“All Strads are very valuable, and many have had a strange and eventful history. Some have been repeatedly stolen, and at times have passed from one uninformed person to another at ridiculously low prices. I recall that one was accepted by a Geneva blacksmith from a traveler who had not money enough to pay for shoeing his horse. It hung for years on a wall in the blacksmith’s house, till a collector of violins happened to see and purchase it. Upon cleaning off the dirt and grime he found the Strad mark on it. He had acquired for a paltry sum an instrument worth thousands of dollars.”
“That was tough luck for the poor blacksmith, chief.”
“Not at all,” said Nick. “For the violin collector was as square as a brick. He returned and paid the blacksmith all that the instrument was worth.”
“Good on his head!” said Patsy. “He was one man in a thousand.”
“Make it ten thousand, Patsy,” Chick said dryly.
“The Strad stolen from Strickland is of great value, no doubt, and possibly worth what he has stated,” Nick continued. “With the rare old masters he mentioned, together with his antique gems, his collection of jade and the other missing treasures, his loss runs up over a hundred thousand dollars. He will have a complete list for us this morning. We’ll get a move on, now, if you are ready.”
Followed by both, Nick led the way to his library. His chauffeur, Danny Maloney, had not yet arrived with his touring car, but all three were engaged in putting on their outside garments when the doorbell rang, and Patsy glanced from one of the screened windows.
An erect, muscular, dark-featured man was standing on the front steps, awaiting the coming of Joseph, the detective’s butler.[Pg 13]
“It’s Detective Conroy, of headquarters,” said Patsy.
“What sent him here before seven o’clock?” Nick remarked. “He must have something on his mind.”