THE ROBBERY IN PHILLIMORE TERRACE


THE ROBBERY IN PHILLIMORE TERRACE
Baroness Orczy
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CHAPTER IV. THE ROBBERY IN PHILLIMORE TERRACE 
CHAPTER V. A NIGHT'S ADVENTURE 
CHAPTER VI. ALL HE KNEW 



CHAPTER IV. THE ROBBERY IN PHILLIMORE TERRACE
WHETHER Miss Polly Burton really did expect to see the man in the corner that 
Saturday afternoon, 'twere difficult to say; certain it is that when she found 
her way to the table close by the window and realized that he was not there, she 
felt conscious of an overwhelming sense of disappointment. And yet during the 
whole of the week she had, with more pride than wisdom, avoided this particular 
A.B.C. shop. 
"I thought you would not keep away very long," said a quiet voice close to her 
ear. 
She nearly lost her balance—where in the world had he come from? She certainly 
had not heard the slightest sound, and yet there he sat, in the corner, like a 
veritable Jack-in-the-box, his mild blue eyes staring apologetically at her, his 
nervous fingers toying with the inevitable bit of string. 
The waitress brought him his glass of milk and a cheese-cake. He ate it in 
silence, while his piece of string lay idly beside him on the table. When he had 
finished he fumbled in his capacious pockets, and drew out the inevitable 
pocket-book. 
Placing a small photograph before the girl, he said quietly: 
"That is the back of the houses in Phillimore Terrace, which overlook Adam and 
Eve Mews." 
She looked at the photograph, then at him, with a kindly look of indulgent 
expectancy. 
"You will notice that the row of back gardens have each an exit into the mews. 
These mews are built in the shape of a capital F. The photograph is taken 
looking straight down the short horizontal line, which ends, as you see, in a 
cul-de-sac. The bottom of the vertical line turns into Phillimore Terrace, and 
the end of the upper long horizontal line into High Street, Kensington. Now, on 
that particular night, or rather early morning, of January 15th, Constable D 21, 
having turned into the mews from Phillimore Terrace, stood for a moment at the 
angle formed by the long vertical artery of the mews and the short horizontal 
one which, as I observed before, looks on to the back gardens of the Terrace 
houses, and ends in a cul-de-sac. 
"How long D 21 stood at that particular corner he could not exactly say, but he 
thinks it must have been three or four minutes before he noticed a 
suspicious-looking shambling along under the shadow of the garden walls. He was 
working his way cautiously in the direction of the cul-de-sac, and D 21, also 
keeping well within the shadow, went noiselessly after him. 
"He had almost overtaken him—was, in fact, not more than thirty yards from 
him—when from out of one of the two end houses—No. 22, Phillimore Terrace, in 
fact—a man, in nothing but his night-shirt, rushed out excitedly, and, before D 
21 had time to intervene, literally threw himself upon the suspected individual, 
rolling over and over with him on the hard cobble-stones, and frantically 
shrieking, 'Thief! Thief! Police!' 
"It was some time before the constable succeeded in rescuing the tramp from the 
excited grip of his assailant, and several minutes before he could make himself 
heard. 
"'There! there! that'll do!' he managed to say at last, as he gave the man in 
the shirt a vigorous shove, which silenced him for the moment. 'Leave the man 
alone now, you mustn't make that noise this time o' night, wakin' up all the 
folks.' The unfortunate tramp, who in the meanwhile had managed to get on to his 
feet again, made no attempt to get away; probably he thought he would stand but 
a poor chance. But the man in the shirt had partly recovered his power of 
speech, and was now blurting out jerky, half-intelligible sentences: 
"'I have been robbed—robbed—I—that is—my master—Mr. Knopf. The desk is open—the 
diamonds gone—all in my charge—and—now they are stolen! That's the thief—I'll 
swear—I heard him—not three minutes ago—I rushed downstairs—the door into the 
garden was smashed—I ran across the garden—he was sneaking about here 
still—Thief! Thief! Police! Diamonds! Constable, don't let him go—I'll make you 
responsible if you let him go——' 
"'Now then—that'll do!' admonished D 21 as soon as he could get a word in, 'stop 
that row, will you?' 
"The man in the shirt was gradually recovering from his excitement. 
"'Can I give this man in charge?' he asked. 
