For the old man’s sake, Murray wished he could believe that.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

After he left Mrs. Hardaway’s house with Kate’s note in his pocket, Charles had even more to think about and yet another stop to make. On his way at last, and very late, to the Devil’s Dike, he decided to proceed exactly as if he had not had that conversation with Owen North earlier in the morning-in fact, he would not even mention it. For one thing, he did not intend to turn the investigation over to the chief constable without some further assurance that the principle of due process would be respected. For another, he now had to consider whether Owen North himself-a man who collected photographs of spiders-might be the pseudonymous friend of Lillie Langtry. It was an unwelcome and unpleasant consideration, for he had known North for some time and had rather liked the man. But justice demanded that he entertain it.

The men gathered around a table in a dark and quiet corner of the half-deserted pub. Over their food, Bradford and Murray reported on their various morning’s activities.

“Well, gentlemen,” Charles said, sitting back from his empty plate, “it would seem that the three of us have had a most productive few hours.” He nodded at Bradford. “Marsden has learned from Dr. Polter what kind of dope was used on Gladiator, and has even fetched us a sample.”

“I’m not sure what good it does to know what it is,” Bradford muttered, pushing the last of his steak-and-kidney pudding around on his plate. “These people are going to keep using it just the same, all the while swearing that it does no harm. And winning pots of money thereby,” he added darkly.

“Perhaps his lordship intends,” Jack Murray said in a respectful tone, “to suggest to the stewards the development of a scientific test that will make it impossible to use the stuff without detection.” He finished his boiled beef and dumplings and sat back with a sigh of satisfaction.

“That’s the hope, Jack,” Charles agreed, “although I’m afraid the test may be a long time coming.” He did not offer his opinion that, judging from Owen North’s response that morning, the stewards had no interest in any sort of test, nor in pursuing the matter of the doping either, no matter how much evidence might be summoned.

Bradford refilled his mug from the pitcher of ale in the middle of the table. “But it seems to me that Murray ’s discoveries are far more to the point of the murder investigation.” He took a cigar out of his pocket. “He’s found a possible lead to Eddie Baggs.”

“As well as confirming the threat that Alfred Day posed to the Americans,” Charles said. “And when Pinkie gets back from his visit to London, I suspect he’ll find his uncle in a less yielding mood when it comes to doping. You might have done some good there, Jack.”

Jack Murray chewed reflectively. “I’m only sorry that Jesse Clark got away before we could question him,” he said. “When I was at the Yard, we were continually frustrated by people leaving for the Continent, or for points unknown, just as we were ready to nab them.”

“I suspect that Clark will be back,” Charles said. “And certainly Pinkie intends to return. But wherever they are, both Clark and Pinkie are still on our suspect list, as is Baggs.” He said this firmly. Owen North might wish to limit the investigation and to conclude it as quickly as possible, but Charles refused to allow North to tie his hands. As long as he had any say in the matter, justice would be served here, regardless of who was involved or what their social connections might be.

Bradford took out a cigarette and lit it. “I wish I could go with the two of you to run Baggs to earth,” he remarked, leaning back in his chair. “Perhaps I can convince Edith that we should go up to London tomorrow afternoon, instead of today.”

“But you have tickets for the opera tonight,” Charles reminded him. He smiled. “And no bride wants to postpone the ordering of her wedding ring. Take Edith to Bond Street, Bradford. The poor girl would be devastated if you suggested delaying your visit to the jewelers. She would think you didn’t love her.”

“Oh, I doubt that,” Bradford said with an answering grin. “Edith is a confident young woman. But I’d rather not risk her displeasure.” He breathed out a wreath of blue smoke. “I don’t recall your telling us how you spent your morning, Sheridan.”

“Ah, yes,” Charles said. He reached into his pocket and took out a small envelope. “Since we have been speaking of jewelers, perhaps you should have a look at this.”

He opened the envelope and spilled out a heavy gold ring, a sparkling diamond of immoderate size flanked by four large emeralds and set in an extravagantly ornate gold mounting. It was a ring fit for a queen-of some decades past.

Bradford picked up the ring to examine it closely. “I hope you’re not suggesting that I buy something like that for Edith. She would much prefer a modern setting to something ornate and old-fashioned, like this. But it is rather unique. I don’t think I’ve seen anything quite like it before.”

Jack Murray took the ring from Bradford, turned it in his fingers, and put it back on the table. “I have,” he said shortly. “Seen it before, that is.”

Charles raised both eyebrows. “Have you, now?” he remarked with satisfaction. “I thought as much. Perhaps you would be so good as to tell us what you remember about it.”

“The ring is one of several matching pieces that originally belonged to the Empress Eugénie. There was a necklace, as I recall, as well as a bracelet, a brooch, and a pair of earrings. The settings were all the same, heavy, ornate, ponderous. Not at all in the modern fashion-but highly memorable.”

“And where did you see these pieces?” Charles asked.

“I saw only the brooch,” Murray said regretfully. “It escaped the thief and was provided by the owner at my request, so that if I should locate one of the matching pieces, I might recognize the setting. The other pieces, you see, had been stolen.”

“Ah,” Charles said. “And from whom were they stolen?”

Murray was impassive. “They were taken from the vault of the Union Bank in Sloane Street, on the authority of a note bearing the forged signature of the owner.”

“The Union Bank!” Bradford ’s eyes had widened. “Why, man, you must be talking about the theft of the Langtry jewels!”

“You were one of the detectives assigned to the case, were you not?” Charles asked.

“I was,” Murray said. “I interviewed Mrs. Langtry several times after the theft and obtained from her a list of the missing pieces. Unfortunately, there was no independent inventory of the items in that famous tin box of hers, as the bank was careful to point out when she sued them for the full forty thousand pounds. We could only rely on Mrs. Langtry’s memory.”