Collected works of j s f.., p.876
Collected Works of J S Fletcher, page 876
But Linkwater was a man of resource and ingenuity. By the time he rose next morning he had hit on a plan which seemed to him a remarkably good one. Secure in his knowledge that he himself was not a Wyechester man, and had never set foot in the place until his first coming to it twenty years before, he invented a brother. He even gave this imaginary brother a name — Nelson. Nelson Linkwater sounded very well, and quite nautical. And it was necessary, for the purpose of Linkwater’s story, that the brother should be a man who had gone down to the sea in ships.
Next day, Linkwater took his weekly half-holiday, and got in the train for Salport, twenty miles away on the coast. It was not often that he visited that famous town of ships and sailors, but he knew it well enough to make a bee-line for what he wanted. In the queer little streets off the Hard, and in the nooks and corners of the Hard itself, there were shops of a sort which are never found in any but seaport towns — shops in which all sorts of odds and ends, from bits of old metal to pieces of rare ivory, accumulate. It would be difficult to give a fitting name to these shops; when you have said that their proprietors are general dealers you have said little, for the word “general” is too narrow a term. Linkwater spent half an hour in examining the windows of these establishments staring at the curious things which generations of seafaring men had picked up in all quarters of the globe and sold on coming home — usually for about a hundredth part of their value. And, finally, stepping into one kept by Issachar, a Semitic gentleman, he asked if there was such a thing in store as a second hand ditty box.
Now, the ditty box, as most folks are aware who know anything about nautical matters, is a small chest, often no longer than a cigar box, in which sailors are wont to keep their private belongings. Into this ditty box Jack puts all manner of queer things which he picks up in his travels. And Mr. Issachar had several in various states of repair. Linkwater picked out one that smelled strongly of the East, a square box made of some fragrant wood and fitted with a lock and key. It was by no means a new box, though it was in excellent repair; it looked as if it had been made by some Oriental craftsman at least a hundred years previously. This was precisely what Linkwater wanted, and he did not haggle about the price.
But his subsequent proceedings puzzled the vendor, who was well aware, from his semi-ecclesiastical rig, that Linkwater was not a seafaring man. For Linkwater began to buy things indiscriminately. He bought two or three old medals from a tray in the window, some Eastern coins, a string or two of beads, some pieces of embroidery, some carvings in bone, and at least one in ivory, a worked tobacco pouch and some queer pipes, a bit of canvas or two, two or three Indian images the size of his thumb, an ancient purse of black leather, ornamented with a skull and crossbones in silver — these were but items amongst other matters. As he purchased each he stored it in the ditty box; when the ditty box was full he paid the reckoning, had the box wrapped in canvas and brown paper, and went away. He had spent between four and five pounds, and he considered that he had laid out his money to good purpose.
Linkwater was very busy when he got home that night. Having locked up his cottage and drawn his blinds, he got out the precious stones from the chest beneath his bed, and stored them away in the queer old purse, wrapped the purse in one of the pieces of canvas, and deposited the parcel in the ditty box beneath all the other odds and ends. This done, and the box safely locked, he proceeded to wrap the oldest of his scraps of canvas round it, and afterwards to seal everything with wax. He used two or three sticks of wax in this sealing process. But if any second person had been present he would have been greatly surprised at Linkwater’s next proceeding.
For as soon as all the seals were firmly set and quite hard Linkwater deliberately broke them. He broke them just as any recipient of the parcel would have broken them — by tearing the canvas wrapping off the box. And as soon as this was done, he wrapped the canvas loosely round the box again, put the lot under his arm, turned down his lamp and set off to call on the sub-dean.
CHAPTER III. The Sub-Dean’s Advice
THE SUB-DEAN, A bachelor clergyman for whom Linkwater had a great respect, lived in rooms in the High Street, and he was toasting his toes at his fire, and reading a new pamphlet which had just been issued on a debatable point of Greek grammar, when the verger, carrying his parcel, was shown in to him. He stared over his spectacles as Linkwater set the parcel on the table.
“Hallo, Linkwater!” he said. “What have you got there? What’s that mysterious looking object?”
“Sorry to intrude upon you, sir,” replied Linkwater in his suavest tone. “I ventured to call, sir, desiring your advice. The fact is, sir — I don’t think you knew I had a brother — Nelson Linkwater, sir?”
“No,” answered the sub-dean. “Hadn’t any idea of it.”
“This is his ditty box, sir,” continued the verger, with a side glance at his parcel. “He was a seafaring man. A ditty box, sir, is what they keep their little belongings in. The fact is, sir, my brother is — deceased. I had not seen him for many years. But he remembered me, sir. I have been over to Salport to-day, to receive this box from the hands of another seafaring person, to whom my brother entrusted it — on his death-bed, sir, for conveyance to me. Just arrived from Bombay, sir, this person I speak of. And — there are matters in that box, sir, on which I should be glad of your advice.”
“Nothing — nothing alive, I hope?” suggested the sub-dean a little anxiously. “No snakes — nor centipedes — eh, Linkwater?”
