.

“I have a warrant for your arrest.”

“Our arrest!”

“Yes, on a charge of attempting to steal some emeralds, the property of the Marquis of Cockfosters.”

“Impossible!” I exclaimed.

“Yes,” he sneered, “that’s what they all say.”

“But the emeralds are here in this bag.”

“I know they are,” he said. “I’ve just copped you in time. But you’ve been suspected for days.”

“The thing is ridiculous,” I said, striving to keep calm. “We are taking the emeralds back to Lady Cock-fosters and—”

Then I stopped. If we were merely taking the emeralds back to Lady Cockfosters — that is, from one house in Eaton Square to another house in Eaton Square — what were we doing out of the Square?

I glanced at Susan Berry. She was as white as a sheet. The solution of the puzzle occurred to me at once. Susan’s sister was an ingenious fiction. Susan was a jewel thief, working with a gang of jewel thieves, and her request that I would accompany her to this mythical sister was part of a plan for stealing the emeralds.

“At whose instance has the warrant been issued?” I asked.

“The Marquis of Cockfosters.”

My suspicions were only too well confirmed. I did not speak a word to Susan Berry. I could not. I merely looked at her.

“You’ll come quietly to the station?” the policeman said.

“Certainly,” I replied. “As for us, the matter can soon be cleared up. I am Lord Trent’s valet, No. 441 Eaton Square, and he must be sent for.”

“Oh, must he?” the constable jeered. “Come on. Perhaps you’d prefer a cab.”

A four-wheeler was passing. I myself hailed the sleepy cabman, and we all three got in. The policeman prudently took the bag from Susan’s nerveless hands. None of us spoke. I was too depressed, Susan was probably too ashamed, and the constable was no doubt too bored.

After a brief drive we drew up. Another policeman opened the door of the cab, and over the open portal of the building in front of us I saw the familiar blue lamp, with the legend “Metropolitan Police” in white letters. The two policemen carefully watched us as we alighted, and escorted us up the steps into the station. Happily, there was no one about; my humiliation was abject enough without that,

Charles Saunders a prisoner in a police station! I could scarcely credit my senses. One becomes used to a police station — in the newspapers; but to be inside one — that is different, widely different.

The two policemen took us into a bare room, innocent of any furniture save a wooden bench, a desk, a chair, some printed notices of rewards offered, and an array of handcuffs and revolvers on the mantelpiece. In the chair, with a big book in front of him on the desk, sat the inspector in charge. He was in his shirt-sleeves,

“A hot night,” he said, smiling, to the policeman.

I silently agreed.

It appeared that we were expected.

They took our full names, our addresses and occupations, and then the inspector read the warrant to us. Of course, it didn’t explain things in the least. I began to speak.

“Let me warn you,” said the inspector, “that anything you say now may be used against you at your trial.”

My trial!

“Can I write a note to Lord Trent?” I asked, nettled.

“Yes, if you will pay for a cab to take it.”

I threw down half a crown, and scribbled a line to my master, begging him to come at once.

“The constable must search you.,” the inspector said, when the first policeman had disappeared with the note.

“I will save him the trouble,” I said proudly, and I emptied my pockets of a gold watch and chain, a handkerchief, two sovereigns, a sixpence, two halfpennies, a bunch of keys, my master’s linen book, and a new necktie which I had bought that very evening; of which articles the inspector made an inventory.

“Which is the key to the bag?” asked the inspector. The bag was on the desk in front of him and he had been trying to open it.

“I know nothing of that,” I said.

“Now you, Susan Berry, give up the key,” the inspector said sternly, turning to her.

For answer Susan burst into sobs, and flung herself against my breast. The situation was excessively embarrassing for me. Heaven knows I had sufficient reason to hate the woman, but though a thief, she was in distress, and I must own that I felt for her.

The constable stepped towards Susan.

“Surely,” I said, “you have a female searcher?”

“A female searcher! Ah yes!” smiled the inspector, suddenly suave. “Is she here, constable?”

“Not now, sir; she’s gone.”

“That must wait, then. Take them to the cells.”

“Sorry, sir, all the cells are full. Bank Holiday drunks.”

The inspector thought a moment.

