Chapter 3

I had seen the marvellous creation very often at the opera, and in many ways
resented it. Not that I was in the least degree a victim to envy, hatred,
and malice towards those who are possessed of a superabundance of this
world's good things--far from it. I rejoice in the great fortunes of earth
because, with every dollar corralled by the superior energies of the multi-
millionaires, the fewer there are for other men to seek, and until we stop
seeking dollars and turn our minds to other, finer things, there will be no
hope of peace and sweet content upon this little green ball we inhabit. My
resentment of Mrs. Burlingame's diamond stomacher was not then based on envy
of its possession, but merely upon the twofold nuisance which it created at
the opera-house, as the lady who wore it sat and listened to the strains of
Wagner, Bizet, or Gounod, mixed in with the small-talk of Reggie Stockson,
Tommie de Coupon, and other lights of the social firmament. In the first
place, it caused the people sitting about me in the high seats of the opera-
house to chatter about it and discuss its probable worth every time the lady
made her appearance in it, and I had fled from the standee part of the house
to the top gallery just to escape the talkers, and, if possible, to get my
music straight, without interruptions of any sort whatsoever on the side. In
the second place, the confounded thing glittered so that, from where I sat,
it was as dazzling as so many small mirrors flashing in the light of the
sun. It seemed as if every electric light in the house found some kind of a
refractor in the thousands of gems of which it was composed, and many of the
brilliant light effects of the stage were dimmed in their lustre by the
persistent intrusion of Mrs. Burlingame's glory upon my line of vision.

Hence in was that, when I picked up my morning paper and read in great
flaring head-lines on the front page that Mrs. Burlingame's diamond
stomacher had been stolen from her at her Onyx Cottage at Newport, I smiled
broadly, and slapped the breakfast-table so hard in my satisfaction that
even the shredded-wheat biscuits flew up into the air and caught in the
chandelier.

"Thank Heaven for that!" I said. "Next season I shall be able to enjoy my
opera undisturbed."

"I little thought, at that blissful moment, how closely indeed were my own
fortunes to be connected with that wonderful specimen of the jeweler's
handicraft, but an hour later I was made aware of the first link in the
chain that, in a measure, bound me to it. Breakfast over, I went to my desk
to put the finishing touches to a novel I had written the week before, when
word came up on the telephone from below that a gentleman from _Busybody's
Magazine_ wished to see me on an important matter of business.

"Tell him I'm already a subscriber," I called down, supposing the visitor to
be merely an agent. "I took the magazine, and a set of Chaucer in a
revolving bookcase, from one of their agents last month and have paid my
dollar."

In a moment another message came over the wire.

"The gentleman says he wants to see you about writing a couple of full-page
sonnets for the Christmas number," the office man 'phoned up.

"Show him up," I replied, instantly.

Two minutes later a rather handsome man, with a fine eye and a long, flowing
gray beard, was ushered into my apartment.

"I am Mr. Stikes, of _Busybody's,_ Mr. Jenkins," he said, with a twinkle in
his eye. "We thought you might like to contribute to our Christmas issue. We
want two sonnets, one on the old Christmas and the other on the new. We
can't offer you more than a thousand dollars apiece for them, but--"

Something caught in my throat, but I managed to reply. "I might shade my
terms a trifle since you want as many as two," I gurgled. "And I assume you
will pay on acceptance?"

"Certainly," he said, gravely. "Could you let me have them, say--this
afternoon?"

I turned away so that he would not see the expression of joy on my face, and
then there came from behind me a deep chuckle and the observation in a
familiar voice:

"You might throw in a couple of those Remsen coolers, too, while you're
about it, Jenkins."

I whirled about as if struck, and there, in place of the gray-bearded
editor, stood--Raffles Holmes.

"Bully disguise, eh!" he said, folding up his beard and putting it in his
pocket.

"Ye-e-es," said I, ruefully, as I thought of the vanished two thousand. "I
think I preferred you in disguise, though, old man," I added.

"You won't when you hear what I've come for," said he. "There's $5000 apiece
in this job for us."

"To what job do you refer?" I asked.

"The Burlingame case," he replied. "I suppose you read in the papers this
morning how Mrs. Burlingame's diamond stomacher has turned up missing."

"Yes," said I, "and I'm glad of it."

"You ought to be," said Holmes, "since it will put $5000 in your pocket. You
haven't heard yet that there is a reward of $10,000 offered for its
recovery. The public announcement has not yet been made, but it will be in
to-night's papers, and we are the chaps that are going to get the reward."

"But how?" I demanded.

"Leave that to me," said he. "By-the-way, I wish you'd let me leave this
suit-case of mine in your room for about ten days. It holds some important
papers, and my shop is turned topsy-turvy just now with the painters."

"Very well," said I. "I'll shove it under my bed."

"I took the suit-case as Holmes had requested, and hid it away in my
bedroom, immediately returning to the library, where he sat smoking one of
my cigars as cool as a cucumber. There was something in his eye, however,
that aroused my suspicion as soon as I entered.

