The Ripening Rubies | Page 8

gone?"
"Just left, mum," he replied.
"Then go to bed, and never let me see you admit a stranger like that
again."
She went up again at this, and he turned to me, asking:
"What shall I do now, sir? I'll do anything if you'll speak for me, sir;
I've got twenty years' kerecter from Lord Walley; to think as she's a bad
'un--it's hardly creditable."
"I shall speak for you," said I, "if you do exactly what I tell you. Are
any more men expected now?"
"Yes, there's two more; the capting and the clergymin, pretty clergymin
he must be, too."
"Never mind that; wait and let them in. Then go upstairs and turn the
light out on the staircase as if by accident. After that you can go to
bed."
"Did you say the police was 'ere?" he asked in his hoarse whisper; and I
said:
"Yes, they're everywhere, on the roof, and in the street, and on the
balcony. If there's the least resistance, the house will swarm with
them."

What he would have said to this I cannot tell, for at that moment there
was another knock upon the front door, and he opened it instantly. Two
men, one in clerical dress, and one, a very powerful man, in a
Newmarket coat, went quickly upstairs, and the butler followed them.
A moment later the gas went out on the stairs; and there was no sound
but the echo of the talk in the front drawing-room.
The critical moment in my night's work had now come. Taking off my
boots, and putting my revolver at the half-cock, I crawled up the stairs
with the step of a cat, and entered the back drawing-room. One of the
folding doors of this was ajar, so that a false step would probably have
cost me my life--and I could not possibly tell if the police were really in
the street, or only upon their way. But it was my good luck that the men
talked loudly, and seemed actually to be disputing. The first thing I
observed on looking through the open door was that the woman had left
the four to themselves. Three of them stood about the table whereon the
lamp was; the dumpy man with the black whiskers sat in his arm-chair.
But the most pleasing sight of all was that of a large piece of
cotton-wool spread upon the table and almost covered with brooches,
lockets, and sprays of diamonds; and to my infinite satisfaction I saw
Lady Faber's pendant of rubies lying conspicuous even amongst the
wealth of jewels which the light showed.
There then was the clue; but how was it to be used? It came to me
suddenly that four consummate rogues such as these would not be
unarmed. Did I step into the room, they might shoot me at the first
sound; and if the police had not come, there would be the end of it. Had
opportunity been permitted to me, I would, undoubtedly, have waited
five or ten minutes to assure myself that Abel was in the street without.
But this was not to be. Even as I debated the point, a candle's light
shone upon the staircase; and in another moment Mrs. Kavanagh
herself stood in the doorway watching me. For one instant she stood,
but it served my purpose; and as a scream rose upon her lips, and I felt
my heart thudding against my ribs, I threw open the folding doors, and
deliberately shot down the glass of the lamp which had cast the aureola
of light upon the stolen jewels.

As the glass flew, for my reputation as a pistol shot was not belied in
this critical moment, Mrs. Kavanagh ran in a wild fit of hysterical
screaming to her bedroom above--but the four men turned with loud
cries to the door where they had seen me; and as I saw them coming, I
prayed that Abel might be there. This thought need not have occurred
to me. Scarce had the men taken two steps when the glass of the
balcony windows was burst in with a crash, and the whole room
seemed to fill with police.
* * *
I cannot now remember precisely the sentences which were passed
upon the great gang (known to police history as the Westbourne Park
gang) of jewel thieves; but the history of that case is curious enough to
be worthy of mention. The husband of the woman Kavanagh--he of the
black whiskers--was a man of the name of Whyte, formerly a manager
in the house of James Thorndike, the Universal Provider near the
Tottenham Court Road. Whyte's business had been to provide all things
needful for dances; and, though it astonishes me to write it, he had even
found dancing