“Nothing of that sort, sir,” said Linkwater, producing the key. “No, sir — far different matters; you needn’t be afraid, sir. Just the little things, curiosities and the like, sir, that a sailorman picks up and keeps,” he continued, as he threw back the lid, and began to lay before the sub-dean’s astonished eyes the odds and ends which he had bought of Mr. Issachar. “You see the sort of thing, sir. No great value, sir; but this purse, sir, contains something very different.”
He took the strip of canvas from the purse, unfastened the clasp and shook out the jewels. The sub-dean gasped, as the light from his lamp caught the gleam of diamonds, the blood-red of the rubies, the delicate blue of the sapphires.
“Bless my heart, Linkwater!” he exclaimed. “Why, those stones must be worth a fortune! And — your brother’s left them to you?”
Linkwater coughed behind his lifted hand.
“The seafaring man’s words, sir — name of Sprigg, sir, Silas Sprigg — quite a stranger to me until this afternoon, sir — were that my brother entrusted this box to him with a message,” he said. “All that was in it for brother, James Linkwater — with his blessing, sir. So I suppose these are rightfully mine, sir. You consider them valuable, sir?”
The sub-dean polished his spectacles, and looked carefully at the stones, turning them over gingerly with the tip of his little finger.
“I am no great hand in judging these things, Linkwater,” he said presently. “But I should say these stones are very valuable. Why, look at the size — and the fire of these diamonds! And those rubies! Rubies are exceedingly valuable, you know.”
“Indeed, sir?” remarked Linkwater. “Ah, I wasn’t aware of that, sir. Naturally I haven’t any knowledge of these things. Do you think Mr. Waterman, the jeweller, would buy them from me, sir?”
“Waterman!” exclaimed the sub-dean. “Dear me! I don’t suppose Waterman could afford it, Linkwater! Why, my good friend, these stones may be worth thousands! Where do you suppose your brother got them?”
Linkwater shook his head solemnly.
“I couldn’t say, sir,” he replied. “Nelson was a rolling stone, sir. He saw many strange places in his time. He was a great deal in India — and in Burma, sir.”
“Burma, I believe, is a great place for rubies,” remarked the sub-dean. “Dear me, this is very interesting! Well, I know what I would do if I were in your place, Linkwater — I should offer them to one of the great London firms. There must be — there are — great London jewellers who buy precious stones. I’ll tell you what I’ll do if you like. I have to go to town the day after to-morrow and I shall stay there for two or three days. I’ll make inquiries for you.”
Linkwater, always the politest of men, bowed his thanks.
“If I might be allowed to suggest, sir,” he said, “and if it would be no trouble to you, perhaps you wouldn’t mind showing these things to one of those firms you speak of? You would know better what to say to them. If it is not trespassing too much on your time, sir?”
“All right, all right, I will,” replied the sub-dean, who was a very good-natured man. “I remember now — there’s Morkin’s of Bond Street. They’re very famous people. But it’s rather a responsibility having those stones on hand, Linkwater. Won’t you be anxious about them?”
Linkwater smiled in a confidently superior manner.
“Not at all, sir,” he answered. “So long as you have them. I believe you have a safe, sir — if you wouldn’t mind putting the jewels in there until you go up to town.”
The sub-dean pulled out his keys. Then he and the verger counted the stones and locked them up. After which Linkwater went away with the ditty box and the clergyman returned to his pamphlet, and found himself wondering between every line however Nelson Linkwater came to possess those diamonds and rubies.
CHAPTER IV. Expert
THE OBLIGING SUB-DEAN, who was celebrated for his kindness of heart and disposition, and who had no other business in London than to pay a visit to his tailor and to look around a few old book shops, made his way to Morkin’s, of Bond Street, the very morning after his arrival. And to a very solemn and grave gentleman, who from his appearance might have been a Harley Street specialist rather than a seller of precious stones and metals, he explained his errand. There was no reason why he should not tell Linkwater’s story of his brother Nelson’s remarkable legacy, so he told it in full to the jeweller shop. And the jeweller, listening within the privacy of a parlour behind with great attention seemed to see nothing at all remarkable in the story. But when he came to examine the diamonds and the sapphires and the rubies, he appeared to find the contemplation of them extremely interesting; so much so, indeed, that he remained looking them over in silence for some minutes.
“You find those stones interesting?” suggested the sub-dean.
“Very interesting, indeed, sir,” replied the jeweller, “remarkably so!”
“And — er — valuable?” asked the sub-dean.
“I should say — from a first inspection of them — that they are valuable,” answered the jeweller cautiously.
“Of considerable value?”
“They may be of considerable value. Naturally, they need very careful inspection.”
The sub-dean as anxious on Linkwater’s behalf as if the stones had been his own ventured a direct question.
“Are you disposed to purchase them, then?”
“I think we should be disposed to purchase them,” replied the jeweller. “But I should like an expert’s opinion on them. The fact is,” he continued, giving the sub-dean a candid look, “although I have had twenty-five years of experience, I have never seen stones like these before! They appear to be of — well considerable antiquity. You are staying in town?”
