Mystery & Suspense - Daily Short Stories

The Great Ruby Robbery

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Duration:: 1h 3m
Broadcast on:: 24 Jun 2024
Audio Format:: mp3

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The Great Ruby Robbery Persis Raminette was an American heiress. As she justly remarked, this was a commonplace profession for a young woman nowadays. For almost everybody of late years has been an American and an heiress. A poor Californian, indeed, would be a charming novelty in London society. But London society, so far, has had to go without one. Persis Raminette was no way back from the Wilcox's ball. She was stopping, of course, with Sir Everett and Lady McClure at their house at Hampstead. I say, of course, advisedly, because if you or I go to see New York, we have to put up at our own expense, five dollars a day without wine or extras, at the Windsor or the Fifth Avenue. But when the pretty American comes to London, and every American girl is ex-official pretty, in Europe, at least, I suppose they keep their ugly ones at home, for domestic consumption. She is invariably the guest either of the do-wager duchess or of a royal lack of emission like Sir Everett, now the first distinction. Yankees visit Europe, in fact, to see, among other things, our art and our old nobility. And by dint of native persistence, they get into places that you and I could never succeed in penetrating, unless we devoted all the energies of a long and blameless life to securing an invitation. Versus hadn't been to the Wilcoxes with Lady McClure, however, the McClures were really too great to know such people as Wilcoxes, who were something tremendous in the city, but didn't buy pictures. And academicians, you know, don't care to cultivate city people, unless they are customers. Patrons, the academicians most usually call them, were I prefer the simple business word myself, as being a deal less patronizing. So purses had accepted an invitation from Mrs. Duncan Harrison, the wife of the well-known member for the Hackness Division of Elma Chire, to take a seat in her carriage to and from the Wilcoxes. Mrs. Harrison knew the habits and manners of American erises, too well to offer to chaperone purses. And indeed, purses, as a free-born American citizen, was quite as well able to take care of herself, the wide world over, as any three ordinary married English woman. Now, Mrs. Harrison had a brother, an Irish baronet, Sir Justin O'Biron, late of the eight Husses, who had been with them to the Wilcoxes, and who accompanied them home to Hampstead on the back seat of the carriage. Sir Justin was one of those charming, ineffective, elusive Irishmen, whom everybody likes, and everybody disapproves of. He had been everywhere, and done everything, except to earn an honest livelihood. The total absence of rents during the sixties and seventies had never prevented his father, old Sir Terrence O'Biron, who sat so long for Connemara in the unreformed parliament. From sending his son Justin in the state to Eton, and afterwards to a fashionable college at Oxford. "He gave me the education of a gentleman," Sir Justin was warned or regretfully to observe. But he omitted to give me also the income to keep it up with. Nevertheless, society felt O'Biron was the sort of man who must be kept afloat somehow. And it kept him afloat accordingly in those mysterious ways that only society understands, and that you and I, who are not society, could never get to the bottom-off if you tried for a century. Sir Justin himself had essayed Parliament, too, where he sat for a while behind the Great Parnell, without for a moment for feeding societies to regard, even in those early days when it was held as prime article of faith by the world that no gentleman could possibly call himself a home ruler. It was only of O'Biron's wild Irish tricks, society said, complacently. With that single indulgence, it always extends to its special favourites. And which is, in fact, the correlative of the unsparing cruelty it shows in turn to those who happen to offend against its unwritten precepts. If Sir Justin had blown up a SAR or two in a fit of political exuberance, society would only have regarded the escapade as one of O'Biron's eccentricities. He had also held a commission for a while in a cavalry regiment, which he left, it was understood, owing to a difference of opinion about her lady with the colonel. And he was now a gentleman at large on London society, supposed by those who know more about everyone than one knows about oneself. To be on the lookout for a nice girl with a little money. Sir Justin had paid Persis a great deal of attention that particular evening, in point of fact he had paid her a great deal of attention from the very first, whenever he met her. And on the way back home from the dance, he had kept his eyes fixed on Persis's face to an extent that was almost embarrassing. The pretty Californian leaned back in her place in the carriage and surveyed him languidly. She was looking at her level best at night in her pale pink dress with the famous Ramanet rubies in a cascade of red light setting off the snowy neck of hers. Twas a neck for a painter. Sir Justin let his eyes fall regretfully more than once on the glittering rubies. He liked an admired Persis, oh quite immensely. Your society man, who had been through seven or eight London seasons, could hardly be expected to go quite so far as falling in love with any woman. His habit is rather to look about him critically among all the nice girls, trotted out by their mamas for his lordly inspection