"'What for?' 
"'Burglary and housebreaking. I heard him, I tell you. He must have Mr. Knopf's 
diamonds about him at this moment.' 
"'Where is Mr. Knopf?' 
"'Out of town,' groaned the man in the shirt. 'He went to Brighton last night, 
and left me in charge, and now this thief has been and——' 
"The tramp shrugged his shoulders and suddenly, without a word, he quietly began 
taking off his coat and waistcoat. These he handed across to the constable. 
Eagerly the man in the shirt fell on them, and turned the ragged pockets inside 
out. From one of the windows a hilarious voice made some facetious remark, as 
the tramp with equal solemnity began divesting himself of his nether garments. 
"'Now then, stop that nonsense,' pronounced D 21 severely, 'what were you doing 
here this time o' night, anyway?' 
"'The streets o' London is free to the public, ain't they?' queried the tramp. 
"'This don't lead nowhere, my man.' 
"'Then I've lost my way, that's all,' growled the man surlily, 'and p'raps 
you'll let me get along now.' 
"By this time a couple of constables had appeared upon the scene. D 21 had no 
intention of losing sight of his friend the tramp, and the man in the shirt had 
again made a dash for the latter's collar at the bare idea that he should be 
allowed to 'get along.' 
"I think D 21 was alive to the humour of the situation. He suggested that 
Robertson (the man in the night-shirt) should go in and get some clothes on, 
whilst he himself would wait for the inspector and the detective, whom D 15 
would send round from the station immediately. 
"Poor Robertson's teeth were chattering with cold. He had a violent fit of 
sneezing as D 21 hurried him into the house. The latter, with another constable, 
remained to watch the but 
glared premises both back and front, and D 15 took the wretched tramp to the 
station with 3 view to sending an inspector and a detective round immediately. 
"When the two latter gentlemen arrived at No. 22, Phillimore Terrace, they found 
poor old Robertson in bed, shivering, and still quite blue. He had got himself a 
hot drink, but his eyes were streaming and his voice was terribly husky. D 21 
had stationed himself in the dining-room, where Robertson had pointed the desk 
out to him, with its broken lock and scattered contents. 
"Robertson, between his sneezes, gave what account he could of the events which 
happened immediately before the robbery. 
"His master, Mr. Ferdinand Knopf, he said, was a diamond merchant, and a 
bachelor. He himself had been in Mr. Knopf's employ over fifteen years, and was 
his only indoor servant. A charwoman came every day to do the housework. 
"Last night Mr. Knopf dined at the house of Mr. Shipman, at No. 26, lower down. 
Mr. Shipman is the great jeweller who has his place of business in South Audley 
Street. By the last post there came a letter with the Brighton postmark, and 
marked 'urgent,' for Mr. Knopf, and he (Robertson) was just wondering if he 
should run over to No. 26 with it, when his master returned. He gave one glance 
at the contents of the letter, asked for his A.B.C. Railway Guide, and ordered 
him (Robertson) to pack his bag at once and fetch him a cab. 
"'I guessed what it was,' continued Robertson after another violent fit of 
sneezing. 'Mr. Knopf has a brother, Mr. Emile Knopf, to whom he is very much 
attached, and who is a great invalid. He generally goes about from one seaside 
place to another. He is now at Brighton, and has recently been very ill. 
"'If you will take the trouble to go downstairs I think you will still find the 
letter lying on the hall table. 
"'I read it after Mr. Knopf left; it was not from his brother, but from a 
gentleman who signed himself J. Collins, M.D. I don't remember the exact words, 
but, of course, you'll be able to read the letter—Mr. J. Collins said he had 
been called in very suddenly to see Mr. Emile Knopf, who, he added, had not many 
hours to live, and had begged of the doctor to communicate at once with his 
brother in London. 
"'Before leaving, Mr. Knopf warned me that there were some valuables in his 
desk—diamonds mostly, and told me to be particularly careful about locking up 
the house. He often has left me like this in charge of his premises, and usually 
there have been diamonds in his desk, for Mr. Knopf has no regular City office, 
as he is a commercial traveller,' 
"This, briefly, was the gist of the matter which Robertson related to the 
inspector with many repetitions and persistent volubility. 
"The detective and inspector, before returning to the station with their report, 
thought they would call at No. 26, on Mr. Shipman, the great jeweller. 
