His mind was working furiously, trying to put down the rebellion of the facts, trying to forget what a sophomoric young fool he had been. Little waves of panic slapped against his brain, filming the clarity of his thoughts. But one thing he knew―he must work on Knox. Knox’s extraordinary statement. Knox the third man. Khalkis―the case against Khalkis based on the tea-cups, the third man―in ruins . . . . The blindness! Was that too composed of the same thin air? Must come back to that, find another explanation . . . .
Mercifully, they ignored him as he crouched in his chair. The Inspector, with feverish questions, held the great man’s attention. What happened that night? How had Knox come to be in Grimshaw’s company? What did it all mean? . . .
Knox explained, his hard grey eyes appraising the Inspector and Sampson. Three years before, it seemed, Khalkis had approached Knox, one of his best clients, with a strange proposition. Khalkis had claimed to have in his possession an almost priceless painting which he was willing to sell to Knox provided Knox promised never to exhibit it. Peculiar request! Knox had been cautious. What was it? And why this secrecy? Khalkis had been apparently honest. The painting, he had said, had been in the possession of the Victoria Museum in London. It was valued by the Museum at a million dollars . . . .
“A million dollars, Mr. Knox?” asked the District Attorney. T don’t know much about art-objects, but I’d say that was a whale of a lot of money even for a masterpiece.”
Knox smiled briefly. “Not for this masterpiece, Sampson. It was a Leonardo.”
“Leonardo Da Vinci?”
“Yes.”
“But I thought all his great paintings are―”
“This one was a discovery of the Victoria Museum’s some years ago. A detail in oils from Leonardo’s uncompleted fresco project for the Hall of the Palazzo Vecchio at Florence in the early part of the sixteenth century. It’s a long story I won’t go into now. A precious find the Victoria called, “Detail from the Battle of the Standard”. A new Leonardo take my word for it, is cheap at a million.”
“Go on, sir.”
“Naturally I wanted to know how Khalkis had got his hooks on it. Hadn’t heard anything about its being on the market. Khalkis was vague―led me to believe he was acting as American agent for the Museum. Museum wanted no publicity, he said―might be a storm of British protest if it was found the painting had left England. Beautiful thing, it was. He hauled it out. Couldn’t resist it. I bought at Khalkis’s price―seven hundred and fifty thousand, a bargain.”
The Inspector nodded. “I think I see what’s coming.”
“Yes. Week ago Friday a man calling himself Albert Grimshaw called on me―ordinarily wouldn’t be allowed in―but he sent in a scribbled note with the words, “Battle of the Standard”, and I had to see him. Small dark man, eyes of a rat. Shrewd―hard bargainer. Told me an amazing story. Gist of it was that the Leonardo I’d purchased from Khalkis in good faith wasn’t offered for sale by the Museum at all―it was stolen goods. Stolen from the Museum five years ago. He, Grimshaw, had been the thief, and he made no bones about it.”
District Attorney Sampson was completely absorbed now; the Inspector and Pepper leaned forward. Ellery did not move; but his eyes were on Knox unblinkingly.
Knox went on, unhurried, coldly precise. Grimshaw, working under the alias of Graham as an attendant in the Victoria Museum, had contrived five years before to steal the Leonardo and make his escape with it to the United States. Daring theft, undiscovered until Grimshaw had left the country. He had come to Khalkis in New York to sell it under cover. Khalkis was honest, but he was a passionate art-lover and he could not resist the temptation to own one of the world’s great masterpieces. He wanted it for himself: Grimshaw turned it over to him for a half-million dollars. Before the money could be paid, Grimshaw was arrested in New York on an old forgery charge and sent to Sing Sing for five years. In the meantime, two years after Grimshaw was imprisoned, it seemed that Khalkis through disastrous investments had lost most of his negotiable fortune; he was desperately in need of cash and had sold the painting to Knox, as already related, for three quarters of a million dollars, Knox purchasing it on the basis of Khalkis’s fictitious story, ignorant of the fact that it had been stolen.
“When Grimshaw was released from Sing Sing a week ago Tuesday,” continued Knox, “his first thought was to collect the half-million Khalkis owed him. Thursday night, he told me, he had called on Khalkis demanding payment. Khalkis, it seemed, had continued to make bad investments; claimed to have no money. Grimshaw demanded the painting. Khalkis ultimately had to confess that he’d resold it to me. Grimshaw threatened Khalkis―said he’d kill him if payment wasn’t made. He left and the next day came to me, as I’ve said.
“Now Grimshaw’s purpose was evident. He wanted me to pay him the half-million Khalkis owed him. Naturally I refused. Grimshaw was ugly, threatened to make public my illegal possession of the stolen Leonardo unless I paid. I became angry, thoroughly aroused.” Knox’s jaws snapped like the jaws of a trap; his eyes shot grey fire. “Angry at Khalkis for having duped me, put me into this horrible position. Telephoned Khalkis, arranged an appointment with him for me and Grimshaw. For that very night―last Friday night. Deal was shady; I demanded protection. Khalkis, broken up, promised over the phone that he would have everybody away, that his own secretary, Miss Brett, who knew nothing about the affair and could be depended upon to be discreet, would admit me and Grimshaw. Wasn’t taking any chances. Nasty business. That night Grimshaw and I went to Khalkis’s house. Admitted by Miss Brett. Found Khalkis alone in his study. Talked turkey.”
The blush, the burn had left Ellery’s cheeks and ears; he was intent now, like the others, on Knox’s recital.
Knox had at once made it clear to Khalkis, he said, that he expected the dealer to appease Grimshaw, at least to the extent of extricating Knox from the tangled situation into which Khalkis had forced him. Nervous and desperate, Khalkis claimed to have no money at all; but the night before, Khalkis had said, after Grimshaw’s first visit, he had thought things over and decided to offer Grimshaw the only payment in his power. Khalkis had then produced a new will which he had had drawn up the same morning, and which he had signed; the new will made Grimshaw legatee of Khalkis’s galleries and establishment, worth considerably more than the half-million he owed Grimshaw.
“Grimshaw was no fool,” said Knox grimly. “Flatly refused. Said he wouldn’t have a chance to collect if the will were contested by relatives―even then he’d have to wait for Khalkis to “kick off”, as he said graphically. No, he said, he wanted his money in negotiable securities or cash―on the spot. He said he wasn’t ‘the only one” in on the deal. He had one partner, he said, the only other person in the world who knew about the business of the stolen painting and Khalkis’s purchase of it; he said that the night before, after seeing Khalkis, he had met his partner and they had gone to Grimshaw’s room at the Hotel Benedict, and he had told his partner that Khalkis had resold the Leonardo to me. They wanted no will, or truck like that. If Khalkis couldn’t pay on the spot, they were willing to take his promissory note, made out to bearer―”
“To protect the partner,” muttered the Inspector.
“Yes. Made out to bearer. Note for five hundred thousand to be met within one month, even if Khalkis had to sell out his business under the hammer to get the money. Grimshaw laughed in his nasty way and said it wouldn’t do either of us any good to kill him, because his partner knew everything and would hound us both if anything happened to him. And he wasn’t telling us who the partner was, either, he said with a significant wink . . . . The man was odious.”