“Until to-morrow at any rate,” replied the sub-dean.
“If you will leave these stones with me,” said the jeweller “and will call here again at four o’clock this afternoon I will in the meantime have them carefully examined by the greatest expert of the day — Mr. Levandine — and will give you his opinion upon them.”
“You are very kind,” assented the sub-dean. “That will suit me very well. At four o’clock, then?”
When the sub-dean went back at four o’clock he found the jeweller in his little parlour in company with a stoutish, shortish gentleman who was gazing at the jewels laid out on the table before him with an expression of deep interest. He looked up at the newcomer with keen eyes which were full of curiosity.
“This, sir, is Mr. Levandine,” said the jeweller. “He has examined these stones very carefully and with great attention.”
“You find them of interest?” remarked the sub-dean seating himself and looking at the expert with curiosity. “They are unusual?”
Mr. Levandine pulled out a queer looking old snuff box and helped himself to a pinch of its contents.
“Um,” said he. “Unusual! Interesting! I am not much of an expert in words, sir, but I am an expert in precious stones. Everybody knows me — wherever these things are bought and sold. Mr. Morkin, there, has told me your story about these things. Sent by a man in India to a man in England. Um! Well, I will tell you something. These stones are very old. They have all been at some time taken out of settings. I will stake my professional reputation that it is hundreds of years since they were so taken — hundreds of years since they were cut, polished, prepared! Fact, sir!”
“Dear me!” exclaimed the sub-dean, “I am deeply interested!”
“These diamonds, now,” continued the expert, moving the stones about with his delicately tipped fingers. “Perhaps you don’t know, but those who do know can tell something — a good deal — about the age of diamonds by the way they are cut. For many a hundred years nobody knew how to cut diamonds. Then somebody found out that you can cut and polish a diamond with — another diamond! They called that ‘bruting,’ and it was the only method they had — rubbing one diamond against another, for many a century. Then they began better methods — in India, and in China, and in Alexandria. But the man who invented the proper method — the polishing wheel, to be used with diamond dust — was Louis de Berquem, a Bruges man, who lived about 1450, or so.
“And so, sir, I will stake my professional reputation that these very diamonds that we see here were cut and polished about that time — probably by de Berquem’s cutters in Bruges under the Dukes of Burgundy in the fifteenth century — and nobody’s ever cut, polished, or interfered with these diamonds since. Except,” concluded Mr. Levandine, significantly, “except — to take ’em out of their settings. And that was done long, long, long ago!”
The sub-dean was listening with wide, wide open eyes.
“Dear me,” he exclaimed, “that is interesting. It would appear, then, that these stones must have gone from Europe to India, eh?”
Mr. Levandine sniffed — and took another pinch of snuff.
“If you want my honest opinion, sir,” he answered, “These stones — all of them — have at some time been taken from ecclesiastical ornaments. We all know that there were vast stores of precious stones in our old cathedrals before the Tudor times. They were set in shrines, in reliquaries, in vestments, in mitres, in copies of the sacred book. Old Harry the Eighth got lots of them, but a great many completely disappeared. Perhaps the cathedral clergy hid them. There were two or three English cathedrals which were particularly rich in treasure — York was one, yours of Wyechester was another. And,” concluded Mr. Levandine, as he arose and picked up his umbrella and made for the door, “my opinion, sir, as an expert, is that all these stones originally belonged to your cathedral, and have been found in some place where they had been hidden — four hundred years ago! Good day, sir.”
The expert marched out, and the sub-dean turned wonderingly to the jeweller.
“That is really remarkably interesting,” he said, “and a little disconcerting. I have no reason whatever for doubting our senior verger’s story. He is a most exemplary, well-conducted, thoroughly reliable man, and — er — not at all a man of any imagination. He could not — literally could not! — have invented the story which he told me. Besides, I myself saw, with my own eyes, the box which had been sent to him from his dead brother in Bombay. Of course, we don’t know how the brother became possessed of these stones. They may have been cathedral property once, and then gone on their travels, as it were, eh?”
“Precisely,” said the jeweller, a little drily, “But I have never known Mr. Levandine to be wrong. Do you still wish to dispose of these stones on your man’s behalf, sir?”
“Well — er — I should be glad to know what you are disposed to offer for them,” replied the sub-dean.
“We are willing,” answered the jeweller, “to pay four thousand pounds for them. Cash, of course.”
“Hem!” observed the sub-dean. “Four thousand pounds! That is their value, then?”
The jeweller coughed discreetly.
“Oh, well, not perhaps their value,” he answered, smiling a little. “That is what we are prepared to put down for them. We should look to profit by our dealing, you know, sir.”
“Frankly,” said the sub-dean, “what is their value, between ourselves now?”
“Well, perhaps, from five to six thousand pounds,” answered the jeweller. “Perhaps, rather more. But, as I said, we are willing, if your verger wants to sell, to pay four thousand — cash.”