"See here, Holmes," said I. "I can't afford to be mixed up in any shady
business like this, you know. Have you got that stomacher?"

"No, I haven't," said he. "Honor bright--I haven't."

I eyed him narrowly.

"I think I understand the evasion," I went on. "_You_ haven't got it because
I have got it--it's in that suit-case under my bed."

"Open it and see for yourself," said he. "It isn't there."

"But you know where it is?" I demanded.

"How else could I be sure of that $10,000 reward?" he asked.

"Where is it?" I demanded.

"It--er--it isn't located yet--that is, not finally," said he. "And it won't
be for ten days. Ten days from now Mrs. Burlingame will find it herself and
we'll divvy on the reward, my boy, and not a trace of dishonesty in the
whole business."

And with that Raffles Holmes filled his pockets with cigars from my stores,
and bidding me be patient went his way.

The effect of his visit upon my nerves was such that any more work that day
was impossible. The fear of possible complications to follow upset me
wholly, and, despite his assurance that the suit-case was innocent of
surreptitiously acquired stomachers, I could not rid my mind of the
suspicion that he made of my apartment a fence for the concealment of his
booty. The more I thought of it the more was I inclined to send for him and
request him to remove the bag forthwith, and yet, if it should so happen
that he had spoken the truth, I should by that act endanger our friendship
and possibly break the pact, which bade fair to be profitable. Suddenly I
remembered his injunction to me to look for myself and see if the stomacher
really was concealed there, and I hastened to act upon it. It might have
been pure bluff on his part, and I resolved not to be bluffed.

The case opened easily, and the moment I glanced into it my suspicions were
allayed. It contained nothing but bundle after bundle of letters tied
together with pink and blue ribbons, one or two old daguerreotypes, some
locks of hair, and an ivory miniature of Raffles Holmes himself as an
infant. Not a stomacher, diamond or otherwise, was hid in the case, nor any
other suspicious object, and I closed it with a sheepish feeling of shame
for having intruded upon the sacred correspondence and relics of the happy
childhood days of my new friend.

That night, as Holmes had asserted, a reward of $10,000 was offered for the
recovery of the Burlingame stomacher, and the newspapers for the next ten
days were full of the theories of detectives of all sorts, amateur,
professional, and reportorial. Central Office was after it in one place,
others sought it elsewhere. The editor of one New York paper printed a full
list of the names of the guests at Mrs. Burlingame's dinner the night the
treasure was stolen, and, whether they ever discovered it for themselves or
not, several bearers of highly honored social names were shadowed by
reporters and others everywhere they went for the next week. At the end of
five days the reward was increased to $20,000, and then Raffles Holmes's
name began to appear in connection with the case. Mrs. Burlingame herself
had sent for him, and, without taking it out of the hands of others, had
personally requested him to look into the matter. He had gone to Newport and
looked the situation over there. He had questioned all the servants in her
two establishments at Newport and New York, and had finally assured the lady
that, on the following Tuesday morning, he would advise her by wire of the
definite location of her missing jewel.

During all this time Holmes had not communicated with me at all, and I began
to fear that, offended by my behavior at our last meeting, he had cut me out
of his calculations altogether, when, just as I was about to retire on
Sunday night, he reappeared as he had first come to me--stealing up the
fire-escape; and this time he wore a mask, and carried unquestionably a
burglar's kit and a dark lantern. He started nervously as he caught sight of
me reaching up to turn off the light in the library.

"Hang it call, Jenkins!" he cried. "I thought you'd gone off to the country
for the week-end."

"No," said I. "I meant to go, but I was detained. What's up?"

"Oh, well--I may as well out with it," he answered. "I didn't want you to
know, but--well, watch and see."

With this Raffles Holmes strode directly to my bookcase, removed my extra-
illustrated set of Fox's _Book of Martyrs,_ in five volumes, from the
shelves, and there, resting upon the shelf behind them, glittered nothing
less than the missing stomacher!

"Great Heavens, Holmes!" I said, "what does this mean? How did those
diamonds get there?"

"I put them there myself while you were shoving my suit-case under your bed
the other night," said he.

"You told me you didn't have them," I said, reproachfully.

"I didn't when I spoke--_you_ had them," said he.

"You told me they had not been finally located," I persisted, angrily.

"I told you the truth. They were only temporarily located," he answered.
"I'm going to locate them definitely to-night, and to-morrow Mrs. Burlingame
will find them--"

"Where?" I cried.

"_In her own safe in her New York house!_" said Raffles Holmes.

"You--"

"Yes--I took them from Newport myself--very easy job, too," said Raffles
Holmes. "Ever since I saw them at the opera last winter I have had this in
mind, so when Mrs. Burlingame gave her dinner I served as an extra butler
from Delmonico's--drugged the regular chap up on the train on his way up
from New York--took his clothes, and went in his place. That night I rifled
the Newport safe of the stomacher, and the next day brought it here. To-
night I take it to the Burlingame house on Fifth Avenue, secure entrance
through a basement door, to which, in my capacity of detective, I have
obtained the key, and, while the caretakers sleep, Mrs. Burlingame's diamond
stomacher will be placed in the safe on the first floor back.