and to reflect with a faint smile that this, that or the other one, might perhaps really suit him if it were not for. And there comes in the inevitable butt of all human commendation. Still, Sir Justin admitted with a sigh to himself that he liked Persis ever so much. She was so fresh and original that she talked so cleverly. As for Persis, she would have given her eyes like every other American girl to be made my lady. And she had seen no man yet with that auxiliary title in his gift, whom she liked half so well as this delightful wild Irishman. At the Macleer's door, the carriage stopped. So Justin jumped out and gave his hand to Persis. You know the house well of course, Sir Everett Macleer's. It's one of those large artistic mansions in red brick and old oak, the top of the hill. And it stands a little way back from the road, discreetly retired. The big wooden porch, very convenient for leave-taking. Sir Justin ran up the steps with Persis to ring the bell for her. He had too much of the repressible Irish blood in his veins to leave that pleasant task to his sister's footmen. But he didn't ring at once, and the risk of keeping Mrs. Harrison waiting outside for nothing. He stopped and talked a minute or so with the pretty American. "You look charming tonight, Miss Remenet," he said, as she threw back her light opera wrapped for a moment in the porch and displayed a single flash of the snowy neck with the famous rubies. "Those stones become you so." She looked at him and smiled. "You think so?" she said, a little tremulous. "For even your American interests, after all, is a woman." "Well, I'm glad you do, but it's goodbye tonight, Sir Justin, for I go next week to Paris." Even in the gloom of the porch, just lighted by an artistic red and blue lantern in brought iron, she could see a shade of disappointment pass quickly over his handsome face as he answered with a little gulp. "No, you don't mean that." "Oh, Miss Remenet, I am so sorry," then he paused and drew back. And yet, after all, he continued. Perhaps, and there he checked himself. Persis looked at him hastily. "Yet, after all, what?" she asked with evident interest. The young man drew an almost inaudible sigh. "Yet, after all, nothing," he answered evasively. "That might do for an English woman," Persis put in with American frankness. "But it won't do for me." "You must tell me what you mean by it." For she reflected sagely that the happiness of two lives might depend upon those two minutes. And have foolish to throw away the chance of a man you really like, with a my lady's ship to boot, all for the sake of pure convention. So Justin leaned against the woodwork of the retiring porch. She was a beautiful girl. He had hot Irish blood. Well, yes, just for once, he would say the plain truth to her. Miss Ramanet, he began leaning forward, and bringing his face close to hers. Miss Ramanet, Persis, shall I tell you the reason why? Because I like you so much. I almost think I love you." Persis felt a blood curer and a tingling cheeks. How handsome he was, and a baronet. "And yet you're not altogether sorry," she said reproachfully, "that I'm going to Paris." "No, not altogether sorry," he answered, sticking to it. "And I'll tell you why," too, Miss Ramanet. "I like you very much, and I think you like me." For a week or two, I have been saying to myself, "I really believe I must ask her to marry me." The temptation has been so strong I could hardly resist it. "And why do you want to resist it?" Persis asked, all tremulous. So Justin hesitated a second. And then with a perfectly natural and instinctive moment, though only a gentleman would have ventured to make it, he lifted his hand and just touched tips of his finger, the ruby pendant on her necklet. "This is why," he answered simply, "with manly frankness." " Persis, you're so rich, I'd never dare ask you." "Perhaps you don't know what my answer would be," Persis Ramanet very low, just to preserve her own dignity. "Oh yes, I think I do," the young man replied, gazing deeply into her dark eyes. "It isn't that, if it were only that, I wouldn't be so much minded, but I think you'd take me." There was moisture in her eye, he went on more boldly. "I know you'd take me, Persis, and that's why I don't ask you. You're a great deal, too rich, and these make it impossible." So Justin, Persis answered, removing his hand gently, but with the moisture growing thicker, Fushu really liked him. "It's most unkind of you to say so. Either you ought not have told me at all, or else if you did, she stopped short. Humboldly shame overcame her." The man leaned forward and spoke earnestly. "Oh, don't say that," he cried from his heart. "I couldn't bear to offend you, but I couldn't bear either to let you go away." Well, without ever having told you. In that case, you might have thought I didn't care at all for you, and I was only flirting with you. But, Persis, I have cared a great deal about you, a great deal, and had hard work many times to prevent myself from asking you. Now, I'll tell you the plain reason why I haven't asked you. I'm a man about town, not much good, I'm afraid, for anybody or anything. When everybody says I'm on the lookout for an heiress, which happens not to be true. And if I married you, everybody would say, "Ah, there, I told you so." Now, I wouldn't mind that for myself. I'm a man, and I could snap my fingers at them. But I'd mind it for you, Persis, for I'm enough in love with you to be very, very jealous, indeed, for your honor. I couldn't bear to think people should say, "That's that pretty American girl, Persis