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The Doverfields’ Diamonds





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THE
DOVERFIELDS DIAMONDS
The Great Gem Mystery
BY
E. M. VAN DEVENTER
“LAWRENCE L. LYNCH."
1 - Author of “The Danger Line,” “The Woman Who Dared,” “Under Fate's
Wheel,” “High Stakes,” “The Unseen Hand,” “Dangerous Ground,”
“A Slender Clue,” “The Lost Witness,” “Shadowed by Three,”
“The Last Stroke,” “Madeline Payne,” “The Diamond
Coterie,” “Out of a Labyrinth,” “Romance of a
Bomb Thrower,” “A Mountain Mystery.”
GAA PH/CAA/L V /ZZ U.S. 7'A'A 7'A' D BY SAA C/AL ART/S 7"
CHICAGO
LAIRD & LEE, PUBLISHERS


Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1906,
By WILLIAM H. LEE,
in the office of the Librarian of Congress, at
Washington, D.C.


CHAPTER I.
II.
III,
IV.
V
VI.
VII.
VIII
IX.
X.
XI.
XII.
XIII.
XIV.
XV.
XVI.
XVII.
XVIII.
XIX,
XX.
XXI.
XXII.
XXIII.
XXIV.
C O N T E N T S
Some Ancient History, .
Ralph Meyrick,
Mrs. Doverfields’ Diamonds,
A Sandwich Man,
A Fair Enigma,
At Any Cost,
An Absent Maid, . -
Where is Josephine Bryce P
Fair Faces and Dark Deeds,
“Put Yourself in His Place,”
Next Morning, . • y
Craig Becomes a Butterfly,
A Defensive Alliance,
At the Devereaux's,
A Coil Indeed,
A Woman at Bay,
My Waterloo,
Keen Jchnny Reviews Matters,
A Stay of Proceedings,
Dinner and Diplomacy,
The Wrong Passenger,
In a Muddle, • * -
The Captain Turns Champion,
Hal Landis Assists the “Game,”
PAGE
20
29
34
44
51
58
62
70
76
85
90
95
100
106
1 11
| | 6
122
132
140
147
154
160
167


CONTENTS – CONTINUED
CHAPTER XXV.
xxvi.
XXVII.
XXVIII.
XXIX.
XXX.
XXXI.
XXXII. .
XXXIII.
XXXIV.
XXXV.
XXXVI.
XXXVII.
XXXVIII.
XXXIX.
XL.
XLI.
XLII.
XLIII.
XLIV.
XLV.
XLVI.
XLVII.
XLVIII.
XLIX.
Tonto's Burglar,
Kenyon's Analysis, .
Where Fate Intervenes, .
A Puzzle,
Monsieur Becomes Interesting,
In Madam's Cottage,
An Importunate Guest,
A Doverfields' Diamond,
The Plot Thickens,
Many Irons in the Fire.
In the Black Satchel,
A Fresh Complication,
Upon the Rack,
A Blow at the Captain,
An Outlined Campaign,
Nancy Comes to Town,
Enid Stands by Us,
A New Austin Doverfields,
The Story of the Princess,
War to the Hilt,
On Guard at Wraylands,
Meyrick at Last,
The Hour Will Come,
Hearts and Diamonds,
When Hearts are Trumps,
PAGE
174
181
190
194
199
2O5
212
217
224
229
236
242
250
256
263
268
277
285
29 |
298
3O7
3.13
323
338
350


Cl)& DOWerfields’ Dialil)ilds
CHAPTER I.
ANCIENT HISTORY.
As the years, thirty of them, have added to my store of knowl-
edge, they have lessened somewhat a formidable list of “con-
victions,” changing some of them into modest, even humble,
opinions, and some to mere ideas; but leaving to me, still, those
vital beliefs and resolutions, lacking which no man has quite
reached his manhood's full stature.
Six years had passed since the June morning when I sat in my
Aunt Jem's cool living room, fresh from the greatest effort of
my life, and horribly dissatisfied with it; for, having passed the
Rubicon of preparatory study and final admission at the Bar, I
had become suddenly stricken with a panic, fearing that the law
was not my ordained field of usefulness, and utterly unable to
put my uncertain fingers upon the thing, profession, business or
trade, for which I was born.
I was a callow youth that rare June day when I sat and
moodily recalled the biting words of my guardian; his first
sharp words to me, and, I believe, his last.
“It is useless, Jeanette!” he said, addressing my stately and
always indulgent aunt, “If the boy,”—I was 24—“between his
overworked pate, and that New England conscience, had not
got his nerves and wits worn to a frazzle, as old Hec says, I
should prescribe a straight-jacket! As it is, I merely suggest a
visit to Aunt Jem, down in Wraylands. Lay in a stock of light
reading, Ken; lock up Blackstone, and stay all summer. You
want to vegetate; that's what you want!”
“And to eat!” added my dear aunt. “You 'll have to eat at
Aunt Jem's table.” And, truth to tell, it was the thought of
Aunt Jem's rare cookery that gave me my most pleasant anticipa-
tion, as I journeyed to quiet, prosaic Wraylands, with its eight
(7)


8 - THE DOVERFIELDS DIAMONDS
hundred claimed inhabitants, its four churches, and—what else?
What indeed! Before I had partaken of my first breakfast in
my aunt's cozy cottage, I had been aroused, forced out of my-
self, and into an abnormal activity; and, before the end of that
first day, I felt as confident of my mission, one mission at least,
as though I had never considered, doubted, or hesitated, for the
morning I arrived in Wraylands beautiful Daphne Meyrick, a
bride of three weeks, was found dead in her bridal robes.
For many long days the community talked, wondered, guessed
and grieved; while the officers, Captain Wrayland, who was her
guardian, and mine, and I, her cousin and life-long comrade,
sought for the clue which should tell us whether the deed that
had cut short that bright life had been by her own hand, or that
of an assassin.
That was a summer of strange activities, and yet more strange
discoveries; and by the time it was over, and the mystery of
Daphne Meyrick's sad death was made clear to the eyes of the
few who had loved her, I had lessened my burden of “convic-
tions,” eased my mind of various doubts, and while striving to
solve quite another problem, I had found myself at last. -
The story of Daphne Meyrick's strange fate has already been
told, and the mystery of her death was buried with her, never to
be revealed to the world at large. Only we, who had solved the
strange riddle, knew the truth, and it was hidden in our hearts
from the curious outside world. But often, as I look back upon
that summer of strange new effort and self-development, I ask
myself the question, “Is it an unseen power that ‘shapes our
ends, or, do we weave our own destinies?”
It was Nancy Banks, the maid of long residence in the Wray-
land household, who while “redding up” the attic brought down
a pyramid of neatly piled up carpet-rag balls, and with it a heavy
object, which struck with force just under the little square win-
dow in the roof, where the afternoon sunshine was streaming.
She screamed at sound of the clatter, and sight of the flash and
glitter of the spilled contents. It was a worn black leather bag,
looking as if it had been much used, and often distended almost
to the point of bursting, which might have accounted for the sud-
den snapping of the long-tried lock, for the bag had been full to
its utmost capacity.
The maid's shrill outcry was heard by Daphne Meyrick on the
floor below; and, a moment later, a sudden and more woeful, if


ANCIENT HISTORY 9
lower, cry sent the maid flying down to the front veranda in
search of the Wraylands, who were taking their afternoon ease
there, and then to the storeroom for camphor and ice water.
When Mrs. Wraylands, trembling, and the Captain, flushed
and puffing, reached the attic they found Daphne lying senseless
beneath the little west window, her pallid face bathed in the broad
streak of sunshine, and her garments quite concealing the con-
tents of the black bag, though not the bag itself. For a brief
time Captain Wrayland stood gazing, while Mrs. Wrayland and
the maid were bending over the prostrate girl. Then, as Daphne
opened her eyes, he moved toward the stairway. At the same
moment, a cloud hid the sun's face, leaving the attic dimly lighted.
“I’m going to call up the doctor,” the Captain said from his
place at the stairway, but Daphne cried feebly, “No, uncle,
don't.”
Suddenly, Mrs. Wrayland released the small hand she had been
holding and hastened to the head of the stairs.
“One moment, Henry !” she called.
The Captain, who was already at the fifth downward step,
halted. His wife, who had followed him, almost breathlessly
whispered: Don't send for Marston, Henry. He—I think it
will embarrass Daphne; get Doctor Grey.”
“But, my dear, why 3 *
“Stupid! when you know what a blow her marriage was to
Tom Marston l’ And then, as her husband nodded his under-
standing of her meaning, she added, “I may as well go on down
now, and get the poor child some wine.”
“I wonder what startled her,” he said, as they went on to-
gether.
“She’ll tell us when she has recovered a bit,” the lady replied.
But in this she was mistaken; Daphne never told them.
As her aunt turned away Daphne Meyrick stirred a little, and
slowly lifted her head. Then, as the woman kneeling beside her
was about to speak, she made a sudden movement toward her and
whispered in her ear, “Nancy, help me!”
On more than one occasion Nancy Banks had been heard to
say that she “would have bled an died for her little Missy,” for
Nancy, in her teens, had been Daphne's nurse, and she often
declared that it was “just to be near her Miss Daphne that she
had accepted the place of an outgoing housekeeper when the


IO - THE DOVERFIELDS DIAMONDS
little girl became a boarding-school Miss, and Mrs. Wrayland an
invalid.
The two understood each other, for the true meaning, and
full horror of the situation, had flashed instantly into Nancy's
mind when she heard the moaning, half-smothered cry of the poor
young bride, and saw her fall senseless, and before the Captain
and his wife had reached the lower stairway a sharp face was
peering cautiously out from the attic entrance, to be swiftly with-
drawn the next instant.
When Mrs. Wrayland, after scarcely two minutes' absence, re-
entered the attic, with a glass of wine in her hand, Daphne was
sitting upon an old chest at some distance from the little window,
and Nancy was busily rebuilding the pyramid of carpet rags,
some of which she was nonchalantly stuffing into the yawning
mouth of the black leather bag, which she held almost at arm's
length, remarking, with sniffing nostrils, as her “old mistress”
came toward them, “I always did hate old smelly, musty leather!”
and, dropping the bag, she caught the wine glass from the lady's
hand and hastily placed herself directly before Daphne. .
“Here, child,” she said, almost crossly, “drink this. The very
idea of you runnin’ full tilt up them stairs, and bumpin' your
head on a beam, jest 'cause you heard me yell when them pesky
rag balls tumbled over onto me,” and Mrs. Wrayland smiled as
she recognized the anxiety behind Nancy's seeming crossness,
and bent to examine the bag.
“Why, what a queer old bag!” she exclaimed. “It’s of foreign
make, I'm sure! Yes, it is! Is it yours, Nancy? I never saw it
before?”
The woman was busily tucking up some stray locks of her
young Missy's pale brown hair, and she did not answer for a
monent.
“Yes 'm,” she replied, “it 's mine all right! Had it when I
came here. You must a seen it an' forgot, I guess. Bought the
thing at second hand, and it's been all wore out this ever so long.
Feel all right now, don't ye, honey?” letting her hand rest with
warning pressure on Daphne's shoulder. Then, striding over to
her mistress, “Guess it 's good enough yet to hold carpet rags!"
taking the bag from the lady with the cool assurance of an old
and humored servant. “'T won't hurt them, I reckon!” Nancy
“guessed” and “reckoned” much.
* : * + k +


ANCIENT HISTORY 11
When Dapnne Meyrick drove to the village, late that after-
noon, looking somewhat pallid beneath her veil of thickly-dotted
net, no one wondered or questioned. Did she not drive her
spotted ponies almost every day? But when, next morning, she
did not appear as usual, and Nancy found her, fully dressed in
black, sitting before an empty grate where evidently much paper
had been burned, quite dead, though still warm and looking very
peaceful, this, her last drive, was remembered and understood.
And then, I was called for by the Captain, because I was not
a detective, but a friend and relative who could be relied upon to
keep a secret. When elderly Doctor Grey had been called in on
the previous day, it was the argus-eyed Nancy who met him at
the door, having watched for him from the vestibule. “Well,
Nancy,” chirped the friendly soul, “how 's the little bride by this
time?” -
“Why, doin’ pretty well, Doctor. It was just her foolishness,
runnin' upstairs, an’ settin' her heart a-goin’ a bit. I spose you
know her ma had a weak heart, sir?” Nancy's face looked care-
less, almost amiable, as she led the way upstairs, but it set itself
in grim lines once her back was toward him. At the stair-top she
spoke again, with her head turned a little over her shoulder.
“She said, ye know, that her heart sort of hurt after it; and
there 's the bump, too! Good thing her thick hair was all a-top
of her head; might have made it sore else.”
“Oh, ho!” ejaculated Doctor Grey, “she said that, did she?
These weak hearts! M-m! they make a lot of trouble for poor
women. Running upstairs, too!” -
Nancy's ruse, rather her deception, in what she considered a
good cause, was successful; and the Wraylands later, when they
knew the truth, had reason to thank her for it. The Doctor had
pronounced the case “a little flutter of the heart,” and had gone
his way, after advising quiet, and light foods.
Next morning the Captain, because of the shock and his need
of a friend's advice, sent for me, strange as it may seem, before
summoning the Doctor; but there was a reason for this. Tightly
clasped in Daphne Meyrick's hand was a brief note addressed
to her uncle, and running thus:
“Dear Uncle and Aunt :—
“Something has broken inside me, and I think I must be go-
ing—if I am not already—mad. I could not stay! Please accept
the Doctor's assurance of yesterday, for my sake and your own |


12 THE DOVERFIELDS DIAMONDS
If ever one died from heart failure, it is—or soon will be—
I. Loving you to the last, and praying your forgiveness.
“DAPHNE.
“P. S. Believe me, it is the only way for me, and the best for
you: there is no one else.”
A strange letter truly, to be written by a bride of a few weeks;
and, because of it, I advised my friend to call in Doctor Grey as
before. When he came, I went with him into the room of death,
and, standing with him beside the body, I put into his hand that
pathetic last letter.
Needless to quote what passed between us. When I came out
from that room, leaving him alone to his sad task, I knew what
we were to tell the people of the town. All, in fact, who were
not, of necessity, already in the secret,—Captain and Mrs. Wray-
land, Nancy, the Doctor, myself, and—perhaps—Daphne's hus-
band, to whom I had at once sent a wire; acting, as I was bound
to do, for my father's old friend and mine.
Daphne Wrayland had wedded an electrician, employed first
in one city, and then in another, as expert authority in numerous
mechanical complications. Sometimes a letter, bearing the busi-
ness card of some great manufacturing house, would come, and
Ralph Meyrick would leave in haste by the first train; prompt,
swift, and always, as the Captain affirmed, “setting out in excited
eagerness; an enthusiast in his profession.”
It was because of these swift and frequent flittings that Mey-
rick's young wife, after their short honeymoon, had returned to
her old home, from which her friends had been so loath to spare
her, to remain for a time, which, as Meyrick declared, should not
be long. He was doing well, he said, and would soon cease his
flittings and establish himself. He had gone away, only three
days previous to his bride's sudden death, to answer a call from
a house in St. Louis, but, he had said, his New York address
would be safest, it being on his way both going and coming.
In the hurry of his setting out, he had given neither his St.
Louis hotel, nor his club address to the Captain, and Daphne's
lips were sealed. So, with some anxiety, and in fear of a too
long delay, I sent to his New York address a message that, it
seemed to me, must have roused a dead man; a message that
demanded an instant reply.
The city and country papers gave graphic, if brief, accounts
of “The sudden death of Mrs. Ralph Meyrick, nee Daphne Wray-


ANCIENT HISTORY I3
land, of Wrayland Bluffs,” etc., the cause being given as “heart
failure, a lighter attack having preceded the fatal one, on the
previous day,” and so on. But the day passed, and then the
night, and no word came from Ralph Meyrick. -
Meanwhile, at Wrayland Bluff, I had promptly begun my
search for some clue to the cause of so tragic a death; for the
Captain and I were agreed, that to introduce a detective then,
would be too great a risk to secrecy. Besides, my friend was so
good as to assure me that he remembered my ability to find out
things, and solve puzzles, when, as a mere lad, Daphne and I had
been school mates and good comrades. And this being his wish,
I began my search in the room in which she died, alone, and so
pitifully, despite the painlessness of death by the morphia route.
I myself had placed the blower before the cold grate, while
Doctor Grey bent over the sleeper upon her white bed; for I
had noted the condition of the dead embers, and desired to ex-
amine them more closely and at my leisure.
The clouds that yesterday had darkened the afternoon sky to-
ward midnight had brought in their train light gusts of wind,
and then an April shower; which, coming as it did from the
south, must have crept down the chimney in quantities sufficient
to choke a fire, evidently built with whatever first came to hand.
Looking upon the charred paper fragments, some of which re-
tained their shape, I almost could see the last scene in the life of
my beautiful one-time schoolmate and friend.
Having kindled a blaze, she had placed upon it an unloosened
bundle of letters; then, having watched until they began to
flame up, she had swallowed the fatal drug, and, as the wind and
rain began their work, had sunk into her last sleep; and there,
unheeding the dying fire, the gusts of wind and the dashes of
rain, she had slept on, finally drifting out upon the unknown sea
of eternity.
Slowly, I searched among the blackened fragments, but there
was nothing legible, nothing even decipherable, and I began to
rake them together, before replacing the blower, when I heard
the clink of iron against glass, and, from the farthest corner,
where it must have been placed with much care, I drew forth a
little bottle, short, squat and broad of mouth.
Its cork was missing, and, as it lay almost upside down, its
contents, if any, had gone up in smoke. The label, too, of course
was gone, but I knew only too well what this empty vehicle of a


I4 THE DOVERFIELDS DIAMONDS
world-wide curse had contained. Still I sought diligently. The
room was in the daintiest order. The little writing-desk was
empty of all save pens, ink and blank stationery; and, as no
other clue was to be found, I put the ugly little bottle in my
pocket and took my way to the attic.
Nancy was coming from Mrs. Wrayland's room, as I passed
down the hall; and, when I glanced back from the top of the
attic stairs, she stood below, staring up at me with a singular
look on her plain face. There was no one in the hall, and I said,
speaking softly: “Nancy, I would like to speak with you, pri-
vately, after a little; when will you be at liberty?”
I saw an eager look light up her face as she replied, “I’m at
liberty now, sir! Shall I come right up?” But I shook my head.
“Not now,” I said; “presently, or, when I call you; if you are
still at leisure.”
She nodded, looking rather disappointed, I thought, and I en-
tered the attic. Here again I searched diligently. I demolished
the newly-built-up heap of rag balls; and I found, by exploring
upon my hands and knees, that, while yesterday they had been
stored in the opposite, or northwest corner, now they were piled
in the northeast end of the room. The little window was in
the middle of the western wall, and it was while upon my knees
in that corner that my exploring eyes caught at something, a
shred of dark cloth, perhaps, lying close in the shadow of the
low, sloping roof.
It was a grey day, and I already had lighted several parlor
matches to aid in my search. Now, dragging myself, snakewise,
close under the low eaves, I struck another match, and then
turned suddenly from the small dark object just beyond me, to
examine the flooring close to the western side of the low angle,
where the dust, filtering, doubtless, through the loosely-placed
balls, showed me the outward limits of Nancy's pyramid, and,
close in where the roof hung lowest, a clean space of at least
fourteen by eight inches, where something other than the small
round balls had rested.
I could make nothing of it, then ; and, after a careful measure-
ment, I turned to the other side, and put out my hand, taking up,
not a fragment of anything, but a little implement, sometimes
used in well regulated households, but not often bestowed close
under the garret eaves. This was a small pair of pliers, of finest,
firmest steel; seemingly, quite new. I put them in my pocket,


ANCIENT HISTORY 15
made a final tour of the place, but with no further results, and
then sought the head of the stairway.
Nancy was sitting on a Morris chair near the door of her mis-
tress' chamber, and I beckoned her to join me. I had known
Nancy Banks for many years. I knew her obstinate disposition,
and her devotion to her dead mistress. Our talk was brief; for,
after the first question or two, and having heard again her story
of the attic episode, very curtly related, I was convinced that she
had not told me all she knew, or guessed at, and that she had no
intention of doing so. Then this useless endeavor was followed
by a short talk with Mrs. Wrayland, who, for years a semi-
invalid, was now quite prostrated, and unable to leave her own
private sitting room. She was not reserved; she was simply
filled with wonder and grief, and she could neither suggest a rea-
son for Daphne's desperate deed, nor give a clue to guide our
search. Then I talked long with the Captain, but, while he was
now quite calm and clear headed, he did not help me; and, that
he could not, if he would, I was fully convinced.
That night, at a late hour, I was pacing the lawn, and keeping
my eye upon the road townward, for it was nearly time for the
night express from New York, and I had been picketed there by
the soft hearted Captain, to meet Meyrick, when he should ar-
rive, and, to “break" the terrible news to him.
“He must surely come tonight!” said the Captain. “Someone
of our messages must have reached him ''' and I felt the same,
and believed that Ralph Meyrick, if he came at all, must come by
that midnight express. -
At the front of the house was a long sloping lawn, dotted here
and there with clumps of low growing plants and shrubs, while,
at either side, the house was guarded by rows of taller shrubbery,
close set, and long since grown almost to a thicket, with conven-
ient overarched openings, where gravelled and grass bordered
paths passed between, and underneath.
Even as a youth I had loved these shaded walks and screen-
like masses of lilacs, syringas, bush clematis, and the like; and
when I heard the scream of the whistle, far to the north, I was
loitering upon the townward, and northward, side of the wide
sloping lawn. I was growing nervous, for Mrs. Wrayland's
windows faced this way, and, once or twice, as I moved silently
under the dense shade, I fancied that I heard a rustle a little be-
yond me, and toward the rear.


