“I wonder whether you could raise enough money to hire an army if you regained your grandfather’s gift to Queen Victoria. How valuable is that ruby?”
“Ru—ruby?” faltered the Grand Duke.
Tom Tring’s dry cough, intentional or not, was a masterpiece of skepticism. Clearing his throat, he proceeded in a toneless voice as if reading a report: “A number of witnesses attest to your frequent visits to the Mineralogy Gallery under the direction of the late Ralph Pettigrew, where you were observed to spend what several describe as an inordinate length of time studying the gem commonly known as the Transcarpathia ruby.” He coughed again. “Sir.”
“Oh,datruby,” said the Grand Duke unconvincingly. “Vhat is ‘inordanot’? I know not this vord.”
“A purely subjective judgment,” Alec put in, “a matter of opinion. It means longer than might be expected of anyone with no special interest in the object.”
“Of course His Excellence has a special interest!” Count Otto barked. “As you know, this jewel was his grandfather’s gift to your Queen, a magnificent gift, which Her Majesty choosed to discard to be gaped at by peasants. It is worth more than all that we were able to bring from Transcarpathia.”
“And most of zat is sold by now,” the Grand Duke bemoaned.
“If King George for the ruby no use has,” the Chancellor continued, his hitherto excellent English deteriorating in his agitation, “why not give back where it is needed? Has not the Bolsheviks murdered his cousin, the Czarina? But is for the King to decide. How it helps us a museum fellow to murder? To imagine this is foolishness!”
True, Alec thought, but the question remained whether the Grand Duke was foolish enough to believe Pettigrew’s death might help his cause. It was interesting that Count Otto, apparently more intelligent than young Rudolf as well as more experienced, had jumped to the conclusion that the police suspected his ducal master of murder.
“Greed isn’t the only motive for murder,” said Tring offensively. “The young gentleman had words with Dr. Pettigrew, that’s common knowledge.”
“Vords, vords!” cried the Grand Duke, à la Hamlet. “I talk viz him vun time, two time, yes, is true. But is no greed for vanting money for to save mine contry!”
“A bad choice of words, Sergeant,” Alec reproved. He went on courteously to Rudolf, “To have words with someone, sir, means to quarrel. You and the late Keeper had a bit of an argument, I dare say.”
“Dis man not like dat I look at de ruby, but he cannot stop. He is very rude, he shout, but I have not argumented. Vhy argument when he cannot stop me?” said Rudolf reasonably.
“But even if you didn’t argue, I’m sure you must have been angry at his rudeness.”
Rudolf flushed, but shrugged. “In England is many pee-ople rude to foreigners. Dis is vhy I not rush out when de police come in de museum.”
Back to square one. “Ah yes,” said Alec, “you were in the fossil mammal gallery. You went down from the mineral gallery?”
“Yes.”
“Did you see Dr. Pettigrew there yesterday?”
“No! He vas not dere.”
Pettigrew had been busy in his private office most of the afternoon, according to his assistants. He had not yet emerged when Grange and Randell left at five thirty.
“So you did not leave the mineral gallery because Dr. Pettigrew chased you out.”
“Nein!He cannot.” The indignation was followed by a shamefaced glance at his Chancellor. “I am sometimes bored viz looking alvays at mine ruby. I decided to look at ozzer sings.”
“Very understandable, sir. What time did you go downstairs?”
The Grand Duke thought he had reached the fossil mammals at about five-twenty, which agreed with Sergeant Hamm’s recollection. He swore he had not left the gallery until the constable discovered himnotlurking behind the Irish elk and sent him to the cafeteria.
Of course Hamm could not confirm that, having deserted his post to go and chat with the one-legged Underwood.
Count Otto escorted the three detectives downstairs, and closed the front door behind them with a firm click which said “Good riddance” as eloquently as a slam.
“Without the General’s intervention, we might have got something out of him,” Alec sighed as they climbed back into the Austin.
“Least we know they haven’t got diplomatic immunity, Chief,” said Piper, “’cause the General would have said so straight out.”
“Very true, laddie,” Tring said approvingly. “Living in cloud-cuckoo land, aren’t they, Chief, thinking they could throw the Reds out of their country if they had the ruby to sell?”
“I don’t know what it’s worth, but it doesn’t seem likely,” Alec agreed. “I’m not sure even the Crown Jewels would do it, but that doesn’t make getting hold of the ruby less of a motive. I’m just not sure Rudolf Maximilian is naive enough to believe killing Pettigrew would help. I need to get hold of him without his watchdog—or his mother, who struck me as a formidable lady.”