“Lock ’em up in the back room,” he said. “That’ll do for the present. Perhaps the male prisoner may be getting an answer to his note soon. After that they’ll have to go to Vine Street or Marlborough.”

The constable touched his helmet and marched us out. In another moment we were ensconced in a small room, absolutely bare of any furniture, except a short wooden bench. The constable was locking the door when Susan Berry screamed out: “You aren’t going to lock us up here together in the dark?”

“Why, what do you want? Didn’t you hear the cells are full?”

I was profoundly thankful they were full. I did not fancy a night in a cell.

“I want a candle,” she said fiercely.

He brought one, or rather half of one, stuck in a bottle, and placed it on the mantelpiece. Then he left us.

Again I say the situation was excessively embarrassing. For myself, I said nothing. Susan Berry dropped on the bench, and hiding her face in her hands, gave way to tears without any manner of restraint. I pitied her a little, but that influence which previously she had exercised over me was gone. “Oh, Mr. Saunders,” she sobbed, “what shall we do?” And as she spoke she suddenly looked up at me with a glance of feminine appeal. I withstood it.

“Miss Berry,” I said severely, “I wonder that you can look me in the face. I trusted you as a woman, and you have outraged that trust. I never dreamed that you were — that you were an adventuress. It was certainly a clever plot, and but for the smartness of the police I should, in my innocence, have fallen a victim to your designs. For myself, I am grateful to the police. I can understand and excuse their mistake in regarding me as your accomplice. That will soon be set right, for Lord Trent will be here. In the meantime, of course, I have been put to considerable humiliation. Nevertheless, even this is better than having followed you to your ‘sister’s.’ In your ‘sister’s’ lodging I might have been knocked senseless, or even murdered. Moreover, the emeralds are safe.”

She put on an innocent expression, playing the injured maiden.

“Mr. Saunders, you surely do not imagine—”

“Miss Berry, no protestations, I beg. Let me say now that I have always detected in your character something underhand, something crafty.”

“I swear—” she began again.

“Don’t trouble,” I interrupted her icily, “for I shall not believe you. This night will certainly be a warning to me.”

With that I leaned my back against the mantelpiece and abandoned myself to gloomy thought. It was a moment for me of self-abasement. I searched my heart, and I sorrowfully admitted that my predicament was primarily due to disobeying that golden rule — beware of women. I saw now that it was only my absurd fancy for this wicked creature which had led me to accept the office of guarding those emeralds during their night-passage across Eaton Square. I ought to have refused in the first place, for the job was entirely outside my functions; strictly, the butler should have done it.

And this woman in front of me — this Susan Berry, in whom the old Marchioness had such unbounded trust! So she belonged to the fraternity of jewel thieves — a genus of which I had often read, but which I had never before met. What audacity such people must need in order to execute their schemes!

But then the game was high. The Cockfosters emeralds were worth, at a moderate estimate, twelve thousand pounds. There are emeralds and emeralds, the value depends on the color; these were the finest Colombian stones, of a marvellous tint, and many of them were absolutely without a flaw. There were five stones of seven carats each, and these alone must have been worth at least six thousand pounds. Yes, it would have been a great haul, a colossal haul.

Time passed, the candle was burning low, and there was no sign of Lord Trent. I went to the door and knocked, first gently, then more loudly, but I could get no answer. Then I walked about the room, keeping an eye on Susan Berry, who had, I freely admit, the decency to avoid my gaze. I was beginning to get extremely tired. I wished to sit down, but there was only one bench; Susan Berry was already upon it and, as I said before, it was a very short bench. At last I could hold out no longer. Taking my courage in both hands, I sat down boldly on one end of the bench. It was a relief to me. Miss Berry sighed. There were not six inches between us.

The candle was low in the socket, we both watched it. Without a second’s warning the flame leaped up and then expired. We were in the dark. Miss Berry screamed, and afterwards I heard her crying. I myself made no sign. Fortunately the dawn broke almost immediately.

By this time I was getting seriously annoyed with Lord Trent. I had served him faithfully, and yet at the moment of my genuine need he had not come to my succor. I went again to the door and knocked with my knuckles. No answer. Then I kicked it. No answer. Then I seized the handle and violently shook it. To my astonishment the door opened. The policeman had forgotten to lock it.

