“Diamonds, sir. They had been forwarded from a dealer in Hatton Garden to an address in the Vauxhall Bridge Road, and the parcel was registered up to four hundred pounds.”
“And it was not delivered?”
“It was accounted for as far as Baxter, and Baxter could produce no receipt for its delivery by him. Compensation was claimed by Mr Hamlin, the dealer; the Post Office had to pay up, and Baxter went to prison.”
“What was his defence?”
“O, innocence, complete and childlike! He swore he had been given the receipt; the addressee swore he had not received the parcel—there was virtually no defence.”
“Had he ever been in trouble before?”
“That was the damning part of it. He had once been convicted of pledging unpaid-for goods, and had been bound over as a first offender. There was a girl in the case then, I believe, and no doubt he had wanted to pose before her as the monied gentleman.”
“Well, Nestle, well,” said Gilead after a short pause. “You have your reasons, no doubt, for encouraging Mrs Baxter. You have given me none so far for meddling with a case which appears to have been decided equitably on its merits. It would be the grossest abuse of privilege, as of course you are aware, for the Agency to interfere in the clear processes of justice, save on some exceptionally plausible assumption of their miscarriage.”
“I have my reasons certainly, Mr Balm, or I should not have ventured to approach you on the matter. I do so now with extreme diffidence. Your clear candour of soul—I am speaking purely officially—is pre-eminent amongst us in the recognition of truth. There may be miscarriage of justice here, or there may not be. I ask you only to take the responsibility of deciding out of my hands, lest helpless innocence should suffer. I am not going to prejudice the case by a word; and I should take it as a great kindness, sir, if you would yourself see and interrogate Mrs Baxter.”
“She is here—at this moment?”