Denis Smith - The Mammoth Book of the New Chronicles of Sherlock Holmes

‘Perhaps not,’ he replied, ‘but that in itself is instructive. It suggests that all those little things that we have discovered – that Henry Cosgrove’s pictures were not only different from the original painting, but also from each other, and that the backs of both these pictures have been recently removed and replaced – will only reveal their true significance when some fresh fact, as yet unknown, presents itself. These things are like the inner parts of a lock, those pieces of metal of different shapes which are of no significance whatever until one particular key is inserted, when the significance of both their shape and their position at once becomes apparent. I am hopeful that Inspector Lestrade can supply us with that key.’

When we reached Scotland Yard, Lestrade was out, but he was not long in returning and it was with a look of surprise that he showed us into a small cramped office. ‘What can I do for you, gentlemen?’ he asked as he closed the door.

In a few words, Sherlock Holmes described to him Mr Dryson’s odd experience and the trail of enquiry which had taken us from the Marchmont Gallery, via Chelsea to Barnes Common. ‘And now, Lestrade,’ said Holmes, ‘you must tell us why you are taking such an interest in the matter.’

‘Our interest goes back far beyond the present business, to something else,’ the policeman replied after a moment. ‘It was somewhat before your time, Mr Holmes, but I know you have studied some of our old records, so I think if I were to say just three words to you, you would understand.’

‘And those three words are?’ said Holmes, raising his eyebrow as Lestrade paused.

‘The Bellecourt diamonds.’

I saw a look of recognition come upon Holmes’s features, but Lestrade’s words meant nothing to me and I told him so.

‘You see, Dr Watson,’ said the policeman, who appeared to be enjoying his position of superior knowledge, ‘our interest doesn’t go back just a few days, or even a few months, but many years. I know that some people enjoy making merry at the police’s expense for our not acting quickly enough on occasion, but although we cannot always act as swiftly as a private individual might, our reach, let me tell you, is a very long one. The Metropolitan Police never close a case until it is finally and completely settled. Now, it was, as I say, well before your time, but in the spring of 1871 there was a daring robbery at Bellecourt & Co, the great diamond house in Hatton Garden. The night-watchman was very badly beaten and the thieves got away with a large quantity of stones, valued at the time at nearly twenty thousand pounds. We eventually caught every member of the gang, but we never recovered any of the gems. The ringleader claimed he had passed them to a Dutch confederate, who was supposed to dispose of them in Amsterdam and bring the proceeds back to London, but as the name he gave us was completely unknown to the Dutch police and could not be traced, we concluded that the story was untrue and that the diamonds were still in this country. The newspapers filled their columns with it for some time – ‘‘Where are the Bellecourt diamonds?’’ and so on – and encouraged half the population of London to look for them. But although a large reward was offered for their discovery, the diamonds were never found.

‘At their trial, the four members of the gang were sentenced to various prison terms. One died in prison, a second was released four years ago and emigrated to Australia shortly afterwards, a third came out three years ago and seems to be a reformed character. That only leaves the fourth man, the ringleader of the gang and the man we have always suspected had the diamonds. He was released from Dartmoor just two weeks before Christmas.’ Lestrade paused and looked at Holmes, a teasing expression on his features. ‘No doubt you would like to know the name of this man.’

‘It might be helpful, as you seem to think he has some relevance to our case,’ returned Holmes placidly.

‘His name,’ said Lestrade with a chuckle, ‘is Albert Cosgrove, brother of the late solicitor whose widow you have met. Something else you won’t know, incidentally, as that, too, was before your time, is that Mrs Henry Cosgrove was once better known as Lucy Lambert, the darling of the music halls. I remember going to see her myself – when you two gentlemen were no doubt still schoolboys – and a very fine singer and actress she was, too. But not long after she married Henry Cosgrove she gave up the stage for good, more’s the pity.’

‘I see,’ said Holmes in a thoughtful tone. ‘So, to sum up, we have a fortune in diamonds, stolen and never recovered, and the principal villain in the robbery recently released from Dartmoor. What is the official view of the matter?’

‘It is believed that Albert Cosgrove gave the diamonds to his brother Henry for safe-keeping shortly before his arrest.’

‘This brother was a solicitor, I understand, so he could not have had a criminal record, otherwise he would not have been allowed to practise.’

‘That’s true. To speak plainly, we were never sure about Henry Cosgrove. He could have been as straight as a die for all we knew, or he could have been crooked. What is certain is that we were never able to pin any wrong-doing upon him, although we often suspected he wasn’t quite as upright as he appeared to be. He knew everybody who was anybody in the East End, including some decidedly shady characters for whom he acted as solicitor when they got into difficulties with the law.’

‘What makes you think that Cosgrove passed the diamonds to his brother?’ I asked. ‘Surely there were other ways, safer ways, he could have hidden them?’

Lestrade shook his head. ‘We were close on his trail for several days before we caught up with him. He must have known that it was only a matter of time before we got him and that he was likely to get put away for a long time when we did. He couldn’t tell what might happen in his absence. If he had hidden them under the floorboards somewhere, the house he hid them in might have been taken over by other people and the diamonds accidentally discovered by some stranger, or, for all he could tell, the house might have been knocked down altogether and something else built in its place. So he had to leave them with someone he could trust and the only person he could really trust was his brother, Henry. Albert Cosgrove knew a lot of people and a lot of people knew him, but he was never very popular. He may have been well connected among his own sort, but the connections were all based on stark fear, rather than any affection, and I don’t think he would have trusted anyone with a penny of his money. With his brother, Henry, however, he was on safer ground. It may be, of course, that Henry didn’t want anything to do with it, but if Albert had pushed a bag of diamonds into his hand, he may have felt unable to refuse his help. In the first place, blood is thicker than water, as they say, and in the second, Albert Cosgrove is a powerful and violent man, and few have ever dared say “no” to him.’

Sherlock Holmes had listened in silence to Lestrade’s account. Now he nodded his head in agreement. ‘I imagine you are correct,’ said he. ‘But now Cosgrove is out of prison only to find that in the meantime his brother has died and his brother’s widow has moved house. Where, then, are the Bellecourt diamonds?’

‘We have had plain-clothes men watching Cosgrove all the time, to see what he would do,’ said Lestrade. ‘We have also,’ he added in a lower tone, ‘got a source of information close to Cosgrove himself. One of his old cronies is keeping us informed as to his movements.’

‘With any results?’

‘Not so far. Mrs Cosgrove now lives in a new house at Higham’s Park, out Chingford way, and Cosgrove went out there to see her soon after his return to London. What passed between them, we don’t know, but our information is that he doesn’t yet have the diamonds and is talking of going to see her again, so evidently Mrs Cosgrove couldn’t – or wouldn’t – tell him what he wanted to know.’