“Now consider the state of affairs after the Foss murder,” Sir Clinton went on. “Marden and Brackley were in a pretty pickle, it seems to me. They had three medallions which Marden had got when he rifled Foss’s body. But they didn’t know what they’d got. They weren’t in the secret of the dots on the replicas. For all they knew—knew for certain, I mean—Foss might have bungled the affair and the things they had might be merely replicas. If so, they were no good. I can’t tell the difference between a medallion and an electrotype myself; but I believe an expert can tell you whether a thing’s been struck with a die or merely plated from a mould. These two scoundrels, I take it, weren’t experts. They couldn’t tell which brand of article they had in their hands.
“There was only one thing to be done. They’d have to get the whole six things into their hands, and then they’d be sure of having the three medallions. So they fell back on their original scheme of plain burglary. That, I’m sure, had been their first plan. They’d sent their American confederate to see the safe a long while ago; and no doubt he’d reported that it was an old pattern. Hence the otophone, by means of which they could pick the combination lock. The otophone was still on the premises: I’d left it for them. But they were up against one thing.
“I’d put a guard night and day on the museum. That blocked any attempt at burglary unless they were prepared to take the tremendous risk of manhandling the guard. If the door had merely been locked, I don’t think it would have given them much trouble. I’m pretty sure there’s a very good outfit of burglar’s tools mixed up with the tool-kit of the car, where it would attract no attention. But the guard was a difficulty in the way.”
Without making it obvious to the others, Sir Clinton made it clear to Armadale that the next part of his story was meant specially for the Inspector.
“I’d given you the view I held of the case at that point. I felt fairly certain I was right. But if I’d been asked to put that case before a jury, I certainly would have backed out. It was mostly surmise: accurate enough, perhaps, but with far too little support. A jury—quite rightly—wants facts and not theories. Could one even convince them that the vanishing trick had been carried through as I believed it had? It would have been a bit of a gamble. And I don’t believe in that sort of gamble. I wanted the thing proved up to the hilt. And the best way to do that was to catch them actually at work.
“There seemed to me just one weak point in the armour. I counted on a split between the two remaining confederates, if I could only get a wedge in somehow. I guessed, rightly or wrongly, that the Foss murder would strike the chauffeur as a blunder, and that there might be the makings of friction there. The chauffeur’s watching the museum under cover of the fake repair to the hood suggested that he mistrusted the others. I suspected that Marden might have stuck to the stuff he’d taken off Foss’s body. If Brackley hadn’t got his share of that swag, he’d be in a weak position. I gambled on that: everything to gain and nothing much to lose. I had the chauffeur up for examination again; and when I gave him an opening, he deliberately gave his friend away by letting me know he’d seen Marden and Foss together just before the murder. And when he did that, I blurted out to Inspector Armadale that the guards on the terrace and the museum door were to be discontinued. Brackley went off with those two bits of exclusive information. He didn’t tell them to Marden. He saw his way to make the balance even between himself and his confederate. If he kept his news to himself, he could burgle the museum safe; get the remainder of the six medallions; and then he’d be sure of getting his share of the profits. Neither of them could do without the other in that case.
“In actual practice, Brackley went a stage farther than I’d anticipated. He schemed to get Marden’s loot as well as the stuff from the safe. I needn’t go into that side-issue.”
Again Inspector Armadale suppressed his amusement at the way in which Sir Clinton chose to present the truth.
“The rest of the tale’s short enough,” Sir Clinton went on. “Brackley determined to burgle the safe. If pursued, he decided, he’d repeat the vanishing trick on the terrace; for I’d convinced him, apparently, that the modus operandi of it was still unknown to us. Probably he went up there and satisfied himself that no one came near, after the patrol was taken off. He got himself up for the part: whitened his face; put on white tights; covered himself with Marden’s waterproof as a disguise and to conceal his fancy dress; put on a big black mask to hide the paint on his face, lest he should give the show away if an interruption came. And so he walked straight into the trap I’d laid for him.
“We saw the whole show from start to finish. I even let Cecil and Mr. Clifton into the business, so that we’d have some evidence apart from police witnesses. We saw the whole show from start to finish.”