"You remember, of course," added the man in the corner, dreamily contemplating 
his bit of string, "the exciting developments of this extraordinary case. Mr. 
Arthur Shipman is the head of the firm of Shipman and Co., the wealthy 
jewellers. He is a widower, and lives very quietly by himself in his own 
old-fashioned way in the small Kensington house, leaving it to his two married 
sons to keep up the style and swagger befitting the representatives of so 
wealthy a firm. 
"'I have only known Mr. Knopf a very little while,' he explained to the 
detectives. 'He sold me two or three stones once or twice, I think; but we are 
both single men, and we have often dined together. Last night he dined with me. 
He had that afternoon received a very fine consignment of Brazilian diamonds, as 
he told me, and knowing how beset I am with callers at my business place, he had 
brought the stones with him, hoping, perhaps, to do a bit of trade over the nuts 
and wine. 
"'I bought £25,000 worth of him,' added the jeweller, as if he were speaking of 
so many farthings, 'and gave him a cheque across the dinner table for that 
amount. I think we were both pleased with our bargain, and we had a final bottle 
of '48 port over it together. Mr. Knopf left me at about 9.30, for he knows I go 
very early to bed, and I took my new stock upstairs with me, and locked it up in 
the safe. I certainly heard nothing of the noise in the mews last night. I sleep 
on the second floor, in the front of the house, and this is the first I have 
heard of poor Mr. Knopf's loss——' 
"At this point of his narrative Mr. Shipman very suddenly paused, and his face 
became very pale. With a hasty word of excuse he unceremoniously left the room, 
and the detective heard him running quickly upstairs. 
"Less than two minutes later Mr. Shipman returned. There was no need for him to 
speak; both the detective and the inspector guessed the truth in a moment by the 
look upon his face. 
"'The diamonds——!' he gasped. 'I have been robbed.'" 
CHAPTER V. A NIGHT'S ADVENTURE
"NOW I must tell you," continued the man in the corner, "that after I had read 
the account of the double robbery, which appeared in the early afternoon papers, 
I set to work and had a good think—yes!" he added with a smile, noting Polly's 
look at the bit of string, on which he was still at work, "yes! aided by this 
small adjunct to continued thought—I made notes as to how I should proceed to 
discover the clever thief, who had carried off a small fortune in a single 
night. Of course, my methods are not those of a London detective; he has his own 
way of going to work. The one who was conducting this case questioned the 
unfortunate jeweller very closely about his servants and his household 
generally. 
"'I have three servants,' explained Mr. Shipman, 'two of whom have been with me 
for many years; one, the housemaid, is a fairly new comer—she has been here 
about six months. She came recommended by a friend, and bore an excellent 
character. She and the parlourmaid room together. The cook, who knew me when I 
was a schoolboy, sleeps alone; all three servants sleep on the floor above. I 
locked the jewels up in the safe which stands in the dressing-room. My keys and 
watch I placed, as usual, beside my bed. As a rule, I am a fairly light sleeper. 

"'I cannot understand how it could have happened—but—you had better come up and 
have a look at the safe. The key must have been abstracted from my bedside, the 
safe opened, and the keys replaced—all while I was fast asleep. Though I had no 
occasion to look into the safe until just now, I should have discovered my loss 
before going to business, for I intended to take the diamonds away with me——' 
"The detective and the inspector went up to have a look at the safe. The lock 
had in no way been tampered with—it had been opened with its own key. The 
detective spoke of chloroform, but Mr. Shipman declared that when he woke in the 
morning at about half-past seven there vas no smell of chloroform in the room. 
However, the proceedings of the daring thief certainly pointed to the use of an 
anæsthetic. An examination of the premises brought to light the fact that the 
burglar had, as in Mr. Knopf's house, used the glass-panelled door from the 
garden as a means of entrance, but in this instance he had carefully cut out the 
pane of glass with a diamond, slipped the bolts, turned the key, and walked in. 
"'Which among your servants knew that you had the diamonds in your house last 
night, Mr. Shipman?' asked the detective. 
"'Not one, I should say,' replied the jeweller, 'though, perhaps, the 
parlourmaid, whilst waiting at table, may have heard me and Mr. Knopf discussing 
our bargain.' 
"'Would yon object to my searching all your servants' boxes?' 