Ramanep. That was, you know?" She had thrown herself away upon that good for nothing Irishman, Justin, or Byron, a regular fortune hunter, who married her for her money. So for your sake, Persis, I'd rather not ask you. I'd rather leave you for some better man to marry. But I wouldn't, Persis cried aloud. "Oh, sir, Justin, you must believe me. You must remember." At that precise moment, Mrs Harrison put her head out of the carriage window and called out rather loudly. "Why, Justin, what's keeping you?" "Though horses will catch their deaths of cold." And they were clipped this morning. "Come back at once, my dear boy. Besides, you know, lay common answers." "All right, Nora," her brother answered. "I won't be a minute. We can't get them to answer this precious bell." "I believe it don't ring. But I'll try again, anyhow." And half forgetting that his own words weren't strictly true, for he hadn't yet tried. He pressed the knob with a vengeance. "Is that your room with the light burning, Miss Ramanet?" he went on, in a fairly loud official voice as a servant came to answer. "The one with the balcony, I mean." "Quite venison, isn't it?" Reminds one of Romeo and Juliet. "But most convenient for a burglary, too." "Such nice, low rails. Mind you, take good care of the Ramanet rubies." "I don't want to take care of them," Pursus answered, wiping her dim eyes hastily with her lace pocket handkerchief. "If they make you feel, as you say," said Justin. "I don't mind if they go. Let the burglar take them." And even as she spoke, the McClurefootman, immutable, spinks like, "Open the door for her." Pursus sat long in her own room that night before she began undressing. Her head was full of Sir Justin, and these mysterious hints of his. At last, however, she took her rubies off and a pretty silk bodice. "I don't care for them at all," she thought with a gulp. "If they keep from me the love of the man, I'd like to marry." It was late before she fell asleep, and when she did, her rest was troubled. She dreamt a great deal. In her dreams, Sir Justin and Dan's music and the rubies and burglars were incongversely mingled. To make up for it, she slept late next morning. And lady McClure let her sleep on, thinking she was probably wearyed out with much dancing the previous evening. As though any amount of excitement could ever weary a pretty American. About ten o'clock, she woke up with a start. A weak feeling oppressed her that somebody had come in during the night and stolen her rubies. She rose hastily, and went to her dressing table to look for them. The case was there all right. She opened it and looked at it. A prophetic soul, the rubies were gone, and the box was empty. Now, Persis had honestly said that night before the burglar might take her rubies if he chose, and she wouldn't mind the loss of them. But that was last night, and the rubies hadn't then has yet been taken. This morning somehow, things seemed quite different. It would be rough on us all, especially on politicians. If we must always be bound by what we said yesterday, Persis was an American, and no American is insensible to the charms of precious stones. It is a savage taste which European immigrants seem to have inherited obliquely from their red Indian predecessors. She rushed over to the bell and rang it with a feminine violence. Lady McCleers made answer the summons, as usual. She was a clever, demure-looking girl, this maid of Lady McCleers, and when Persis cried to her wildly, sent for the police at once, and tells her Everett, "My jewels are stolen." She answered, "Yes, Miss." With such sober acquiescence that Persis, who was American, and therefore a bundle of nerves, turned round and stared at her as an incomprehensible mystery. No Mahatma could have been more unmoved. She seemed quite to expect those rubies would be stolen, and to take no more notice of the incident than if Persis had told her she wanted hot water. Lady McCleers indeed greatly prided herself on this cultivated imperturbability of birthess. She regarded it as the fine flower of English domestic service, where Persis was American, and saw things otherwise. To her, the calm repose with which Bertha answered, "Yes, Miss, certainly Miss. I'll go and tell Sir Everett." Seemed nothing short of exasperating. Bertha went off with the news, closing the door quite softly. And a few minutes later, Lady McCleers herself appeared in the Californian's room, to console her visitor under this severe domestic affliction. She found Persis sitting up in the bed in a pretty French dressing jacket, pale blue with the reverse of font color, reading a book of verses. "Why, my dear," Lady McCleers exclaimed, "then you have found them again, I suppose?" Bertha told us, "you'd lost your lovely rubies." "So I have, dear Lady McCleers," Persis answered, wiping her eyes. "They are gone. They have been stolen. I forgot to lock my door when I came home last night, and the window was open. Somebody must have come in. This way or that, and taken them. But whenever I'm in trouble, I try a dose of browning. He's splendid for the nerves. He's so consoling, you know. He brings one to anchor." She breakfasted in bed. She wouldn't leave the room should declare till the police arrived. After breakfast, she rose and put on a dainty Parisian morning wrap. Americans have always such pretty bedroom things for these informal receptions, and sat up in a state to evade the police officer. Sir Everett himself, much disturbed that such a mishap should have happened in his house, went round in person to fetch the official. While he was gone, Lady McCleers