Джордж Энгланд: Detective Fiction Weekly. Vol. 62, No. 2, October 3, 1931

People were still laughing and shouting to each other in the gloom. Some one bumped into Jim and muttered an apology. Already the butler had acquired sufficient presence of mind to find some candles. He came out of the dining room with them set in a candelabra, holding them high above his head. They cast an eerie light in the big rooms. Some one started a mock cheer.

Then as the light bearer approached Jim saw that standing not three feet from him across the doorway was Basil Sheringham. Somehow, in the darkness, the explorer had made his way across the room and was now leaning nonchalantly against the doorjamb. Jim’s first impulse was to speak to him, and his second and wiser one was to shrink back into the darkness. At the same moment he saw the front door open, a shadowy figure slip through it, and the door close silently. Was that chance, or had Sheringham already accomplished his purpose and was the person who had just departed in possession of the necklace?

It was a moment of rather desperate decision for him. Hewes had told him to use his own judgment, and he felt certain that Sheringham himself would not try to take the necklace out of the house. To disappear would be to attract suspicion and that would be the last thing Sheringham would want. No, the necklace was probably now in the hands of Macfee, or Cronin, Sheringham’s two aides. It was on this thought that Jim determined to run the risk of losing sight of Sheringham and making certain that the person who had just left the house was one who had a legitimate reason for going. He slipped away in the candle light to the door and out into the night.

It seemed much longer, but it was probably only three or four minutes before one of Carrington’s servants reached the control box in the basement and discovered that some one had thrown off the main switch. The house was flooded with light again when the switch was thrown in and at once every one began to babble excitedly. For a moment it seemed that there was no harm done... a moment that was abruptly ended when Basil Sheringham shouted across the room to James Carrington:

“My God, Carrington! That wall safe!”

James Carrington swung around toward the Florentine tapestry and saw something that sent a chill of fear into his veins. The tapestry was pushed aside and the wall safe stood open. He reached it in four quick strides, fumbled desperately in the interior of the safe with his hand, and then turned away, white and shaken.

“The necklace,” he said dully. “Gone!”

Sheringham was at his side. “I knew that was no blown fuse!” he said, sharply. “Some one monkeyed with the light switch. It gave them time to remove the necklace, but it seems hardly credible that they could have made a get-away. If I were you, I’d have the doors locked and have every one searched before they leave.”

“Good God!” said Carrington. “I can’t subject my friends to that sort of thing.”

“One of your friends has subjected you to a half million dollar robbery,” said Sheringham, dryly.

The detective who had been stationed at the front door joined them. Very concisely Sheringham explained what had happened and the detective hurried off to give orders that no one should leave the house.

“Better have a look out on the street,” Sheringham called after him. “If any one has left he would scarcely be out of sight.”

The detective took this to be good advice and he ran to the front door and out onto the steps. Just as he opened the door he saw a machine pulling out of the line of parked cars. It was a garish, canary yellow Rolls-Royce, and the man at the wheel had a tweed cap pulled down over his face and a cigarette dangling between his flabby lips.

“Hey, you!” shouted the detective. “Where are you going?”

Cronin leaned low over the wheel of the Rolls and it started forward with a lurch.

“Stop him!” shouted the detective to a group of chauffeurs. “Stop thief!”

Several of the men moved forward but it was too late. The Rolls was tearing down the block at a dizzy rate of speed. At the same moment a taxi shot past the door. Leaning forward and speaking to the driver was a hatless and coatless young man in dinner clothes.

The detective held a hurried conference with the chauffeurs. Several of them had noticed the yellow Rolls because of the startlingly bright color. Better yet, at least three men had noticed the license number and remembered it because it was such a small one, N. Y. 42. They had seen the man in the tweed cap come down the steps from the house and get into the car, but there had been no reason to think there was anything out of the way in that. Then they had seen the second man in dinner clothes, with no hat or coat, however, come out of the house, hurriedly, look about, and then make off down the street as though he was looking for some one.

This was no time for lazy methods. A patrolman had joined the excited group, and the detective gave him the description and number of the yellow Rolls with orders to circulate it and have the driver arrested if they could catch him. Meanwhile he was to make a canvas of all the traffic officers within a radius of five blocks to make absolutely certain which direction the escaping thief had taken. No one would fail to notice the big yellow touring car.

Back in the house the detective joined Carrington and Sheringham with a long face.

“I’m afraid the thief has got away,” he said glumly. “He must have passed me in the dark as I was standing by the front door. I think we may catch him, though, because he drove off in such a conspicuous car.”

Carrington was gnawing his under lip. That necklace, besides its immense value, was his most beloved possession. Mrs. Carrington and Peg had joined them and they held a hurried consultation. Mrs. Carrington made a practical suggestion.

“If you know the thief is gone there is an unembarrassing method of finding out who he is. There is a list of every person here and each person was checked off as they came in. If you announce to the guests what has happened and then call the roll, you’ll find out who is missing.”

“That’s a splendid idea, Mrs. Carrington,” said Sheringham. “I suggest it be carried out at once.” Carrington and the detective agreed and Carrington called for silence. The guests waited for him to speak.

“My friends, a very regrettable thing has occurred. During those few minutes of darkness the wall safe here in this room which contained a priceless string of diamonds of which most of you have heard, was opened and the necklace taken.” There was an excited murmur.

“The thief has escaped,” Carrington continued, “and while we know this we do not know who he is. It has been suggested that we call off the names of the people we know to be present, and if there are any absentees it will aid us in narrowing our investigation into the identity of the thief. I have here the list of those people who came to-night. As I call off your name will you answer and show yourself?”

He began to read from the list. As he called off the names each person answered and raised his or her hand to show where he was. The detective checked off the list as Carrington read. At the end of about ten minutes it was completed, but there was not a single absentee. While this had been going on the butler had checked up on the regular servants and the extra help. No one was missing.

For a moment Carrington and the detective stared blankly at each other, Sheringham’s face was expressionless. The more delay the better for his cause. Suddenly the detective’s face lightened and he turned to Peg Carrington.

“I have it, Miss Carrington! The man who came and asked to see you. His name wasn’t on the list and naturally he hasn’t answered to the roll. Where is he?”