Investigation soon made it evident that a crime of unparalleled audacity had been committed under the very noses of the Government officials, and property intrinsically valued at many thousands of pounds had disappeared. As the affair was a very serious one for all concerned, no time was lost in summoning Michael Danevitch and enlisting his services. As can readily be understood, quite apart from the monetary value of the lost baubles, the associations surrounding them made it highly desirable that every effort should be put forth to recover them; and it was impressed upon Danevitch how imperatively necessary it was to take the most active measures to get on the track of the thieves immediately, because, as everyone knew, the gold would be melted down as soon as possible, and the precious relics be thus destroyed. Amongst the crowns carried off was the one worn by the last King of Poland. It was a magnificent bauble, and was so thickly encrusted with gems that in round figures it was worth in English money something like fifty thousand pounds. It will be seen, therefore, that the loss in mere value to the State was enormous. It was, of course, as Danevitch saw clearly enough, no ordinary robbery. It must have been planned deliberately, and carried out with great ingenuity. Nor was it less obvious that more than one person had been concerned in the daring crime.
There was a prevailing impression at first that General Kuntzler must have had a share in the robbery, but Danevitch did not take that view. The unfortunate General had an untarnished record, and though his suicide was calculated to arouse suspicion, it was established by Danevitch that the poor man—fully realizing the great responsibility that rested on his shoulders—was unable to face the blame that would attach to him. It would be said that he had not exercised sufficient care, and had been careless of the safety of the priceless treasures committed to his charge. This was more than he could bear, and he ended the whole business as far as he was concerned by laying violent hands upon himself.
‘I saw from the first,’ Danevitch writes, ‘that the guilty parties must be sought for among the ranks of those who make robbery a fine art, if one may be allowed to so express himself. Mere commonplace, vulgar minds would have been incapable of conceiving, let alone of carrying out, so daring a deed as that of robbing the State of its priceless historical baubles. It was no less self-evident to me that the affair must have been very carefully planned, and arrangements made for conveying the articles out of the country immediately, or of effectually destroying their identity. In their original condition they would practically be worth nothing to the illegal possessors, inasmuch as no man dare offer them for sale; but by taking out the gems and melting the gold the materials could thus be converted into cash. I ascertained that when the Museum was closed in the evening previous to the robbery being discovered, everything was safe.’
It appeared that it was the duty of the chief subordinate, one Maximoff, to go round the hall the last thing, after it had been closed to the public for the day, and see that everything was safe. He then reported to General Kuntzler. This had been done with great regularity. It so happened, however, that the day preceding the discovery that the jewels had been stolen was an official holiday. At stated periods in Russia there is an official holiday, when all public Government departments are closed. This holiday had favoured the work of the thieves, and some time during the forty hours that elapsed between the closing of the hall in the evening before the holiday, and the discovery of the robbery on the morning after the holiday, the jewels had been carried off.
The holiday was on a Wednesday; on Tuesday evening Maximoff made his round of inspection as usual, and duly presented his official report to his chief, General Kuntzler. According to that report, everything was safe; the place was carefully locked up, and all the keys deposited in the custody of the General, who kept them in an iron safe in his office. It was pretty conclusively proved that those keys never left the safe from the time they were deposited there on Tuesday night until Maximoff went for them on Thursday morning. During the whole of Wednesday Maximoff and the attendants were away. Maximoff was a married man, with three children, and he had taken his family into the country. Kuntzler remained, and there was the usual military guard at the Treasury. The guard consisted of six sentinels, who did duty night and day, being relieved every four hours.
‘The whole affair was very complicated,’ proceeds Danevitch, ‘and I found myself confronted with a problem of no ordinary difficulty. I was satisfied, however, that General Kuntzler was entirely innocent of any complicity in the affair; and, so far as I could determine then, there was not the slightest ground for suspecting Maximoff. There were twelve other subordinates. They were charged with the duty of dusting the various glass cases in which the jewels were deposited, and of keeping the people in order on public days, and I set to work in my own way to endeavour to find out what likelihood there was of any of these men being confederates. It seemed to me that one or more of them had been corrupted, and proved false to his charge. Without an enemy in the camp it was difficult to understand how the thieves had effected an entrance.’
The Treasury was a large white stone building, with an inner courtyard, around which were grouped numerous Government offices. The entrance to this yard was by a noble archway, closed by a massive and ornamental iron gate. In this gateway a sentry was constantly posted. The Museum was situated in about the centre of the left wing of the main block of buildings. The entrance was from the courtyard, and the hall, being in an upper story, was reached by a flight of marble steps. To gain admission to the hall, the public were necessarily compelled to pass under the archway, and so into the courtyard. Of course there were other ways of reaching the hall of jewels, but they were only used by the employés and officials. General Kuntzler, his lieutenant, Maximoff, and four of the subordinates, resided on the premises. They had rooms in various parts of the building.
A careful study of the building, its approaches and its exits, led Danevitch to the conclusion that the thief or thieves must have reached the hall from one of the numerous Government offices on the ground-floor of the block, or from the direction of Kuntzler’s apartments, and he set to work to try and determine that point. He found that one of the offices referred to was used as a depository for documents relating to Treasury business, and beneath it, in the basement, was an arched cellar, also used for storing documents. This cellar was one of many others, all connected with a concreted subway, which in turn was connected with the upper stories by a narrow staircase, considered strictly private, and used, or supposed to be used, by the employés only. The office was officially known as Bureau 7. Exit from it could be had by a door, which opened into a cul-de-sac, and was not a public thoroughfare. It was, in fact, a narrow alley, formed by the Treasury buildings and a church.
Danevitch was not slow to perceive that Bureau 7 and the cul-de-sac offered the best, if not the only, means of egress to anyone who, being on the premises illegally, wished to escape without being seen. It was true that one of the sentries always on duty patrolled the cul-de-sac at intervals; but that, to the mind of Danevitch, was not an insuperable obstacle to the escape of anyone from the building. Of course, up to this point it was all conjecture, all theory; but the astute detective brought all his faculties to bear to prove that his theory was a reasonable one.
He ascertained that the door into the cul-de-sac was very rarely used indeed, and had not been opened for a long time, as the office itself was only a store-room for documents, and days often passed without anyone going into it. Critical examination, however, revealed to Danevitch that the outer door had been very recently opened. This was determined by many minute signs, which revealed themselves to the quick and practised eyes of the detective. But something more was forthcoming to confirm him in his theory. On the floor of Bureau 7 he found two or three diamonds, and in the passage of the cul-de-sac he picked up some more. Here, then, at once was fairly positive proof that the thief or thieves had made their exit that way. Owing to rough handling, or to the jarring together of the stolen things, some of the precious stones had become detached, and by some carelessness or other a number of them had fallen unperceived to the ground; these as surely pointed the way taken by the robbers as the lion in the desert betrays his track by the spoor. This important discovery Danevitch kept to himself. He was fond of likening his profession to a game at whist, and he used to say that the cautious and skilful player should never allow his opponent to know what cards he holds.