made a thorough search of the room, but couldn't find a trace of the missing rubies. "Are you sure you put them in the case, dear?" she asked, for the honour of the household. And Perseus answered, "Quite confident, Lady McCleers. I always put them the moment I take them off, and when I came to look for them this morning, the case was empty." "They were very valuable, I believe," Lady McCleers said, inquiringly. "Six thousand pounds was the figure in your money, I guess," Perseus answered ruefully. "I don't know if you call that a lot of money in England, what we do in America." There was a moment's pause, and then Perseus spoke again. "Lady McCleers," she said abruptly. "Do you consider that made of yours, a Christian woman?" Lady McCleers was startled. That was hardly the light in which she was accustomed to regard the lower classes. "Well, I don't know about that," she said slowly. "That's a great deal, you know, dear, to assert about anybody, especially once made. But I should think she was honest, quite decidedly honest." "Well, that's the same thing about, isn't it?" Perseus answered, much relieved. "I am glad you think that so, for I was almost half afraid of her. She's too quiet for my taste, somehow, so silent, you know, and inscrutable." "Oh, my dear," her host described, "don't blame her for silence, that's just what I like about her." "It's exactly why I chose her for her. Such a nice, noiseless girl, moves about the room like a cat on tiptoe, knows her proper place, and never dreams of speaking unless she's spoken to." "Well, you may like them that way in Europe," Perseus responded, frankly. "But in America, we prefer them a little bit more human." Twenty minutes later, the police officer arrived. He wasn't in uniform, the inspector, feeling at once the gravity of the case and recognizing that this was a big thing, in which there was glory to be one, and perhaps promotion, sent the detective at once. And advised that if possible, nothing should be set to the household on the subject for the present, till the detective had taken a good look around the premises. "That was useless," Sir Everett feared, "for the lady made new, and the lady's maid would sure go down all agog with the news to the servants' hall immediately. However, they might try, no harm in trying, and sooner the detective got round to the house, of course, the better." The detective accompanied him back. A keen-faced, close-shaven, irreproachable-looking man, like a vulgarized copy of Mr. John Morley. He was curt and businesslike. His first question was, "Have the servants been told about this?" Lady McLaren looked inquiringly across at Bertha. She herself had been sitting all the time with the bereaved purses to console her, with browning, under this heavy affliction. "No, my lady," Bertha answered, "ever come." "In valuable servant, Bertha." I didn't mention it to anybody downstairs on purpose. Thinking, perhaps, it might be decided to search the servants' boxes. The detective pricked up his ears. He was engaged already in glancing casually around the room. He moved about it now, like a conjurer, with quiet steps and slow. He doesn't get on one's nerves, purses remarked approvingly, in an undertone to her friend. Then she added aloud. "What's your name, please, Mr. Officer?" The detective was lifting a lace handkerchief on the dressing table at the side. He turned round softly, "Gregory, madam," he answered, hardly glancing at the girl, and going on with his occupation. The same as the powders, purses interposed with a shudder. I used to take them when I was a child. I never could bear them. We are useful as remedies," the detective replied with a quiet smile. But nobody likes us. And he relapsed contently into his work once more, searching around the apartment. The first thing. If you're a facilities manager at a warehouse and your HVAC system goes down, it can turn up the heat, literally. But don't sweat it, Granger has you covered. Granger offers over a million industrial-grade products for all your operations, including warehouse HVAC maintenance. And even better, they offer access to experts and fast delivery. So you and your warehouse can both keep your cool. Call 1-800-GRANGER, click Granger.com, or just stop by. Granger, for the ones who get it done. Welcome to SoulGood Media, where your journey into a world of endless audio possibilities begins. Imagine a place where you can discover thousands of captivating audio books. Immerse yourself in tranquil sounds for sleep and meditation. And explore timeless stories and lectures that expand your mind and enrich your soul. At SoulGoodMedia.com, we believe in the power of stories to transform lives. Whether you're a lifelong learner, a parent seeking bedtime stories for your children, or someone looking to unwind after a long day, we have something just for you. We invite you to try all good media-free for one month. Explore our extensive collection and find the perfect audio content that resonates with you. Join our community of passionate listeners and unlock a world of knowledge, relaxation, and inspiration. Visit SoulGoodMedia.com today and start your free trial. That's S-O-L-G-O-O-D-M-E-D-I-A.com. "The thing we have to do," he said with a calm air of superiority, standing now by the window with one hand in his pocket, is to satisfy ourselves whether or not there has really at all been a robbery. You must look through the room well and see you haven't left rubies lying about loose somewhere. Such things often happen. We are constantly called in to investigate a case when it's only a matter of lady's