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

‘Ah,’ was the relieved reply, ‘that’s different, but I’m sure you’re wasting your time on the night watchman.’

Adam Markley told his story in a straightforward way, and although he was called upon to repeat it, he never once deviated from any of the essential details. He was cherubic in appearance, and in spite of his years, his cheeks were round and rosy, and his blue eyes looked out at his inquisitor with child-like innocence and freshness. He constantly ran his hand through his brown hair, and his manner seemed to say, ‘Why don’t you look for the thief instead of bothering with me?’

Barnes, not content with examining the employees, made an exhaustive investigation into their antecedents. He paid particular attention to the two watchmen. Young, he found, was a married man with a large family living in a modest house in the suburbs. Markley resided in bachelor apartments in the city, living comfortably but inexpensively. Those who knew him were loud in his praise. Some of his older friends recalled him as a child. He had a brother, and the two of them, with long brown curls and rosy cheeks, went about hand in hand like two babes in the wood. The brother, who, unfortunately, had left the straight and narrow path, was now living in the West.

Adam Markley, in the course of his examination, let fall one remark which Barnes thought might develop into a clue. He said that Professor von Hermann had paid five or six visits to the museum and had stood before the case containing the necklace like a man fascinated. Professor von Hermann was one of the world’s greatest archaeologists, and there is no doubt that he keenly felt the disappointment which comes to such a man when a rival – even though that rival be an institution – secures the prize he covets. Barnes, in the course of his investigation, learned that the professor, on one occasion, had told a friend that the only thing he needed to complete his own collection was just such a necklace as the trustees of the Cosmopolitan Museum had fondly believed to be safe in Egyptian Hall. Barnes called at the professor’s home with the idea of gaining some impressions of the venerable connoisseur, but that gentleman bluntly informed him through a servant that he ‘had no time to give to gossiping detectives.’

Barnes relished this greatly, and made a mental resolution to remember the eccentricity – or worse – of the savant at the proper time and place. In the meantime he called upon the curator of the museum for the purpose of asking some further questions.

‘Well, my man,’ cried Dr Randall-Brown, with wet-blanket cordiality, ‘I suppose you’ve come to tell me you’re stumped.’

‘Nothing of the kind,’ protested the detective.

‘You haven’t found the thief?’

‘No,’ admitted Barnes, ‘not yet, but I’ve got a bully good theory.’

‘What is it?’

‘I’m not ready to give it out. What I want to know from you is whether you haven’t forgotten to tell me something.’

‘Sir!’ exclaimed the doctor, with a rising and highly indignant inflection, ‘I’ve told you all I know.’

‘You were in your office in this building the day before the theft was discovered? ‘

‘I was.’

‘Did anything unusual occur?’

‘No, sir.’

‘You stepped out of your office for a few minutes?’

‘Yes, I was in and out several times.’

‘And once, when you returned, you found a young man fumbling in the drawer of your desk?’

The curator’s face lengthened.

‘You’re right, Barnes, I forgot all about that. It seemed such a trifling matter.’

‘It’s the trifles that count, doctor. Who was the young man?’

‘I never learned. He ran out as I came in. I imagine it was one of the students from the University.’

‘Wasn’t he dark-complexioned?’

‘Now that you mention it, I believe that he was.’

‘Haven’t they some Egyptian students in the University?’

‘By Jove, they have five or six. My boy, I believe you’re on the right track!’

Barnes sighed. ‘I doubt it, but I’ve got to clean all of these things up, you know.’

‘Shall I send for the Egyptian students?’

‘No – at least not at present. By the way, do you know Professor von Hermann?’

‘Yes.’

‘Has he ever said anything about the necklace?’

‘Yes, he told me that his collection was incomplete without it and that our collection was incomplete without his Egyptian antiquities. He wondered if the trustees would consider a suggestion to sell him the necklace. I told him the proposition was preposterous.’

‘He thought the collection should be merged?’

‘Exactly, only his plan would be to have the tail wag the dog.’

Six days had now gone and Barnes apparently was no nearer the truth than he had been in the beginning. Every day regularly he reported at the Clarion office and found against his name on the assignment book in the Clarion office the command, ‘Solve the museum mystery.’ The city editor, in his dry mirthless way, did his best to tease the emergency man.

‘If you want to give up the assignment, Barnes,’ he said, ‘I’ll let you report the meetings of the Universal Peace Union.’

‘No,’ said the baited one, clicking his teeth with determination, ‘I’ll finish this job first if you don’t mind.’

That night he enlisted the aid of his friend and fellow worker, Clancy.

‘You needn’t tell me what you want,’ said the loyal Con, ‘I’ll go with you anywhere without asking questions.’

At midnight the two of them were prowling about the dark stone walls of the Cosmopolitan Museum. The place was on the outskirts of the city, and at that hour was lonely and deserted. A dim light shone from one of the small windows near the entrance. It was too high for either of them to look inside.

‘I’d give a dollar for a soap box or something to stand on,’ grunted Barnes.

Clancy never hesitated for an instant.

‘Let’s play horsey,’ he said.

‘What do you mean?’

‘Why, I’ll get down on my hands and knees,’ quoth the faithful one, ‘and you can stand on my back and peep inside.’

It was no sooner said than done. The improvised