ANCIENT HISTORY - 15
yielding thing, had I, too, fallen over, almost treading upon it,
as I went down? The next instant, and with that smothered
sound again in our ears, we were both up and away; he scarce
two paces ahead, and running as only a practiced athlete can,
taking the shortest and straightest way down the southern slope.
We were half way down, and I felt myself gaining a little.
There was now less than a man's length between us, when, from
behind a tiny pavilion, I saw a man dart out, seize the fleeing
scamp with one hand, and menace him, with a pistol held in
the other. They were both in the open here, while the lowest
clump of althaeas sheltered me. Evidently I had not been seen
by the captor. -
I thought swiftly. The burglar, as undoubtedly he was, I
hoped was in safe hands, and, if possible, the sorrowing people
in the house beyond must not be disturbed, nor alarmed, now.
For Mrs. Wrayland's sake all must be silent, if possible. Still
the fellow might escape, though under cover of the pistol, he was
going very meekly; too meekly, as it seemed to me, and I fol-
lowed them, still unnoticed.
As they went, they talked; low, and, evidently, not harmo-
niously. When they were a few feet from the low hedge at the
road side, a horse neighed softly, and a voice from beyond called
cautiously, “That you, Tomkins?”
“Yes, and also your friend Johnnie.”
I felt relieved now, and halting awaited developments. Then,
seeing the prisoner suddenly turn upon his captor, I sprang for-
ward, calling out, “Don’t shoot, officer ! I have him covered !”
By some sudden maneuver, the fellow, who was powerfully
built, had contrived to knock the pistol from the officer's grasp,
and was striking at him fiercely, as I came up. I did not hesitate,
but with my clubbed weapon, struck the rascal a blow upon the
uplifted arm, that caused it to drop limply. At the same moment
the invisible other man sprang across the hedge, and the prisoner
was dexterously handcuffed before a word was spoken.
The next moment I heard a voice from above us, evidently
from the upper balcony, calling my name; and I turned to the
officer nearest me, “Do you know this fellow 3"
“Know him for a burglar, sir! Nickname, with the push, is
‘Handsome John, John Doe, he calls himself.
“And—can I be of further assistance?"


19 THE DOVERFIELDS DIAMONDS
They were evidently out of town officers, and the latest comer
uttered a low, chuckling laugh.
“Well, I guess not! We ’re takin' him back to N’ York.
Followed him down here in same train, but wanted to spot his
little game! He was actin mortal queer! When he took a rig,
back there,” meaning in the village, “we took another, fastest
team in the stable, and a driver, too. When he tied his horse,
here, we just sent our team and man back to town ; knew we
could take him, or else shoot him; either would fetch the reward
ye see. How did you come into this?”
I explained, as much as was needful; and while they were forc-
ing their strangely silent prisoner into his own carriage, I added
—“Gentlemen I am grateful to you both. To have had a dis-
turbance here, just now, would have been most unfortunate.
There is illness in that house.” I did not add, “death also.”
Just here the Captain's voice called again, querulously almost;
and I called back, “Coming Captain,” gave the men my village
address, and hastened back up the slope, as the carriage swung
about and drove townward.
I had not forgotten the soft something over which I had so
lately stumbled, but some instinct had urged me not to speak
of this to these strange officers. I must look into it; but, first,
I paused under the east balcony.
“Captain,” I whispered.
It was the ever watchful Nancy who replied.
“He’s gone in, sir. Mrs. Wrayland called him, just now.”
As I hurried thankfully to the south front, I remembered for
the first time, Tonto, the big collie that had been so gentle and
affectionate under the petting of Daphne Meyrick, and so alert
and fierce, as a night watchman. Why had not Tonto been
1-card from? So questioning and wondering I reached the spot
beside the piazza where I had found my climbing burglar; and
here I paused, listened, started, and struck a match.
“What did it mean? Before me, on the ground, lay poor
Tonto, trussed up like a fowl! A gag, actually a gag, tied in and
across his mouth and held in place by cords running under the
chin, and around the neck; while his feet were tied, two and two,
with similar cords.
He looked at me pleadingly, pitifully, and I was quick to cut
his bonds, regretting that I had not found him earlier. Then
I started; my thoughts were, surely wool gathering !


ANCIENT HISTORY 19
Why after all, the greatest wonder of the past half hour was
not the finding of the burglar, “Handsome John Doe,” but that
he, or any stranger, any one, in fact, could approach Tonto, and
keep him silent; much less bind him, head and foot. Could there
be a confederate in the Captain's household? With a hand upon
the dog's collar I sat down and stroked his silky ears while I
pondered. Then, suddenly, my mind was illuminated. It was
a strange thought, but I fully believed that I had found a clue,
a real clue,


CHAPTER II.
RALPH MEYRICK.
Ralph Meyrick did not arrive that night, or any night there-
after. His young wife's body, after days of waiting, was put in
a vault with fitting and touching ceremonies, and then for a week,
'I staid on, as the Captain's friend and guest. And I was the
Captain's guest, but, by night and by day, almost, I was also
Nancy's shadow.
She had been directed by Mrs. Wrayland, who was quite ill,
to arrange and packeaway all of the dead girl's belongings, and,
hearing this, I asked Mrs. Wrayland, through the Captain, to
first send the woman out upon some errand, if only for an hour.
She was sent to town; and I at once procured the necessary keys
and entered the dead girl's rooms. Presently I called Captain
Wrayland.
“Observe!” I said to him. “In various proper places I have
found articles of jewelry, carefully, even lovingly bestowed: But,
look here!” I produced from underneath a dresser a long slim
pasteboard box. “What do you make of this?” and I whipped off
the cover, carelessly emptying the contents of the box upon the
dresser.
He examined them closely, his hands trembling as he held one
after another up to view. “Good heavens!” he ejaculated, “what
can it mean? They are Meyrick's gifts! All of them, I verily
believe! Yes, all of his, and no others!”
It was a rare and costly collection of jewels and dainty
enamels, carelessly bestowed in a common shoe box. We put
them back, replaced the box, and silently left the room. I saw
my course quite clearly now—or thought I did—and as we left
those still darkened rooms, I put a hand upon my companion's
arí11.
“Captain,” I said, “will you suggest to your wife that it will be
best not to discuss with Nancy, the possibilities behind Mrs.
Meyrick's death; at least, not for the present? The sooner she
is made to think that the theory of death, as publicly announced,
(20)


RALPH MEYRICK 21
-
is accepted here without question, the sooner this mystery may
be solved.”
“But—Nancy
“One moment, please! Don't think of questioning the good
soul! If she has the secret, she is holding it loyally for the sake
of her dead mistress. If she has given a promise—” then, seeing
the question in his eyes, I added, speaking with decision, “Pray
don't question me now, Captain; believe me, it is best for all con-
cerned, that you and Mrs. Wrayland, be, or seem, quite unaware
of what I may do for the next few days.
The Captain and Mrs. Wrayland aided me, in the one way
possible to them, by seeming to accept the popular belief, and,
for Nancy's benefit, I occupied myself during the next three days
by rummaging in the library, in search of “medical statistics upon
heart diseases.” But this, while it seemed to abate Nancy's vig-
ilance in one direction, did not lessen it in another. The good
soul still restlessly haunted Daphne Meyrick's room, and I, from
my covert near the head of the attic stairway, kept vigil, snatch-
ing an occasional nap by day, and sometimes sleeping a bit late of
a morning; and, just six days from the date of Daphne Mey-
rick's death, my opportunity came.
Late that night, from my lair above, and by the dim hall lamp,
which, because of Mrs. Wrayland's illness, Nancy dare not ex-
tinguish, I saw her come stealthily from the rear hall, listen for
a moment at my door, and then at the door of Mrs. Wrayland's
bedroom; and then—ah! I had thought so from the first.
One of the bedroom keys, the one used by the late occupant,
had disappeared; lost in the confusion, so Nancy had “guessed”.
But, in spite of the fact that, at my request, all the keys of Mrs.
Meyrick's rooms had been demanded, and received—all but the
lost one—here was Nancy, after a final sharp glance about her,
opening the door of the closed and forbidden room, with the lost
key, and as stealthily as a burglar.
I saw her enter, and then, armed with the key of the adjoining
door, I slipped down the attic stairs.
The woman carried no light; and I was quite sure she
would not dare to use one of the lamps within. I carried a small
dark lantern—my first,-and while Nancy stealthily moved about
in the sleeping room, I entered the little sitting room. The two
rooms were connected by an open arch, and the curtains across
**


22 THE DOVERFIELDS DIAMONDS
this were drawn close. I shut the outer door softly, and crept
towards this convenient curtain.
Nancy had drawn back the window draperies on the south
side, and evidently she had no need to search for the thing she
desired; for, going straight to the smallest trunk, the oldest in
appearance, she took something from her neck, and, by the light
of a noiseless match, applied it to the lock of the little trunk.
Then, while she began to lift out piles of something white, kneel-
ing, with her back toward me, I slipped past the portière, and
stood close behind her, lantern in hand.
She was lifting something heavy from the bottom of the trunk,
when I bent above her and putting a hand upon her shoulder,
spoke in her ear—“Don’t cry out, Nancy! I'm a friend! Let
me lift that—bag, for you; it seems heavy.” My lantern was
turned directly upon her and the trunk, and I saw plainly the
black leather bag, which for two or three days after the tragedy,
had been left in the attic, conspicuously stuffed with carpet rags,
at the top of the heap of balls. Then it had disappeared; and, I
think I was the only one who had missed it from its place.
Needless to detail what followed. Nancy was stanch. I had
expected it. She dared not vent her anger as she would have
liked, but she raged in silence, refused and denied, and, for a
time, claimed the bag for her own as before, while I argued in
half whispers. - -
I was quite frank with her, telling her how I had suspected
her from the first and had noted her every moment. I closed my
argument thus: “You should know, Nancy, that I am as eager
to guard the honor—the good name, of Daphne Wrayland as
you can be, but the Captain, and his wife, have the right to
know all that you and I know about this sad affair. Do you sup-
pose we think, any of us, that she died of heart failure only?”
Here I sprang my little trap, “Nancy, why are you shielding, or
trying to shield and befriend, Ralph Meyrick?”
The woman's pale face went red with her wrath. “How dare
you? she hissed. I befriend him! I help him—!”
I pointed to the bag, which she had dropped back inside the
trunk. “Do you deny this is his bag?” I bent closer. “But you
will not be able to deliver it! Did you know that Ralph Meyrick
was here the night after his wife's death? That he tied and
gagged Tonto, and tried to climb to Daphne's room by way of
the piazza roof?”


RALPH MEYRICK 23
She had remained crouching, until that moment, beside the
open trunk, but now she sprang to her feet. Her eyes were blaz-
ing, her nostrils quivering. “The brute! The beast ! And——you
let him go! What—what—!” She fairly choked with rage.
“I let him go—yes, after pulling him down from the piazza
rail. You see there were others who had a first claim.” And I
told her the story. “You can see,” I said, “how things will look
for you, Nancy, if you do not help your master to protect himself
and guard Daphne's good name and memory. For Meyrick, be-
ing in trouble, will no doubt call upon the Captain for aid, and
claim a share, at least, in his wife's estate. Besides—you must
explain matters, in order to prove to all of us, that you are not.
and have not been, befriending this man! That you believe your-
self serving your young mistress, I feel sure; but it is only by
telling the truth, and at once, that you can aid us in keeping all
this horror from becoming generally known | For, unless you
can help us to a way by which Meyrick's mouth may be closed,
and he be forced to drop his claims, it cannot remain a secret.”
She turned swiftly, and caught up the black bag.
“Take it!” she said, holding it at arm's length. “It'll tell you
all I know,-all she knew ! When she came up the attic stairs
that day, she was a happy woman | When she saw that black
bag, which she knew, the spilled contents told their own story;
and, I dare say, it helped her, all to once, to understand Poor
lamb l’’ and suddenly her eyes were wet. “As for that man,” she
added, “if he ’s been caught, I spose it 'll have to come out.
Ugh ! I allus hated the creature!”
Then, as I took the bag from her hand, she moved toward the
door. “We mus’ n’t stay here,” she whispered, “An I reckon
you'll not need me to explain, when you open that!” pointing to
the bag.
But I put out my hand. “One word more. Mrs. Meyrick—
Daphne, made a will, before her marriage, leaving all she pos-
sessed to her aunt. Do you know if she made a later one?”
She stood silent a moment, and it seemed to me that her face
flushed. “She wrote something, once, after him and her had been
havin’ a long talk, an he 'd gone away. But, there ain't no other
will now, it 's—it ’s been bu-destroyed.”
For a moment our eyes met, and her look was almost defiant.
Then I turned away. “I’m glad there is no other will,” I said,
, “...--


24 THE DOVERFIELDS DIAMONDs
carelessly. “It might complicate things, you know.” I carried
the bag to my room, locked it in my closet, and went to bed.
After breakfast next morning, I signaled to the Captain, and he
soon followed me. I had thought the privacy of my own room
safest for our talk. And here, in the fewest and simplest words
possible, I told him all I had learned, all that I knew, and
guessed, and then, I drew the bag from my closet.
“I have gone thus far alone,” I said, “hoping to spare you a
little, and waiting for more certain proof. I do not know what
this bag contains; for I did not question Nancy. It is heavy.”
here I put it into his hands. “It is this, she tells me, that caused
—the tragedy.” He looked at the bag, sighed, and at once, with-
out words, pressed the hasp,-the bag was not locked, strange
as it may seem ; and, later, when I had found time to examine it,
I learned the reason. In its tumble among the surrounding balls,
being overfull, and much strained by wear and tear, the lock had
been so wrenched that only the hasps, or catches, could be relied
upon. The lock was useless.
With a quick turn of the wrist the Captain emptied the bag
upon the white covering of my bed, and we stared long and in
silence. Then Captain Wrayland dropped into the nearest chair,
and bowed his white head. But why recite the story of his hor-
ror, and sorrow, and shame. We talked long, and then I went in
search of Nancy. When at last we left my room, it was nearing
noonday, and to both of us the secret of Ralph Meyrick's life, and
Daphne's tragic death, was clear.
Never was evidence stronger, or more damning! Scattered
about, upon the white bed, were the latest and most complete
burglar's tools of iron and steel, a pair of magazine revolvers,
two smaller pistols, tiny but dangerous, and three knives, two
slender and stiletto like, and one, a bowie, broad and heavy; and
all—spotted,—toward the points, with—rust, perhaps. Among
these, gleaming and glistening, lay, jewels! such jewels! Pearls,
diamonds, rubies, sapphires, with much finely wrought gold,
from which the settings had been hastily wrenched. In the
midst of this mass was one emerald upon which both our eyes
became fixed; and, as the Captain's finger pointed, my lips in-
voluntarily uttered the words—“The Creighton emerald !”
Who had not heard of that daring robbery! The theft of
much rare plate, many jewels, and, most valuable of all, that
great emerald, matched only among the crown jewels of kings


RALPH MEY RICK 25
*
and princes royal. The Creighton emerald ! So much adver-
tised so long sought for It was now quite four months since
the home of Elias Creighton had been entered, so stealthily, so
mysteriously, and not a clue to the robbers had been found, not a
jewel traced. And so, Ralph Meyrick, the expert engineer, the
husband of Daphne Wrayland, was a thief and burglar! A
murderer, too, it might be.
And Daphne—it was at the first mention of her name that I
left the room in search of Nancy. In search, do I say? She was
pacing the corridor, between her mistress' door and mine, with
pale lips, gleaming black eyes, and clenched hands. I can never
forget the picture she drew of that attic tragedy! The words,
low uttered, and, at times, fairly hissed from between lips that
even then quivered with love and sorrow, for her “little missy.”
“I hated him from the first minute,” she declared savagely,
“hated him, and feared for her ! I think he knew it, too; but
after I hurt her feelings once by refusing to take his money, for
some little service, I tried hard not to show my dislike. But I
always watched him, and I saw many a little thing that made me
doubt and shudder. But she was so confident, so happy! And
what did I know!” Here she set her lips fiercely, and wrung her
hands; then, with a sudden outward gesture with both palms, she
plunged into the story. -
“I was in the little attic the morning he went away. I was
puttin' the curtain stretchers in their usual place, against the
south wall, when in came Meyrick. I rememeber now, plain
enough, how he started, when he saw me there in the far corner.
And then he came tords me, in his easy smiling way, and I see
he had a leather bag in his hand, sort o' swingin' it, careless like :
“Hello, Nancy Lee! he says, 'glad you ’re here. I take it you 're
queen in this court, eh?” and he begun gazin’ round. “My first
appearance in your realm, eh?” he kept on. 'I say now, this looks
like old times' kid times, you know. Rainy days for garret
plays, eh?' an he began walkin' round again, an lookin’. ‘I’m
just lookin’ for a handy hook to hang my old bag of traps on to,
he goes on, bolts an screws an electrical fixin's I've no use for
at present; an' then he stops, all of a sudden, facin’ that pile o'
carpet rag balls. “Hello, cannon balls, eh?' an he takes up one
an’ tosses it on his hand. “Say, I never expected to see a carpet
rag again, Nancy, he laughs. “My good old auntie used to make
'em, Yours, Nancy Lee?' I said 'yes, and started to go down


26 THE DOVERFIELDS DIAMONDS
stairs. “I say!" he calls, ‘I’d like to see a real home made carpet
once more; when 's it to be made up, eh?’
“I was out of patience, an I says, kind o' short, ‘Never, I
guess, them rags 's been a pilin' up there for years! I reckon
I've sewed up all Miss Wrayland's scraps an old close, for the
pile ain't growed any of late; an' I'm keepin' 'em now, for Miss
Daphne's second wedding, I says, acrost my shoulder, an’ then
I went on down stairs, leavin’ him a lookin' at some hooks in the
middle beam.” She paused here, for a moment; then
“It was that trip to the attic that set me to reddin' things up
there, after he was gone. I'd noticed cobwebs an' things, an’
it was just meant, I spose, for I'm sure I’d never a thought of
disturbin’ them rag balls, more 'n to just cover 'em up maybe,
but my broom it got caught, up in that near corner, an' when I
tried to loose it, why, it come down on top o' that pile, an’ set
'em all rollin'. Of course I screeched, like a fool! an’ then—she
come! She seen the things as quick as I did Of course I recog-
nized the bag, an’—we both knew !”
>k >k :k >k >k :k
I went to the city next day, and I saw Ralph Meyrick in his
cell, unseen by him. I had only met him once, on the day of
his marriage to Daphne, and I scarcely thought he would
recognize me, still, I had no wish to be known by him, and I
soon passed on with the guard who was my escort.
Meyrick had not seen the newspapers, and on the day after
his arrest he sent a message to Wrayland Bluffs. It was ad-
dressed to his wife, and ran thus:
“My Dear: Come to the city at once. Say nothing. In
trouble here; cause, mistaken identity. RALPH M.”
The prison address followed, and, on learning that it had been
sent, I wired the Captain, and he read the message. Meyrick
had been arrested under the only name he was known by in the
under world, wherein he was a leader and a man of mark, and
as “Handsome Johnny Briggs,” he was tried for robbing a jewel-
ry store. That he might venture to call upon the Captain for aid,
was, we knew, quite possible; and so, one day, I sought and
obtained permission to see him in his cell.
Before making my visit, I had called upon Ronan Brooke, one
of the most versatile of young actors, and a friend of my college
days. Making my needs known, I readily obtained his help,
and when I called upon Ralph Meyrick, I was so changed that I