carelessness. At this, hers is flared up. A daughter of the great republic isn't accustomed to be doubted like a mere European woman. "I am quite sure I took them off," she said, "and put them back in the jewel case. Of that, I am just confident. There isn't a doubt possible." Mr. Gregory redoubled the search in all likely and unlikely places. "I should say that settles the matter," he answered blankly. "Our experience is that whenever a lady is perfectly certain, beyond the possibility of doubt, she put a thing away safely. It's absolutely sure to turn up where she says she didn't put it." Persis answered him never a word. Her manners had not that repose that stamps the cost of wordy were. So to prevent an outbreak, she took refuge in browning. Mr. Gregory, nothing abashed, searched the room thoroughly, up and down. Without the faintest regard to Persis's feelings. He was a detective, he said, and his business was first of all to unmask crime, irrespective of circumstances. Lady McClure stood by meanwhile, with the imperturbable birther. Mr. Gregory investigated every hole in cranny. Like a man who wishes to let the world see for itself, he performs a disagreeable duty with unflinching paranas. When he had finished, he turned to Lady McClure. "And now, if you please," he said blankly. "We will proceed to investigate the servants' boxes." Lady McClure looked at a maid. "Birtha," she said. "Go downstairs and see that none of the other servants come up meanwhile to their bedrooms. Lady McClure was not quite to the man of born, and had never acquired the hateful aristocratic habit of calling women servants by their surnames only. But the detective interposed. "No, no," he said sharply. This young woman had better stop here with Miss Reminette, strictly under her eye, till I have searched the boxes. "For if I find nothing there, it may perhaps be my disagreeable duty, by and by, to call in a female detective to search her." It was Lady McClure's turn to fare up now. "Why, this is my own maid," she said in a chilly tone, "and I have every confidence in her." "Very sorry about that, my lady," Mr. Gregory responded in a most official voice. "But our experience teaches us that if there is a person in the case whom nobody ever dreams of suspecting, that's the person one who has committed the robbery." "Why, you will be suspecting myself next," Lady McClure cried with some disgust. "Your lady ships, just the last person, in the world I should think of suspecting," the detective answered with the differential bow, which after this previous speech was to say the least of its equivocal. Persons began to get annoying. She didn't like half the look of what the girl birthed herself, but still. She was there as Lady McClure's guests, and she couldn't expose her hostess to discomfort on her own account. "The girl shall not be searched," she put in growing hot. "I don't care as sent whether I lose the wretched stones or not. Compared to human dignity, what are they worth?" "Not five minutes consideration." "They are worth just seven years," Mr. Gregory answered, with a professional definiteness. "And as to searching, why, that's out of your hands now. This is a criminal case. I am here to discharge a public duty." "I don't mind in the least being searched," both are put in obligingly, with an air of indifference. "You can search me if you like, when you've got a warrant for it." The detective looked up sharply, so also did purses. This ready acquaintance with liberty of the subject, in criminal cases, impressed her unfavorably. "Ah, we will see about that," Mr. Gregory answered, with a cool smile. "Meanwhile, Lady McClure, I'll have a look at the boxes." The search, strictly illegal, brought out nothing. Mr. Gregory returned to purses his bedroom, disconsulate. "You can leave the room," he said to Bertha, and Bertha glided out. "I have set another man outside to keep a constant eye on her," he added an explanation. By this time, purses had almost made her mind up, as to who was the culprit, but she said nothing overt for Lady McClure's sake to the detective. As for that immovable official, he began asking questions, some of them purses thought, almost bothering on personal. Where had she been last night? Was she sure she had really won the rubies? How did she come home? Was she certain she took them off? Did the maid help her unrest? Who came back with her in the carriage? To all these questions, rapidly fired off with cross-examining acuteness, purses answered in the direct American fashion. She was sure she had the rubies on when she came back home to hamster, because her Justin O'Byrin, who came back with her in her sister's carriage, had noticed them the last thing, and had told her to do care of them. At mention of that name, the detective smiled meaningly. A meaning smile is a stock-in-trader detective. Oh, so Justin O'Byrin, he repeated, with quiet self-constraint. He came back with you in the carriage then. And he reset the same side with you. Lady McClure grew indignant. That was Mr. Gregory's cue. "Really, sir?" she said angrily. "If you are going to suspect gentlemen in Sir Justin's position, we shall none of us be safe from you." "The law," Mr. Gregory replied, with an air of profound difference, "is no respecter of persons." "But it ought to be of characters," Lady McClure cried warmly. "What's the good of having a blameless character? I should like you to know if it doesn't allow you to commit a robbery with impunity?" The detective interposed, finishing a sentence in his own way. "Well, well, that's true. That's perfectly true, but