Chapter 2

Anyone who could afford to live in Streetly House, that imposing and
historic residence just off Park Lane, must by that fact alone, be
known in some degree to the public. Mr. Solly Gertstein had added
claims to a certain amount of limelight. He had been--was still to some
extent--a financial power. He had interests in gold, in diamonds, in
oil, but of late years he had relinquished the reins of his enterprises
to brothers and cousins, while he concentrated on his ambition to get
together a unique, and fabulously costly, collection of gems, and what
the dealers call _objets d'art_.

He was not an artistic object in himself. A rotund little man, with a
gait that somehow suggested a milk can rolled by a railway porter, and
with a tendency to pomposity in his speech and manner, he yet contrived
to hold some poise of dignity. He was unquestionably excited when Labar
introduced himself.

"So you 'ave come." In moments of stress he was apt to lose his usual
meticulous command of the English language. "You 'ave come at last."

"It is less than ten minutes since I got your message," observed the
inspector.

"Ach!" Mr. Gertstein flung his hands wide in an expressive gesture,
as of one who accepts an excuse in which there is no body. He rotated
round the room, buzzing like an agitated wasp. "An hour. Dis is what
I pay for," he proclaimed. "For dis I pay my thousands a year to the
rates for police salaries. What protection do I get for it? None." He
waved a podgy hand. "All the work of the finest craftsmen in the world
stripped from me. You will get it back, eh?"

Labar felt that it was only the vulgarity of the expression that
prevented Gertstein from adding, "I don't think." He lifted his
eyebrows.

"You are insured?"

The other gave an impatient snort. "Insured! What is insurance to me?
Do you think that I--Gertstein--want the money? That--poof--a fleabite.
The insurance companies will pay, but will that help me to get back all
my beautiful things? Years and years of work gone like dat." He snapped
his fingers viciously.

"We'll do our best," said Labar, mildly. "Perhaps you will walk round
with me and tell me all you know."

In his mind he felt small hope. The very magnitude of the crime showed
it to be the work of men who thoroughly understood their business.
Jewels would be dismounted and cut up, gold melted down, and other
things rendered unrecognisable in the swiftest and most efficient
fashion.

Other of the C.I.D. men from Labar's division were in the house by this
time, and under his supervision a systematic and thorough search of the
premises proceeded. It was a big rambling place, and it was obvious
that the thieves, once they had obtained entrance, would have had no
difficulty in secreting themselves till such time as they could work
unobserved. As Labar expected, every burglar alarm in the place had
been cut or put out of action in some way. The thieves must have gained
precise information beforehand.

On the first floor two magnificent rooms had been given up to the
display of Gertstein's treasures. The chastely-designed glass cases
still stood in their imposing splendour, but alas, they were mere
cenotaphs with their treasures vanished. At a superficial glance,
indeed, it was difficult to realise that they had been tampered with,
so delicate had been the skill with which they had been opened.

As Gertstein pointed out with some bitterness, the marauders had
selected their spoil with the most consummate judgment. It was obvious
that the raid had been carried through to clean-cut specifications.
There were many dainty bits of artistry left, but they were such things
as enamels, ivory carvings and the like, which had value only for
their craftsmanship, and would be difficult to dispose of intact.

Nor was there evident any indication of the manner in which entry to
the house had been gained, or the method by which the thieves had
left. The windows and doors were unmarked. Not a bolt or lock had been
forced. Throughout the night no suspicious noises had been heard, and
it was only when in the course of ordinary routine that a maid had
entered one of the exhibition rooms, at eleven o'clock in the morning,
that the robbery had been discovered.

"Not so much as a blighting finger-print," Bill Malone observed, and at
the finish of a meticulous examination of the windows, added that it
was the smoothest bust that he had ever run across in the course of his
carmined career.

But a mystery may be too mysterious, too faultily faultless. Any
defect, any lapse on the part of the thieves might have left the police
even more in the air. As it was, there remained little doubt in the
minds of the detectives that their first surmise was right--that they
could breathe in a word the name of the supreme culprit--but much doubt
as to the possibility of acquiring evidence to run him down. The men
who could plan or carry out such an undertaking were few.

Malone put it into words. "This has got the hall-mark of Larry,
guv'nor."

Labar crinkled his brows, and nodded absently. The man who tackled
this job would have in front of him a spasm of tough work, that in
all probability would end in defeat by running his head against a
brick wall. "Yes," he agreed. "It's got all that. Our friend Larry is
certainly indicated, but we must not let ourselves be hypnotised about
him. There's a bet you've overlooked, Bill."

"An inside job."

"It might be either--or both," said Labar, and turned with
imperturbable face, that masked more than slight worry, to confront the
shrewd beady eyes of Mr. Gertstein.

"What do you think now?" demanded the millionaire.

The inspector smoothed his chin. "I hate to make up my mind right away,
Mr. Gertstein, but I'd be willing to make one guess at the man who
knows all about this."

"So!" Gertstein rubbed his hands. "Then you have found out something.
You have a clue. I'm a generous man, Inspector. If you get back those
things I will treat you well. It will be worth--what--a thousand pounds
to you."

"That's handsome of you, sir. But even if I was allowed to take a
reward--which I couldn't do without the consent of the Yard--I wouldn't
be too sure of getting it. As I say, I could give a guess about this
business, but guesses don't carry us far. There isn't a shred of proof
yet, and I tell you frankly I wouldn't gamble a half-penny on getting
the men or getting the stuff."

"But you--you're a detective." Gertstein tugged impatiently at his
little beard. "If you know what you say it should be easy."

"Easy, sir. Yes, it should be easy." Labar permitted a sardonic note to
creep into his voice. "About as easy as taking treacle from a bear's
mouth. I'm a detective, not a miracle worker."

Detectives after all, are very like other human beings. Labar was
concerned at the back of his mind with the reaction this robbery might
have upon his own personal affairs. He was not in good odour with his
chiefs. True, he was the divisional inspector, and the burglary had
taken place on his ground, but it was odds that some of the mandarins
at the Yard would take the investigation out of his hands and place
it in those of a chief inspector from headquarters. That, in the
ordinary course of events would not be any slight, and Labar, with his
constitutional indolence would have been glad to be relieved of any
responsibility.

But in present circumstances it would wear an ominous air. He was young
for the post he had reached, and there were many years in front of him
before he would be eligible for a pension. He had attained a stage
where all violent ambition had vanished, but still it would be galling
to be put on the shelf.

His agitation of mind was disclosed by the fact that he had betrayed
his hopelessness to Gertstein--a breach of professional etiquette as
rank as that of a doctor who tells a patient that he is dying. He tried
to efface the impression he had created by a laugh.

"We find it best to be a little pessimistic in our business, Mr.
Gertstein. Then if things come off we get a bit more credit. Don't you
worry. We'll do our best if only for our own sakes."

"You'd better," said Gertstein, grimly. "Don't forget that I can use a
pull if I like, that would make the entire Metropolitan Police sit up."

Labar smiled serenely as though the threat had no meaning for him.
Yet he did not believe it altogether an empty one. Gertstein, with
his money and his affiliations, could probably do wicked damage to an
obscure detective inspector if he chose to pull strings. That momentary
tactlessness looked as if it might bring retribution.

The arrival of the Assistant Commissioner and the Chief Constable
of the C.I.D., accompanied by Labar's immediate superior, Detective
Superintendent Marlow--one of that select company the newspapers loved
to refer to as the "Big Four"--broke into the conversation.

Gertstein shook hands with the three. "I hope you won't agree with your
inspector that the case is hopeless--that I shall never see any of my
beautiful things back," he said sourly.

Winter shot a swift glance at Labar, who straightened his back with a
brave attempt at nonchalance. It was the Assistant Commissioner who
answered.

"Nothing is ever hopeless, Mr. Gertstein. I am sure that you have
misapprehended Mr. Labar's views."

The millionaire made a gesture of dissent. "I am not so big a fool as
that," he retorted.

Now the head of the Criminal Investigation Department could see as far
through a brick wall as most people. He would always assert that he was
not a detective--that he had men on his staff who knew the game, and he
was content to leave detective work to them. But he did know men. It
was said that he could charm a bird from a tree.

He linked his arm through Gertstein's and drew him aside. "I would like
to have a little talk with you alone. Perhaps I can straighten out
things. You people go and have a look round."

As Labar led the other two away Winter turned fiercely upon him. "What
have you said to the old boy?" he demanded.

"He got it pretty nearly straight, sir," admitted the inspector. "I
told him that it was long odds against getting the stuff back."

"You ought to be in the infant class," snorted Winter. "Now what
about----"

The conference usual in such circumstances began. Presently the
Assistant Commissioner rejoined them. As they moved about the house
the inspector imparted to them such facts as he knew, and, though his
face showed nothing, he waited with the eagerness of a boy for some
hint as to whether he was to be left to deal with the affair. But his
superiors did not commit themselves, and he was relieved when they took
their departure.

He got down to the work in hand. There was plenty to occupy him, for
every person in the house had to be interviewed. As Winter dryly
observed to his companions on his way back to the Yard, Labar could
work like a fiend when he had some incentive.