RALPH MEYRICK 27
had no fear of recognition. I looked middle-aged, ruddy of face,
and portly of mien, and I announced myself as the city agent
of Mr. Wrayland. I told him the full truth regarding the death
of his wife, and then I made my demand.
One of his “gang” had been trapped with him, but, as it proved,
not one among them knew him in his character of electrical ex-
pert or by the name of Meyrick. My demand was that he should
guard the secret of his dual identity, and, in no emergency, call
upon the Captain, or reveal the episode of his marriage to Daphne
Wrayland. Furthermore, they should give me a full list of the
owners of the jewels in our possession, and in the manner we
thought wisest and most discreet we would endeavor to restore
the stolen property to their various owners. Or, he would refuse,
and have a dozen charges, instead of two, brought against him,
with the jewels produced as proof.
I had looked for resistance, for at least a show of bluff, and I
was surprised at the readiness with which he accepted my ulti-
matum. Another thing greatly puzzled me, and this was, that,
save for his comrades in crime, the fellow had, or seemed to
have, no friends, and assuredly, he had no money. After all,
his choice was that of wisdom. The jewels were out of his
reach in any case, and, when he was assured of this, the rest was
easy. And still the man's ready acceptance of the inevitable
puzzled me! Years after I understood it only too well.
After the trial, and the prison sentence, I saw Meyrick again.
This time I bore a message of different nature. The sentence
was for four years, and, in view of his evident lack of funds,
the Captain made him an offer. If he would sign an agreement,
whereby, for the consideration of a certain sum of money, he/
would leave the country at the expiration of his sentence, not
to return, on pain of instant exposure, Captain Wrayland would
agree to have this sum—Ten Thousand Dollars—at his disposal
in the Warden's office, on the day he left the jail, and America,
for all time. And to this, also, Meyrick tamely agreed; and, for
four years, we heard of him no more.
These years brought about many changes. Soon after the
events here chronicled, I, having abandoned for good my fitful
pursuit of the law, found myself established in the city in an
occupation of my choosing; and two years later Mrs.
Wrayland joined poor Daphne in the better world; after which,
the Captain leaving the country house for the greater portion of
the year, followed me to the city, where we found a warm wel-


28 THE DOVERFIELDS DIAMONDS
come and a cheery home with his only living sister, Mrs. Leroy
Devereaux, a charming and brilliant woman of society, and a no
less delightful home maker, sister, and friend, as, soon after the
Captain's coming, I learned to know. And so, very pleasantly
we drifted on, during the time of Meyrick's imprisonment, and
then, one day, the Captain sent an agent, not myself, to meet
the ticket of leave man, in the office of the prison warden, and to .
hand to him the price of his exile.
That evening brought us a surprise, and a new mystery. The
Captain's agent returned, they were to meet at my office, and
laid before the surprised sender his draft for Ten Thousand
Dollars and a letter which was brief and to the point.
“My Dear Captain:—
“As I am leaving the country to-day, and am now in a position
to avail myself of a modest little fortune awaiting me in a safe
place, I return to you the draft so kindly sent, with the assurance
that, having performed honorably your part of our agreement, I
will still abide by mine. I sail for Europe tomorrow under a new
name, and there shall become a citizen of the world. Believe me,
and fear nothing, for you have looked your last look upon,
RALPH MEYRICK.”
“What does it mean?” gasped the Captain.
Now in four years one gains wisdom, a little at least, and also
knowledge of many things; and, after a moment, I answered,
“Meyrick—if that ever was his name—was, you have told me,
twenty-seven when he married your niece. Ergo, he is now
thirty-one and, doubtless, he has been engaged in his dual profes-
sion, of burglary and expert electrician combined, for a period of
years. Not all robbers are spendthrifts, and he talked much, you
have said, of 'soon settling down. It it quite possible that he has
been a wise rascal and out of various rich hauls has been able to
secure to himself a nest egg. Which nest egg I think would,
for its safe keeping, presuppose a confederate of some sort, and
a loyal one.” •
It was only a guess, but the Captain accepted it as an explana-
tion. Soon after this I placed two pictures of Ralph Meyrick
in a private rogues’ gallery I had of late set up, and also filed
away my numerous notes and papers concerning his case. And
then, for many moons, I almost forgot the affairs and the exist-
ence of Ralph Meyrick, in the press of things, to me, more
interesting, and more recent.


CHAPTER III.
MRS. DOVERFIELDS DIAMONDS.
“There 's a letter for you on the desk, sir!” said my office boy.
“A letter!” I turned from the window at which I had been
standing for a moment, having just entered my office after a
two hours absence. Has our postman changed his time, or—?”
“T’was a lef’ letter, sir. A gentleman wrote it and lef’ it a
hour ago.”
“Lef’?” I criticised.
“Left—sir!”
“And how long ago? Be careful now!”
“A—an—a nour ago; I mean hour.” -
“Right! only we did not need the emphasis.” I was struggling
manfully to make an up-to-date office boy out of this small lump
of raw material. “What did you tell the gentleman, Jem?” I
never encouraged his curiosity by asking what my visitor said.
“Tole—told him you—would—be—back—at seven—o'clock—
sure.” -
“Very good, Jem.” I sat down before my desk and took up
the “letter,” which proved to be a few lines, written upon a leaf,
evidently torn from a note book, by a hasty hand, and I smiled
as I read it.
“Kenneth Jasper, Att'y!”
“Unless your engagements are very urgent, be so kind as to
give me an hour or two of your valuable time this afternoon,
at four P. M. I will call again at that hour.
Yours,
A. E. DOVERFIELDS.”
“Cool!” I muttered, “and peremptory, very! That man would
be immensely surprised at finding my door closed to him at four
—and bless me, its almost noon at this moment!”
It was true enough. I had returned a little behind my self
appointed time, and it now wanted only fifteen minutes of
twelve.
“A. E. Doverfields,” I mused. “Who is A. E. Doverfields? It
(29)


SC THE DOVERFIELDS DIAMONDS
seems to me—” I got up, and brought from its shelf a volume
of the city directory, and began a search for the name.
Yes, there it was “A. E. Doverfields!" Why, to be sure! This
must be the man who not long ago “plunged so disastrously,”
in Wall street, losing half his fortune, but still able to live in the
fine mansion, built by himself, on one of the aristocratic
up-town streets, which street, and what number of that street, I
must not name here, for the story of the Doverfields' Diamonds,
that is the entire story, has never yet appeared in print, and
probably never will by permission of Austin Doverfields and his
petite, fair haired wife, unless, it may be, as I am writing it
now, to give it to the public at some future time, perhaps, under
the disguise of fictitious dates and names, but with no event or
act added thereunto, and nothing taken away.
But to return to my story; “I had scarcely assured myself
that my prospective visitor was—must be, the Doverfields, so well
known to Wall street, and in society, when the door opened, and
I saw over the head of my small factotum, an unexpected
visitor. But I was not kept, for a moment, in doubt of his iden-
tity, for he strode in, quite regardless of my small usher, and an-
nounced himself.
“This is Mr. Jasper, I take it?” and then as I nodded, and
before I could reply, “Of course you found my note? My name?
Doverfields. Can we speak quite privately? My business is
important! I saw your return just now and came back for a few
words.”
I could not complain of any want of courtesy in manner or
tone. On the contrary, he was icily, loftily courteous, and for
this very reason, I experienced a feeling of the most perverse
dislike.
I had just read the man's brief, curt note, and now, hearing
his crisp, cold tones, I was minded to respond in kind “My
business is urgent,” he said, and I at once arose.
“And my time,” I replied, my tone matching his own, “is valu-
able! If you will be seated, and kindly inform me—” I checked
myself to proffer a stiff, businesslike chair, which I kept con-
veniently near my desk, and which he took without a word;
then, taking an envelop from his pocket he placed it before me
upon the desk.
“It is from Doctor Bird,” he said, with quiet dignity, and as I
slowly read it, I knew that he was studying my face.


MRS. DOVERFIELDS DIAMONDS 31
“My Friend:—” wrote the doctor.
“This will introduce to you Austin Doverfields, who is my
friend, and worthy to be any man's friend. He needs such help
as you can give. Of this part I have fully assured him. I hope
nothing will prevent you from coming to his aid.
Yours,
Bird.”
"N. B. I think, sub rosa, that there is more than money value
in this case, for my friend D—”
Doctor Bird was a wise and kindly man. I respected him and
his opinions. His brief note softened my mental attitude, and
I laid it down and said, quite amiably, “Will you let me hear
your difficulty, Mr. Doverfields?”
“My difficulty;” he looked at me fixedly for a moment, “my
difficulty seems to be—” here he smiled faintly, “that I can't find
my wife's diamonds. I hope most earnestly that you can!”
“Ah! your wife has lost some diamonds, then?”
“My wife has lost all her diamonds; in fact, all of her jewels,
of any value. The diamonds were really a fine lot. Old family
jewels, hers and mine, for the most part, together with some
good stones which I gave her on our wedding day.”
“Tell me how they were lost?”
“I wish I could ! But I can tell you nothing, and because I
cannot I wish you would go home with me, so that you can talk
with my wife. Not that she can tell you much, only that they
went out of her possession mysteriously, almost; but she can tell
you the little to be told far better than I. Besides—” here again
he paused an instant and smiled faintly, “she desires to see you.”
“I am sorry, I wish she had accompanied you; I really ought
not to be seen in your house now–if I am to serve you.”
“You mean—because of the servants?”
“I mean—because of many things. Can you not arrange it
Otherwise?”
“I fear not.” His face at once was grave again. “I think Mrs.
Doverfields would object. Really Mr. Jasper, you would oblige
me greatly if you would come with me. This affair is so
strange!”
“I will go then. But—” I said with decision, “I must not be
known, in your house, as an investigator. I must work in my
own way, if at all. And I cannot be put at a disadvantage in the
beginning! Drive home, Mr. Doverfields, and this afternoon, at


3- THE DOVERFIELDS DIAMONDS
a perfectly proper hour—a little late, to avoid possible loiterers,
I, or a Mr. Preston, Lucius Preston, Esq., will be announced.
Do not display any surprise should you notice a slight change
in my appearance, and above all, do not mention to your wife
my intended disguise. Doubtless she will see me as I am later.
You may leave your address, I do not happen to know it—
and—I shall appear as an afternoon caller; you understand?”
Mr. Doverfields arose, and stood looking at me fixedly. He
was a tall man, and handsome, in a dark stately way. He was
graceful too; somewhat haughty of carriage; and restraint, self
repression, and self reliance, were among his visable character-
istics. He seemed to be considering. “Very good,” he said
finally. “It shall be as you wish.” He laid a card before me.
“Here is my address,” he bowed, turned, and was gone.
After all I liked his direct speech, and the swift, but not hur-
ried manner of his coming and going; and I crossed to my part-
ner's office, and, finding him alone, within, entered and closed
the door.
“Who is A. E. Doverfields?” I questioned.
Craig took a half smoked cigar from between his lips.
“Austin Eaton Doverfields, my friend? You amaze me! Really
you—”
“Bother!” I interjected. “Of course I know of him! Wall
street magnate,—lost a little fortune, not long since—”
“And still retains another! Not to mention his wife, she ’s
the heiress of a few millions, and one of the really beautiful
women of the most exclusive of our city's social circles. They,
or she has been abroad much, during the past year, and has not
been long at home in her Fifth avenue mansion. If you were
not such a hermi ** -
“Oh don't bother! Do you know Doverfields?”
“A little—in a business way only. He 's a man, every inch of
him; a gentleman; cultured and handsome.”
“I have observed that,” I assented.
“Oh—then you’ve seen him?”
“He has just left my office.”
“Oh—ho! No new trouble, I hope?”
“His wife has lost her diamonds.”
“What! The Doverfields' diamonds! Why they're the envy
of half the belles of New York! Am I to know—” he paused,
for I was dragging a chair close to his own; and, seating myself,


MRS. DOVERFIELDS DIAMONDS 33
I began at once to tell him the very little I knew, as yet, of the
loss, theft, or whatever it might prove.
“Kenneth,” began Craig, when I had finished, “I congratulate
you! Of course I condole with the lady, if she has really lost her
diamonds, and, mind, they are the last people to resort to any
manner of vulger sensationalism . But something unusual has
happened to drive Austin Doverfields to you, to any one, for
this sort of help; and, that cautious, slow going old Bird, is ad-
vising you both, is proof to me, that it 's not a case of imagina-
tion or nerves. Unless I’m much at fault Ken you 've got your
hand on a case after your own heart.
“According to what you have just said,” I objected “it should
be a very easy case. Such diamonds as you picture, old family
gems, set or unset, should be very easy to trace—anywhere.”
“Umph!” grumbled Craig with a queer look, directed just
above my head, “that—depends! Come, let 's go out and
strengthen our wits by lunching heartily A good feed always
settles my nerves. It may yours,” and we both laughed.
But a call from my office boy took me back to my own quart-
ers, and, although my visitor detained me for only a little while,
Craig, as was our custom in such cases, went on his way, and
lunched without me, while I, being left to myself, wandered away
from my usual noonday haunts, and so fell upon a second adven-
ture, where, again,-to quote Craig's after comments,—“Dia-
monds were trumps.” -


CHAPTER IV.
A SAND WICH MAN.
During my first days of young unrest, after my return to the
city upon the termination of the Meyrick tragedy, I had scattered
my legal library and abandoned my first office; and, later, I had
sought my life long friend, Royston Craig, and proposed to him
a partnership upon somewhat unusual lines.
He seemed to like my proposition, and for five years we had
been established as partners. His suite of offices was directly
opposite mine. Though no longer in any sense a lawyer, and as
disconnected as was our actual work, we often worked in har-
mony, and won our points by playing into each others hands;
and while, in some instances, he carried on cases of which I
knew little, and took less interest; in others I wove the web, built
up the case, and left him to prepare the briefs; and if any man
could move a jury by sheer force of wit, and eloquence, that man
was “Roy” Craig, a born orator.
As for me, I was well content to take in hand quite another
class of work; cases, some of which never came into court;
while, in such as required other than forensic labor, cases in-
volved, mysterious, or lacking in some important element of
proof, I was Craig's right hand; and, because we sometimes
worked together, and my real labors were carried on behind our
screen of legal partnership, only the initiated few knew that
Jasper, of “Craig and Jasper, Attorneys at Law,” was less a lawyer
than an investigator, a searcher of records, an inquirer into puz-
zles peculiar or strange, a filterer of purposes.
In short, while I was well known to the official police, to the
rank and file, I was less known, and in my legal character only,
and it was my work, as private inquirer, that had kept some of
the complications and secrets of “upper-ten-dom” out of the news-
papers and the hands of this same police.
Many of these quietly conducted cases came to me by way of
my partner, Craig; for, while the middle classes and the “sub-
merged tenth,” are quick to cry out for the police in time of trou-
ble, the artistocracy, and the “smart set,” turn first, as a rule, to
(34)


A SAND WICII MAN 35
the family lawyer; or, lacking this appendage, to the shrewdest
and safest of their own circle, who, being one of themselves,
sometimes adds to his professional value that of a friend, more
or less.
I had passed the earlier part of the morning in my private
office. Having completed my task I had gone for a brief walk in
the soft Spring air, in company with my cigar, returning to find
Austin Doverfields’ letter, and to receive him, a few moments
later instead of at the hour his missive had named. It was near-
ing one o'clock when I set out in search of luncheon and knowing
Craig to have gained upon my appetite by a good half hour, I
made no effort to join him. In truth, my appetite was not, as I
soon discovered, what it had been at an earlier hour. I sauntered
forth, now, with thoughts of my luncheon growing less, almost
to the vanishing point, and the tall image of Doverfields foremost
in my mind. As I went I was asking myself why—if Austin
Doverfields was as calmly undisturbed by the loss of his wife's
jewels as his manner seemed to indicate,—did he return, so
hastily, and so promptly, after his first visit, instead of waiting
for the hour he himself had set? Indeed why did he come at all
and bearing with him, as he must, that letter, previously prepared
on the chance of my absence?
The more I studied the matter the more peculiar seemed the
attitude of my latest client. He had visited me, I saw it clearly
now, in haste that could not brook a delay of his own making;
and having found me, had made known his errand with the calm
and reserve of the original sphinx; declaring his utter lack of
knowledge, and referring me—shades of all the Doverfields—to
his wife. *
His wife! what, if anything, had I heard of Mrs. Austin Dover-
fields? A beauty—oh, yes! exclusive, popular, wealthy; a veri-
table autocrat and,—what else?
Why could the husband tell me nothing? The wife all—that
could be told? Was she—I had heard of such things—the actual,
and he merely the nominal, head of the house? Recalling the
man as he had stood before me scarcely an hour before, I could
only scoff at my own mental query. Austin Doverfields might
be many things. He was not, I felt very sure, a figure head, a
second, or background, for anyone! Reserved, doubtless; a si-
lent man, I could well believe, but clear headed, strong willed, a
power in his own place; of this I felt assured. And yet


36 THE DOVERFIELDS DIAMIONDS
Someone brushed sharply against me, and looking up I
found myself exactly opposite the entrance to a snug little
Italian café patronized by theater goers, and always busy at this
hour.
I had walked thus far mechanically, as city bred men, on
business bent, will so often do, dodging and turning, as by in-
stinct; but my “subconsciousness” had not reckoned with The
Italia, and the consequence was a sudden awakening to my sur-
roundings, to the hour, and to the claims of the inner man.
Apologizing, by a nod and a mumble, to a fat man, who had
bumped into me, I threaded my way through the crowd, reso-
lutely putting the Doverfields from my mind, in the interest of
the luncheon, which I was about to enjoy. -
I lunched slowly and at my ease, and, presently I began to
feel a distaste for my office which might be expected to last
until nearly four o'clock. The chatter all about me was of the
new comic opera, and the new singer, just a few doors way;
and as I was tossing off a last tiny glass of good Italian wine,
I realized, from the general stir and pushing back of chairs, that
the matinee was soon to begin. Already the street was filling
with daintily attired women, picturesquely dressed children, and,
here and there, a man, young or old, convoying, from one to
half a dozen of the other sex. I paused for a moment to watch
them, and then passed out, half tempted to try for a seat.
I had slipped through the crowd, and found standing room
between the granite wall and one of the supporting pillars of the
entrance, the better to consider, and to finish a very good cigar.
For a moment I quite forgot either purpose. From my point of
vantage a step above the pavement, I watched the hurrying
crowd as it overflowed the vestibule, and wound in and out of
the line about the ticket seller's window.
The animated play of expression, upon unknown features, the
stray word or phrase, dropped and caught up in the passing
crowd, has, at all times, an interest for me, and here, in the May
sunshine, the prevailing mood was that of cheer, even of gayety.
I was smiling broadly, and settling more comfortably close to
my protecting pillar, when, very near me, I heard one word, in
a tone so tense, so different, that it drew my gaze to the person
just below me, who, having also flattened his back against the
wall, seemed waiting with an anxious and weary air for the
crowd to open, and give him passage onward.


