“I think I shouldn’t wire,” he said at last. “There is no use in starting scares unless we’re sure something is wrong. Probably the thing is capable of the most ordinary explanation. But I’ll tell you what I’ll do. I’ll slip across to Amsterdam and make a few inquiries. If anything is wrong I’ll get to know.”
“Good. I’d be very pleased if you did that. I’ll write Schoofs and tell him to help you in every way that he can.”
French shook his head.
“I shouldn’t do that either, if you don’t mind,” he declared. “I’ll just go over and have a look round. There is no need to mention it to anyone.”
Mr. Duke demurred, pointing out that a note from him would enlist Mr. Schoofs’ help. But French maintained his ground, and the merchant agreed to carry out his wishes.
French crossed by the night service from Harwich, and at half-past eight o’clock next day emerged from the Central Station into the delightful, old world capital. Though bent on sordid enough business, he could not but feel the quaint charm of the city as he drove to the Bible Hotel in the Damrak, and again as, after breakfast, he sauntered out to reconnoitre.
Messrs. Duke & Peabody’s office was close by in the Singelgracht, a semi-business street with a tree-lined canal down its centre, and crouching at one corner, a heavily-gabled church with a queer little wooden tower not unlike a monstrous candle extinguisher. French had opposed Mr. Duke’s offer to write to the manager introducing him, as he did not wish any of the Amsterdam staff to be aware beforehand of his visit. He had on many occasions obtained a vital hint from the start or sudden look of apprehension which an unexpected question had produced, and he was anxious not to neglect the possibility of a similar suggestion in this case. He therefore pushed open the swing door, and without giving a name, asked for the manager.
Mr. Schoofs was a dapper little man with a pompous manner and an evident sense of his own value. He spoke excellent English, and greeted his caller politely as he motioned him to a chair. French lost no time in coming to the point.
“I have called, sir,” he began in a harsh tone, not at all in accord with his usual “Soapy Joe” character, while he transfixed the other with a cold and inimical stare, “with reference to the murder of Mr. Gething. I am Inspector French of the Criminal Investigation Department of New Scotland Yard.”
But his little plot did not come off. Mr. Schoofs merely raised his eyebrows, and with a slight shrug of his shoulders contrived to produce a subtle suggestion that he was surprised not with the matter, but with the manner, of his visitor’s announcement.
“Ah yes!” he murmured easily. “A sad business truly! And I understand there is no trace of the murderer and thief? It must be disquieting to Londoners to have deeds of violence committed with such impunity in their great city.”
French, realising that he had lost the first move, changed his tone.
“It is true, sir, that we have as yet made no arrest, but we are not without hope of doing so shortly. It was to gain some further information that I came over to see you.”
“I am quite at your disposal.”
“I needn’t ask you if you can give me any directly helpful news, because in that case you would have already volunteered it. But it may be that you can throw light upon some side issue, of which you may not have realised the importance.”
“Such as?”
“Such, for example, as the names of persons who were aware of the existence of the diamonds in Mr. Duke’s safe. That is one of many lines.”
“Yes? And others?”
“Suppose we take that one first. Can you, as a matter of fact, tell me if the matter was known of over here?”
“I knew of it, if that is what you mean,” Mr. Schoofs answered in a slightly dry tone. “Mr. Duke told me of his proposed deal, and asked me to look out for stones for him. Mr. Vanderkemp also knew of it, as he bought a lot of the stones and took them to London. But I do not think anyone else knew.”
“What about your clerk and office boy?”
Mr. Schoofs shook his head.
“It is impossible that either could have heard of it.”
French, though he had begun inauspiciously, continued the interrogation with his usual suavity. He asked several other questions, but without either learning anything of interest, or surprising Schoofs into showing embarrassment or suspicious symptoms. Then he turned to the real object of his visit.
“Now about your traveller, Mr. Schoofs. What kind of man is Mr. Vanderkemp?”
Under the genial and deferent manner which French was now exhibiting, Schoofs had thawed, and he really seemed anxious to give all the help he could. Vanderkemp, it appeared, was a considerable asset to the firm, though owing to his age—he was just over sixty—he was not able to do so much as formerly. Personally he was not very attractive; he drank a little too much, he gambled, and there were discreditable though unsubstantiated tales of his private life. Moreover, he was of morose temper and somewhat short manners, except when actually negotiating a deal, when he could be suave and polished enough. But he had been known to perform kind actions, for instance, he had been exceedingly good to his nephew Harrington. Neither Schoofs nor anyone else in the concern particularly liked him, but he had one invaluable gift, a profound knowledge of precious stones and an accuracy in valuing them which was almost uncanny. He had done well for the firm, and Mr. Duke was glad to overlook his shortcomings in order to retain his services.
“I should like to have a chat with him. Is he