Sir Justin's character, you see, can hardly be called blameless." "He's a gentleman," purses cried, with flashing eyes turning round upon the officer. "And he's quite incapable of such a mean and despicable crime as you dare to suspect him of." "Oh, I see," the officer answered. "Like one to whom a welcome ray of light breaks suddenly through a great darkness." "So Justin's a friend of yours." "Did he come into the porch with you?" "He did," purses answered, flushing crimson. "And if you have had the insolence to bring a charge against him?" "Calm yourself, madam," the detective replied coolly. "I do nothing of the sort at this stage of the proceedings." "It's possible there may have been no robbery in case at all." "You must keep our minds open for the present to every possible alternative." "It's a delicate matter to hint at." "But before we go any further." "Do you think perhaps, Sir Justin, may have carried the rubies away by mistake and tangled in his clothes?" "Say, for example, his cold sleeve?" "It was a loophole of escape, but purses didn't jump at it." "He had never the opportunity," she answered with a flash. "And I know quite well. They were there on my neck when he left me." "For the last thing he said to me was looking up at this very window." "That balcony is awfully convenient for a burglary." "Mind you take good care of the remnant rubies." "And I remembered what he said when I took them off last night." "And that's what made me so sure I really had them." "And you slept with the window open?" "The detective went on, still smiling to himself." "Well, here we have all the materials to be sure for our first class mystery." "For some more days, nothing further turned up of importance about the great ruby robbery." "It got into the papers, of course, as everything does nowadays, and all London was talking of it." "Pursus found herself quite famous as the American lady who had lost her jewels." "People pointed her out in the park. People stared at her heart through their opera glasses at the theater." "Indeed. The possession of the celebrated remnant rubies had never made of half so conspicuous in the world as the loss of them made her." "It was almost worthwhile losing them," Pursus thought, "to be so much made of as she was in society in consequence." "All the world knows a young lady must be somebody when she can offer a reward of five hundred pounds for the recovery of jujaws valued at six thousand." "So Justin met her in the row one day. Then you don't go to Paris for a while yet. Until you get them back, he inquired very low." "And Pursus answered blushing." "No, so Justin. Not yet. And I'm almost glad of it." "No. You don't mean that," the young man cried, "with perfect boyish order." "Well, I confess, Mr. Ramanek. The first thing I thought myself when I read it in the Times was just the very same." "Then, after all, she won't go yet to Paris." "Pursus looked at him from her pony with American frankness." "And I," she said, quivering, "I found anchor in Browning. For what do you think I read?" "And learn to rate it through man's heart, far above rubies." "The book opened at the very place, and there I found anchor." "But when Sir Justin went round to his rooms that same evening, his servant said to him, "Our gentleman was inquiring for you here this afternoon, sir." "A close shave, gentlemen. Not very proposing." "And it seemed to me somehow, sir, as if he was trying to pump me." So Justin's face was grave. He went to his bedroom at once. He knew what the man wanted. And he turned straight to his wardrobe, looking hard at the dress code he had worn on the eventful evening. Things may cling to his sleeve, don't you know? Or be entangled in a cuff, or get casually into a pocket? Or someone may put them there? For the next ten days or so, Mr. Gregory was busy, constantly busy. Without doubt, he was the most active and energetic of detectives. He carried out so fully his own official principle of suspecting everybody, from China to Peru, that at last poor purses got fairly amazed with his web of possibilities. Nobody was safe from his cultivated and highly trained suspicion. Not Sir Everett in his studio, nor Lady McClure in her Boudoir, nor the Butler in his pantry, nor Sir Justin O'Biron in his rooms in St. James. Mr. Gregory kept an open mind against everybody and everything. He even doubted the parrot, and had views as to the intervention of rats and terriers. Perses got rather tired at last of his perverse ingenuity, especially as she had a very shrewd idea herself who had stolen the rubies. When he suggested various doubts, however, which seemed remotely to implicate Sir Justin's honesty, the sensitive American girl felt it go on her nerves and refused to listen to him. Though Mr. Gregory never ceased to enforce upon her, by precept and example, his own pet doctrine that the last person on earth one would likely to suspect is always the one. If you're a facilities manager at a warehouse and your HVAC system goes down, it can turn up the heat, literally. But don't sweat it, Granger has you covered. Granger offers over a million industrial-grade products for all your operations, including warehouse HVAC maintenance. And even better, they offer access to experts and fast delivery, so you and your warehouse can both keep your cool. Call 1-800-Granger, click Ranger.com, or just stop by. Granger, for the ones who get it done. Who turns out to have done it? A morning or two later, Perses looked out of her window as she was dressing her hair. She dressed it herself now, though she was an American heiress, and