A SANDWICH MAN 37
“My God!” It was a sibilant half whisper; but, uttered, as
it was, so near me, so sharply, and so full of feeling,-that
might have meant intense surprise, fear, hate or anger, but which
I knew well, did not mean pleasure,—that it drew my eyes to
the man's face, and then, swiftly, in the the direction of his eager,
fascinated gaze.
He was watching, or so it seemed to me, the tall figure of a
woman luxuriously clad, and, seemingly, alone. She was mov-
ing, in stately fashion and apparently quite unconcerned by the
hurry all about her, toward the chief entrance. Her dark head
was held haughtily erect, and she seemed almost oblivious of
surroundings, until she was just outside the bronze barrier at
the inner vestibule, and opposite the long mirrors on either side.
Then, suddenly, she seemed to sway toward one of these mirrors,
and I saw a white gloved hand go swiftly to the side of her face,
which was turned quite away from me.
Glancing again at the shabby man by my side, I saw that his
face was bloodless, while his eyes were riveted upon the tall,
slim figure; but, with her first movement toward the mirror, he
pulled his soft old hat low over his eyes, and let his chin sink
between his shoulders. - -
As I wonderingly followed this movement, I let my own eyes
drop for an instant to the pavement, and saw there, at his feet,
the cause for his delay and hesitancy. Pressed against the wall
behind him was a doubled up frame, with its straps dangling
between his feet, and I knew him for one of those unfortunates,
a “sandwich man,” doomed to traverse the streets between two
half concealing boards, that advertised—what?
The man seemed past middle age, and his face was lined and
seamed, while out of his eyes gleamed a look, desperate, eager,
and growing with every passing instant more and more excited,
fierce, and wolfish, while he craned forward, and drew back,
with, it seemed to me, alternating thrills of hate, fear, and—
hope. The tall woman had swung herself about, seeming to scat-
ter those nearest her with the mere glance from her haughty,
splendid eyes, and to clear a way through the opposing crowd
by the sheer force of a strong personality.
She had a rare coloring; and a free grace of movement, and
as she made her way streetward with her eyes cast down, as
if seeking something beneath the feet of the crowd, I had time
to note the classic regularity of her features, the royal bloom


38" THE DOVERFIELDS DIAMONDS
upon lip and cheek, the strong chin, full red mouth, and long
lashes, that veiled so splendidly the downward seeking eyes.
And then, suddenly, when almost opposite me, she looked up,
and out beyond the pavement, with a swift direct gaze that held
neither doubt nor hesitancy, and, seeing a fine open Victoria cir-
cling slowly away from the curb, she lifted a hand, and in a clear
mellow voice strong with command, called, “Hixon!” And now
her splendid eyes swept the crowd, while again her voice arose,
just a note more insistent, “Hiron!”
“Madam—pardon me,—shall I call your carriage?”
The speaker was a young man, tall, slender, and with a hand-
some boyish face, that was frank rather than strong.
She seemed to read him from foot to head, in one glance, and
then, even as her lips framed the word “yes,” his voice rang out
over the heads of the hurrying crowd.—“Hixon—this way!”
“And now, as the two moved toward the street, side by side,
they passed close to my pillar, and I heard her say,– “If you
will kindly remain here, and watch the people going in, until
I have spoken with my coachman—” she paused and again
glanced about her—“To let my loss be known before we have
made an effort, might be to lose the diamond,” she then added.
As she left him, and moved across the pavement, I turned to
cast a glance toward my sandwich man, but he had apparently
discovered an opening in the crowd. He was stopping to secure
the straps of his burden, and while the lady stood beside her
carriage and conversed in low crisp sentences with the man
Hixon, he slunk into the throng, and across the pavement, to
the outer side; seeing which I now turned toward the handsome
young fellow who stood glancing about him, now here, now
there, and leaned forward to catch his eye.
“Landis, may I ask if anything serious has happened? Can
I be of use to you, or to your friend?”
Hal Landis, known to the seasoned New Yorker as the son and
heir of one of the city's newest multimillionaires, and as un-
spoiled as a lad so hampered well could be, looked up, frowned,
and then smiled.
“Why Jasper! You're the very chap! The lady, she's a stranger
to me, has just lost a valuable diamond; mate to the one in the
ear turned toward us now. She wore it, she is sure, when they
drove into this street, at the corner there. Gad!” He stopped
short, for the lady was coming swiftly toward us.
C


A SAND WICH MAN 39
“Madam,” began Landis, as she paused before us, “This
is Mr. Jasper, of Craig and Jasper, Attorneys.” Was I mis-
taken, or did the dark eyes dilate, just a little, and was the start
she gave caused by the utterance of the firm name? -
“Pardon,” she said, looking beyond us, “I—I thought that
woman was about to pick up something—er—Mr.—will you
kindly repeat the name, sir?”
“Jasper,” I said, “and this is Mr. Landis.”
“Thanks, gentlemen! I fancy I have heard that name, Land—
is, and mine,—I am a new comer here, an utter stranger,-I
am Mrs. Devinne Barthelme, late of London, and living just now
at the Astoria Waldorf. Gentlemen, tell me, how must I proceed
to make a search in this thronged place? My solitaire was
a family jewel, and I prize it far beyond its actual value! It
was lost, I am sure, between that corner,” pointing across the
way, “and this vestibule entrance. I took my little mirror from
the pocket of the Victoria,” she smiled charmingly now, for
the first time, and Landis forgot to watch the entering crowd,
“and it was in its setting, and, as I thought, secure, when we
drove diagonally across the street, and before this entrance.”
“If I might suggest,” said I, “it would seem to me useless to
spread the fact of your loss here, now. It is time, or soon will
be, for the curtain to go up. Ah!” as the first notes of the
orchestra were heard through the swinging doors. “The crowd
will soon have thinned, then with a couple of officers on the spot”
—here I touched Landis upon the shoulder, “see,” I said, “just
behind you, and going toward the box office is one of the house
detectives; won't you call him?”
Landis went swiftly, but the lady, after a single glance, turned
again so that she could keep in view the moveless figure upon
the box of the Victoria. She had noted the direction of my
glance, and again that dazzling smile stirred the red lips.
“I told Hixon not to leave his seat until I was ready to make
a personal search among the cushions,” she said, as in explana-
tion.
“You were very tactful.”
“And—may I—dare I ask you to direct the police officers when
they come?”"
“Assuredly.”
“I have ordered Hixon to drive to the exact spot where the
carriage first stood, as soon as the way is clear,” and she pointed


40 THE DOVERFIELDS DIAMONDS
toward a carriage that was being slowly backed from between
a pair of long bodied, space filling landaus.
“Those carriages,” she commented, “Hixon tells me they are
not quite modern. I—I fancy I have seen the one drawn by the
brown cobs in the park, once or twice; it is—?” She glanced at
me and paused. “You know it, I see!” she commented.
I smiled. “It is the Landis carriage,” I said, and Madam
elevated her eyebrows, threw an amused glance in the direction
of young Landis, and turned her superb shoulders upon the
vehicle and its occupants, the dowager Madam Landis, and her
elder son's widow. They had just left their carriage and were
now entering the vestibule without having observed young Hal,
still in earnest talk with the house detective, and with his back
toward them.
As I shifted my position, the better to note the thinning of the
crowd, my eye fell once more upon the half-bent figure of the
sandwich man, who was backing awkwardly to the extreme edge
of the pavement, with a wary eye, as it seemed, for approaching
officers. And then, just as the Landis carriage succeeded in
getting free of the two landaus, and pulling into the street,
Madam Devinne Barthelme lifted a hand to signal her driver;
and, at the same moment, I saw the sandwich man make a sudden
backward step, stumble, and fall, his canvas covered boards
clattering and dropping from his shoulders; evidently the rotten
straps that held them to their place had parted.
I started forward, fearing an injury to the man, but he drew
himself together and put out his hand, making two or three
futile efforts to rise, and then, slowly, he drew the fallen boards
toward him, and, aided by a good natured street gamin, struggled
to his feet, hobbled across the street, and took up his station
there, half hidden from our view by a projecting awning, and
some waiting carriages.
And now the search for the lost diamond began.
Two officers were found, and these clearing away the
remainder of the crowd, and keeping them back, went over the
ground where the carriage had stood, and the pavement and
vestibule between it and the entrance to the theater, closely
watched the while by Madam and young Landis, not to mention
myself. Meantime, the lady, unaided, and from choice, searched
her carriage with minute scrutiny.
Evidently the loss of the big diamond was a blow to her, and


A SANDWICH MAN 4I.
the fire in her eyes, and the crimson of her cheeks deepened, as
her anxiety and excitement increased. And, certainly, the lost
gem was a fine one, matching, as it must, the one still remaining
in the pink ear of Madam.
For some time I stood beside Madam's carriage where, having
given up all personal effort, she sat, still eagerly watching
and directing the officers and young Landis, who, most active of
all, was peering here, there and everywhere, returning often to
the side of the carriage to be encouraged to renewed effort by
the lady's glowing eyes, and the words of praise and thanks.
Finally the dignified house detective came to the carriage side.
“Lady,” he said, “It is certain that your diamond is not here!
If you lost it so near the entrance, it has been found by some
one in the crowd. That is sure! Possibly an advertisement—
a reward—might help you.”
She bent toward us as we stood grouped near the Victoria.
“That I lost the diamond just here,” with a comprehensive
wave of her hand, “is certain, sir. And—oh, must I call in the
police to aid me?”
“Not if you will trust it to me, Madam,” said young Landis,
pressing eagerly nearer. “If you will give me your address and
—a little more by way of description I will do all I can, all that
can be done!” He was flushed and eager, and the admiration in
his handsome boyish face was but too clearly read. While she
seemed to hesitate the officers drew back.
“I must think,” she said. “This is most unpleasant. I think
I should consult my legal adviser, Mr. Birdsall, of the firm of that
name. He is the only man I know in your city,” she was looking
at me, and I hastened to say.
“Messrs. Birdsall and Birdsall are in themselves a tower of
strength. They will know how to advise you.” And finding
here my cue for an easy exit, I uttered all the courtesies and took
my leave of the handsome brunette, walking away, not in the
direction whence I came, but onward, noting as I went, how
young Landis still hovered near the Victoria, and how reluct-
antly he drew back, when she gave the order to Hixon to move
On.
I had lost all desire to enter the theater by this time, and as I
moved on, slowly, I chanced to come within sight of my friend
of the sandwich boards once more. He was peering between two
close standing vehicles, after the retreating carriage, and, when


42 THE DOVERFIELDS DIAMONDS
it was well under way, he too turned and began to move in the
direction he had taken upon leaving the theater front, and in
which I also was moving. He was on the opposite side of the
street, and a few paces in advance of me, and as he shuffled away
I was seized with a desire to follow him, for a time at least, and,
if possible, to get another sight of his face. He had been so
intent upon the movements of the beautiful brunette that he had
not, I felt sure, so much as glanced in my direction, and I felt
quite safe in stalking him openly from the opposite pavement.
We had not gone far, however, when my vague interest was
changed to a lively curiosity, and I made a sudden dash across
the way and sprinted to gain a position closer in the rear of my
quarry, for, after worming his way, with some difficulty, through
a crowd, gathered about some loud-voiced street fakir, the man
had turned sharply, glanced back, and all about him, and then,
straightening his shoulders, and his bent limbs, and lifting his
drooping head, he suddenly moved off at a brisk pace.
With the crook gone from his legs, and the curve from his
back, he showed himself a man above the medium height, erect,
slender, and certainly far from being the enfeebled unfortunate
he had seemed a moment before; so I fell into step behind him,
and assured myself that I was upon the trail of something un-
usual. And now my friend of the sandwich boards left the
better streets, and turned his steps riverward. Then, after a
long walk, he began to lag, and finally paused, as if glad to rest,
at a point where a station of the elevated railway overshadowed
a congested street corner, where the surface cars of several lines
swung around a loop, and the hurrying people stopped and
started, and watched their chance to cross in all directions.
Here the man halted, close to the curb, but withou lowering
his boards, and I, feeling quite secure in my ability to dodge,
drew back with my shoulders against a wall and contented myself
with noting the slow shifting about, as if weary and uncertain,
of the bearer of the advertising boards. And then there was an
outcry and a forward rush, as a woman with two little children
was wrested from before the wheels of an oncoming surface car,
and I craned forward and then drew a long relieved breath with
the others. It had been but a moment, but when I looked
toward the place where the canvas covered boards had loomed
conspicuously, they were gone, and when, the next moment, I
saw them close beside the stair leading up to the platform of the


A SANDWICH MAN 43
L road, I went boldly toward them, determined to run no more
risks of defeat.
And then—my pride received a fall. There, to be sure, were
the boards, with the name of a Broadway oculist, in big letters,
sprawled across them, but they were held over the shoulder by a
big dirty hand, gripped upon the hanging straps, and their bearer
was a husky hobo looking fellow, who stood with his face to the
street, in rapt contemplation of a “nickle” held in the palm of his
left hand.
I promptly produced a second “nickle” and holding it tempt-
ingly above the open palm asked gruffly, “where's the feller that
got you to hold the boards, eh?” He grinned, and I let the
nickle drop.
“Wisht I knowed, jist ter be 'commodatin’; the bloke said to
me, ‘Friend, will you just hold these boards for two minutes?
I want a beer, and here's fer yours when I come back. I jest
grabbed on, cap, an’ that 's all I know.” Here a shrill voice
at my knees, as it seemed, said—"I'll tell yer, boss, ef yer cross
me parm!” And a small boy shifted a bundle of newspapers
and held out a small, grimy “parm,” I produced a second five-
cent piece. “Tell us,” I demanded.
“Sure! Well, sir, he hiked up them stairs like he was after a
train; an' if he ain’t took one afore this I’m a goat!”
“Is that a fact, boy? I'll pay for the truth, mind.” And I
shook some bits of silver inside my closed hand.
“It’s true, boss! Huh ! spose he 'd a come way out here with
his old boards, if 'twas jist a beer he was after? Not on yer
life I’’ - • -
“Gee!” ejaculated the holder of the "sandwich,” setting it
down with emphasis. “This kid 's got it straight! We've been
done, boss!” And so it proved; whether with intent or no. A
look about the upper platform revealed many faces, but not the
face of the sandwich man.


CHAPTER V.
A FAIR ENIGMA.
At precisely five minutes after four o'clock that afternoon I
stepped from a cab at the door of Austin Doverfields' stately
home facing Central Park. I no longer had need to call upon my
actor friend for small pointers of make-up. Indeed, I seldom
used the “deep disguise” of the conventional man of mystery.
But to-day I was, in appearance, a thought more dignified, a few
years older than the Kenneth Jasper of the morning; and my
“get up” was that of the tailor-made society man; trim, and just
a bit of a swell in a quiet way. -
I dismissed my carriage at the door—and in the hearing of the
stiff servant who admitted me, and whose face I studied while
slowly producing the visiting cards of Lucian Preston. There
was a moment of delay, during which I fancied I could hear,
from my place near the door of the sumptuously simple reception
room, the swish of skirts, the tap of boot heels on the polished
floor above, and then I was conducted to the next floor, where
“Madam would be glad to receive Mr. Preston in her own morn-
ing room.”
At the door I was met by my host, who, for the benefit of the
servant, greeted me with extended hand—and the next moment I
was bowing before a dainty blonde beauty, small almost to
fragility, and with a face that was a singular but charming
mixture of childlike sweetness and womanly dignity. I was not
long in discovering that this lady adored and looked up to her
tall, grave husband, and that she also stood a little in awe of his
dignity and seriousness.
One could not look at this flower-like youthful face, without
feeling sure that it belonged to a bright and sunny nature, and
yet it was the opposite of this at the moment. Evidently the loss
of her diamond weighed heavily upon the mind of Mrs. Dover-
fields. I could have sworn, too, that the lady could be a bright
and ready talker; but, in spite of this, she bore almost no
voluntary part in our conversation; speaking only when directly
addressed, and looking as if she wished it all well over,
(44)


A FAIR ENIGMA 45
I took no advantage of my borrowed social footing, but taking
the seat indicated by the lady, not far from her own, I suggested
that one of them give me, at once, a complete account of the
affair of the diamonds, adding, “You are, of course, convinced
that it is a robbery 3” -
“Why, certainly!” replied the gentleman, but the lady only
started slightly, opened her lips as if to speak, and then closed
them with a decision I would not have credited to her
character. -
“The story,” began the master of the house, “is soon told.
Last night my wife—” he stopped and turned to the lady, saying,
“Perhaps, after all, Ara, you would better tell it.” But she shook
her head.
“No!” she answered quickly. “Go on, please; you know it—
all !” -
“Very well.” He turned again to me, and I said to myself,
“evidently with him, her word is law.” “Last night,” he recom-
menced, “my wife attended a ball, which, because of an important
business meeting, I was obliged to miss. As a consequence I was
at home earlier than she, and, no doubt, was sleeping soundly
when she arrived. It being a very grand, after Lent affair, she
wore all her diamonds; or nearly all. Going to her dressing
room she removed these without arousing her maid, placed them
in their cases, which were temporarily kept in a drawer of her
dressing table, and turned the key upon them.
“Now, my wife is always interested beyond the common in her
servants, and the cook, who is an especial favorite with her,
had been ailing for a day or two, and so, remembering that she
had promised to look in upon cook on her return, she closed her
dressing-room door, and went below. Our basement, as you
may have noted, is not underground, in the sense of being either
dark or damp, and the cook, two maids, and one of the men
sleep there. -
This man had admitted Mrs. Doverfields, by previous arrange-
ment, and, in passing the basement entrance, she caught, or
thought she caught a glimpse of him, looking to the door fasten-
ings for the second time; a thing Sadler often does, by the way,
he being a very cautious man, but one of the soundest sleepers I
ever knew !". He ghanced at his wife, half smiling, but she was
tapping her foot upon the rug nervously, and looking down with
an expression one could almost call moody.


46 THE DOVERFIELDS DIAMONDs
She did not look up, and he went on. “Of course, Mrs, Dover-
fields thought nothing of this extra care, but went on, and, finding
cook asleep, came back at once and quickly retired. She is
certain about having locked the drawer containing the jewels,
but not so certain that she removed the key; as to the chamber
door, that she locked. She is positive of so much.”
“That would scarcely trouble a professional burglar,” I com-
mented.
“I suppose not! It certainly did not trouble this one!
My wife has a vague memory of seeing a man's figure cross the
room, and of thinking, in a drowsy, unreasoning way, that it was
myself tiptoeing from the room, as I sometimes do, in the early
morning, when I enter and find her sleeping. The diamonds
had just been brought from the safety vault, where they had
been placed before she sailed for Europe, last Autumn. She
has only been back four weeks,—and, meaning to leave town
again soon, we, or I, was about to return them to the vault today.
It was not until after a late breakfast that the loss was discovered.
My wife's maid, in putting the dressing room in order, picked up
the key of the jewel drawer from the floor close to the front of
the case; almost beneath it in fact. This of course led to an
examination of the drawer, and the loss was discovered.”
Mr. Doverfields paused a moment, then, as I made no com-
ment, he resumed. “I suppose, as a beginning, you will wish,-
it is customary, is it not—to look at the rooms?”
Somewhat to my surprise, Mrs. Doverfields arose hastily, and
took a step toward the bell.
“You can go at once!” she said, almost with eagerness.
Now I had not gone so far as this in my own mental processes,
but I arose at once.
As we went toward the door the lady turned back, after touch-
ing the bell, and when she reseated herself, as her husband
passed out of the room ahead of me, I paused.
“Mrs. Doverfields,” I said. “Is there not in your private apart-
ment, some work of art, some picture, which we are going to see?
I must not abandon my role, and your presence is important.
You rang, I think, for your maid?”
“I did,” coldly.
“Then be kind enough, please, to instruct her to open your
rooms that we may see—what you will, only, we shall need you
there!”


