“Let him find out for himself,” he thought.
Then he said aloud: “I fancy they must have had that block out, inspector — and it’s evident the switch must have been operated to get the car where it is. How it was done is a problem, but, if the doer of it was anything of a regular criminal, I think we might find him.”
“How?” asked the puzzled inspector.
“Ah,” was the response, “I’d rather not say at present. Now, I should very much like to know whether those pictures are intact?”
“We shall soon find that out,” replied the inspector, “for we’ll take the car back with us.” And he commenced undoing the bolt with a spanner, after which he unlocked the levers.
“H’m... they work pretty freely,” he remarked as he pulled one.
“Quite so,” said Hazell, “they’ve been oiled recently.”
There was an hour or so before the return train would pass, and Hazell occupied it by walking to the shepherd’s cottage.
“I am hungry,” he explained to the woman there, “and hunger is Nature’s dictate for food. Can you oblige me with a couple of onions and a broomstick?”
And she talks today of the strange man who “kept a swingin’ o’ that there broomstick round ’is ’ead and then eat them onions as solemn as a judge.”
The first thing Hazell did on returning to Newbury was to develop his photographs. The plates were dry enough by the evening for him to print one or two photos on gaslight-paper and to enclose the clearest of them with a letter to a Scotland Yard official whom he knew, stating that he would call for an answer, as he intended returning to town in a couple of days. The following evening he received a note from the station master, which read:
“Dear Sir, — I promised to let you know if the pictures in the cases on that car were in any way tampered with. I have just received a report from Winchester by which I understand that they have been unpacked and carefully examined by the Committee of the Loan Exhibition. The Committee are perfectly satisfied that they have not been damaged or interfered with in any way, and that they have been received just as they left the owner’s hands.
“We are still at a loss to account for the running of the car onto Churn siding or for the object in doing so. An official has been down from Paddington, and, at his request, we are not making the affair public — the goods having arrived in safety. I am sure you will observe confidence in this matter.”
“More mysterious than ever,” said Hazell to himself, “I can’t understand it at all.”
The next day he called at Scotland Yard and saw the official.
“I’ve had no difficulty with your little matter, you’ll be glad to hear,” he said. “We looked up our records and very soon spotted your man.”
“Who is he?”
“His real name is Edgar Jeffreys, but we know him under several aliases. He’s served four sentences for burglary and robbery — the latter a daring theft from a train — so he’s in your line, Mr. Hazell. What’s he been up to, and how did you get that fingerprint?”
“Well,” replied Hazell, “I don’t quite know yet what he’s been doing. But I should like to be able to find him if anything turns up. Never mind how I got the print — the affair is quite a private one at present, and nothing may come of it.”
The official wrote an address on a bit of paper and handed it to Hazell.
“He’s living there just now, under the name of Allen. We keep such men in sight, and I’ll let you know if he moves.”
When Hazell opened his paper the following morning he gave a cry of joy. And no wonder, for this is what he saw:
“The Committee of the Loan Exhibition of Pictures to be opened next week at Winchester are in a state of very natural excitement brought about by a strange charge that has been made against them by Sir Gilbert Murrell.
“Sir Gilbert, who lives at Leamington, is the owner of several very valuable pictures, among them being the celebrated ‘Holy Family,’ by Velasquez. This picture, with two others, was despatched by him from Leamington to be exhibited at Winchester, and yesterday he journeyed to that city in order to make himself satisfied with the hanging arrangements, as he had particularly stipulated that ‘The Holy Family’ was to be placed in a prominent position.
“The picture in question was standing on the floor of the gallery, leaning against a pillar, when Sir Gilbert arrived with some representatives of the Committee.
“Nothing occurred till he happened to walk behind the canvas, when he astounded those present by saying that the picture was not his at all, declaring that a copy had been substituted, and stating that he was absolutely certain on account of certain private marks of his at the back of the canvas, which were now missing. He admitted that the painting itself in every way resembled his picture, and that it was the cleverest forgery he had ever seen; but a very painful scene took place, the hanging Committee stating that the picture had been received by them from the railway company just as it stood.
“At present the whole affair is a mystery, but Sir Gilbert insisted most emphatically to our correspondent, who was able to see him, that the picture was certainly not his, and said that, as the original is extremely valuable, he intends holding the Committee responsible for the substitution which, he declares, has taken place.”
It was evident to Hazell that the papers had not, as yet, got hold of the mysterious incident at Churn. As a matter of fact, the railway company had kept that affair strictly to themselves, and the loan Committee knew nothing of what had happened on the line.
But Hazell saw that inquiries would be made, and determined to probe the mystery without delay. He saw at once that if there was any truth in Sir Gilbert’s story the substitution had taken place in that lonely siding at Churn. He was staying at his London flat, and five minutes after he had read the paragraph had called a hansom and was being hurried off to a friend of his who was well-known in art circles as a critic and art historian.
“I can tell you exactly what you want to know,” said he, “for I’ve only just been looking it up, so as to have an article in the evening papers on it. There was a famous copy of the picture of Velasquez, said to have been painted by a pupil of his, and for some years there was quite a controversy among the respective owners as to which was the genuine one — just as there is today about a Madonna be longing to a gentleman at St. Moritz, but which a Vienna gallery also claims to possess.
“However, in the case of ‘The Holy Family,’ the dispute was ultimately settled once and for all years ago, and, undoubtedly, Sir Gilbert Murrell held the genuine picture. What became of the copy no one knows. For twenty years all trace of it has been lost. There — that’s all I can tell you. I shall pad it out a bit in my article, and I must get to work on it at once. Goodbye!”
“One moment — where was the copy last seen?”
“Oh! the old Earl of Ringmere had it last, but when he knew it to be a forgery he is said to have sold it for a mere song, all interest in it being lost, you see.”
“Let me see, he’s a very old man, isn’t he?”
“Yes — nearly eighty — a perfect enthusiast on pictures still, though.”
“Only said to have sold it,” muttered Hazell to himself, as he left the house; “that’s very vague — and there’s no knowing what these enthusiasts will do when they’re really bent on a thing. Sometimes they lose all sense of honesty. I’ve known fellows actually rob a friend’s collection of stamps or butterflies. What if there’s something in it? By George, what an awful scandal there would be! It seems to me that if such a scandal were prevented I’d be thanked all round. Anyhow, I’ll have a shot at it on spec. And I must find out how that car was run off the line.”