"'Certainly not. They would not object, either, I am sure. They are perfectly 
honest.' 
"The searching of servants' belongings is invariably a useless proceeding," 
added the man in the corner, with a shrug of the shoulders. "No one, not even a 
latter-day domestic, would be fool enough to keep stolen property in the house. 
However, the usual farce was gone through, with more or less protest on the part 
of Mr. Shipman's servants, and with the usual result. 
"The jeweller could give no further information; the detective and inspector, to 
do them justice. did their work of investigation minutely and, what is more, 
intelligently. It seemed evident, from their deductions, that the burglar had 
commenced proceedings on No. 26, Phillimore Terrace, and had then gone on, 
probably climbing over the garden walls between the houses to No. 22, where he 
was almost caught in the act by Robertson. The facts were simple enough, but the 
mystery remained as to the individual who had managed to glean the information 
of the presence of the diamonds in both the houses, and the means which he had 
adopted to get that information. It was obvious that the thief or thieves knew 
more about Mr. Knopf's affairs than Mr. Shipman's, since they had known how to 
use Mr. Emile Knopf's name in order to get his brother out of the way. 
"It was now nearly ten o'clock, and the detectives, having taken leave of Mr. 
Shipman, went back to No. 22, in order to ascertain whether Mr. Knopf had come 
back; the door was opened by the old charwoman, who said that her master had 
returned, and was having some breakfast in the dining-room. 
"Mr. Ferdinand Knopf was a middle-aged man, with sallow complexion, black hair 
and beard, of obviously Hebrew extraction. He spoke with a marked foreign 
accent, but very courteously, to the two officials, who, he begged, would excuse 
him if he went on with his breakfast. 
"'I was fully prepared to hear the bad news,' he explained, 'which my man 
Robertson told me when I arrived. The letter I got last night was a bogus one; 
there is no such person as J. Collins, M D. My brother had never felt better in 
his life. You will, I am sure, very soon trace the cunning writer of that 
epistle—ah! but I was in a rage, I can tell you, when I got to the Metropole at 
Brighton, and found that Emile, my brother, had never heard of any Doctor 
Collins. 
"The last train to town had gone, although I raced back to the station as hard 
as I could. Poor old Robert,son, he has a terrible cold. Ah yes! my loss! it is 
for me a very serious one; if I had not made that lucky bargain with Mr. Shipman 
last night I should, perhaps, at this moment be a ruined man. 
"'The stones I had yesterday were, firstly, some magnificent Brazilians; these I 
sold to Mr. Shipman mostly. Then I had some very good Cape diamonds—all gone; 
and some quite special Parisians, of wonderful work and finish, entrusted to me 
for sale by a great French house. I tell you, sir, my loss will be nearly 
£10,000 altogether. I sell on commission, and, of course, have to make good the 
loss.' 
"He was evidently trying to bear up manfully, and as a business man should, 
under his sad fate. He refused in any way to attach the slightest blame to his 
old and faithful servant Robertson, who had caught, perhaps, his death of cold 
in his zeal for his absent master. As for any hint of suspicion falling even 
remotely upon the man, the very idea appeared to Mr. Knopf absolutely 
preposterous. 
"With regard to the old charwoman, Mr. Knopf certainly knew nothing about her, 
beyond the fact that she had been recommended to him by one of the tradespeople 
in the neighbourhood, and seemed perfectly honest, respectable, and sober. 
"About the tramp Mr. Knopf knew still less, nor could he imagine how he, or in 
fact anybody else, could possibly know that he happened to have diamonds in his 
house that night. 
"This certainly seemed the great hitch in the case. 
"Mr. Ferdinand Knopf, at the instance of the police, later on went to the 
station and had a look at the suspected tramp. He declared that he had never set 
eyes on him before. 
"Mr. Shipman, on his way home from business in the afternoon, had done likewise, 
and made a similar statement. 
"Brought before the magistrate, the tramp gave but a poor account of himself. He 
gave a name and address, which latter, of course, proved to be false. After that 
he absolutely refused to speak. He seemed not to care whether he was kept in 
custody or not. Very soon even the police realized that, for the present, at any 
rate, nothing could be got out of the suspected tramp. 