A FAIR ENIGMA 47
She arose slowly and with evident hesitation; then, suddenly,
she swept forward, passed us, and met her maid in the hall.
“Lucy,” she said lightly and with perfect composure. “Go
and draw the curtains in my rooms, please. I want Mr. Preston
to see the place where the burglary was committed ! This way
Mr. Preston, to see how badly I keep my diamonds, and what a
poor thing the modern lock is.”
“You see,” said Mr. Doverfields, as we entered the room.
“The burglar must have passed through my wife's room in order
to reach the dressing room beyond. And she must have slept
very heavily, or the man trod upon velvet feet— ”
“I was very tired,” his wife broke in, cutting short his last
words. “I was quite busy all day, you know, Austin and I–I
suppose he did rouse me—partially.”
“You might have slumbered lightly and still not have heard
one of our expert housebreakers,” I interposed. “Is this the
drawer, Mrs. Doverfields?”
“Yes.”
“And the key? May I see the key?”
She brought it and placed it upon the dressing case before
me, and standing close beside the table I held it in my hand,
looked at it a moment, fitted it in the lock, and then, as if by
accident, let it fall to the floor. It struck the surface of the thick
Turkish rug before the dressing case without a sound, and taking
it up, I turned again to the lady.
“Precisely where was this key when found?” I questioned
carelessly.
“Really—” began the lady.
“Call Lucy,” spoke her husband quickly, and the maid was
called, looking her wonder as she came. I gave her the key, and
told her to place it precisely as she had found it that morning;
which she did with scarcely a moment's hesitation.
“Are you not mistaken?” I asked her, somewhat sternly.
“The key could not have fallen there!” -
But the girl respectfully but firmly maintained her position. It
was there, just beneath the edge of the dressing case, that the key
lay when she first saw it. “I had dressed my mistress' hair in
this room,” she declared, “just a little earlier. If the key had
not been so nearly out of sight I must have seen it before!”
I laughed and put the key down carelessly. “Well,” I said,
turning to her master, “I don't see but that this clear-headed


48 *
THE DOVERFIELDS DIAMONDS
young woman has settled our wager. The key could fall in that
way, of course, you will want to tell that to the officers—when
they come. Mrs. Doverfields, I congratulate you on not waking
up! It would have been a terrible fright for you, if nothing
worse.”
“It would, indeed,” she replied in the same light manner, and
then she dismissed the maid and I took a long, slow look about
the beautiful apartment, which was a picture; a poem in blue and
silver and creamy white.
The sleeping room opened directly upon the main hall, and the
dainty octagonal boudoir occupied the tower room upon that
floor, and opened, at its further side, upon the landing of the
tower stairs, and a lesser hall beyond. This tower, which spread
out into a porte-cochère below, was the only break in the
colonial straightness and simplicity of the big dwelling. The
only access to the dressing room and bath, was through the
chamber, and, having assured myself of this, I was ready to ask
questions.
“Mrs. Doverfields, you saw, or fancied that you saw, some one
near the basement entrance, whom you took to be a servant; was
it the servant?”
Again the lady turned upon me one of those slow, hesitating
reluctant glances, and her husband, seeing this, promptly took
up the word. “No, Mr. Jasper. I asked Sadler if he were up at
that hour, and he was greatly surprised and said 'No,' most
emphatically.”
“And—you trust him?”
“He is certainly an honest man.”
“Do you think, then, that your wife really did see some one
in the basement?”
“I am quite convinced of it. How else did the burglar enter
the house?” -
“Collusion?” I suggested, but he shook his head.
“Our servants are all to be trusted. I am sure of it! In my
opinion the fellow must have entered by picking the lock, with
a skeleton or wire key, and lurking near the entrance until he
found a chance to conceal himself. He could not have entered
in that manner after the bolts and chains that we use at night
£ put up! It 's the simplest explanation,” he added rather
amely.
“And the right one, it is more than probable! A skeleton


A FAIR ENIGMA 40
key, a hiding place in a convenient closet,—is there a convenient
closet, by the by?”
“Yes, under the basement stairs, and quite near the door.
Will you look at it?” -
“Not unless you can get all the servants out of the way. Have
you made a search there for traces, clues?”
“Yes. There's nothing to be seen. Burglars do not leave
convenient clues behind them, often ; except in novels, I fancy.
“Austin,” said Mrs. Doverfields suddenly, “do you think
you and Mr. –Preston could dispense with me now? I am
greatly fatigued and so nervous over all this that I feel—unfit to
follow up the subject. I have told you all, I think.” She had
grown paler, and her voice was almost pleading.
“By all means !” I exclaimed. “There is really little more to
be said! Of course you can describe the lost jewels, Mr. Dover-
fields.”
“Certainly—that is—I think so.”
“And—there is one other question, Mrs. Doverfields! Can you
describe that figure which you fancied might be your husband's?”
“I—I fear not. It was all a dream, so I sometimes think. It
is all so vague; but a glance, at best, you see; and in a half
darkened room.”
Her husband turned toward her quickly. “Do you mean—was
your light burning?”
She shrank back, and her voice faltered, as she said, “That is
what Lucy told me this morning! Do–do you you think he could
have lighted it? I—I cannot recall anything!”
“It is possible,” I said carelessly. Then, “you could tell, at
least, of the man's outlines, his height, for instance?”
“Only—why yes, he was, I seem to remember, rather tall, quite
tall! I suppose that is why he suggested my husband, and did
not startle me into fuller wakefulness,” she made a step toward
the door. “Am I excused, now?”
“Assuredly,” I replied.
“By all means. Try and rest, Ara,” added her husband
kindly. ‘.
As she was about to go from the room I started forward.
“Mrs. Doverfields, it is for us to go, not you! Surely you can
rest better here than–elsewhere !”
She turned back. “But,” she said, “You do not wish to look
more closely, to assure yourself—” -


50 THE DOVERFIELDS DIAMONDS
“I am satisfied for the present,” I assured her. “Shall we go
down to the library once more, sir?” and I went to the door,
turning and bowing at the threshold. As I did so I fancied that
her pale face wore a look of absolute relief. She nodded, and
then turned to her husband, moving to his side, and looking up
into his face. It was a strange look. A look I did not soon for-
get. -
“Thank you—Austin,” she almost whispered, turning away
from us both.


CHAPTER VI.
AT ANY COST.
When we were comfortably seated again in the library, with
the door safely shut, my host turned toward me with a new look
upon his face; a look both businesslike and keen.
“Now,” he said. “Tell me, Mr. –Preston, what do you
make of this case?”
“Nothing as yet. It is a queer case—certainly.”
“How, queer?”
“Well, to begin with, it's an odd coincidence, that on the very
night, when, for the first time in months, the diamonds were in
your house, and so easily accessible, that they should be stolen.
It would almost seem that there is a special providence—for
thieves !” -
I saw the sudden flash that lit his eye for an instant, and ex-
pected an indignant retort; but I did not yet know this man. He
only turned toward me, as if with renewed interest, and, after
a moment, said in a tone of cold inquiry. “Well?”
“There is another thing,” I went on. “That key! If the maid
really found it, as she said—”
“How, as she said?”
“In the place where, she declared, it was found. That key
never fell from any one's hand to that spot.”
“What do you mean?”
“Simply that, if the key was really lying just beneath the lower
edge of the dressing case, it was put there! It could, by no
possibility, have fallen from anyone's hand to that position.
The outward curve of the dresser's heavy moulding, so close to
the floor, must have caught it before it could strike the rug, and
have sent it away from, not underneath, the dresser.”
“But why should a robber do so foolish a thing? I can see
that you may be right, Mr. Preston.” -
“Thank you!. A robber would not do so foolish a thing! A
professional robber would not trouble himself so needlessly |
Or delay his escape so carelessly.” Austin Doverfields gazed
at me in silence, and with a set look, that I learned to interpret
(51)


52 THE DOVERFIELDS DIAMONDS
later. I began to feel uncomfortable. His face grew paler and
paler, and then he arose, walked across the long library, and stood
for a moment at one of the windows, with his back toward me.
At last he turned, and came back.
“Mr. Jasper,” he began, standing erect before me, and still
pale, “I have the greatest confidence in my friend, Bird. My first
thought, upon learning of our loss this morning, was for the effect
upon my wife's health. She seemed so shaken, so unnerved, and al-
most prostrated, that informing her that I must report to the
police, I went, first, to the Doctor, telling him, of course, just
what had happened. He said that he would go to her at once,
and then he advised me to apply, not to the police, but to you,
for assistance; and he told me that about you which made me
very anxious to secure your help. “Report your loss, he said,
‘to the Chief of Police, it might be a wise thing to do; and I am
sure that if you tell him that you mean to secure young Jasper,
he will tell you that you could not do better.” “I did call upon
the Chief, and he did assure me, not that I could not do better;
but that, elsewhere, I could not do so well ! ‘Jasper seldom
makes a mistake, the chief said. But sir, I must hope that, in
this thing, you are mistaken | What you have said about that
key would imply—so much !”
“Not necessarily;” I replied, rising also. “But it may imply
a confederate within the house; and I must question your servants,
of course. Do they all know of your loss?”
“Yes, I fear—I am sure, that they do.”
I moved a step toward him. Mr. Doverfields, do you wish to
follow up this affair, whatever comes of it?”
“Yes!” The answer came promptly. “At any cost!—now!
I must know—the truth !—At any cost!” he repeated, with set
lips. -
"And you still wish me to assist you?”
“I wish you, in this matter, to command me!” he replied
with firmness. -
“Then I must leave you, now, at once. I have already tarried
too long. Treat this matter lightly, especially before your
servants, and, in your wife's present state of nervous strain,
it might be well not to put too much stress upon your own
anxiety, or the hope of finding the diamonds. You will pardon
me for, perhaps, exceeding my privilege, but—have you thought
that, possibly, she may be blaming herself, unduly, as the cause
(


AT ANY COST - 53
of this loss? Sensitive women sometimes feel these things too
keenly, and are too ready to hold themselves blamable. That
Mrs. Doverfields values your opinion highly is very evident.”
- The man's face actually flushed with pleasure.
“Tomorrow morning early, I shall come back, in another guice
of course and in my character of detective; I must then see your
servants; all of them. I am growing interested, Mr. Doverfields,
and I shall make every effort to restore your diamonds.
From the Doverfields' house, I drove at once to the home of
Doctor Bird, not far distant, at the risk of finding him at dinner,
for it was now growing late. Fortunately for me he was at home,
and could give me half an hour. I, too, was in haste, with my
own dinner still in perspective, so I began at once, for we were
well known to each other. -
“Doctor, I am told that I have you to thank for my share in
this Doverfields' diamond affair; and I have come to you, with-
out remorse, to question you about—various things! For in-
stance, is Mrs. Doverfields subject to sudden nervous attacks?
What can you tell me of her—and of her family? And, what
can you tell me of the diamonds? In short I want information '"
“In the name of common sense!” he broke in, “why did n't
you ask all this of him? Doverfields?”
“Doyerfields is the very man I do not want to catechise about
his wife,—just now ! A detective must harbor and sift numerous
doubts and queer ideas, with which it would be absolutely cruel
to burden the shoulders of the anxious persons most interested;
and—”
“And so I must be the sieve through which these ‘doubts and
queer ideas are to be sifted, eh? Well then, Mrs. Doverfields
is not subject to nerves! This business seems to have shaken her,
to—I was about to say, a surprising degree;—and, really, it did
surprise me, for, usually she is a very cheerful and sweet natured,
little person, a charming sunshiny little lady, a trifle spoiled, per-
haps, by that grave, long limbed husband, but bearing it well.”
“And yet, when Doverfields called upon me, he insisted upon
my going home with him, at once, to hear the particulars of the
robbery from his wife; and when I followed him, quite promptly,
it was to meet a nervous, silent little personage, who only spoke
when appealed to, allowing him to tell me everything, even of her
own experience; and who seemed only anxious to end the inter-
view !” And I described, as nearly as I could, our meeting.


AT ANY COST 55
me some fresh food for thought. “I suppose,” said he, after a brisk
exchange of ideas, and some professional chaff—"I suppose that,
at least, you have decided, yourself and Mr. Doverfields, when,
if at all, my men may pay this professional visit to the premises?”
“Um !—n—o,” I murmured.
“Even a millionaire,” he smiled, “may not have his own
private and exclusive little burglary—not after it becomes known
to the police. Robberies, like suicides and murders, belong to
the Dear People, and the Dear People will not give them up!
Talk of your aristocracy! The coroner, and the policeman
have the entrée everywhere—given the proper occasion. But,
Mr. Doverfields' wishes have been very clearly set forth to me.”
“Indeed;" I hazarded. “He is very solicitous for his wife's wel-
fare; she seems much shocked and broken up by the loss of her
jewels.”
“Naturally | What is the queen without her crown? He is
very anxious, for her sake—to keep this matter quiet as long as
possible. It can't be hushed up long, of course. But—” and he
leaned toward me, his face suddenly grave. “Jasper, do you
fall in with this policy of delay?”
I started. “What would you advise?” I questioned.
“Oh, no, my son,” he grinned. “I’m not fishing for a chance
to advise! And–you don't need it. Only—” -
“Listen,” I interrupted. “I’m quite sincere, and I mean to be
frank, it 's your due! I have told you of my visit to that
house; comments are needless. I am convinced that there 's a
mystery behind this amazing burglary, and, as I view it, haste
would not help us, and it might hinder! I am honestly puzzled !
Really in doubt !” -
“Gee! So am I, since hearing your story! But after hearing
Doverfields I thought it just a plain case of outside and in "
“I’m not so sure of that! At all events my voice, now, is
for delay. They have kept the matter off the street all day. The
servants seem most discreet and devoted. Besides, they have
been very carefully observed all day, by the sage old family
butler.”
“So Doverfields Said.”
“If there is collusion, if any of the servants are in the
business, I think it will be wisdom to assume the attitude of Mr.
Doverfields, and not treat the case too seriously. Look upon it
as a loss, but not as a calamity. A loss, of course, a serious


56 THE DOVERFIELDS DIAMONDS
loss, but not a hopeless one, and to be remedied, in part at
least, by a liberal expenditure for more jewels.”
“Ah—ha! Is that your suggestion, or his?”
“Mine first, and his by adoption. I think he really looks upon
the case as I do, as being even more serious than it seems.”
The Chief nodded.
“But,” I went on, “I very much want the lady, and the servants
**
“And friends?”
“Yes, and friends, to take the more superficial view. No one
must take the alarm! Tomorrow let your men make their con-
ventional call. Later I will reappear, and gently question the
servants,—a mere formality of course.”
“Of course!”
“Then we will take the reporters into our confidence. Not
treating the case too seriously, you know.”
“I See.”
“I wish I did,—a little farther! However, having given our
sop to the dear public, I can go to work, with your help.”
“HOW mine?”
“What a question. I shall look to your men to keep tab on
any gentlemen of the push who may appear suddenly flush,
or suddenly disappear.”
“And—you?”
“Will then have leisure to study my case, and my people.
For the rest, I have had two men watching since three o'clock.”
“I see! I think you are taking the right course. But—
I say—Jasper—may I give you one hint?”
“Any number. Don't be so modest, captain.” I bent for-
ward eagerly. The hints of the Chief were worth much.
“I am not prejudiced. I have no suspicions. But diamonds,
you know, have helped more than one business man to weather
a storm; and—you know—Austin Doverfields lost a fair fortune
in speculation, not long ago.” I nodded thoughtfully.
“You must take this for what it is worth,” he said, as our eyes
met, very gravely now. Then, as I arose, he added with a lighter
tone and manner, “I’ll send my men 'round at eight-thirty, A. M.
prompt.”
“And I will follow them closely.”
As I drove home pondering this case, I would have given
much to have felt free to lay all its pros and cons before my


AT ANY COST 57
friend Craig. But I knew what was expected of me—at least,
for the present. And, in any case, I could not feel that the time
was ripe for seeking Craig's counsel. I knew too little. The
probabilities and possibilities were, as yet, too many and too
vague. As I left my cab at my office number, I resolved that for
a time, I would throw off this burden of wonder and doubt, and
upon the mirror of my mind the face of Madam Devinne
Barthelme, and the single gleaming diamond in her shell-like
give my morning thoughts fresh impetus by turning them for
the present upon something else.
And then something, my subconscious self, perhaps, produced
ear.


CHAPTER VII.
AN ABSENT MAID.
Promptly at the appointed hour the police paid a formal and
dignified visit to the stately house on Fifth Avenue, where, owing
to the hour, and her indisposition,—as the master of the house
explained,—Mrs. Doverfields was not visible. Only Austin Dover-
fields appeared to greet them and repeat the story of the lost
jewels, heading a dignified and almost silent march through the
stately rooms. *
The servants were shut up in the servants' dining room below
stairs, and there was no one to observe the perfunctory methods
of the slow march about the house, nor the shortness of the delay
in my lady's dressing room and chamber; they all stood very
erect and solemn, when, finally the three uniformed men were
led into the dining-room by their master. -
Gravely they gave their full names, ages, and “parental homes,”
and even dignified Austin Doverfields lowered his eyes and sup-
pressed a smile when the question, “married or single” was
gravely propounded, and the answer recorded.
Then followed a catechism of each servant.
“Were you in the house all of the time between the hours of
6 P. M. and 3 A. M., on the night of May 10th ?”
“If out, where?”
“At what hour did you retire?”
“Where do you sleep?”
“Did you leave your room during the night?”
“Did you wake?”
“Did you hear any unusual sounds? Any sounds? etc., etc.
In short, strictly obeying the instructions of their chief, the
officer in charge of this “inquiry,” left with his men as they came,
all grave, all seemingly full of interest in their list of harmless
queries.
At the door of the vestibule they tarried to exchange a few low
words with the master of the house, and just as Sadler turned to
open the street door something slipped from his hand into each
palm,
35
(58)





&
“I WILL LOOK FOR THEM,” SHE FALTERED.


AN ABSENT MAID 59
Half an hour later I was again in the big mansion, no longer
the dapper Mr. Preston, but looking a very kindly and rather
slow moving, elderly and spectacled “Private Enquirer,” as was
duly set forth upon the neat card I sent up, bearing the interest-
ing legend, “Ammi C. Mowalt, Private Enquirer,” upon its un-
fashionably smooth and shining pasteboard surface. For I had
excellent reasons for not wishing to appear as an “up-to-date”
Official.
Somewhat to my surprise, I was promptly conducted to Mrs.
Doverfields’ boudoir, where the lady reclined upon a cushioned
couch, while her husband sat near; both evidently awaiting
ne.
It was Mrs. Doverfields whom I addressed in asking for a
more accurate and complete description of the lost jewels, but
again she appealed to her husband, and when he failed her, not
from unwillingness, but from sheer lack of knowledge, she
evidently was so distressed that when at last she began, haltingly,
and in the fewest possible words, I said, in one of her frequent
pauses, “Of course an exact description of the diamonds is
necessary; and it is useless to attempt anything without it. In
putting away the gems, was there not a written description, and
have they never been photographed?”
Mr. Doverfields arose, took a sudden step toward the door,
and then turned to his wife. “Where are they, Ara?”
The lady started up. “I—I will look for them,” she faltered.
But I was quick to interpose “Not now, Madam | There is time
enough. And you look too ill! We will get back to the jewels
later. Now, if you please, Mr. Doverfields, we will go down to
the library and examine the servants.”
“Can they not come up here?” the lady interposed.
“It is better not,” I persisted. “It might seem to them a too
serious affair. I prefer to go about the house, and to come upon
them, as if by chance, where that is possible.” And then, before
either could speak again, the thing I had planned, and was
anxiously waiting for, happened. Doctor Bird was announced
and entered the room at the same moment. He had called to look
after his patient, he declared, and he ordered us both out.
I had suddenly decided that it would hasten matters to question
the servants first and look about later.
Once in the library, we began to question the servants briskly;
t


60 THE DOVERFIELDS DIAMONDS
I had seen and dismissed cook and coachman, footman and maid,
when the Doctor put his head in at the library door.
“Doverfields,” the Doctor said hurriedly, “I want to tell you
that the less your wife talks about this diamond business, just
now, and the less you talk of it, in her presence, the better!
Health goes before diamonds! You must use tact, man!”
“But Doctor, she is so eager!—so troubled !”
“That's it! make light of it. Better let her think it is a hope-
less case. Keep her, and this fellow,” nodding toward me,
“apart! Her nerves won't stand this sort of strain.”
We had carefully planned this, or a similar scene, yet I
wondered a little at the force and earnestness of the Doctor's
words, until I learned later, that there had been no need for
feigning.
“I found her,” he declared, “in such a state of nervousness,
so unnatural a condition, that I at once felt that you must be
right. The mere loss of money or jewels never brought Ara
Doverfields to such a state as I found her in this morning! She
has a mental trouble preying upon her and I want you to find
out what it is, for mark me, whoever else may be at fault, she will
have nothing to blush for. She may be a martyr but she is not,
and never will be a – sinner!”
“I will not dispute you,” I said. “And I certainly shall find out
what her trouble is if I can, granting, of course, that it concerns
the loss of the diamonds.”
The Doctor's warning made it easy for me to return to the
subject of the diamonds themselves, and, while we waited for the
coming of the parlor maid, after the physician had left us, I
spoke of them again, adding, "If this description could be got
at without disturbing your wife, it might be best for her.”
“I will try and manage it,” he replied; and just then the parlor
maid entered, and we returned to our catechism. It was fruitless,
so far as the girl was concerned, but when she was about to go,
and her master told her to send Josephine Bryce to the library we
received a surprise. Josephine Bryce was not in the house
“She left last night, sir,” the girl said, somewhat timidly.
“Mrs. Doverfields sent her away.”
While the words were on her lips, the door opened slowly and
her mistress entered. There were bright red spots upon each
# and her eyes were shining with excitement and fever com-
11ned.


