‘Any clues?’ Richmond voiced his and Tommy's curiosity upon their return to the local police station although he knew only too well that he was wasting his breath.
‘We're slowly making progress,’ Odell replied non-committal. ‘Now, if I may have the use of the station telephone for ten minutes or so I think we might progress even further.’
It was a quarter of an hour before Raymond Odell emerged from the police inspector’s private office.
‘Richmond,’ he addressed his Scotland Yard colleague, ‘did you notice, some months ago, an account in the papers about a rather daring robbery in Amsterdam?’
‘You mean the theft of the Tiggelovend tiara?’ Richmond grunted. ‘Interpol circulated us with the details. It was on show at the jewellers and the shop was ram-raided. The thief escaped with the tiara but there was no way such an item would be able to be offered for sale, it is too well known.’
‘That's the one.’ Raymomd Odell smiled. ‘It has never been recovered to this day and the Dutch police don't anticipate ever finding it. Right now it's probably sitting in some crooks private collection.’
‘How does that figure in our enquiries?’
‘Because that ostrich came from Holland,’ Odell replied. ‘And then it died in quarantine, I am informed.’
‘The customs officers would have noticed if the bird had been wearing the tiara! Anyway, the ostrich is dead.’
‘Exactly,’ Odell answered. ‘The ostrich died but a similar stud bird was purchased from Ostrich International Limited by the Masons.’
Richmond shook his head this was all becoming too involved and unlikely for him, but he knew Odell of old. The private detective had somehow made a connection between the bird that had died and the one that had been savagely mutilated.
‘We're going back to Jeffrey's Circus,’ Raymond Odell announced. ‘The inspector has kindly agreed to co-operate and has delegated a couple of CID officers to accompany us. Unless I miss my guess we are dealing with desperate men.’
This time Raymond Odell did not head directly for Jeffrey's caravan. Instead, followed by Tommy and Richmond with the CID officers bringing up the rear, he walked towards a small crudely constructed corral in which the man who dubbed himself Buckaroo Bill had just lassoed and thrown a lively calf. A second man was kneeling over the trussed animal, a hypodermic syringe in his hand. Both whirled around guiltily at the sound of footfalls.
‘What's going on?’ The man attempted to conceal the syringe behind his back.
‘I might ask you the same question,’ Odell pushed open a makeshift gate and stepped inside the enclosure. ‘I take it you must be John Begbie?’
‘That's me,’ the other scowled. ‘So what?’
‘Just that at the very least my official colleagues here may arrest you for being in possession of and administering controlled substances. I see that not only do you sedate the poor old lion but you also slow down a lively calf.’
‘It's in the interest of public safety,’ Begbie backed away a step.
‘Perhaps.’ Out of the corner of his eye Odell noticed that the other four were now inside the corral. ‘I believe both of you went on tour in Holland with the circus last July?’
‘That's right,’ Porson looks less convincing without his western clothing. ‘It wasn't a success.’
‘Neither for Mister Jeffrey nor for yourselves,’ Raymond Odell's searching gaze flicked from one to the other. ‘In fact, many thousand pounds worth of stolen property has gone missing and, it seems, will never come to light again. I refer, of course, to the famous Tiggelovend tiara.’
‘Never heard of it,’ Begbie growled, took a step backwards.
‘Most certainly you have,’ Odell saw the two CID men, with Richmond and Tommy, closing in on the vet and the self-styled cowboy. ‘In fact, you ram-raided it from an Amsterdam jewellers.’
‘That's rubbish,’ Porson's laugh was forced.
‘No,’ Raymond Odell continued, ‘you stole the tiara and that's when your problems began. You knew there was no chance of selling such a famous item intact so your prised the valuable diamonds out of it, and the crown itself is probably now residing at the bottom of a fjord. Your other problem was how to smuggle the stones back to England so you hit upon an ingenious plan. Using your veterinary skills, Begbie, you implanted the diamonds in the body of the ostrich which Jeffrey had purchased while on tour. You knew full well that the bird would have to be kept in quarantine upon your return to England but you were prepared to stick with the circus and bide your time until the ostrich was returned to Jeffrey.’
‘What a load of rubbish!’ Porson laughed again.
‘Unfortunately for yourselves,’ Odell went on, ‘Jeffrey was desperately short of money. So he sold the ostrich straight from quarantine to Ostrich International Ltd who supply breeding stock to ostrich farmers. Unfortunately, the poor bird which carried a fortune around with it died. The Masons, whom you know, purchased an almost identical bird. You contacted Ostrich International, on the pretext of wanting to purchase a fine male bird for stud purposes, and discovered that such a bird had been sold to the Masons. Naturally the firm did not tell you that the bird from quarantine had died. So you had to get the diamonds out of the Mason's bird.’
Porson and Begbie glanced around them uneasily; the three policemen and Tommy had moved in on them.
‘Porson, you took a casual job at the Masons' farm to suss out the situation, and you were convinced that the stud ostrich there was the same one that you and Begbie had put the diamonds inside. By this time the feathers would have grown again over the incisions where the diamonds were implanted and you wouldn't know for certain if it was the one until you started cutting it open. Catching an ostrich is far from easy.’ Raymond Odell smiled.