I crept out into the passage, softly closing the door behind me. It was now quite light. The door leading to the street was open, and I could see neither constables nor inspector. I went into the charge room; it was empty. Then I proceeded into the street. On the pavement a piece of paper was lying. I picked it up; it was the note which I had written to Lord Trent.

A workman happened to be loitering along a road which crossed this street at right angles. I called out and ran to him.

“Can you tell me,” I asked, “why all the officers have left the police station?”

“Look ’ere, matey,” he says, “you get on ’ome; you’ve been making a night of it, that’s wot you ’ave.”

“But, seriously,” I said.

Then I saw a policeman at a distant corner. The workman whistled, and the policeman was obliging enough to come to us.

“ ’Ere’s a cove wants to know why all the police ’as left the police station,” the workman said.

“What police station?” the constable said sharply.

“Why, this one down here in this side street,” I said, pointing to the building. As I looked at it I saw that the lamp which I observed on the previous night no longer hung over the doorway.

The constable laughed good-humoredly.

“Get away home,” he said.

I began to tell him my story.

“Get away home,” he repeated — gruffly this time, “or I’ll run you in.”

“All right,” I said huffily, and I made as if to walk down the other road. The constable and the workman grinned to each other and departed. As soon as they were out of sight, I returned to my police station.

It was not a police station! It was merely a rather large and plain-fronted empty house, which had been transformed into a police station, for one night only, by means of a lamp, a desk, two benches, a few handcuffs, and some unparalleled check. Jewel thieves they were, but Susan Berry was not among them. After all, Susan Berry probably had an invalid sister named Jane Mary.

The first policeman, the cabman, the second policeman, the inspector — these were the jewel thieves, and Susan Berry and I (and of course the Marchioness) had been the victims of as audacious and brilliant a robbery as was ever planned. We had been robbed openly, quietly, deliberately, with the aid of a sham police station. Our movements must have been watched for weeks. I gave my meed of admiration to the imagination, the skill, and the sang-froid which must have gone to the carrying out of this coup.

Going back into the room where Susan Berry and I had spent the night hours, I found that wronged woman sweetly asleep on the bench, with her back against the wall. I dared not wake her. And so I left her for the present to enjoy some much-needed repose. I directed my steps in search of Eaton Square, having closed the front door of my police station.

At length I found my whereabouts, and I arrived at No. 441 at five o’clock precisely. The morning was lovely. After some trouble I roused a housemaid, who let me in. She seemed surprised, but I ignored her. I went straight upstairs and knocked at my master’s door. To wake him had always been a difficult matter, and this morning the task seemed more difficult than ever. At last he replied sleepily to my summons.

“It is I — Saunders — your lordship.”

“Go to the devil, then.”

“I must see your lordship instantly. Very seriously.”

“Eh, what? I’ll come in a minute,” and I heard him stirring, and the voice of Lady Trent.

How should I break the news to him? What would the Marchioness say when she knew? Twelve thousand pounds’ worth of jewels is no trifle. Not to mention my gold watch, my two sovereigns, my sixpence, and my two halfpennies. And also the half-crown which I had given to have the message dispatched to his lordship. It was the half-crown that specially rankled.

Lord Trent appeared at the door of his room, arrayed in his crimson dressing-gown.

“Well, Saunders, what in the name of—”

“My lord,” I stammered, and then I told him the whole story.

He smiled, he laughed, he roared.

“I daresay it sounds very funny, my lord,” I said, “but it wasn’t funny at the time, and Lady Cockfosters won’t think it very funny.”

“Oh, won’t she! She will. No one will enjoy it more. She might have taken it seriously if the emeralds had been in the bag, but they weren’t.”

“Not in the bag, my lord!”

“No, Lady Trent’s maid ran off with the bag, thinking that your mistress had put the jewels in it. But she had not. Lady Trent came to the top of the stairs to call her back, as soon as she found the bag gone, but you and Berry were out of the house. So the emeralds stayed here for one night. They are on Lady Trent’s dressing-table at the present moment. Go and get a stiff whisky, Saunders. You need it. And then may I suggest that you should return for the sleeping Berry? By the way, the least you can do is to marry her, Saunders.”

“Never, my lord!” I said with decision. “I have meddled sufficiently with women.”