American Sherlocks by Nick Rennison (reading like a writer .TXT) 📕

By clutching the window sill with his fingertips Barnes was able to draw himself up and peer into the little room that led to the museum.

There sat old Markley tilted back in a chair with his feet on the window ledge reading a book. A half smile wreathed his cherubic face, and he had the appearance of a man who, as one of our Presidents once remarked, was ‘at peace with the world and the rest of mankind.’

There was certainly nothing to excite suspicion in appearance or the action of the venerable person, and yet the mere sight of him seemed to throw Barnes into a state of intense excitement

‘I’ve got it! I’ve got it!’ he whispered hoarsely to his friend, as he jumped from Clancy’s willing back.

‘Got what?’

‘Never mind,’ was the impatient retort as he grabbed his associate by the coat sleeve, ‘come with me.’

‘What are you going to do now?’ ventured Clancy.

‘Commit burglary, I hope,’ ejaculated Barnes fervently.

Clancy looked at Barnes with real concern. He wondered whether he could, by any possibility, be taking leave of his senses. In spite of this momentary doubt he followed his friend with the blind devotion which was his most becoming trait. Soon after leaving the museum they were able to get a cab and in a little while the vehicle, pursuant to Barnes’s directions, drew up in front of Adam Markley’s lodgings.

‘This is the part of the job that I dislike, but desperate cases require desperate methods.’

‘How in the world can you get in?’

‘This is one feature of the case where credit belongs to the police department. They secured skeleton keys in order to search old Markley’s rooms.’

‘Then what’s the use of your doing it over again?’

‘Oh, they might have forgotten something,’ was the laughing rejoinder.

The two men entered the house noiselessly, crept silently up the stairs and soon found themselves in the modest habitation of the old watchman. It consisted of a bedroom and a sitting room. Barnes paid no attention to the sleeping chamber, but proceeded at once to the living apartment. This was plainly but comfortably furnished. A roll-top desk stood in one comer and a big Morris chair in the other. The left wall contained some family photographs, and Barnes gazed long and earnestly at one of these representing two young men. The other wall held a large engraving of General Grant on horseback. Presently Barnes went to the desk. It was locked. Without any evidence of compunction he pulled out a sharp instrument and began to twist the lock.

‘You’re going pretty far,’ said Clancy gravely.

‘Yes,’ retorted the irrepressible one, ‘and the farther I go the more I learn.’

The lock yielded and the top rolled up. Barnes grabbed a handful of papers and went through them like a conjurer doing a trick. Finally he reached a little yellow slip. He read what was written on the sheet and gave a gurgle of delight. He hastily slipped all the papers back in place and pulled the desk down in a way that automatically locked it, and cried out cheerfully:

‘We’re through, Clancy, old boy; nothing to do until tomorrow.’

After breakfast next day Barnes called Dayton, Ohio, on the long-distance telephone. It took him some time to get the person he wanted, but by noon his face was wreathed in smiles.

‘It’s all right,’ he exclaimed gaily to Clancy, ‘I want you to meet me at Markley’s room the day after tomorrow at eight o’clock in the morning.’

‘Why?’

‘Oh, we’re going to have a little surprise party.’

At the hour appointed Barnes and Clancy were at the modest quarters of the old watchman. So was Dr Randall-Brown. The curator was annoyed.

‘I don’t like this,’ he exclaimed testily. ‘I don’t relish the idea of breaking into a man’s rooms without absolute proof.’

Barnes smiled.

‘If we had absolute proof, we wouldn’t have to do it.’

‘Well, what do you expect to prove by coming here?’

‘That depends entirely on the result of my experiment. We’ll know all about it in a few minutes.’

As he spoke, heavy footsteps were heard on the stairway, and in a few minutes Markley entered the room. He seemed dazed at the unexpected sight of strangers in his apartments.

‘What’s – what’s the meaning of this?’ he stammered.

‘You know,’ said Barnes, sharply.

‘I don’t,’ he retorted with a trace of defiance.

Barnes advanced until he stood directly in front of the old man. He pointed an accusing finger at him. He spoke sternly.

‘I charge you with the theft of the Cleopatra necklace from the Cosmopolitan Museum!’

The color slowly receded from the cheeks of the man’s cherubic face. He sank weakly into the easy chair. It was some moments before he spoke, and then it was in a hushed and trembling voice.

‘Where’s – where’s your proof?’

‘In the necklace itself – we’ve found its hiding place.’

The man’s glance went waveringly about the room, and then it halted and rested on the engraving of General Grant. Barnes had been watching him like a hawk, and upon that significant halt he rushed over to the picture.

‘Yes,’ he said, as if answering a question, ‘it does hang a bit crooked,’ and, as he straightened the frame, there was a crashing sound from behind the engraving and a small woollen bag fell to the floor.

Barnes picked it up quickly, and opening the top emptied the contents on the table. There before the astonished gaze of the onlookers, were the pearls, amethysts and diamonds that had composed the Cleopatra necklace.

Markley lay back in his chair, too stupefied to speak. Dr Randall-Brown broke forth in a cry of anguish.

‘This is horrible! No one living could have convinced me that Adam Markley was a thief!’

‘He isn’t,’ said Barnes, coolly.

The curator pointed a despairing finger at the gems and then at the cowering man in the chair.

‘There,’ he cried angrily, ‘how do you explain this evidence away?’

Barnes paused for a moment as though listening, and then said:

‘If I’m not mistaken, the explanation will be here in a moment.’

He had scarcely