“Since the automata are useless, and, in most of the hours, are missing entirely, why should we not take flashlight snap-shots of the twelve backgrounds? We could then study them at our leisure.”
“Excellent. But the camera?”
“I have a very good one with an admirable lens. I can take the pictures myself. These photos we can always carry about with us on our person. There will be no danger of the duke’s stealing those. But the clock, we can’t keep guard over it all the time. The duke will surely insist on its being given up to him sooner or later. If necessary, he will call in the police.”
“Hume, you are an inspiration. What’s your idea for getting rid of it?”
“If I shipped it to America for Mrs. Gordon, ought she not to be grateful to me for saving her that bother!”
“But the duke could readily prevail on her to cable to America to have it sent back to her. The ruse would give us a month’s start, it is true; but what if we shouldn’t find the casket in a month?”
“I have thought of that. If it were sent to a wrong address, by mistake, or to your shop, for example? And if you sent instructions that the box was to be put carefully away until your return?”
“My dear fellow, you are a jewel of thoughtfulness. Take your flash-lights immediately; and when you have made twelve perfect pictures, we will pack the clock, and see ourselves that it is safely started on its long journey to America. Until then, one or the other of us must guard it day and night.”
I took the twelve flash-lights. They were a perfect success. Two days later the clock was boxed, labeled “Glass, with care,” and on its way to Genoa, whence it was to be shipped to New York.
On the same steamer was a letter from the dealer to his partner, advising him that a box containing an article of value had been shipped that day, and instructing him to have it stored away carefully until further orders. All information concerning it was to be absolutely withheld.