therefore, of course, the laziest of her kind. For she had taken an unaccountable dislike, somehow, to the quiet girl Bertha. On this particular morning, however, when Perses looked out, she saw Bertha engaged in a close and apparently very intimate conversation with the hamster postman. This site disturbed the unstable equilibrium in her equanimity, not a little. Why should Bertha go to the door to the postman at all? Surely, it has no part the duty of Lady McClure's maid to take in the letters. And why should she want to go prying in the question of who wrote to Ms. Ramanak? For Perses intensely conscious herself that a note from Sir Justin lay on the top of the postman's bundle. She recognized it at once, even at that distance below, by the peculiar shape of the broad rough envelope. Jump to the natural feminine conclusion that Bertha must be influenced by some extrusive motive of which she herself purses was, to say the very least, a competent element. We are all prone to see everything from a personal standpoint, indeed. The one quality which makes a man or a woman into a possible novelist, good, bad or indifferent, is just the special power of throwing himself or herself into a great many people's personalities alternately. And this is a power possessed on average by not one in thousand men or not one in ten thousand women. Perses rang the bell violently. Bertha came up, all smiles. Did you want anything, Miss? Perses could have choked her. Yes, she answered plainly, taking the bull by the horns. I want to know what you were doing down there, prying into other people's letter with the postman. Bertha looked up at her, ever bland. She answered at once, without a second's hesitation. The postman's my young man, Miss, and we hope before very long now to be married. O dearest thing, Perses thought, a glib lie always ready on the tip of her tongue for every emergency. But Bertha's full heart was beating violently, beating with love and hope and deferred anxiety. Little later in the day, Perses mentioned the incident casually to Lady McClure, mainly in order to satisfy herself, that the girl had been lying. Lady McClure, however, gave a qualified assent. "I believe she's engaged to the postman," she said. "I think I've heard so. Though I make it a rule, you see my dear, to know as little as I can of these people's love affairs, we are so very uninteresting." But Bertha certainly told me she wouldn't leave me to get married for an infant-in-depthan period. That was only ten days ago. She said her young man wasn't yet in a position to make a home for her. "Perhaps," Perses suggested grimly. "Something has occurred meanwhile to better hear her position." "Such strange things crop up. She may have come into her fortune." "Perhaps so," Lady McClure replied languidly. The subject bowed her. "Though, if so, it must really have been very sudden. For I think it was morning before you lost your jewels." She told me so. Perses thought that odd, but she made no comment. Before dinner that evening, she burst suddenly to Lady McClure's room for a minute. Bertha was dressing her lady's hair. "Friends were coming to dine. Among them, sir Justin." "How do these pearls go with my complexion, Lady McClure?" Perses asked rather anxiously. "For she especially wished to look her best that evening for one of the party." "Oh, charming!" her hostess replied on set with a society smile. "Never saw anything suit you better, Perses." "Except my poor rubies," Perses cried rather ruefully, "for the colored g-jaws, are dear to the savage and the woman." "I wish I could get them back." "I wonder that man Gregory hasn't succeeded in finding them." "Oh, my dear," Lady McClure drawled out. "You may be sure by this time they are safe at Amsterdam." "That's the only place in Europe now to look for them." "Why to Amsterdam, my lady?" Bertha interspersed suddenly, with a quicksite glance at Perses. Lady McClure threw her head back in surprise, at so unwanted an intrusion. "What do you want to know that for, child?" she asked somewhat curtly. "Why to be cut, of course. All the diamond cutters in the world are concentrated in Amsterdam. And the first thing a thief does when he steals big jewels is to send them across and have them cut in new shapes so they can't be identified." "I shouldn't have thought so," Bertha put in calmly. "They'd have known who to send them to." Lady McClure turned to her sharply. "Why, these things," she said with a calm air of knowledge, "are always done by experienced thieves who know the robes well, and are in league with receivers the whole world over." "But Gregory has his eye on Amsterdam, I'm sure, and we'll soon hear something." "Yes, my lady," Bertha answered, in her acquiescent tone and relapsed into silence. Four days later, about nine at night, that hard-worked man, the posty on the beat, stood loitering outside Sir Everett McClure's house, openly defining the rules of the department in close conference with Bertha. "Well, any news?" Bertha asked, trembling over with excitement, for she was a very different person outside with her lover from the demure and imperturbable model maid who waited on my lady. "Oh, yes," the posty answered, with a low laugh of triumph, "a letter from Amsterdam, and I think we have fixed it." Bertha almost flung herself upon him. "Oh, Harry," she cried, all eagerness, "this is too good to be true, then in just one other month, we can really get married." There was a minute pause, in articulately filled by the sounds of unrepresentable through the art of the type founder. "Then Harry spoke again. It's an awful lot