For three days following the arrest of Boris and Isaac, and the seizure of our press, I was too busy to call on Karelin, but I expected that he had heard of the reports in the papers, with the sensational headlines, “Clever Capture of Banknote Forgers: Thousands of False Notes.” On the fourth morning, about nine o’clock, I chanced to be walking along Farringdon Road, when it suddenly occurred to me to call at Goldberg’s, and tell the old lapidary how narrowly he had escaped arrest.
When the lad admitted me I met his master talking excitedly with two men in the hall.
“It’s a most clever robbery,” I heard one of the men say. “The thief was evidently an expert.”
“Robbery!” I echoed. “What’s the matter, Goldberg?”
“My safe has been ransacked!” he cried wildly. “See, here!” and he pulled me into his private room.
Bookcases completely lined the walls, but one of these was false, containing only the backs of books behind a glass door. On pressing a spring it opened, revealing a great safe imbedded in the wall, and large enough for a man to enter. Both doors now stood open, and the place was in great confusion. The drawers in the safe had been sacked, the little boxes that had contained cut and uncut gems had been emptied and cast aside, while papers had been tossed carelessly upon the floor.
“What does this mean?” I asked, amazed.
“It means that I have lost every gem I possessed. They were worth twenty thousand pounds, and included the great yellow diamond which Karelin cut so beautifully. The burglars, whoever they were, gained admittance by the area window after filing away three of the bars.”
One of the detectives remarked that it was strange Karelin had not come to work as usual that morning, and at his request I accompanied him in a cab to Briton’s Court.