He wondered what kind of standing Mitchell possessed, and, after reaching his office and locking up the dispatch-case in his safe, he took up his directory to see if he could gain any light on the point. And he did, but not the kind of light he expected. There was no one in Pall Mall of that name!
Mr. Lumley whistled. From experiencing a slight dissatisfaction he was now thoroughly uneasy.
He locked his office and, with a feeling of gratified surprise at the manner in which he was rising to an unexpected emergency, he drove to one of the large hotels on the Embankment much frequented by wealthy Americans. Here he was able to borrow a directory of New York. He looked up Snaith. There was no Silas S. Snaith mentioned either on Fifth Avenue or anywhere else.
“Hoaxed!” Mr. Lumley whispered to himself, as he wiped the perspiration off his forehead. “The whole thing’s a plant. There is no Snaith. There is no Mitchell. That man’s story was a yarn. But what in the name of goodness is the game?”
He sat on in the hotel reading-room buried in thought. And gradually little things, noted subconsciously at the time and forgotten, returned to his memory and became definite mental pictures. Though he had hardly realized it during the interview, Snaith had puzzled him — not Snaith’s story, but Snaith himself, his personality. His language, his bearing, all, Mr. Lumley now saw, had been inconsistent. At one time he had been ultra-American in an out-of-date sort of way; he had, for example, talked the American of the dime novel or the screen, while at another his English had been as good as Mr. Lumley’s own. The more the commission agent thought it over the more suspicious he became that Snaith was concealing his identity — that he was not, in fact, an American at all.
As he turned the matter over in his mind, a possible solution suddenly struck him. Could it be that Snaith meditated an attempt to steal the original from the Louvre? He had certainly spoken of a visit to Paris. Could his plan be to destroy Lord Arthur’s picture, and to swear that the treasure he had stolen had been purchased from his lordship? If so, he would be able to support his story by incontrovertible evidence of the sale. Yes, Mr. Lumley concluded, this theory certainly represented a possibility.
And if so, there was the equal possibility that he, Lumley, was assisting in a crime. How could he test the matter? How satisfy himself?
He decided to go down to Scotland Yard, tell his story, and do what he was there advised. Responsibility for the sequel would then be off his shoulders.
He glanced at his watch. It was just ten o’clock. Leaving the hotel, he drove along the Embankment to the Yard.
“I want to see the Inspector on duty,” he demanded.
He was shown into a small office, and there a tall, quiet-mannered, efficient-looking man asked him his business.
“I have had, Mr. Inspector, a somewhat unusual experience,” began Mr. Lumley. “I don’t in the least know that anything is wrong, but the circumstances are suspicious, and I felt I ought to let your people know, so that you could form your own opinion.”
“Very right, sir. Perhaps you will tell me the facts.”
Mr. Lumley began to recount his adventures. The Inspector listened courteously but impassively till Lord Arthur’s name was mentioned. Then a sudden gleam of interest came into his eyes, and he gave his visitor his undivided attention. But he did not interrupt, allowing Mr. Lumley to finish his story in his own way.
“You have made a very clear statement, sir,” he said when the other ceased speaking, “and I should like to congratulate you on your wisdom in reporting to us. I think it probable that you’ll find yourself justified. Excuse me a moment.”
He left the room, returning in a few minutes with another official, who carried a large file of papers.
“This is Inspector Niblock,” he said, “and though I couldn’t tell until I had heard it, I fancy he will be even more interested in your statement than I was. Would it be too much to ask you to repeat it to him?”
For the second time Mr. Lumley related his experiences. While the first Inspector had shown interest in the story, Niblock scarcely covered up actual excitement with the cloak of professional calm. He repeated his colleague’s congratulations and then turned to the file of papers. From it he drew a number of photographs and handed them to Lumley.
“Have a look over those, sir, will you?” he invited.
Mr. Lumley took the cards. They were portraits of a number of quite ordinary-looking men and women. Mildly surprised, he turned them over. And then his surprise became astonishment, for there, on the fourth card, was a full-length view of Mr. Silas S. Snaith.
“Seen him before?” asked Niblock, chuckling and rubbing his hands. “I think you’ve done a better stroke of business than you know, Mr. Lumley.” He became serious in a moment and continued: “And now let us lay our plans, for there must be no bungling in this affair.”
The two Inspectors spoke in undertones for a few moments. Then Niblock turned.
“You say the picture is now in your safe, Mr. Lumley? I presume it is in precisely the same state as when you took it down from Lord Arthur’s study wall?”
“Precisely.”
“We must get hold of it at once. Will you come to your office now and let us have it? You can keep the taxi and drive on home.”
The three men left the great building and, hailing a vehicle, were driven to Mr. Lumley’s place of business. The latter led his companions to his private room where, after pulling down the blinds, he produced the dispatch-case. In a moment the detectives were examining the picture.
“We’ll borrow it, as well as this case,” said Niblock as he carefully repacked it. “You may expect us back with it at about five tomorrow. Where does that door lead to?”
“A filing-room.”
“The very thing. You can, perhaps, let us withdraw into that room, so that if your interview with Snaith does not go satisfactorily we shall be able to give you assistance. That’s all tonight, I think.”
Mr. Lumley begged for further information, but Niblock refused it on the ground that the agent’s display of ignorance would be more convincing to Snaith if it were genuine.
“If,” the Inspector added, “by some chance he should come before his time, you will tell him that the picture has been left at your bank for safe keeping, but that it will be in your hands before six. If we find him here on our arrival, we shall assume the role of bank officials.”
Next evening Mr. Lumley was once more seated in his private room, when, shortly after five, the two Inspectors entered, accompanied by a sergeant in uniform.
“There is the picture,” said Niblock, after brief greetings had been exchanged, “untouched, except that we have had to put it in a new frame. By an unfortunate accident I dropped it, with the result that the corner of the frame was split and the gilding damaged. You will see here what has happened.”
The Inspector undid a brown paper parcel and brought to light the old frame, split, as he had said, at one corner.
“Should Mr. Snaith observe that the frame has been changed,” he continued, “you will describe the accident, though saying it happened with yourself. You will express regret for your carelessness, and you will say that you kept the old frame for his inspection. Now let us into your filing-room, for you must be alone when your visitor comes.”
The three police officers stepped into the small back chamber, and the door was almost, but not completely, closed. Mr. Lumley, nervous and considerably perturbed, sat writing at his desk. He did not know what form the coming interview was to take, and he was considerably annoyed that the officers had not taken him more fully into their confidence. He felt that if he only knew what to expect, he would be in a better position to meet it.