AN ABSENT MAID 61
“You may go, Harriet,” she said, with more decision in her
voice than I had heard before. As the girl left the room she
crossed to her husband's side. “I heard you ask for Josephine
just now, Austin,” she said, “and I quite forgot to tell you that
I had dismissed her, for carelessness and impertinence. I had
warned her—before, and she left me last night. I—ought to have
kept her—of course! I should have remembered !”
“It’s not important,” I said, cheerfully. “Your servants seem
above suspicion. You have no reason to think this girl dishonest,
I suppose?”
“Oh, no! Quite the contrary !” her tone was one of absolute
relief. “Only ill bred, and untrained for such service. These
village girls, it would seem, cannot be taught when to speak
and when to be silent.”
“She is from the country, then?”
“I—I think so—yes.” She sank into a seat near a shaded
window. “Have you fixed upon your method of conducting this
search, Mr. Jasper?”
“My dear,” interposed her husband, “there is really almost
nothing to begin on ' I suppose our best chance for recovering
the gems is to wait until they are offered to some diamond dealer,
and then try and get them back; eh, Mr. Jasper?”
“If the diamonds are broken up and sold singly,” I said, “even
that may fail. It 's a difficult case! I don't advise you to be
too hopeful, Mrs. Doverfields.”
There were two other servants to be seen and we got the
business over very soon, it being, at the best, but an empty form,
owing, in part, to the presence of the mistress of the house.
I then took a look at the basement entrance, more in the hope of
thus getting a word with my client than in expectation of seeing
anything that would aid me.
As I hoped, the lady did not choose to accompany us below
stairs, and I found my chance. “If it is possible, Mr. Dover-
fields, we must find the description of the jewels, and after this
we must meet at my office! I will send to you here, now and
then, a written report which, you understand, shall be so tame
as to cause no anxiety. Your wife's health is of importance.”
“It is of paramount importance!” he answered with emphasis.


CHAPTER VIII.
WHERE IS JOSEPHINE BRYCE 2
“I must find this Josephine Bryce,” I had said to myself as I
left the house of the Doverfields after my second visit. But I
did not say it to the master of that house, when he came in upon
me quite unexpectedly one afternoon. Neither did I lay any
stress upon what was now a fixed belief, the necessity for finding
this girl. -
“I have found the original copy of that jewel list and descrip-
tion,” he began hurriedly. “I think I must be growing daft, for
I did not recall, until late last night, that, when these jewels
were reset, only three years ago, my wife herself, made out the
list very carefully, and I copied it to provide an extra list for our .
use as a precaution against loss when we took the jewels to the
vault.”
“Of course.”
“My wife's copy I put away in a private drawer of my own
desk, and last night remembering it, I got up and looked for the
paper. It is fortunate, too, for Mrs. Doverfields fears that the
other paper and the photographs which she brought away from
the vault, with the jewels, are lost.”
“Cannot the photograph be replaced?” I asked quickly.
“Unfortunately, neither of us can remember the name of the
photographer. The jewels were reset in London. Some of them
were my wife's family jewels, others were mine, family jewels
also, and then there were a number of fine new stones.” He had
told me this before.
“If this paper is accurate,” I said, taking it from his hand, “It
may serve very well.”
“It is!” he assured me. “I verified every item; I do not trust
to my memory, and I am careful in these things.” We went over
the list together, and I was amazed at the number and value of
the diamonds.
“It is no wonder,” I exclaimed, glancing at him quickly as he
bent over the list, “that your wife is distressed at the loss of such
(62)


WHERE IS JOSEPHINE BRYCE? 63
jewels, and the fact of their being family gems, adds to their
value, in her eyes, of course!”
“True!” he answered thoughtfully. “And yet, she has never
seemed enthusiastic over them; and the fact that they were so
long in the safety vault proves how little they were worn by her.”
“I made no comment, put passed on to the other matters, and
when he was about to go, I said, “I hope, Mr. Doverfields, that
you will not look for a frequent report from me--”
“How—frequent?”
“You see,” I went on, “it is not my custom to take my patrons
much into my confidence. I have found it best for all concerned,
not to do so. I think you can see how that may be.”
“I can ' I want to know the truth about our lost property, and
to reclaim it if possble. I am told, by those who should know,
that you can do the latter, and find out the former for me! As
to your methods, that is your affair. Let me hear from you
when you have something definite to report. That is all I ask.”
“And—your wife?”
“I shall take the Doctor's advice. I have thought it over and
I am sure that it is better to let her believe the case almost hope-
less than to keep her anxious and enduring the suspense of hopes
and fears. If your work ends in success, so much the better!”
“You are right!” I said with emphasis. “This will be best
for her, I am sure of it, and best for us all. And now, will you
send me that florid faced young man of yours as soon as you
return home? Give him a letter to carry, and tell him he must
deliver it in person. He is your footman, I think.”
“He opens the door, and waits at table when needed. I believe
it is English to call him a footman. Yes, I will send him, of
course.” He paused and looked at me questioningly.
“And no questions asked,” I quoted. He smiled slightly,
bowed, and went his way.
John Thomson, the footman, came in due time. I had chosen
him from among the rest, because he looked good natured, and,
as I already knew, loved the sound of his own voice. I received
him in the character I had assumed upon my last visit at his
master's house, and I soon won his confidence; for, though an
honest fellow, and clever in a way, he was easily amenable to
flattery, judiciously applied. My main object in sending for
Thomson was to find out, if possible, the whereabouts of
Josephine Bryce, and in this I succeeded.


64 THE DOVERFIELDS DIAMONDS
“She's a highty-tighty uppitty thing, sir, if you want to know
my opinion, sir,” he said. “And I’d never a had no use for her
address, but I seen her a givin’ it to Maggie Givins, and without
any askin', too, and when Maggie throwed it down, afterwards,
and said as she hadn’t got no use for it, I jist picked it up an’
pocketed it.”
“What for, Thomson?”
“Well, sir, between you and me, we 'd jist lost some vallyble
diamonds, and ’twas my opinion that her address might be
wanted by somebody, jist as it is, you see!”
“And why?”
“Well, sir, you see I more 'n half believe that the girl was
sassy to Mrs. Doverfields,--who is the best and sweetest lady
in the land, if I do say it.-jist a purpose to be turned off without
warnin’.” -
“Without warning! Why that is not customary, is it? You
must be mistaken there.”
“No sir. I know what I’m saying.”
“You know?”
“You see, sir, 'twas like this. I had stepped into the little
closet under the basement stairs,—we hang up our coats there
mostly,–and I was steppin’ out when I heard Mrs. Doverfields'
voice, so close to me that I stopped short. She was standin’ at
the foot of the stairs with her back to me, and she was sayin’ to
Josephine Bryce,—“No, Josephine, I shall give you no recom-
mendation! I cannot; and as for not giving you warnin' you are
not entitled to one! I have made your pert answer this morning,
my reason for sending you away, but I will give you the true
one ! I can 't bear to ruin a girl's chance for living an honest
life; and I want you to do better! There—I will say no more. I
was robbed last night, Josephine, and—you must go!' There
sir,” he added, “was there ever such a soft, good hearted mistress
as that?”
Long after the man had gone, I sat pondering his words, “A
good hearted, a soft hearted mistress!” Soft hearted, indeed!
And, if I must believe Thomson's testimony, and the evidence of
my own senses, this good hearted lady feared me and what I
might discover. What else could her reluctance, her silence, her
want of candor mean? If her actions meant anything,-she did
not want the diamonds recovered 1 Else why had she, who her-
self had written that accurate list and description of the jewels,—


WHERE IS JOSEPHINE BRYCE? 65
feigned forgetfulness and failed to produce either the list or
photograph? Why did she persist in being present, in hearing
every word, when we discussed the matter? And, more than all
else, why did she first warn the girl, Josephine, and then let her
go? “I will know,” I said to myself, “and I will begin with
Josephine Bryce.” I did not expect to find her with ease, and the
fact that she had left her address with one of the servants was
proof that, if guilty of complicity in the robbery, she would not be
found at the place named.
It was yet mid-afternoon, and, after some consideration,
I arrayed myself like a Forsyth street dandy, for Josephine had
gone from an uptown mansion to Forsyth street, and made my
way to the house designated to Maggie Givins, as “my boarding
lace.”
p “No, she ain't here!” replied the acid faced woman who
opened the door six inches, in answer to my knock. “She’s gone,
an' I wish ’t her things 'uz gone, too.”
She was about to close the door when I hastily put my foot in
the opening, and said affably, “Gosh! I'm dead sorry! I didn't
jist have no date with her, mum, but her an’ me 's good—say,
you couldn’t jist give me her 'dress, could ye?”
“Naw, I couldn't! Cos' she told me not to give no
dreckshuns! Reck'n she wa'nt lookin’ for you.” And, from
considerations for my feelings, I removed my foot from the
aperture, just as the door was shut, hard and fast, as I knew from
the sound of the turning key.
I went away rebuffed but not defeated. By a lucky and by no
means frequent chance, I espied an officer within sight of the
house and was easily able to secure for it, his close attention,
until I should return. And, within the hour, with the help of a
good cab horse, I was back.
This time, having first exchanged a word with the officer, I
rattled up to the door in a newly painted express wagon, with a
companion by my side, and the reins in my hands. This time,
too, I was respectable, common, and bewhiskered in appearance,
and I loudly demanded “that there baggage.”
“Wot baggig P” snapped the woman.
“The young woman's ma—am, Miss Jo—Josy—feen Bruce?
No—Br—Brace, I guess, ain't it?”
“No it ain’t! It’s Bryce, an’—”


66 THE DOVERFIELDS DIAMONDS
“Well, she 's sent for her things, an I 'm in a great hurry
ma—am. It 's out of my beat, this is.”
The woman opened the door for me, after a few words, and
as she was about to mount the stairs, she asked, over her shoulder,
and with an assumption of carelessness—
“Wot kind of a place is Josy at?”
“Why ma—am, I can 't tell ye, for sure! They come round
to my stand, mostly, ye see, but I’ve got it all writ down, street
and number, an’ name, on a card here.”
But when I sought to produce the card it was not to be found,
though I slapped my pockets and searched them again and again,
and bewailed my misfortune in fluent though decorous language.
“Look here,” the woman broke in upon my lamentation. “You
need n’t think you ’re goin’ to take them things away thout that
ere card, nohow !”
I drew myself up with the dignity of an aggrieved but self-
respecting person, and assured her that “such were not my in-
tentions.” That I knew my business too well... I was sorry that
young Miss must be kept waiting when she seemed in such a
mortal hurry, but unless she happened to know Miss Bruce's
address etc., etc., I must go on back to get another order from
her!” And then my companion upon the wagon box called out
to remind me of “them trunks for the evenin’ train,” and it
ended in my getting the address, then positively refusing to
carry away even a part of the baggage, and clinging to my in-
jured dignity to the last, we drove away.
Josephine Bryce had put half the width of the city between her
old lodging place and her new, but I appeared before her, that
evening; only halting, in my way across the city, to doff my
wagoner's garb, setting forth once more wearing my dudish
outfit, and my every day face.
The dudish garments were worn out of regard for Miss
Josephine's supposed coquettish tastes and tendencies, as
described by John Thomson, and the natural countenance, as
being the only safe one for an attack at close quarters.
John Thomson's description of Miss Bryce had impressed
upon my mental vision the picture of a young woman at once
crafty and knowing, coquettish and vain; and I thought I knew
how to approach this personage; but the Josephine Bryce who
came to her door, upon being told that “some one wished to see


WHERE IS JOSEPHINE BRYCE? 67
her about her trunk,” was as great a surprise to me as I evidently
was to her.
At sight of the round, open countenance, prepossessing, though
not pretty, the strong chin, the direct grey eye, and the trim,
simply dressed little figure, I promptly abandoned the role I had
planned for myself, and addressed her directly, respectfully, and
with inward disappointment. For this girl was no thief, nor
accomplice of thieves; instantly I was sure of it almost.
“Miss Bryce,” I said, “I have come to ask you a few questions
about the family you have lately left, the Doverfields family.
I do not wish to alarm you, and you have nothing to fear, but
One of the servants overheard what Mrs. Doverfields said in
dismissing you, and, for your own sake, as well as to help others,
you will do well to tell me just what you know about this matter.
I am an officer, and I do not believe you are mixed up in the
affair! I cannot tell you why—just now. Will you allow me
to step inside your room for a moment? This hall is too public;
we are too subject to interruptions.”
Josephine Bryce was an honest girl, with high courage and a
hot temper. She had not been in the city long enough to know
it thoroughly, and her one weakness was a too ready belief in
any one who smiled upon, or spoke kindly to her. She had been
quicker to observe and copy the manner, speech and, in a measure,
the dress of the ladies she had known than to learn how to
distinguish the scamp from his betters. It was not difficult to
win her confidence, and this was her story, much condensed.
She had obtained her place in the Doverfields household
through the aid of a friend, who two years before had been a
summer boarder next door to the girl's own home in her native
village. About three months before, while out walking early
one evening, she had been respectfully accosted by a young man
who held out a purse and asked her if she had not dropped it.
Of course she had not, and then he had told her that he was a
stranger in the city, where he had come to go into business as a
builder, and that he did not know what to do with the purse.
Finally, he urged her to take it, and to leave it at the Police
Station, which, she told him, she could find easily.
He was so very respectful that she had allowed him to escort
her to the Doverfields area door, and, of course, that was only
the beginning. He came, next, to ask about the purse, which had
contained only a few dollars, and if it had found an owner. He


68 THE DOVERFIELDS DIAMONDS
declared her “the only person he knew in all New York.” He
came, and came again. They used to stroll about together, and
“he got into a way of lingering to chat a few moments at the front
basement door.”
Once or twice he had even ventured inside, for just a moment,
and on this particular night, he had taken her to the theatre, “for
the very first time,” and afterwards they had supped “somewhere
a good ways from home,” which caused them to reach the base-
ment entrance rather late. It was Thomson who opened the
door for her, and, just as she stepped in the upper bell rang, and
asking her to lock the door, he rushed off up stairs.
He had left her thus before, to say a last word to “George,” at
the door, but never so late as then, and she “was a bit startled,”
when, on turning to close and lock the door, George caught at
her hand to draw her outside again. Then, when she resisted,
he went in with her, and they stood for a few moments, he “with
his hand on the door, like to keep it from going shut, and locking
itself.”
While they stood thus, they had heard the rustle of silk, and
she started, “at which,” here the girl blushed furiously. “He
caught me, and pushed my face down close on his shoulder, and
I could see nothing. But I heard her pass, and then he whispered
that he had feared I would cry out. That maddened me, and I
jerked myself half 'round and—” here her voice sank to an awe
stricken whisper, “I could a most have sworn that a man
brushed past me and up the stairs; a smallish man, with a stoop
to his shoulders.”
I started and then closed my lips tightly to keep back the
words, “small man?” for Mrs. Doverfields had described the
robber as tall! When, I wondered, would I get at the truth.
“When I told George,” the girl went on, “he laughed, and
said it was my nerves, that no one had passed us except the
mistress, and that she had never glanced toward us, and could
not have seen us there in the shadow, if she had.”
“And—you believed this?”
“I tried to make myself believe it until next morning, and then
I saw it all! The thief had passed us, and had hidden in Mrs.
Doverfield's dressing room, or somewhere near, until she went
to sleep, and “George had let him in Oh!—” she cried tear-
fully, “lots of things came to me then! Things he had said!
Questions he had asked! He had made a fool of me, for that!”


WHERE IS JOSEPHINE BRYCE? 69
“And your leaving—how was that?”
“It was just about as John Thomson told you. I had made up
my mind I must leave, but was mortally afraid of being arrested
before I could get away! I felt more guilty, I guess, than the
real thief. Then I thought of a way. I had lost one good place,
for being saucy, talking back, that is, but I didn't know, then, that
a servant must always take, and never give! So I said to myself
that I would try and be saucy to some use. Well,” with a little
toss of her head, “I soon had my chance. Mrs. Doverfields met
me on the basement stairs. I never knew her up so early before,
and she spoke very sharply for her, about my getting into bad
habits, and keeping bad hours. ‘Well mam; I said, shaking in
my shoes at the same time, “If you don't like my habits I can
quit!' And then she told me I must quit and at once, and I did,
and was very glad to go! Yes sir, she told me it was because of
the robbery.”
“And—why did you not tell her, or some one, about those
two men?”
“As if they would have believed me! They would have locked
me up quick!”
She was now full of resentment against the treacherous
“George,” and avowed her readiness to identify and testify
against him at any moment. And when I had questioned her at
some length and had established a satisfactory understanding
with her, I went my way, well pleased with the result of this
visit, somewhat encouraged, but surprised and puzzled as well.
And now, it seemed to me that the Doverfields’ diamond case
was really moving. I had found a foothold now, and I meant to
work on as rapidly as possible toward a solution of what I fully
believed to be more than one mystery,


'apel.
CHAPTER IX.
FAIR FACES AND D.ARK DEEDS.
Craig and I dined together that night, for, after leaving the
girl Josephine, I had retired at once to my inner office, to re-
adjust my thoughts and make various entries in a most useful
notebook. I was weary of the subject; and feeling that, in this
condition, I could no longer do my best thinking and planning,
I resolved to put the Doverfields and their troubles out of my
mind until morning, so seeking Craig I entreated him to dine
with me at the little Italian Café.
This recalled me to the adventure of the theatre; and, being
lured from the subject of greatest interest to myself, I told the
Madam Devinne Barthelme adventure to Royston Craig. In
spite of the fact that, as a rule, he took scant interest in mys-
teries, and only tolerated adventures in a novel, he listened in-
tently, and even demanded a detailed description of the stately
Devinne Barthelme, while he mused long over that portion which
concerned the sandwich man.
“A handsome brunette,” he said, after a long silence, “is worth
seeing. I admire brunettes! But still, the most perfect dark
beauty I ever saw, figured in a scandal; a tragedy in fact. It
was in Paris, four years ago, when I spent my last year abroad,
before settling down you know. She was a perfect brunette
beauty, and she—" We had returned from the Café, and were
seated in my office, and Craig's speech was broken into by the
appearance of my office boy, who slept upon the premises, and
looked upon himself as the real head of the firm. Behind him
stalked Hal Landis, looking the pink of form, in his smart
evening clothes, and with one rich red carnation in his coat
He was a trifle embarrassed just at first, for, while he knew me,
as a club man, and we met in society at rare intervals, he knew
Craig only as my partner, and as a popular and fast rising lawyer.
But the good looking boyish chap was too frank and sunny to
be long embarrassed, and he was soon telling us how Madam
Barthelme had graciously permitted him to call and ask after the -
(70)


FAIR FACES AND DARK DEEDS 71
latest news of her diamond solitaire, and the result of her meeting
and consultation with the Messrs. Birdsall.
“It occurred to me,” he naively concluded, “that it would be
the right thing to ask you to go with me this evening. You were
of more real service to her than I, and she feels most grateful,
1..ost kindly toward you.”
And then it gradually came out that the already fascinated lad
!ad spent two long hours at the great hotel, where all were but
.too ready to serve him, and, with considerable tact, he had learned
all that was known there about the dark eyed lady.
She was a widow, and had brought from abroad the best of
introductions, and had deposited in the bank large sums of money
and securities; and, in the hotel strong room, jewels of great
value.
“It is business, concerning the settlement of her husband's
estate, that has brought her to America,” declared Landis, “and
her stay, of course, is indefinite. She has no friends here,” he
added, “and I shall ask the mater to call upon her.”
“In that case,” remarked Craig, “the lady, if she so wills it,
has before her an assured social career,” and he smiled.
I was hardly in the mood for ceremonious calling, and so I
told Landis, who went away disappointed, but amiable as always,
and frankly sounding the praises of Madam Barthelme.
Craig looked after him until the door had closed upon his
shapely shoulders, and then resumed the cigar he had put down,
when Landis, after seating himself, had refused to smoke. He
knew the lad in a way and he smiled indulgently at his departing
back, and became sober and serious only after some moments of
seemingly intent thinking. Then he drew himself erect and
turned to me. “There is a chap,” he began, “who turns as nat-
urally toward a fine woman, as toward flowers and sunshine;
a lad who can be made or marred by the woman he loves.”
I nodded.
“It looks,” Craig went on, “as if he were quite prepared, even
now, to become the slave of this handsome Madam Barthelme,
who is a widow, and—” he paused. -
“And therefore dangerous, eh?”
“Even so. I'd give a little to know whether she has any other
business in New York other than that of her husband's estate. I
hope for this boy's sake, that she is the right sort, but, Samivel’


