‘Was anything else taken?’
‘Nothing at all. Strange, that. Dr Probert has a number of other paintings in his house at Richmond, all of classical subjects. Alma Tadema, Leighton, that sort of thing-’
‘Mostly young women like this one in a state of nature?’ Cribb suggested.
‘That’s neither here nor there, Sergeant. Dr Probert went to Charterhouse. He had a schooling in the classics.’
‘And the Etty was the only picture that went,’ said Cribb, returning crisply to the matter under investigation. ‘Do we have any other information to go on, sir?’
‘Only a rather strange coincidence. The picture was stolen last Friday evening, when Dr Probert was giving a lantern lecture at University College Hospital. His wife and daughter were in the audience and only one of his servants was at home, an old woman, prone to deafness. She noticed nothing irregular, but when the Proberts returned, the Etty was gone. The curious thing is that the previous Saturday the Proberts had given a dinner party for a number of their friends, and on the same night one of them, a Miss Crush, returned to find that
‘Could be interesting,’ said Cribb. ‘What was stolen?’
‘Ah.’ Jowett wagged a cautionary finger at Cribb. ‘You think I’m going to say that it was a picture. It was not, Sergeant. It was a Royal Worcester vase in the Japanese style.’
‘Valuable, sir?’
‘Not outstandingly. It was worth perhaps thirty pounds. On the same sideboard from which it was taken was a Minton vase by Solon valued at more than a thousand guineas.’
Cribb whistled. ‘What sort of a cracksman misses a chance like that?’ Shaking his head at such criminal negligence, he asked, ‘What did he fill his sack with, for Heaven’s sake?’
‘Interestingly enough,’ said Jowett, ‘the house-breaker contented himself with a single object-as did the picture-thief at Dr Probert’s, you will have observed.’
Thackeray nodded his head to show that he, at any rate, had not missed the point.
‘This Miss Crush, sir,’ said Cribb. ‘She’s obviously a rich woman. Would you describe her as a close friend of Dr Probert’s?’
Jowett gave a small sigh. ‘Sergeant, you must not permit your animosity to anyone of a superior social status to yourself to vitiate your deductive processes. No, Miss Crush is not a close friend of Dr Probert’s. She is merely an acquaintance. They met three weeks ago at a small gathering at her house in Belgravia. The doctor was invited in his capacity as an eminent man of science.’
‘For his conversation?’
‘No, Sergeant. He was there to bring the scientific mind to bear on a phenomenon that is rarely, if ever, examined by the analytical methods of the laboratory. Miss Crush’s “At Home”, and the dinner party that was subsequently held at the Proberts’ house, were both arranged for a similar purpose. A spiritualistic seance.’
‘Well, I’ll be jiggered!’ said Thackeray.
CHAPTER 2
Who finds a picture, digs a medal up,
Hits on a first edition — he henceforth
Gives it his name, grows notable: how much more,
Who ferrets out a ‘medium’?
There was the start of a smile on Cribb’s face as he marched up the steep incline of Richmond Hill towards Dr Probert’s residence. It was a long time since he had investigated a burglary. Out in the Divisions they didn’t like seeking the assistance of the Yard for anything less than murder. What had happened here was exceptional, of course. A personal approach to Jowett from Dr Probert. Jowett with his notions of hobnobbing with the upper crust wasn’t going to turn down an appeal like that. Not from a member of the Royal Society. The Richmond police had scarcely got the case into the Occurrence Book before it was taken over by the C.I.D.
Cribb understood the reason. There was a reputation to protect. Local bobbies talked too freely to the Press. Probert didn’t want to pick up his
But it was not the peculiarities of the present case that brought the smile to Cribb’s lips. It was his relish for a burglary. Unlike murder or assault, housebreaking was a bit of a game, and self-respecting cracksmen played it with sufficient skill to test the best detectives. The prize was property. Occasionally the game was spoiled by unnecessary violence, but generally it was splendid entertainment. As good as an evening at the Poker table.
Probert’s house, tall, detached and Georgian, was near the top of the Hill, almost opposite the Terrace. Below, a persistent river-mist obscured the Thames Valley, but at this level you could see for miles above the mist. It produced a disturbing impression of isolation.
Before pulling at the doorbell, Cribb cast an eye over the ground floor windows. They were all equipped with substantial shutters. The thief hadn’t entered that way if the servants had done their work. It would have made more sense, anyway, to break in from the back, where there was no chance of attracting the attention of promenaders on the Terrace.
Like any police officer worthy of the name, Cribb had a confident way with servants, but the one who opened the door looked difficult from the start. She was far too long in the tooth for a parlour-maid, and she knew it. He judged it wise to try the straightforward approach, politely introducing himself and stating his business. He might have saved his breath. She told him in a firm, toneless voice that Dr Probert didn’t buy things at the front door and they didn’t want him trying the tradesmen’s entrance either. Plainly she was deaf. He remembered Jowett mentioning a servant who had heard nothing on the night of the burglary. He tried a second time, with gestures, but made no more impression. Then, feeling in his pocket for pencil and notebook, he brought out the handcuffs he habitually carried. They worked as well as a visiting-card.
He was shown through an ill-lit hall into a drawing-room where a fire blazed, its flames reproduced in miniature on multitudinous ‘brights’-brass, copper and silver ornaments and embellishments. He crossed to the fireplace, an immense black marble structure with an overmantel of gilded wood that reached to the ceiling, and spread his palms to warm them, assuming (quite erroneously, as it turned out) that Dr Probert reckoned detective sergeants suitable persons to shake by the hand.
It was his practice on entering a strange room to make a rapid mental inventory of its contents and their positions. One like this, so closely lined with furniture that not an inch of skirting-board was visible, and with every ledge and shelf covered with a silk runner and crowded with objects, presented a severe test. He decided to take it by sections, starting with all he could see reflected in the mirror over the mantelpiece. Principally, this was a tall black lacquered cabinet with mother-of-pearl inlay. He was surveying its contents in the mirror when he noticed with surprise that the object beside the cabinet, quite eclipsed by an adjacent potted palm, was no object at all, but a woman, sitting perfectly still.
‘I must apologise, ma’am,’ he said, turning. ‘I quite failed to notice you as I came in.’
‘People frequently do,’ she said. ‘There is no need to apologise. My husband has failed to notice me for years now. I am quite resigned to it. You must be the inspector from the police.’
‘Sergeant only, ma’am,’ he admitted. ‘Cribb is my name.’
‘And mine is Probert-although it might as well be anything else,’ she said, easing her wedding-ring absently along the length of her finger. ‘I am quite unsuited to play the part of Dr Probert’s wife.’
Cribb frowned and rubbed his side-whiskers. This was not a form of drawing-room conversation he had met before. Clearly he was obliged to say something to bolster Mrs Probert’s self-respect. But what? Looking at her under the palm fronds, pale, slight and even-featured, with the faraway expression artists gave the models in corsetry advertisements, he could understand perfectly how her husband failed to notice her. ‘That’s a handsome
