Alec shook his head. “Here in England, you could sue for slander, but I don’t advise it. I suggest you watch what you say, Mr. Grange. I came up here to speak to the Grand Duke, but now I shall want a word with you, too.”
“So do I,” said Daisy. “We were just getting going. Can I have him first?”
“Sorry, I want a definitive answer on the ruby right away. At least, as soon as Sergeant Tring has checked it for fingerprints. The case too, Sergeant, before it’s opened, though I imagine the cleaners have wiped off any evidence. By the way, Mr. Grange, just how valuable is the real Transcarpathia ruby?”
“I couldn’t put a current retail value on it, Chief Inspector. We don’t deal in such matters. I can tell you this: It is considerably larger than most gem-quality rubies, but not of the most favoured Burmese pigeon-blood colour, and with rather more silk than is generally thought desirable.”
“It is very fine, of first quality,” shouted the Grand Duke.
“I dare say, sir,” said Alec pacifically. “Now, I’d like you to come down to the Director’s office with me.”
“Do you want to use the Keeper’s office, Chief Inspector?” Grange asked. “No one’s there now. Here’s the key.”
Accepting the key, Alec went off with Rudolf Maximilian, looking tempestuous and Middle-European, and Piper. He left the uniformed officer guarding the entrance, Daisy noted. He had not gone so far as to make her leave, though.
“Would you mind answering a few questions, Mr. Grange, while Sergeant Tring works his magic?” she said, as Tom blew powder over the display case.
Grange obliged, though rather distractedly. They movedaway from the ruby case to look at some other displays, but both kept half an eye on the sergeant’s actions. When he straightened after peering closely at the results of his powdering, they were both ready to dash back.
“What have you found?” Daisy asked.
Tom threw her a quizzical glance, but answered. “A few dabs on the glass and this front edge of wood, probably just visitors, including the Grand Duke. Nothing on or near the lock. Can you open it up, sir, without touching this area here? I haven’t got my camera with me so we don’t want ’em messed up.”
“We wear gloves to handle polished stones.” Grange took a white cotton pair from a pocket, put them on, and delved again for his keys. As he unlocked the case and cautiously raised the glass top, he said, “Itmustbe that foreigner who made the substitution—after all, he claims the ruby is his. But supposing it wasn’t, I can’t help wondering if it’s the only stone missing.”
“I’m sure the Chief Inspector is considering the possibility, sir, but we’ll just make quite sure you’re not mistaken about the ruby first, shall we, before we look any further. Just a moment while I check it for dabs.”
The red gem, real or fake, was as immaculate as its sheen proclaimed, with no sign of a fingerprint on any surface. Grange polished off the powder with a soft cloth, stuck a glass in his eye, and held up the stone to the sunlight, turning it this way and that. Daisy held her breath.
“Paste,” he said flatly. “No dichroism, no rutile or other characteristic inclusions, only the round bubbles typical of glass.”
There was a moment’s silence. Then Tring said, “Have a look at the rest of ’em, sir.”
“I will, and at the other gemstones. But lots of them I can’t be sure of without the refractometer. I’ll fetch it up from the workroom.”
Daisy saw her article disappearing into limbo. A glimpse of the work room would be something to go on with. “I’ll go with you,” she proposed.
“You do that, Miss Dalrymple,” said Sergeant Tring. “I’ll just have a word with the constable there.”
He headed for the entrance while Grange led the way to the east end of the gallery and unlocked a door on the left. Behind the wooden door was another of solid steel, now folded back against the wall.
“That’s locked and barred at night,” said Grange, “and only our museum police sergeant has the key.”
He continued down a narrow staircase. On the landing at the bottom of the first flight, half way between the first and ground floors, a room opened off to the right. There, amid bookcases, shelves of rocks and pebbles, maps and diagrams of geological formations, and battered worktables laden with gadgets, they found the second mineralogy assistant.
Grange explained what was going on, then picked up a smallish instrument and a reference book, and turned to go. His junior moved to join him.
“I’ll stay for a bit, if you don’t mind,” Daisy said quickly. Work before pleasure, alas. “Perhaps Mr. Randell wouldn’t mind explaining some of this stuff to me?”
“Yes, do help Miss Dalrymple, there’s a good chap,” said Grange, departing.
Obviously wishing himself upstairs sharing the excitement, Randell hurriedly answered Daisy’s questions, showed her specimens and demonstrated equipment. Daisy, just as eager to know what was going on in the mineral gallery, was soon satisfied.
“Sergeant Tring hasn’t got his camera with him,” she said. “I’m sure he’d appreciate the loan of yours, to photograph fingerprints.”
“Of course,” Randell agreed eagerly, glad of an excuse to go with her. Bearing camera, tripod, plates, and one of the ubiquitous bunches of keys, he ushered her back up the stairs.
During her absence, Alec had returned to the gallery, with Piper but without the Grand Duke. The constable still guarded the entrance, and Sergeant Jameson was just arriving. Half a dozen display cases were open. Near one of them, the detectives stood around a bench where Grange slumped, his head in his hands. Pavett, unheeded, continued his fruitless patrol, casting frequent anxious glances at the knot of men. Daisy came to a halt slightly to Alec’s rear.