52 THE DOVERFIELDS' DIAMONDS
should beware of the vidders, you know, and Landis is too
young for his age, and—for them.”
I laughed, as I took up a fresh cigar. “Upon my word, Roy,”
I said, “one would think you had a grudge against vidders'
and this one in particular! And you've not so much as seen her.”
“But you have.”
“Well—?”
“And–you may not be aware of it, my son,”—Craig was just
two years my senior, “but my opinion of this lady is based upon
two things.”
“And they are—?”
“First, the circumstances of your meeting, and, last, your man-
ner of describing her. The loss of the solitaire in such a place was
almost too dramatic. And then—you may not know it, Ken,
but you tell a story very graphically,–and, I saw Madam through
your eyes.” - -
But I was no longer interested in Madam Barthelme's lost
solitaire, and I could no longer enthuse over her statuesque yet
brilliant brunette beauty. A sudden weariness had seized me, and
after a few more words and as many yawns, my friend said good-
night and I sought my pillow.
I slept soundly and rose next morning with my mind so full
of the Doverfields robbery, that had not Madam Barthelme
blazed suddenly forth as a great social success, and so brought
herself again prominently to my notice, I might almost have for-
gotten both the lady and her lost solitaire, —if Fate, and Hal
Landis, had permitted.
The Doverfields' diamonds was a case after my own heart, first
because of the people most concerned, and, next, because it was
a puzzle that grew more strange the longer I pondered ever it.
I breakfasted in solitude,-as was my habit when studying a
case, -but in some haste, for before setting out for what I meant
should be a busy day, I wanted to review my case and my clients;
and to formulate an opinion—of the one,—if not of the other.
That night I again sat in my office, with my few items
of knowledge concerning this case strung together rather
loosely in my notebook, and,—omitting a very bald account of
my first visit to the Doverfields’ home, -much like this:
“Mr. A. Doverfields—(here followed a minute description of
this gentleman.) “He is apparently straightforward in all things.
A man of honor, by the best evidence. His face, his friends,


FAIR FACES AND DARK DEEDS 73
even his foes, all bear witness to this, and, he is fully and sincerely
determined to recover the lost diamonds. Apparently apathetic,
he still has at commanad a great reserve of strength, force and
determination,—staying power, in short.
“We are all subject to errors of judgment, but I fully believe
that whatever the outcome, I will know at all times, where to
find Austin Doverfields. -
“As to the lost diamonds, I believe, fully, that all he knows,
believes or even guesses, has already been confided to me. The
case to him as to me is a mystery.
“Mrs. Doverfields is by nature a candid and almost impulsively
frank woman. Her beautiful face has never learned to simulate,
to deceive; at least this is how I read her, and this is why she,
while struggling gallantly, has not been able to quite conceal,
from me at least, her present embarrassment. That she has a
secret, concerning this affair, or that there is some one whom
she suspects, or connects with it, I feel assured ! How this can
be I cannot even dimly guess—. But, I mean to know.”
Here followed a brief description of the diamonds, obtained as
has been seen, with some difficulty, and then followed this last
item.
“The servants. They are old and trusted servants; doubtless
honest too, though this is not to be taken for granted. That is,
all but one. That one, Josephine Bryce, also has a secret, which
I must learn.
On an opposite page I had written thus.
“Queries—Why did Mrs. D– omit a part of the list of lost
jewels?—Why did she, though quite ill, insist upon coming to
the library, while I questioned the servants? Why did she dis-
miss Josephine Bryce?”
I put aside my half reviewed notes, to ponder. What a strange
situation! Here was a kindly mistress, patient, never hasty in
her judgment, a woman whose life had been throughout, a fair
white page. One who was gentle and just; so the people of her
household had all declared, with affection and respect in
eye and voice. And yet, scarce an hour after discovering the loss
of her rare and costly jewels, she had summarily dismissed, with-
out question, and seemingly, for a trivial cause, one of her house-
hold. And this one,—I felt almost certain, while poor, uneducated,
and unsophisticated, was gifted with some of the sterling qualities
of her charming mistress, candor, frankness, and faith in her


74 THE DOVERFIELDS DIAMONDS
kind. A young woman only a few months a dweller in the city,
and with no knowledge of the world and its wiles, coming from
a rural home where all were equals, where social superiority was
unknown, and where speech was free, untrammelled, and bold,
where assurance was born of innocence and ignorance.
This, I more than half believed, was Josephine Bryce, who, for
too much speaking had been dismissed, by a mistress, who, be-
cause of the shock of the morning, had lost her fine poise, her
nerve, and self control, and so had acted and spoken in haste.
How simple it all looked—by daylight! And then I laughed,
with a hint of self contempt in the laughter, and, taking down
what I had named my “book of beauty,” I began to glance from
page to page.
Here were pictures of rare beauty, appealing eyes, Madonna
faces, smiles almost angelic, and sadness that spoke of martyr-
dom, and yet—all this loveliness was as of whited sepulchres,
sinners all! criminals all! The long list of their misdoings rang-
ing all the way from petty theft to cold blooded murder. -
“Kenneth,” I admonished my inner self, “don’t try to play the
child again, act! A beautiful woman is as much a riddle as the
sphinx, even when you think you know her well! even a raw
country girl!—well, if you must bet, try the tiger’—it 's safer.”
And then I started and turned about in haste. I had heard the
voice of an old friend through the slowly opening office door.
I had not lost touch with Captain Wrayland, since the days
that had lent so strong a shaping force to my life, for, while my
hours were growing fuller, both of work and thought, his, I
fancied, were not quite “pressed down and running over,” since
the wife, who had been so much to him,-and to all who knew
her, had passed behind the veil.
Always socially inclined, he had almost imperceptibly drifted
into the pleasant circle in which his sister was both prominent
and popular. He had developed, also, a liking for a whizzing
Manton motor, which he had mastered with ease, and now chauf-
feured with judgment and circumspection.
When leaving the country he had retained certain business in-
terests which now and then required his presence upon various
“boards,” and at certain conferences. He was a liberal patron
of the opera and a faithful member of his club, but he always
found time to look in upon me now and then.
The Captain had been absent from the city for the past two


FAIR FACES AND DARK DEEDS 75
months, his duty and his pleasure taking him across the conti-
nent in the wake of Mrs. Devereaux, who was given to frequent
short flittings. For the plump and still charming little lady, at
the age of fifty-two, was brisk and alert, as curious, and full of
interest in the externals, as strong and electric with the pure joy
of life, as if she were still seventeen.
Certainly “Sister Aggie,” as the Captain liked to call her, was
a well of comfort and content to this otherwise lonely man, and
they were the best of comrades, and confidants.
Since Captain Wrayland's return, we had met but once, and
that for only a brief exchange of greetings, and I was heartily
glad in spite of a most interesting occupation to see him cross
my threshold once more. -
Still this was an unusual hour for the Captain to call, and I
was thinking as much as we repeated the usual conventionalities,
producing in the meantime the inevitable cigars, for Captain
Wrayland was a smoker of the frequent, and slow puffing variety,
and he enjoyed his weed best when smoked in conjunction with
a comfortable sleepy hollow chair, and a companion, equally
comfortable and content, opposite him. -


CHAPTER X.
“PUT YOURSELF IN HIS PLACE.”
As the Captain sank back in his soft seat, and turned his eyes
first toward the door and then upon myself, I noted, anew, the
alert and half expectant look in his face.
“What is it, Captain?” and then, as he hesitated, “No more
matrimonial tricks, eh?” smiling reminiscently. “Never fear!
I'll stand between you and the parson.”
His eyes twinkled, but only for a moment. “I almost wish it
was,” he declared. “No, it's—it's news!”
“News? But from whom P”
Producing two envelopes he silently laid them between us on
my study table. I saw that one was a telegram and that the other
was a letter bearing a foreign postmark; but I did not touch them,
or question further. I knew the Captain's slow methods. For
a moment he eyed them in silence.
“Ken,-let me see—how long has it been since Ralph Mey-
rick was sent up?” he asked, his face becoming gloomy.
“Five years, lacking just six weeks. You remember he played
his last game in the very face of the grand jury, and court fol-
lowed close, owing to those strikes, and the political situation.”
“H–m ! Yes! And he came out?”
“Little more than ten months ago,” here I let my eyes linger
over the documents upon the table near my elbow. I thought
one of them looked like Meyrick's fine flowing penmanship.
He nodded vigorously. “That's what it is, the letter,-read
it, boy!”
I watched his face for a moment, and then, without comment,
I took up the letter in the blue envelope. “Hello! Paris post-
mark eh?” With a quick movement I had the missive out of its
wrapper.
“Read it aloud!” he commanded, and I opened the small sheet
and began. *
“Captain A. O. Wrayland.
My Dear Sir:—
When I hastily refused your generous gift, less than a
(76)


PUT YOURSELF IN HIS PLACE 77
year ago, I was quite sincere in meaning never to trouble you
more. But Fate, or misfortune, has kept close to my heels. I
have been robbed twice. Poetic judgment, you might say, and
I have been, and am now, very ill.
It is the fact, that five years ago, you proffered me aid, that
gives me courage now to ask you to help me. The crisis is past
and they now tell me that I may recover—in time. I must re-
main here for at least a month longer, the Doctors say. Then,
if possible I wish to go out to Australia, with a party of poor
devils like myself.
Can you help me a little? And will you? I hope I may never
live to be in worse need than at present. Awaiting your reply,
I am, Very respectfully yours,
R. D. Meyrick.”
The letter contained neither street nor number, and the fact
that any reply sent would be held poste restante, was added in
a footnote. I read this missive once and again, and slowly re-
placed it upon the table.
“Now read the cable message!” he said between two puffs at
his cigar.
The cable, apparently, was quite disconnected from the letter
I had just read. It was signed “D. C. T.” and was sent from
Liverpool. It ran:
“Y’r man left for N. Y. by St. Urania just now. Face slightly
disguised, dress of an English mechanic, poor, diffident—but ill.
Lame, with thick heel and sole on left foot.”
As I placed it beside the letter, I questioned, while covering
the two with my outspread palm, “Are they—connected ?”
The Captain nodded.
“And this?’ my forefinger dropped upon the letter,-"is Mey-
rick's handwriting? You are sure?”
“Doubtless.”
“This?” indicating the message.
“Is from the same man.”
“You mean-” The Captain removed his cigar, and I knew
that, at last, he was ready to talk.
“I mean the man Soames, the Scotland Yard spy! Yes, I
have kept him in my pay from the first! I had meant to keep it
up, and to follow Meyrick until I knew his game. I never was
satisfied.”
“Nor I.”


78 THE DOVERFIELDS DIAMONDS
“And now,-confound it! I wonder if Soames thinks he has
turned our man over to me—to us!"
“Oh, to us?”
“Assuredly—us! Why, man are you trying to go back on me?”
I smiled. “Not the hop of a tomtit, Captain ' I'm just waiting
for—information. Also—for instruction."
“O, that 's it! Then here you are,” putting a finger upon the
two messages, “figure out what it means ! I'm blessed if I can '"
I pondered, and there was silence between us for a few mo-
ments. “What has been reported to you of late from Soames?"
“Why, very little that you do not already know. Meyrick has
been living well. Paris, Rome in the season; Monte Carlo, and
Southern France, in their turn. Twice, as you know, he has dis-
appeared. Soames lost all trace of him, for a time. I'll have a
letter from Soames in a day or two, no doubt. And–oh, hang
it man! I want your theory! What's the fellow up to?”
I picked up the envelopes and glanced at the date on each.
“This,” I held up the letter from Meyrick, “is dated twelve
days in advance of the telegram. The man may have risen from
a bed of sickness, reaching London in time to take the Urania.”
“In this case,” I continued, like the philosopher I had begun
to consider myself, “what may be the explanation of this letter,
from the point of view of the deck of the Urania?”
“Or,” the Captain supplemented, “to reverse the inquiry,
what, from the point of view of that hospital sick bed in Paris,
are we to think of this Urania passenger, eh?” And then we
both laughed. -
“Precisely. Now, since you are ready, almost, to vouch for
the authenticity of this Paris letter—” he nodded with vigor,
“let 's consider the cablegram. Are you equally sure of your
friend Soames? May he possibly have mistaken his man?”
“Well, you know their methods, those Scotland Yard special-
ists, they're trained to it! The man who sailed on the Urania is
the same man Soames has been shadowing, the man whom he has
followed from Paris to the Liverpool docks, I am sure of it!
Now, our query, I think, can be narrowed down to this, ‘what's
his game?’” -
“Meaning—?”
Captain Wrayland caught the cigar from between his lips,
and flung himself erect in his chair, and then half way across the
table. All his calm mask, as I knew it to have been, was gone,


PUT YOURSELF IN HIS PLACE 79
and a roused man, enraged and ready to strike was now before
11...e.
“Meaning that it 's our Ralph Meyrick!” he declared. “Ken-
neth, are we to be victimized by that young thief and assacsin
again?”
“Not for long, I trust. As I see it the matter stands thus:
When Meyrick declined your sop of dollars, in so lordly a man-
ner, and set out, not for Australia, but for the continent, as we
easily learned, you invested a considerable portion of the money
that might have been his, in having him pretty closely looked
after. London sleuths come high, the good ones, and yours
seem to have been not only good, but clever as well. A man of
tact.” -
“How-Of tact?”
“Simply in his ability to read, not only ‘what is writ, but what
is not writ. For example, you were not interested in the per-
sonal history of our traveller beyond a certain point, that is, the
description you cabled over in advance of the young man's ar-
rival, merely described his physical traits very accurately. You
gave his record here, as a crook of parts and asked that you be
told where he was to be found, from time to time, and if he was,
so far as could be discerned, living in the semblance of honesty.
Should he commit depredations, and fall into the hands of the
police, you desired to be notified at once, and if at any time he
should turn his face westward, a cable must inform you forth-
with. Am I right, thus far?”
“I hope so. It was you who writ the descriptive message,
and I who was bled for it in three figures! Well?”
“Well—your Mr. Soames has followed your instructions to
the letter; but he has never exceeded them. Consequently, while
we know that Mr. Meyrick has sojourned in various Continental
cities, living at his ease at various good hotels, and seemingly
leading a rather quiet life, -all we know beyond this is, that he
is believed to have set sail for the land of his birth,-yesterday.”
“Well,” impatiently.
“Well, I am almost tempted to say, that we have taken too
little interest in the career of Mr. Meyrick! It might facilitate
our guessing, if we knew just a little more about the man's daily
doings; his friends,-he was sure to make such—”
“Woman friends!” bitterly.
“Yes, and his occupations.”


80 THE DOVERFIELDS DIAMONDS
"Then why, in the name of all wisdom, did you not suggest
this before?”
"My dear sir! Don't force me to repeat that old chestnut about
foresight and hindsight! Frankly, it did not seem good to me,
then. I did not imagine the chap would prove so interesting.”
My old friend was smiling now. He seemed to ponder for a
moment, and he let himself sink back into his usual position of
lounging comfort. -
"I won't try to do any more guessing, Ken!” he said, taking
up a fresh cigar and nipping off its tip. Go ahead, boy, and give
us your theories, your full of them already, I'll wager.”
"Then you'll lose your money. But, seriously, do you think
it 's worth while to theorize much without more data ? There 'll
Surely be a letter from Soames soon; and—I have a notion that
you'll hear again from Meyrick.”
“Umph! At least you must have a thought as to his motive.”
"Oh, several, and quite plausible ones, they seem.”
“Out with them ! I want something to chew on.”
“First then, his fund may have grown too rapidly less, and the
trip on the Urania is merely to risk a little, while bluffing you
for hush money. He 's equal to it, don't you think?”
“He 's equal to anything in the line of villainy! Yes, that may
be it. I don't fancy he knows how sure I was to hear in advance
of his coming. What else?”
“Again, he may have no thought of troubling you. Indeed I
think this the most plausible idea. Why may he not be simply
coming back to take up his old trade where he laid it down?
'Jimmy, crow, and the rest?”
“By jove! I believe that's the right idea, Ken '"
“I’m not so sure! Would it not be quite as plausible to surmise
that he has been practicing his old tricks over there, and is cross-
ing the ocean to escape the French police? Hence the mechanic's
costume, the slight disguise and the limp.”
“By Jove!” The Captain stopped short and laughed in self de-
rision. “Hear me, repeating myself like an old parrot, at every
fresh suggestion! Better send me home, Kenneth, before I lose
the remnant of my wits.”
I smiled, and was slow to answer. The next move, like the initial
one, must come from the other side; and that, as I suggested
to him, might come in the form of the arrival of the Urania with
a second class passenger, slightly lame, dressed like a mechanic.


PUT YOURSELF IN HIS PLACE 81
“Of course, we must keep an eye on the steamship arrivals,”
I said, “and some one must meet the Urania.”
“Of course, too, this becomes your bear hunt, Ken, from this
moment, and I wish you joy of it!” Then as I did not answer
promptly, his genial face became serious. “Look here Ken, am
I becoming an old nuisance, tumbling in upon you at all hours
with my conundrums? Meyrick conundrums at that? Damn
the brute! I wish you—no, I—had shot him that night.” And
his kindly eyes grew sombre.
I laughed with more of mirth than I felt. “Behold the pre-
historic man, the old Adam, peeping out from behind a most
correct veneer of culture!” I cried. “Captain Wrayland, I 'd
thank you sir, not to go beating about the bush, when you want
to invest, yet more recklessly, in Scotland Yard | Or is it Paris
this time? If you think I'm getting along in years too rapidly
to grapple with this conundrum' our friend Meyrick has hurled
into Camp, say the word | Or—no, you need not say it, for it
won't do you any good; the proverbial wild horses could not
keep me from that water front when the Urania disgorges there!
Oh, you 'll not coax me to pass up my claim on Mr. Meyrick,
once I clap my eyes on him again; and when he ’s been punished
for wife murder and robbery, I've still another crow to pick with
him.”
The Captain was smiling now. “And what may that be,” he
asked, quite mildly.
“It’s his inhuman treatment of my faithful friend Tonto! To
bind, gag, and half murder, with his brutal cords and knots, that
loyal guardian of his home and friends ! Captain, I 've never
quite forgiven you for not letting me have that dog for my own.”
His smile faded. “I suppose I was a two footed old hog, my
boy, but somehow—”
“By the way,” I hurried on. “I don’t think Meyrick's case
would ever need judge or jury, if it should come before my
stanch friend Tonto. That dog has a long memory for insults,
or I am much mistaken.”
He eyed me questioningly. “I can't quite give you the old dog,
Ken,” he said slowly, as if the words were uttered to a running
mental accompaniment, but I'll loan him, if you like, indefinitely;
and—even for the city—”
“Tonto would not like city life, and you ’re right in leaving
him at Wraylands, Captain.” *


82 THE DOVERFIELDS DIAMONDS
“And,” he went on as if I had not spoken, “you know he 's
yours in my will, along with Daphne's huntress and my grey
roadster. Ken, you may as well hear it, for I see through all
your bluff; you ’re standing by me like—like a son! And I'm
leaning upon you more and more as the years pass on 1 Oh, I’m
mighty glad to have your keen brain and young strength, to rely
upon at need. And I know you ’re willing to stand by me, but,
all the same, I can see how much of your time this may take, and
I know that you ’ve no lack of other problems. Come! honest
now, isn’t there something else, some other case that may need
you first, when—”
“When the Urania rings all hands ashore?’” I broke in,
and then, I hastily began to tell him, not, at first, of the Dover-
fields case, but of my adventure at the theatre entrance, and of
Madam Barthelme's solitaire. As I had hoped, it took him away
from himself, and, presently, he was chatting in his usual cheery
strain, leaving me, at last, with these words:
“Well, Ken, we will divide this work, according to our re-
spective ages; I'll watch the mails and you the steamboats. I’ve
a notion that we 've more of this to learn, and, mark me, one of
your theories will be the right one! Personally, I favor the last. I
believe he 's dodging the Paris police! Good-night, old man!
God bless you!” He pressed my hand after his usual fashion
when trying to express himself and whisked away.
And now, being left alone, I sat down to think seriously of
this matter, for in giving out my three theories, I had not men-
tioned the one that had lain in my hand from the first; one which
I fancied and feared, might prove to be the right one.
To begin, I believed this Ralph Meyrick to be a much more
astute villain than he seemed. I believed him capable of loftier
flights of the imagination, more skillfully laid plans, and shrewder
methods of executing them, than either his friends or his foes
had given him credit for, and I feared trouble for the Captain.
If Meyrick had written his letter as a decoy, and if Soames, of
Scotland Yard, was not mistaken in his man, it meant that Mey-
rick was surely coming to deal for blackmail, or for other vile
purpose, with Captain Wrayland. But how? And, if simply
for blackmail, why this needless sham illness and cool appeal
for aid? Why stir up expectations, when, to appear before his
victim suddenly and without warning, was obviously the wiser
and more promising course? No, the method in this case did not
-- - - 'e with the theory!