"Mr. Francis Howard, the detective, who had charge of the case, though he would 
not admit it even to himself, was at his wits' ends. You must remember that the 
burglary, through its very simplicity, was an exceedingly mysterious affair. The 
constable, D 21, who had stood in Adam and Eve Mews, presumably while Mr. 
Knopf's house was being robbed, had seen no one turn out from the cul-de-sac 
into the main passage of the mews. 
"The stables, which immediately faced the back entrance of the Phillimore 
Terrace houses, were all private ones belonging to residents in the 
neighbourhood. The coachmen, their families, and all the grooms who slept in the 
stablings were rigidly watched and questioned. One and all had seen nothing, 
heard nothing, until Robertson's shrieks had roused them from their sleep. 
"As for the letter from Brighton, it was absolutely commonplace, and written 
upon notepaper which the detective, with Machiavellian cunning, traced to a 
stationer's shop in West Street. But the trade at that particular shop was a 
very brisk one; scores of people had bought note-paper there, similar to that on 
which the supposed doctor had written his tricky letter. The handwriting was 
cramped, perhaps a disguised one; in any case, except under very exceptional 
circumstances, it could afford no clue to the identity of the thief. Needless to 
say, the tramp, who told to write his name, wrote a totally different and 
absolutely uneducated hand. 
"Matters stood, however, in the same persistently mysterious state when a small 
discovery was made, which suggested to Mr. Francis Howard an idea, which, if 
properly carried out, would, he hoped, inevitably bring the cunning burglar 
safely within the grasp of the police. 
"That was the discovery of a few of Mr. Knopf's diamonds," continued the man in 
the comer after a slight pause, "evidently trampled into the ground by the thief 
whilst making his hurried exit through the garden of No. 22, Phillimore Terrace. 

"At the end of this garden there is a small studio which had been built by a 
former owner of the house, and behind it a small piece of waste ground about 
seven feet square which had once been a rockery, and is still filled with large 
loose stones, in the shadow of which earwigs and woodlice innumerable have made 
a happy hunting ground. 
"It was Robertson who, two days after the robbery, having need of a large stone, 
for some household purpose or other, dislodged one from that piece of waste 
ground, and found a few shining pebbles beneath it. Mr. Knopf took them round to 
the police-station himself immediately, and identified the stones as some of his 
Parisian ones. 
"Later on the detective went to view the place where the find had been made, and 
there conceived the plan upon which he built his cherished hopes. 
"Acting upon the advice of Mr. Francis Howard, the police decided to let the 
anonymous tramp out of his safe retreat within the station, and to allow him to 
wander whithersoever he chose. A good idea, perhaps—the presumption being that, 
sooner or later, if the man was in any way mixed up with the cunning thieves, he 
would either rejoin his comrades or even lead the police to where the remnant of 
his hoard lay hidden; needless to say, his footsteps were to be literally 
dogged. 
"The wretched tramp, on his discharge, wandered out of the yard, wrapping his 
thin coat round his shoulders, for it was a bitterly cold afternoon. He began 
operations by turning into the Town Hall Tavern for a good feed and a copious 
drink. Mr. Francis Howard noted that he seemed to eye every passer-by with 
suspicion, but he seemed to enjoy his dinner, and sat some time over his bottle 
of wine. 
"It was close upon four o'clock when he left the tavern, and then began for the 
indefatigable Mr. Howard one of the most wearisome and uninteresting chases, 
through the mazes of the London streets, he ever remembers to have made. Up 
Notting Hill, down the slums of Notting Dale, along the High Street, beyond 
Hammersmith, and through Shepherd's Bush did that anonymous tramp lead the 
unfortunate detective, never hurrying himself, stopping every now and then at a 
public-house to get a drink, whither Mr. Howard did not always care to follow 
him. 
"In spite of his fatigue, Mr. Francis Howard's hopes rose with every half-hour 
of this weary tramp. The man was obviously striving to kill time; he seemed to 
feel no weariness, but walked on and on, perhaps suspecting that he was being 
followed. 
"At last, with a beating heart, though half perished with cold, and with 
terribly sore feet, the detective began to realize that the tramp was gradually 
working his way back towards Kensington. It was then close upon eleven o'clock 
at night; once or twice the man had walked up and down the High Street, from St. 