"To-morrow morning I shall send Mrs. Burlingame this message: _'Have you
looked in your New York safe?_ [Signed] Raffles Holmes,'" he continued. "She
will come to town by the first train to find out what I mean; we will go to
her residence; she will open the safe, and--$20,000 for us."

"By Jove! Holmes, you are a wonder," said I. "This stomacher is worth
$250,000 at the least," I added, as I took the creation in my hand. "Pot of
money that!"

"Yes," said he, with a sigh, taking the stomacher from me and fondling it.
"The Raffles in me tells me that, but the Sherlock Holmes in my veins--well,
I can't keep it, Jenkins, if that is what you mean."

I blushed at the intimation conveyed by his words, and was silent; and
Holmes, gathering up his tools and stuffing the stomacher in the capacious
bosom of his coat, bade me au revoir, and went out into the night.

The rest is already public property. All the morning papers were full of the
strange recovery of the Burlingame stomacher the following Tuesday morning,
and the name of Raffles Holmes was in every mouth. That night, the very
essence of promptitude, Holmes appeared at my apartment and handed me a
check for my share in the transaction.

"Why--what does this mean?" I cried, as I took in the figures; "$12,500--I
thought it was to be only $10,000."

"It was," said Raffles Holmes, "but Mrs. Burlingame was so overjoyed at
getting the thing back she made the check for $25,000 instead of for
$20,000."

"You're the soul of honor, Holmes!" I murmured.

"On my father's side," he said, with a sigh. "On my mother's side it comes
hard."

"And Mrs. Burlingame--didn't she ask you how you ferreted the thing out?" I
asked.

"Yes," said Holmes. "But I told her that that was my secret, that my secret
was my profession, and that my profession was my bread and butter."

"But she must have asked you who was the guilty person?" I persisted.

"Yes," said Holmes, "she did, and I took her for a little gallop through the
social register, in search of the guilty party; that got on her nerves, so
that when it came down to an absolute question of identity she begged me to
forget it."

"I am dull of comprehension, Raffles," said I. "Tell me exactly what you
mean."

"Simply this," said Raffles Holmes. "The present four hundred consists of
about 19,250 people, of whom about twenty-five per cent. go to Newport at
one time or another--say, 4812. Of these 4812 about ten per cent. are
eligible for invitations to the Burlingame dinners, or 480. Now whom of the
480 possibilities having access to the Burlingame cottage would we naturally
suspect? Surely only those who were in the vicinity the night of the
robbery. By a process of elimination we narrowed them down to just ten
persons exclusive of Mrs. Burlingame herself and her husband, old Billie
Burlingame. We took the lot and canvassed them. There were Mr. and Mrs.
Willington Bodfish--they left early and the stomacher was known to be safe
at the time of their departure. There were Bishop and Mrs. Pounderby,
neither of whom would be at all likely to come back in the dead of night and
remove property that did not belong to them. There were Senator and Mrs.
Jorrocks. The Senator is after bigger game than diamond stomachers, and Mrs.
Jorrocks is known to be honest. There were Harry Gaddsby and his wife. Harry
doesn't know enough to go in when it rains, and is too timid to call even
his soul his own, so he couldn't have taken it; and Mrs. Gaddsby is long on
stomachers, having at least five, and therefore would not be likely to try
to land a sixth by questionable means. In that way we practically cleared
eight possibilities of suspicion.

"'Now, Mrs. Burlingame,' said I, 'that leaves four persons still in the
ring--yourself, your husband, your daughter, and the Duke of Snarleyow, your
daughter's newly acquired fiancé, in whose honor the dinner was given. Of
these four, you are naturally yourself the first to be acquitted. Your
husband comes next, and is not likely to be the guilty party, because if he
wants a diamond stomacher he needn't steal it, having money enough to buy a
dozen of them if he wishes. The third, your daughter, should be regarded as
equally innocent, because if she was really desirous of possessing the jewel
all she had to do was to borrow it from you. That brings us down to the Duke
of--"

"'Hush! I beg of you, Mr. Raffles Holmes!' she cried, in great agitation.
'Not another word, I beseech you! If any one should overhear us--The
subject, after all, is an unprofitable one, and I'd--I'd rather drop it, and
it--it--er--it has just occurred to me that possibly I--er--possibly I--'

"'Put the jewel in the safe yourself?' I suggested.

"'Yes,' said Mrs. Burlingame,' with a grateful glance and a tremendous sigh
of relief. 'Now that I think of it, Mr. Raffles Holmes--that _was_ it. I--
er--I remember perfectly that--er--that I didn't wear it at all the night of
my little dinner, and that I _did_ leave it behind me when I left town.'"

"Humph!" said I. "That may account for the extra $5000--"

"It may," said Raffles Holmes, pursing his lips into a deprecatory smile.