Having determined so much, his next step was to discover, if possible, the guilty persons. It was tolerably certain that, whoever they were, they must have been well acquainted with the premises. Of course it went without saying that no one could have undertaken and carried out such an extraordinary robbery without first of all making a very careful study of every detail, as well as of every means of reaching the booty, and of conveying it away when secured. The fact of the robbery having been committed on the Wednesday, which was a Government holiday, showed that it had been well planned, and it was equally evident that somebody concerned in it was intimately acquainted with the premises and all their ramifications. The importance of the discovery of the way by which the criminals had effected their escape could not be overrated, and yet it was of still greater importance that the way by which they entered should be determined. To do that, however, was not an easy matter. The probability—a strong probability—was that those concerned had lain perdu in the building from the closing-time on Tuesday night until the business was completed, which must have been during the hours of darkness from Tuesday night to Wednesday morning, or Wednesday night and Thursday morning. In the latter case, however, the enterprising ‘exploiters’ must have remained on the premises the whole of Wednesday, and that was hardly likely. They certainly could not have entered on Wednesday, because as it was a non-business day a stranger or strangers seeking admission would have been challenged by the sentries, and not allowed to pass without a special permit. At night a password was always sent round to the people residing in the building, and if they went out they could not gain entrance again without giving the password. These precautions were, in an ordinary way, no doubt, effective enough; but the fact that on this occasion they had proved of no avail pointed to one thing certain, which was that the intruders had gained admission on the Tuesday with the general public, but did not leave when the Museum was closed for the night, and to another thing, not so certain, but probable, that they had been assisted by somebody living on the premises.
Altogether something like sixty persons had lodgings in the Treasury buildings, but only fourteen of these persons, including Kuntzler himself, were attached to the Museum portion. The General’s apartments were just above the hall in which the Crown jewels were kept. He had a suite of six rooms, including a kitchen and a servant’s sleeping-place. He was a widower, but his sister lived with him as his housekeeper. She was a widow; her name was Anna Ivanorna. The General also had an adopted daughter, a pretty girl, about twenty years of age: she was called Lydia. It appeared she was the natural child of one of the General’s comrades, who had been killed during an émeute in Siberia, where he was stationed on duty. On the death of his friend, and being childless himself, Kuntzler took the girl, then between six and seven years of age, and brought her up. For obvious reasons, of course, Danevitch made a study of the General’s household, and so learned the foregoing particulars.
As may be imagined, the General’s death was a terrible blow to his family, and Lydia suffered such anguish that she fell very ill. Necessarily it became the duty of Danevitch to endeavour to ascertain by every means in his power if Kuntzler’s suicide had resulted from any guilty knowledge of the robbery. But not a scrap of evidence was forthcoming to justify suspicion, though the outside public suspected him. That, perhaps, was only natural. As a matter of fact, however, he bore a very high reputation. He had held many important positions of trust, and had been elected to the post of Crown Jewel Keeper, on the death of his predecessor, on account of the confidence reposed in him by the Government, and during the time he had held the office he had given the utmost satisfaction. An examination of his books—he had to keep an account of all the expenses in connection with his department—his papers and private letters, did not bring to light a single item that was calculated to arouse suspicion, and not a soul in the Government service breathed a word against him, while he was highly respected and esteemed by a very large circle of friends.
It was admitted on all sides that General Kuntzler was a very conscientious and sensitive man. The knowledge of the robbery came upon him with a suddenness that overwhelmed him, and, half stunned by the shock, his mind gave way, and he adopted the weak man’s method to relieve himself of a terrible responsibility. That was the worst that anyone who knew him ventured to say; he was accorded a public and a military funeral, and was carried to his last resting-place amidst the genuine sorrow of great numbers of people.
‘I confess that at this stage of the proceedings,’ writes Danevitch in his notes of the case, ‘I did not feel very sanguine of success in the task imposed upon me; and when Colonel Andreyeff, Chief of the Moscow Police, sent for me, and asked my views, I frankly told him what I thought, keeping back, however, for the time being, the discovery I had made, that the culprits had departed from the building by Bureau 7, and had scattered some diamonds on the way. The Colonel became very grave when he learnt my opinion, and paid me the compliment of saying that great hopes had been placed on me, that the reputation of his department was at stake, and if the jewels were not recovered, and the culprits brought to justice, it might cost him his position. I pointed out that I was quite incapable of performing miracles; that while I could modestly claim to have been more successful in my career than any other man following the same calling, it was not within my power to see through stone walls, or divine the innermost secrets of men’s hearts.
‘“But you are capable of reading signs which other men have no eyes for,” exclaimed the Colonel.
‘“Possibly,” I answered, as I bowed my thanks for the good opinion he held of me; “but in this instance I see no sign.”
‘“But you are searching for one?” said the Colonel anxiously.
‘“Oh, certainly I am,” I responded.
‘The anxious expression faded from the Colonel’s face, and he smiled as, fixing his keen gray eyes on me, he remarked: