The Crime Club. Frank Froest

tell them again. Then I was going to replace them. If Vernet played any of them during his manufacturing stunt, then we would have had him.’

      Heldway was a man who rarely did a thing without an object, and there was now no object in telling Fleeting. He might safely be allowed to nurse the delusion of a burglar if he would. The diamonds he resolved to keep, for the time being. Unless Vernet had a reserve store, which was unlikely, he would be forced to procure more or postpone Monday’s demonstration. There was, of course, the possibility that he really could make diamonds. But the detective had little fear of that.

      ‘Nothing gone,’ repeated Fleeting, who had been stocktaking with the butler. ‘That is, unless Vernet’s lost anything.’

      ‘Let’s hope he hasn’t,’ said Heldway cheerfully. ‘The chap’s got away, whoever he was. Perhaps Vernet will give us something to work on when he comes around.’

      As a fact, Vernet a quarter of an hour later was able to throw little light on the situation. He was still a little dazed and unable to think or express himself clearly. ‘Woke up … masked man … going through my clothes … came for me … fired … missed him. Then he hit me.’ He lay back wearily and, at Heldway’s suggestion, was permitted to sleep.

      But it was a different man who appeared at breakfast. Spruce and debonair, he seemed little affected by his adventure, as in well-chosen phrases he told of his encounter with the burglar. ‘He was confoundedly quick,’ he admitted. ‘I didn’t think I could have missed at that distance. As it was, all he got was a bag of twenty-five rough diamonds—the result of some of my experiments.’ He smiled brightly at Heldway.

      ‘Experiments?’ repeated the detective blankly.

      ‘Ah! I forgot, It’s a little secret between Fleeting and myself. By the way, Fleeting, can the chauffeur run me into Haslemere after breakfast? I want to send a wire.’

      ‘I’ll go with you if you don’t mind,’ interposed Heldway. ‘We may as well see the local police. This burglary is really their affair.’ He had his own ideas as to what Vernet’s wire might contain.

      No one who beheld the two side by side in the car would have considered them as the hunter and the hunted, the attacker and the defender. Heldway had risen to Vernet’s flow of spirits, and accepted the light chaff of the other without resentment.

      ‘Now, if I didn’t know you were above suspicion,’ remarked the diamond-maker once, ‘I should be inclined to think you were the burglar all the fuss was about last night. He was just about your build.’

      It was deftly conveyed intimation that Vernet had guessed something of the object of the midnight raid. Heldway laughed. ‘Oh, there’s no need for me to turn burglar yet.’

      ‘One never knows,’ retorted Vernet.

      Vernet went on to the post office, but Heldway got out of the car at the police station. As a matter of detail he reported the burglary, and the facts were solemnly written down on an official form by the officer in charge. Looking up for a fresh dip of ink, the officer saw a wink flicker on Heldway’s grim face.

      ‘I shouldn’t waste too much trouble over the case if I were you,’ said Heldway. ‘Of course, it’s none of my business, but if I might suggest a policy of masterly inactivity—you understand?’

      The other was a man of quick perception. He grinned. ‘Not altogether. I’m not going to cross-examine you. If you like, I’ll go back with you. You just want me to look wise?’

      ‘Exactly,’ assented Heldway. ‘Now can I use your phone for a moment? I want to talk to the Yard.’

      When he put down the receiver he was whistling softly to himself.

      The three men—Vernet, Heldway, and Fleeting—had travelled to Waterloo together, and there separated, the last named to Hatton Gardon, Heldway to Scotland Yard, and Vernet to keep an appointment. The demonstration was fixed to take place at noon.

      Heldway’s business with the department did not keep him long, and when he left it was in a taxi-cab straight for Fleeting’s place of business. A couple of men were loitering in conversation outside the door, but as Heldway brushed by them they might have been perfect strangers to him instead of two of his most acute subordinates.

      Fleeting was in a pessimistic mood.

      ‘I’ve got to make a decision today, one way or the other, Heldway. Unless you can prove something definite after Vernet’s experiment, I shall close the deal. He threatens to go to Burnett’s. You’ve not found out anything?’

      ‘Only that he’s a smart man,’ parried the detective evasively. ‘I’ll make a report to you after the demonstration. Meanwhile, I’d like to get up to the laboratory. Is there any place there where I can hide?’

      ‘Not room for a mouse,’ declared Fleeting. ‘I had it cleared specially.’

      ‘Then the outer room will have to do. Is there a cupboard or a curtain in that outer room anywhere, where I can be out of sight?’

      ‘There are heavy, long plush curtains to the windows. But why out of sight? I am sure Vernet would not object—in fact, I am certain he has guessed you are watching him in my interests.’

      ‘So am I,’ answered Heldway grimly. ‘But even if he guesses I am concealed, he will say nothing.’

      ‘I like that, you know. It shows he isn’t afraid of investigation.’

      ‘H’m!’ grunted Heldway.

      Twelve o’clock was striking when Vernet entered, accompanied by Fleeting and a third man, whom the detective, watching from behind the curtain, guessed to be the expert searcher. Little time was wasted in preliminaries. The diamond-maker at once began to strip. The inevitable cigarette was still between his lips. The searcher made a slow, painstaking examination, and Vernet put on the suit which had been arranged for him.

      He puffed out a cloud of blue smoke and stepped to the laboratory door.

      Heldway flung back the curtain. ‘One moment, Mr Vernet,’ he said.

      Vernet stood with one hand on the door, the other holding his cigarette. His eyebrows went up in well-bred surprise, and he made a little gesture of annoyance. ‘This isn’t quite fair, Fleeting. I asked you to take every precaution you wished, but I did think you’d be open and above-board—not set this man to spy—Oh!’

      The detective had gripped his wrist. There was a second’s struggle, and then he staggered back from a quick push by the detective. Heldway had in his hand the broken fragments of the cigarette Vernet had been smoking. The diamond-maker had gone white. His fists clenched and his lips moved without speaking.

      ‘Look at that!’ exclaimed Heldway.

      He had crumbled the cigarette into shreds. In the tobacco in the palm of his hand lay three rough diamonds.

      It was then Vernet saw his opportunity. With a rapid movement he was at the door and, flinging it open, vanished before anyone could lift a finger to intercept him. ‘Never mind,’ said Heldway quietly, and lifting the window, he gave a long, low whistle.

      He could see his two men arrange themselves one on each side of the door. One calmly stuck out a foot as Vernet emerged. The other caught him as he tripped. He was as helpless as a child in their hands. Not a word was spoken as he was marched with business-like haste back into the office.

      ‘Vernet,’ said Heldway, as he again confronted the trickster, ‘you will be charged with attempting to obtain money by means of a trick. You may volunteer any statement, but, remember, anything you say may be used against you. One of you two fetch a cab.’

      Returning from the police station, Heldway accepted one of Fleeting’s choice cigars, and explained.

      ‘There are a lot of people,’ he said, ‘who believe that when you know a man’s guilty, all you’ve got to do is to arrest him. Those same people would raise Cain, of course, if one