“Is it not known, then, what became of that trial piece?”
“Oh, yes—up to a point. That is the queerest part of the story. For a time it remained in the possession of the Slingsby family—Slingsby was the Master of the Mint when it was struck. Then it passed through the hands of various collectors, and finally was bought by an American collector named Van Zellen. Now Van Zellen was a millionaire, and his collection was a typical millionaire’s collection. It consisted entirely of things of enormous value which no ordinary man could afford, or of unique things of which nobody could possibly have a duplicate. It seems that he was a rather solitary man, and that he spent most of his evenings alone in his museum, gloating over his possessions.
“One morning Van Zellen was found dead in the little study attached to the museum. That was about eighteen months ago. There was an empty champagne bottle on the table and a half-emptied glass, which smelt of bitter almonds, and in his pocket was an empty phial labelled ‘Hydrocyanic Acid.’ At first it was assumed that he had committed suicide, but when, later, the collection was examined, it was found that a considerable part of it was missing. A clean sweep had been made of the gems, jewels, and other portable objects of value, and, among other things, this unique trial guinea had vanished. Surely you remember the case?”
“Yes,” replied Thorndyke. “I do, now you mention it, but I never heard what was stolen. Do you happen to know what the later developments were?”
“There were none. The identity of the murderer was never even guessed at, and not a single item of the stolen property has ever been traced. To this day the crime remains an impenetrable mystery—unless you know something about it,” and again our friend cast an inquisitive glance at Thorndyke.
“My practice,” the latter replied, “does not extend to the United States. Their own very efficient investigators seem to be able to do all that is necessary. But I am very much obliged to you for having given us so much of your time, to say nothing of this extremely interesting information. I shall make a note of it, for American crime occasionally has its repercussions on this side.”
I secretly admired the adroit way in which Thorndyke had evaded the rather pointed question without making any actual misstatement. But the motive for the evasion was not very obvious to me. I was about to put a question on the subject, but he anticipated it, for, as soon as we were outside, he remarked with a chuckle: “It is just as well that we didn’t begin by exhibiting the casts. We could hardly have sworn our friend to secrecy, seeing that the original is undoubtedly stolen property.”
“But aren’t you going to draw the attention of the police to the fact?”
“I think not,” he replied. “They have got the original, and no doubt they have a list of the stolen property. We must assume that they will make use of their knowledge; but if they don’t, it may be all the better for us. The police are very discreet; but they do sometimes give the Press more information than I should. And what is told to the Press is told to the criminal.”
“And why not?” I asked. “What is the harm of his knowing?”
“My dear Gray!” exclaimed Thorndyke. “You surprise me. Just consider the position. This man aimed at being entirely unsuspected. That failed. But still his identity is unknown, and he is probably confident that it will never be ascertained. Then he is, so far, off his guard. There is no need for him to disappear or go into hiding. But let him know that he is being tracked and he will almost certainly take fresh precautions against discovery. Probably he will slip away beyond our reach. Our aim must be to encourage in him a feeling of perfect security; and that aim commits us to the strictest secrecy. No one must know what cards we hold or that we hold any; or even that we are taking a hand.”
“What about Miss D’Arblay?” I asked anxiously. “May I not tell her that you are working on her behalf?”
He looked at me somewhat dubiously. “It would obviously be better not to,” he said, “but that might seem a little unfriendly and unsympathetic.”
“It would be an immense relief to her to know that you are trying to help her, and I think you could trust her to keep your secrets.”
“Very well,” he conceded. “But warn her very thoroughly. Remember that our antagonist is hidden from us. Let us remain hidden from him, so far as our activities are concerned.”
“I will make her promise absolute secrecy,” I agreed: and then, with a slight sense of anticlimax, I added: “But we don’t seem to have so very much to conceal. This curious story of the stolen coin is interesting, but it doesn’t appear to get us any more forward.”
“Doesn’t it?” he asked. “Now I was just congratulating myself on the progress that we had made; on the way in which we are narrowing down the field of inquiry. Let us trace our progress. When you found the body there was no evidence as to the cause of death; no suspicion of any agent whatever. Then came the inquest, demonstrating the cause of death and bringing into view a person of unknown identity, but having certain distinguishing characteristics. Then Follett’s discovery added some further characteristics and suggested certain possible motives for the crime. But still there was no hint as to the person’s identity or position in life. Now we have good evidence that he is a professional criminal of a dangerous type, that he is connected with another crime and with a quantity of easily