Paul's School to Derry and Toms' shops and back again, he had looked down one or 
two of the side streets and—at last—he turned into Phillimore Terrace. He seemed 
in no hurry, he even stopped once in the middle of the road, trying to light a 
pipe, which, as there was a high east wind, took him some considerable time. 
Then he leisurely sauntered down the street, and turned into Adam and Eve Mews, 
with Mr. Francis Howard close at his heels. 
"Acting upon the detective's instructions, there were several men in plain 
clothes ready to his call in the immediate neighbourhood. Two stood within the 
shadow of the steps of the Congregational Church at the corner of the mews, 
others were stationed well within a soft call. 
"Hardly, therefore, had the hare turned into the cul-de-sac at the back of 
Phillimore Terrace than, at a slight sound from Mr. Francis Howard, every egress 
was barred to him, and he was caught like a rat in a trap. 
"As soon as the tramp had advanced some thirty yards or so (the whole length of 
this part of the mews is about one hundred yards) and was lost in the shadow, 
Mr. Francis Howard directed four or five of his men to proceed cautiously up the 
mews, whilst the same number were to form a line all along the front of 
Phillimore Terrace between the mews and the High Street. 
"Remember, the back-garden walls threw long and dense shadows, but the 
silhouette of the man would be clearly outlined if he made any attempt at 
climbing over them. Mr. Howard felt quite sure that the thief was bent on 
recovering the stolen goods, which, no doubt, he had hidden in the rear of one 
of the houses. He would be caught in flagrante delicto, and, with a heavy 
sentence hovering over him, he would probably be induced to name his accomplice, 
Mr. Francis Howard was thoroughly enjoying himself. 
"The minutes sped on; absolute silence, in spite of the presence of so many men, 
reigned in the dark and deserted mews. 
"Of course, this night's adventure was never allowed to get into the papers," 
added the man in the corner with his mild smile. "Had the plan been successful, 
we should have heard all about it, with a long eulogistic article as to the 
astuteness of our police; but as it was—well, the tramp sauntered up the 
mews—and—there he remained for aught Mr. Francis Howard or the other constables 
could ever explain. The earth or the shadows swallowed him up. No one saw him 
climb one of the garden walls, no one heard him break open a door; he had 
retreated within the shadow of the garden walls, and was seen or heard of no 
more." 
"One of the servants in the Phillimore Terrace houses must have belonged to the 
gang," said Polly with quick decision. 
"Ah, yes! but which?" said the man in the corner, making a beautiful knot in his 
bit of string. "I can assure you that the police left not a stone unturned once 
more to catch sight of that tramp whom they had had in custody for two days, but 
not a trace of him could they find, nor of the diamonds, from that day to this.' 

CHAPTER VI. ALL HE KNEW
"THE tramp was missing," continued the man in the corner, "and Mr. Francis 
Howard tried to find the missing tramp. Going round to the front, and seeing the 
lights at No. 26 still in, he called upon Mr. Shipman. The jeweller had had a 
few friends to dinner, and was giving them whiskies-and-sodas before saying good 
night. The servants had just finished washing up, and were waiting to go to bed; 
neither they nor Mr. Shipman nor his guests had seen or heard anything of the 
suspicious individual. 
"Mr. Francis Howard went on to see Mr. Ferdinand Knopf. This gentleman was 
having his warm bath, preparatory to going to bed. So Robertson told the 
detective. However, Mr. Knopf insisted on talking to Mr. Howard through his 
bath-room door. Mr. Knopf thanked him for all the trouble he was talking, and 
felt sure that he and Mr. Shipman would soon recover possession of their 
diamonds, thanks to the persevering detective. 
"He! he! he!" laughed the man in the corner. "Poor Mr. Howard. He persevered—but 
got no farther; no, nor anyone else, for that matter. Even I might not be able 
to convict the thieves if I told all I knew to the police. 
"Now, follow my reasoning, point by point," he added eagerly. 
"Who knew of the presence of the diamonds in the house of Mr. Shipman and Mr. 
Knopf? Firstly," he said, putting up an ugly clawlike finger, "Mr. Shipman, then 
Mr. Knopf, then, presumably, the man Robertson." 
"And the tramp?" said Polly. 