of money," he said, musing, "a regular fortune. And what's more, Bertha? If it hadn't been for your cleverness, you never should have cut it." Bertha pressed his hand affectionately. "Even ladies maid are human." "Well, if I hadn't been so much in love with you," she answered frankly. "I don't think I could have ever had the wit to manage it, but oh, Harry, love makes one do or try anything." The person had heard those singular words. She would have felt no doubt was any longer possible. Next morning at ten o'clock, a policeman came around, post-haste, to Sir Evrids. He asked to say Miss Ramanep. When Persis came down in a morning wrap, he had put a brief message from the headquarters to give her. The jewels are found, Miss. Will you step around and identify them?" Persis drove back with him all trembling. Lady McClure accompanied her. At the police station, they left their cab and entered the anti-room. A little group had assembled there. The first person, Persis distinctly made out. In it was Sir Justin. A great terror seized her. Gregory had so poisoned her mind by this time. With suspicion of everybody and everything she had came across, that she was afraid of her own shadow. But the next moment, she saw clearly he wasn't there as prisoner, or even as witness, merely as spectator. She acknowledged him with a hasty bow and cast her eye around again. The next person she definitely distinguished was Bertha, as calm and cool as ever, but in the very centre of the group. Occupying as it was the place of honour, which naturally belonged to the prisoner on all similar occasions. Persis was not surprised at that. She had known it all along. She glanced meaningly at Gregory, who stood a little behind, looking by no means triumphant. Persis found his dejection awed, but he was a proud detective, and perhaps someone else had affected the capture. "These are your jewels, I believe," the inspector said, holding them up, and Persis admitted it. This is a painful case, the inspector bent on. A very painful case. We grieve to have discovered such a clue against one of our own men, but as he owns it to himself and intends to throw himself on the mercy of the code. It's no use talking about it. He won't tend to defend it. Indeed, with such evidence, I think he's doing what's best and wisest. Persis stood there all dazed. "I don't understand," she cried with a swimming brain. "Who on earth are you talking about?" The inspector pointed mutely with one hand at Gregory, and for the first time, Persis saw he was guarded. She clapped her hand to her head. In a moment, it all broken upon her. When she had called in the police, the rubies had never been stolen at all. It was Gregory who stole them. She understood it now at once. The real facts came back to her. She had taken her necklace off at night, laid it carelessly down on the dressing table, too full of her Justin, covered it accidentally with her lace pocket handkerchief, and straight away forgotten all about it. Next day, she missed it and jumped at conclusions. When Gregory came, he spied the rubies as cons under the corner of the handkerchief. Of course, being a woman, she had naturally looked everywhere except in the place where she had laid them. And knowing it was a safe case, he had quickly pocketed them before her very eyes, all unsuspected. He felt sure nobody could accuse him of robbery, which was committed before he came, and which he had himself been called in to investigate. The worst of it is, the Inspector went on. He had woven a very ingenious case against her Justin or Byron, whom we were on the very point of arresting today. If this young woman hadn't come in in the eleventh hour, in the very nick of time, and earned the reward by giving us the clue that led to the discovery and the recovery of jewels. They were brought over this morning by an Amsterdam detective. Persis looked hard at Bertha. Bertha answered her look. "My young man was the postman, Miss," she explained, quite simply. And after what my lady said, I put him up to watch Mr. Gregory's delivery for the letter from Amsterdam. I had suspected him from the very first, and when the letter came, we had him arrested at once, and found out who were the people in Amsterdam who had the rubies. Persis gasped with astonishment. Her brain was reeling, but Gregory in the background put in one last word. "Well, I was right after all," he said with professional pride. "I told you, the very last person you dream of suspecting, was sure to be the one that actually did it." Lady or Byron's rubies were very much admired at Monte Carlo last season. Mr. Gregory had found permanent employment for the next seven years at her Majesty's Queries on the Isle of Portland. Bertha and her postman have retired to Canada, with 500 pounds to buy a farm. And everybody says that Justin or Byron has beaten the record, after all, even for Irish baronets, by making a marriage at once of money and affection. The End of the Grade Ruby Robbery by Grant Allen. Hey there, it's Solomon from Salgood Media. A lot of our listeners have asked how to get ad-free access to our podcast. You asked, and we answered, we're offering an exclusive one-month free trial to our ad-free streaming platform, packed with over 500 audiobooks, meditation sounds, and engaging podcasts. No strings attached, just pure listening pleasure. Sign up today at SalgoodMedia.com and dive into a world of stories and sounds that inspire and relax. Don't miss out on this limited time offer, it's your gateway to unlimited audio enjoyment. 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