Harry nodded slowly. “I must say, that is a first-rate piece of deduction. I left as if all the hounds of hell were after me, with nothing but my notecase and its four shillings in my pocket. You see, I had discovered that the diamond was missing. And I knew I would be suspected.”
“How?” I demanded.
He reached into his pocket and retrieved a handkerchief—marked with the initials “JH” and a pattern of French knots, all worked in dark blue silk.
“Jonathan’s handkerchief? But why should that make a suspect of you—” I broke off, understanding at once. “Oh, of course. The thief left it with the empty jewel case.”
“Exactly,” Harry said with a shudder. “You’ve no idea the fright it gave me, knowing that someone had taken the Eye of the Dawn and meant me to swing for it.”
I looked to Stoker. “Is jewel thievery still a hanging offense? One forgets.”
Harry went on. “Does it matter? The intention was that I should be branded a criminal in the eyes of the Hathaway family, most particularly Lady Hathaway. Her good opinion of me would have been entirely destroyed.”
“I daresay it was not improved by your leaving so precipitously just as her diamond was stolen,” I told him tartly. “After all, one must presume you have not an innocent reason for opening her jewel case in the first place.”
He opened his mouth, then snapped it shut quickly, like a rising carp. “Oh, very well. I did mean to take it, I admit it. I went to Lady Hathaway’s dressing room. It was quite late and she was already abed, snoring like a hound, bless her,” he added with a fond smile. “But I can move like a cat when necessary. So I crept in and opened the casket.”
“How?” Stoker inquired.
“I have certain skills of long practice,” Harry replied smoothly.
“This is not his first criminal enterprise,” I added.
“Such a nasty word, ‘criminal,’” Harry mused, rolling his eyes heavenwards so that he looked like one of the younger martyred saints.
“Such an apt one,” I countered.
He went on as if I had not spoken. “In any event, I was able to open the casket and I discovered the Eye of the Dawn was missing. The rest of the parure was intact, but the only thing inside the diamond’s box was the handkerchief.”
He brandished the item in question and Stoker took it, gazing at it thoughtfully.
“What are you thinking?” I asked.
He shook his head. “Nothing precisely, just that it is a remarkably childish attempt to throw suspicion upon one party in particular—the sort of imagination that might read sensational thrillers.” He looked at Harry. “This was taken from your room?”
“Or the laundry,” Harry said. “Or I dropped it. I am forever leaving them lying around. Anyone might have collected it.”
“And anyone might have disliked you enough to see you implicated in the theft,” I said sweetly.
“Very true,” he said in a genial tone. “I am accustomed to people deciding to take a sudden dislike to me. It is regrettable, but one cannot help it.”
“Not if one is engaged in criminal enterprises,” I replied.
“Might I inquire,” Stoker said politely, “if this is your usual business or merely a hobby?”
Harry looked pained. “I have tried to make an honest living, but it is difficult.”
“It can be,” Stoker agreed.
“So,” Harry went on, “I have very often been obliged to return to my less-than-laudable ways. Fortune has not always been kind to me.”
“And so you intended to defraud Lady Hathaway of her diamond as your latest criminal enterprise?” Stoker asked.
“Things,” Harry said coldly, “did not go according to plan.”
“Obviously,” Stoker replied, his gaze resting upon Harry’s bruised eye.
“After I left the Hall in some distress, I met with certain associates of mine who had a vested interest in the diamond. It disappointed them that I was unsuccessful,” Harry said. He prodded the bruise gently with his fingertips. “One of my associates tends to be demonstrative with his fists when he is disappointed.”
“You were stealing the diamond to order,” I said, my understanding suddenly illuminated. “It was a conspiracy!”
“The word ‘conspiracy’ implies a certain egalitarianism,” Harry corrected. “I was very much operating at the behest of another party—a party whose attentions I hoped to avoid by leaving the Hall as soon as it became apparent I could not fulfill my commission.”
“You were running away to avoid the thrashing your partners were sure to administer for your failure.” I poked his empurpled cheekbone, provoking a shriek. “A thrashing they managed to inflict anyway.”
“My flight from the Hall did not go unnoticed,” he said dryly. “I was apprehended as soon as I alighted at the station. They took me to a villa somewhere beyond Hampstead, where they made their feelings about the situation perfectly clear.”
“And then they let you go?” Stoker asked.
“I let myself go. There are only two of them, and the fellow who did this”—he gestured towards his bruises—“left me on my own for a little while. No doubt taking a leisurely dinner to fortify his strength before he came back to finish the job. I did not think it would be a wise strategy to test my hypothesis, so I effected an escape.”
“And you came here?” I said.
“You needn’t sound so incredulous. I haven’t been to London in many years. It would take time to locate friends who might take me in. And, as I said, I had seen your address on the letter Charles had. He showed it around, you know, pleased as punch that a lord had written him. He made each of us ooh and aah over the bloody thing as if it were a holy relic. I remembered the name of the house and thought I might lie low here for a bit, just until I got my nerve back. I never imagined you would be returning so soon, although I must say I am rather glad you did. I was in real danger of suffocating in that monstrosity,” he added with a shudder.
“The sarcophagus has holes in it,” I told him coldly. “Your only danger was cramp.”
“Still, I have had a thoroughly unpleasant time of it and I want nothing more than to sleep just now and then eat again, something hot this time. A nice bit of roast beef,” he said, his eyes shimmering with longing. “Do you know how long it has been since I had a nice bit of roast beef? The Hathaways eat far too much lamb. I am heartily sick of it.”
“Tell us more about these colleagues of yours,” Stoker urged. “A fellow who is free with his fists, you mentioned.”