"Leave the tramp alone for the present since he has vanished, and take point 
number two. Mr. Shipman was drugged. That was pretty obvious; no man under 
ordinary circumstances would, without waking, have his keys abstracted and then 
replaced at his own bedside. Mr. Howard suggested that the thief was armed with 
some anæsthetic; but how did the thief get into Mr. Shipman's room without 
waking him from his natural sleep? Is it not simpler to suppose that the thief 
had taken the precaution to drug the jeweller before the latter went to bed?" 
"But——" 
"Wait a moment, and take point number three. Though there was every proof that 
Mr. Shipman had been in possession of £25,000 worth of goods since Mr. Knopf had 
a cheque from him for that amount, there was no proof that in Mr. Knopf's house 
there was even an odd stone worth a sovereign. 
"And then again," went on the scarecrow, getting more and more excited, "did it 
ever strike you, or anybody else, that at no time, while the tramp was in 
custody, while all that searching examination was being gone on with, no one 
ever saw Mr. Knopf and his man Robertson together at the same time? 
"Ah!" he continued, whilst suddenly the young girl seemed to see the whole thing 
as in a vision, "they did not forget a single detail—follow them with me, point 
by point. Two cunning scoundrels—geniuses they should be called—well provided 
with some ill-gotten funds—but determined on a grand coup. They play at 
respectability, for six months, say. One is the master, the other the servant; 
they take a house in the same street as their intended victim, make friends with 
him, accomplish one or two creditable but very small business transactions, 
always drawing on the reserve funds, which might even have amounted to a few 
hundreds—and a bit of credit. 
"Then the Brazilian diamonds, and the Parisians—which, remember, were, so 
perfect that they required chemical testing to be detected. The Parisian stones 
are sold—not in business, of course—in the evening, after dinner and a good deal 
of wine. Mr. Knopf's Brazilians were beautiful; perfect! Mr. Knopf was a 
well-known diamond merchant. 
"Mr. Shipman bought—but with the morning would have come sober sense, the cheque 
stopped before it could have been presented, the swindler caught. No! those 
exquisite Parisians were never intended to rest in Mr. Shipman's safe until the 
morning. That last bottle of '48 port, with the aid of a powerful soporific, 
ensured that Mr. Shipman would sleep undisturbed during the night. 
"Ah! remember all the details, they were so admirable! the letter posted in 
Brighton by the cunning rogue to himself, the smashed desk, the broken pane of 
glass in his own house. The man Robertson on the watch, while Knopf himself in 
ragged clothing found his way into No. 26. If Constable D 21 had not appeared 
upon the scene that exciting comedy in the early morning would not have been 
enacted. As it was, in the supposed fight, Mr. Shipman's diamonds passed from 
the hands of the tramp into those of his accomplice. 
"Then, later on, Robertson, ill in bed, while his master was supposed to have 
returned—by the way, it never struck anybody that no one saw Mr. Knopf come 
home, though he surely would have driven up in a cab. Then the double part 
played by one man for the next two days. It certainly never struck either the 
police or the inspector. Remember they only saw Robertson when in bed with a 
streaming cold. But Knopf had to be got out of gaol as soon as possible; the 
dual rôle could not have been kept up for long. Hence the story of the diamonds 
found in the garden of No. 22. The cunning rogues guessed that the usual plan 
would be acted upon, and the suspected thief allowed to visit the scene where 
his hoard lay hidden. 
"It had all been foreseen, and Robertson must have been constantly on the watch. 
The tramp stopped, mind you, in Phillimore Terrace for some moments, lighting a 
pipe. The accomplice, then, was fully on the alert; he slipped the bolts of the 
back garden gate. Five minutes later Knopf was in the house, in a hot bath, 
getting rid of the disguise of our friend the tramp. Remember that again here 
the detective did not actually see him. 
"The next morning Mr. Knopf, black hair and beard and all, was himself again. 
The whole trick lay in one simple art, which those two cunning rascals knew to 
absolute perfection, the art of impersonating one another. 
"They are brothers, presumably—twin brothers, I should say." 
"But Mr. Knopf——" suggested Polly. 
"Well, look in the Trades' Directory; you will see F. Knopf Co., diamond 
merchants, of some City address. Ask about the firm among the trade; you will 
hear that it is firmly established on a sound financial basis. He! he! he! and 
it deserves to be," added the man in the corner, as, calling for the waitress, 
he received his ticket, and taking up his shabby hat, took himself and his bit 
of string rapidly out of the room.