PUT YOURSELF IN HIS PLACE 83
Again, was he, for a reason, coming back to resume his old
life? Then, clearly, he would be too clever to write this mis-
leading letter to Captain Wrayland. And last, if fleeing in
disguise from the scene of some fresh crime, his letter was again
a useless piece of folly, and fitted ill with the assumed fact that,
twelve days later, he was to set sail for America.
True, this flitting might have been unpremeditated; suddenly
enforced, as it were, and the letter written carelessly, in the hope
of reaping some small reward. And, if this were the case, per-
haps a cable message to the right parties would bring us infor-
mation. But, might not my friend the Captain have been too
hasty in his conclusion that Meyrick was not aware of the shadow
at his heels?
Since the tragedy at Wraylands and my establishment in the
city, quite unknown to the Captain I had made a study of the man
who called himself Ralph Meyrick. My research had convinced
me that, with all his seeming recklessness and daring, Meyrick
possessed the other requisites that go to make our most success-
ful and difficult criminals: caution, foresight, an eye always to
windward, and a knowledge of men.
This being the case, Meyrick knew Captain Wrayland. He
had had ample opportunity to know him; and why should he
not suspect the Captain of doing precisely what he had done?
Such men are always on guard, and if Meyrick suspected that
his movements were watched, would he not take precautions to
baffle the watcher or, at least, to complicate the clues? More
especially if he wished to be in New York and be thought to be
in Europe.
It was a habit of mine, when studying a difficult case, to try to
put myself in the place of the person studied, and by this process,
together with my knowledge of the man, I was soon able to an-
swer the above query. I believed that he would try so to mislead.
But why was it necessary, in endeavoring to return to New York
incognito, to befool the Captain?
I had little doubt that the report of the man Soames was cor-
rect, and that Ralph Meyrick, while feigning illness in Paris, was
in reality at that moment, en route for American shores. And
if this were the fact—wherefore?
Again I assumed the identity of Mr. Meyrick. Would I, if I
were he and desiring to return to New York to resume my old
burglarious profession, think it needful to avoid possible spies


84 THE DOVERFIELDS DIAMONDS
by assuming a disguise? Undoubtedly, yes; given the belief
in the spies. And, would I think it a safeguard to write to the
Captain, professing illness, almost in face of the fact that an
inquiry might follow? Decidedly, no!
Again, would I, having made myself persona non grata with
the French police, and seeking to return to the scenes of former
crimes—would I set out in disguise? Again, yes!
But then, would I write to the Captain as he had written? No!
And lastly, if I wished to levy blackmail, at much personal
risk, would I antagonize more than was needful the man I de-
sired to loot, by lying to him in advance? What folly! I was
not a fool! Neither, to my thinking, was Meyrick. No! the
three theories, or possibilities, I had propounded for the Captain's
benefit, were not tenable. They did not fit what I believed to be
the facts in the case.
What then was the man's reason for returning to this city,
where he was known to the police, and where he assuredly was
not wanted? I did not weigh his promise to the Captain not to
return, for such promise, I felt assured, would not tip the scale
against a feather's weight.
That his coming meant mischief I felt assured. I could hardly
believe that Meyrick had actually discovered the identity of the
watch upon his movements. Indeed, to me, the fact that Soames
still watched, was proof of this; but that he felt a suspicion,
strong enough to be worth acting upon, I believed.
The question with me, then, was not as to Meyrick's reason
for coming; but, as to his reason for wishing or needing, to
mislead the Captain; and that this was his purpose, appeared
clear to me.
Of two things I was already assured. First, we must watch
for the arrival of the disguised Meyrick; not as for the ordinary
traveller, who would disembark in the open; but closely, keenly,
as for one who will elude, if possible, all chance of being closely
observed, and after the arrival of the Urania, I must watch over
the Captain; for, clearly, the coming of Meyrick, in some manner,
concerned him. That a blow of some sort was aimed at Captain
Wrayland, or some person connected with him, I felt sure.


CHAPTER XI.
NEXT MORNING.
I had risen early the next morning to put my plans in order,
so that nothing might conflict with what I meant should be a
hard day's work, possibly an eventful one. I was on the point
of closing my desk before leaving the office, when Mr. Dover-
fields came in, pushing past the boy, Jim, with scant ceremony,
waving him back, and almost closing the door in his face.
“Mr. Jasper,” he exclaimed, “thank goodness you are here!”
He checked himself and sat down in the nearest chair, drawing
his breath quickly and evidently controlling himself with an
effort. It was not until he was outwardly calm, though still
white to the lips, that he spoke, leaning forward to put some-
thing before me upon my desk as he did so.
“Look at that,” said he, “and guess, if you can, where I found
it.” -
I took up the bit of folded paper, opened it wonderingly, and
found within a fragment of cardboard, angular in shape and
charred at its inner edge. “A photograph” I exclaimed. Yes,
it was the corner of a photograph, snatched, evidently, from the
flames, or ashes. “What is it?” I asked. But I did not look up.
I already knew, but I made no effort to guess where it was found;
I fancied,—I almost feared, that I knew but too well.
“It is a corner, torn or burned, or perhaps both, from the
picture we wanted to find ! The picture of my—of Mrs. Dover-
fields' jewels.”
“And you found it—”
“Last evening, late! I went into my wife's boudoir, and
noted at once, that she had a tiny fire in the grate. I asked if she
was chilly, and she said a little, and that the fire looked cheery.
Besides, she added, she had been burning old letters; her desk
was overflowing. The fire was smouldering, and I don’t know
what possessed me to walk to the fireplace and give a thrust at
one of the sticks with the toe of my boot. I saw that fragment,
as the charred stick fell back, and when, a moment later, my
wife turned to say something to her maid, who had been busy in
(85)


86 THE DOVERFIELDS DIAMONDS
the next room, I picked it up quickly, hid it in my handkerchief,
and soon left the room. Evidently, my wife had burned it!
Can you guess why?” -
I shook my head.
“I 'd give the value of those diamonds to know!” he said
hoarsely. -
“Did you speak with her? Does she know what you have
found?”
“NO. And she will not,-until I know more! Know all there
is to learn For now, and he looked at me fixedly, “I must know
all, Mr. Jasper!”
“Mr. Doverfields,” I returned his look in kind. “I have
already formed my plans. Do you wish them carried out?”
“Man l’ he exclaimed, “the diamonds are nothing compared
to my—” he stopped at a gesture from me. -
“Before you say more,” I suggested, “allow me to say that,
in my opinion, the one mystery contains the other!”
“Ah!” he sighed, “since last night I have imagined so many
things!” -
“Then, pray allow me to advise you in this. Bridle your
imagination, and hold your judgment in abeyance. I will do my
best, meantime, to serve you.” -
Little more was said. He left the fragment of burnt card-
board in my keeping and soon went his way, and I turned to my
memoranda of “next things” to be done, wondering, in view of
the Captain's visit, if it would not be well to change the order
of it. It ran thus:
1st. At Io A. M. call for J. B. Go to Police Headquarters.
2nd. Bank, noon.
3rd. Round of pawnbrokers, in afternoon and evening.
4th. Visit the “queers,” late evening.
I looked at my watch as I laid down the little book. “At
least,” I said to myself “we will keep engagement number one!”
At twelve minutes before ten o'clock, I drove to the “residence”
of Josephine Bryce in a modest cab and found her waiting;
expectant and even a bit eager. Clearly I had already, in some
measure, gained her confidence. Not because of my especial
charm, assumed or real, but because of the nature of the girl,
who, herself without guile, was slow to suspect it; and, because
she was fearless, with the courage of innocence and ignorance,—
which, alas! go together more often than the philanthropic like to


NEXT MORNING 87
think; besides she had pondered over the matter, and, evidently,
had fully “made up her mind,” as she calmly informed me,
while we drove to the office of the chief of police.
“I confess I was some scared,” she said, “when you first came
in upon me; it sprised me so. And I was some worried, too,
about the way I left the Doverfields' place. My first place, and
all, and me a stranger in town, and with no city ref'rences! An'
then, I thought over what you ’d said, after you ’d gone away,
an I says to myself, truth's truth! an’ right's right, every time,
an' I'm goin to tell the one and do the other, and jest let Rome
howl!” Here I suppressed a smile with some difficulty, for the
climax was as lofty as it w, is unexpected, and was borrowed, no
doubt, from some long remembered lecture.
“I ain 't done a thing to be ashamed of ! Though I was a
kind of a fool, to be took in so by that young man. But I will
say ’t he was just as honest an open an' pleasant lookin' an'
talkin' as—as you be, sir! I—I don't know your name?” and
she looked an inquiry, in full faith that she had just uttered a
compliment.
The girl's honesty was contagious. “I won't give you a fictitious
name, Miss Bryce,” I said, “at least not yet, so you may just
call me officer, for the present. When you have fully decided
that I'm a real friend to you, as I hope you will, then you shall
have my card.” -
“Thank ’ee sir,” she answered, and then turning slightly she
looked me over, with open criticism shading into approval, I
fancied, but finished by dealing my vanity a blow from which it
has never yet recovered—“I’d kind o' like to see your wife!”
she said musingly. -
“So would II" I responded, and she joined in the laughter I
no longer tried to suppress.
“Well, I must say!” she announced. “Puttin' my foot in it
again! I guess I'll let you do the talkin' now.”
I took her at her word and at once began to question her,
concerning the fellow she had called George; telling her frankly,
whom I believed him to be, and finally asking her if she would
recognize his photograph.
“I couldn’t forget it!” she declared. “Not if I tried ever so!
He had n't no namby-pamby face: that feller had n't, and I'd
know it sure!” And then the stronger side of the girl's nature
flashed into view.


88 THE DOVERFIELDS DIAMONDS
“I 'll do anything I can, sir, to help you and the Police
Captain.” I was letting him figure as the power of which I was
only an agent. “I’m pretty ignorant,” she continued, “but I know
they have to keep witnesses for days, sometimes, shut up in the
jail. Well, I hope there 'll be a woman or two there, for I'd
have to stay there if I'm out of a place long. But I’ll do all I
can, sir! An' I'll think a lot more of myself when that “smart
Alec with the honest face is caught, that is, if you ’re sure he ’s
the burglar.”
“I believe he is one of them,” I assured her, and I mentally
resolved that this girl should come to no ill while in the hands of
the law, or after, if I could help it.
We had now arrived at police headquarters, where the chief
received my companion with gravest courtesy,—nodding his
approval to me, across her shoulder. Soon we were closely
scrutinizing hundreds of pictures of criminals, of all grades and
sorts; for we chose to let her come upon the face of which we
were in search, the counterpart of the wily George, without too
much assistance, and by selection. I had much confidence in this
attempt, for all that the girl had told me, as well as the modus
operandi of the robbery, led me to believe that “George” was an
old timer, a professional crook, and there were few of these, at
least of the calibre to do such daring and successful work as that
of the Doverfields robbery, who had not at some time posed
none too willingly, for his portrait, and I was right, as the result
proved.
I was beginning to lose faith in my own predictions, and we
had almost reached the last of the lot when the girl exclaimed
sharply: “There—there he is!” And she put her forefinger
upon the picture of a rather good looking young man, with a
face so open eyed, so honest, so “green,” that it was small wonder
poor Josephine Bryce had been deceived in him.
“That 's him!'” she reiterated; and I laughed aloud. I need
not have come here to find that face. It was that of “Keen
Johnny,” keen Johnny Deegan, the ablest, most daringly reckless
of crooks and house-breakers; and the most difficult to find. I
had his picture in my own small, but select collection; and I was
not the only one who would be glad to know where to put a hand
upon keen Johnny, slipperiest of crooks.
“If it 's him you ’re after,” said the officer in attendance, “I
wish you joy of him He 's the old un himself, when it comes to
a hide out!”
*


!
! THERE HE IS
THERE





NEXT MORNING 89
“Remember the fox's tail,” I warned him; and, after a long
series of questions, all satisfactorily answered, I took my com-
panion away, well pleased, on the whole, assuring her that she
had advanced my search at least one full step.


CHAPTER XII.
CRAIG BECOMES A BUTTERFLY.
I had taken Josephine Bryce to investigate the rogues' gallery
and in turn be investigated by the Chief of Police. Evidently
she distrusted her present landlady, and desiring to shun her
landlady's sons, one of whom was “real silly,” and the other
“impudent.”
“I almost hoped they ’d ask me to stay in the jail,” she de-
clared, “for I can 't feel that I’m in a quite respectable place.
I don’t care how cheap it is so it 's decent. I’d be willin’ to
work for my board, till this case is settled. No sir, thank you!
I don’t want you or any one to pay for my keep, but if you
would speak a good word to some respectable lady that wants a
girl, I’d be awfully relieved.”
Instantly a thought occurred to me. I had determined to call
upon the Captain's sister that day or evening. We were very
good friends, and I felt that now I must take this clever lady
a little way into my confidence.
I saw that the hour was late for a Saturday call at the bank
where the Doverfields diamonds had been deposited, so decided
to call upon Mrs. Devereaux. With this in mind I hurried back
to my rooms, a suite which I shared with my friend and partner,
Craig.
I made my afternoon toilet, and had sallied out upon the street
in search of a carnation for my buttonhole, when, a little to my
surprise, I came upon Royston Craig sauntering slowly along,
cigar in mouth.
He was standing before a florist's window, and as I came upon
him I fully expected to see him start, and possibly, betray the
flush of the business man caught playing truant during business
hours. -
- “All hail, Sir lily of the field !” I said, close at his shoulder.
“What is it to be, a violet, or a whole basket of roses?”
Craig turned upon me with utmost sang froid, and actually
beamed a welcome. “Hello, Kenneth ! I was sort of wishing
(90)


CRAIG BECOMES A BUTTERFLY OI
some dude with a high society air would dawn upon my vision;
lunched yet?” -
“Yet? I should think so! And you—of course?”
“Not yet. Fact is, I had thought of lunching at the W. A. all
by my lonesome, but now that I've struck you—"
“Thanks, but I’ve lost my appetite. Never lunch twice on the
same day anyhow, and—”
“Never mind the rest. You ’re going to lunch with me, that
is if you have no appointment of importance.” And he took my
arm in a firm grasp. Now, I knew my friend too well to quiz
him overmuch, or to ask questions. He was not to be drawn
out by question or criticism. He would tell his purpose, if he
really had one, as I believed, so I merely swung into step and
drew him toward the door of the florist's bower.
“Let’s get our boutonnieres,” I suggested. “I know you were
thinking of one, and then, en avant! It 's a bit late now, to
witness the swell entrée into the palm room, or, is it to be—”
but he checked my speech by a brisk entrance into the place of
blossoms, nodding palms, ferns and swaying vines. Craig led
the way, as we entered the splendid room well filled with fashion-
able late lunchers, and I observed that he glanced critically about
before he signified to the obsequious attendant that part of it
where he would choose to sit.
Now, Craig, while not a society man in the strictest sense,
was still far from being unknown in the best circles.
While too rugged to be strictly handsome, Craig was no less a
striking figure, upright, and of athletic build, and we were
greeted here and there, with nods and smiles, as we followed
our conductor half across the big room to our chosen places.
We had scarcely given our preliminary order for what was
to me, an almost untasted luncheon, when I began to under-
stand, or to believe that I did, my friend's motive in coming so
far, and at such an hour, for his midday meal. He was calmly
studying the faces about him, and I was soon assured that he
had come to look for some one and that he did not attempt not
intend to conceal the fact. He glanced from right to left, so
slowly that I could not know whether he found what he sought.
Finally with, as I fancied, a look of disappointment upon his
face, he ceased to glance about him.
As our waiter turned away, having taken Craig's second order,
I let my napkin slip from my knee, and bent quickly, catching it


92 THE DOVERFIELDS DIAMONDS
as it fell. As I drew myself erect I was conscious that Craig
was looking directly into the space where my head had been, and,
as I returned to my place, for a moment, he seemed to be staring
straight through me.
“Would you mind shifting your position just a little, Ken?”
he asked, “to the right, please.”
Then, almost instantly, as I once more bent down as if scrutin-
izing the floor, he added. “All right, old man! No, don’t move
your chair!—I very much prefer that—that you do—not!” and
he began to take lively interest in the savory dishes before him.
In the language of New England’s “Mary Ann,” I “knew my
dooty,” and when we arose I waited meekly while Craig passed
me and slowly took the lead toward the entrance; nor was I sur-
prised when he led the way around to the right, passing a stately
group of palms, and coming out directly behind a table at which
our young friend Hal Landis, sat facing us, and, before I, in my
surprise, could identify the two ladies on his either hand, Craig
had stopped, and Landis, with boyish effusiveness, had half risen.
“Why Craig—hello!”
“Ah Landis,” Craig was speaking with sudden joviality. “Glad
to see you so well occupied !” And then, as I came into view, he
veered suddenly, and I saw Mrs. Landis holding out a delicate
hand to him. The next moment I was being presented, and
Madam Landis was introducing us both to Madam Devinne
Barthelme, who received my friend with a smile, faint but
gracious, and myself with frank recognition.
Landis was his usual cordial self, and his mother was really
sincere in her desire to detain us; extra chairs were procured,
and taking my cue with some inward surprise, from Craig, I
demurred feebly, and then accepted the chair indicated by the nod
of the elder lady, quite close at her side. They had almost
finished their dessert, and Landis called for more wine, while
Madam Barthelme, with charming candor, related, for the benefit
of Craig and the lady, my small part in the little encounter at the
entrance to the uptown theatre.
“And—do I understand that you have found no trace of the
jewels?” asked Craig with much sympathetic interest.
“None! Not the slightest,” replied the lady. “Still—how can
I repine! I have lost my diamond, it may be, for all time, but—”
and she threw out her slim, jewelled hands in a gesture un-
mistakably French, “I have been, in another way, most fortunate!


CRAIG BECOMES A BUTTERFLY 93
I have found most kind friends. Such friends! And I so much
a stranger in your city.”
Was I mistaken, or, as I glanced up at the face of Mrs. Laridis,
did I see, even while the lips wore a conventional smile, a look
of dissent or distaste gleam out and swiftly disappear behind her
pale drooping lids? Then, while the talk became general, I
learned that young Landis had prevailed uponchis mother to call
upon the beautiful stranger who bore, as Hal could assure this
conventional mother, a most satisfactory letter of introduction
from our own minister in Paris.
“It really seemed like obliging our own ambassador! An old
acquaintance of mine, you know, and a real friend of my hus-
band.” murmured Mrs. Landis, in a gentle aside. Here she
leaned toward the lady opposite. “Madam, pardon me; we,
Mr. Jasper and myself, were speaking of our minister. Did you
meet Mrs. Braveur, his sister, who is with him in Paris?”
“Alas, no!” Madam lifted her fine eyebrows. “Pray, do not
misunderstand, dear Mrs. Landis: I know your ambassador but
very slightly, and I fear it was to oblige some of my very good
friends, mine and Monsieur Barthelme's, that he sent me the
letter. I have been very little in the gay society of Paris, since
the death of my husband,” her fine face saddening, “and for two
years before we traveled much, seeking the dry, sunny countries
for his health. No, I never even saw this lady of whom you
speak.”
Mrs. Landis was known as a proud and most exclusive woman,
but it was soon quite evident to me, that while the lady deprecated
a too warm friendship between her son and this handsome
stranger, she nevertheless admired her beauty and style.
Another thing I noted, was that Craig seemed frankly pleased
and attracted by the handsome brunette, while she, on her part,
bestowed upon him a full share of her smiling attention. Also,
it was quite evident that Hal Landis grew slightly ill at ease,
while his lady mother looked on with quiet approval. We all
left the palm room together, and, before separating, Craig and I
had accepted an invitation to dine with Mrs. Landis on the
evening of the following Monday. -
“It will be quite informal,” the lady said, “and you, Mr. Jasper,
will meet some friends there,—Captain Wrayland and his wife.
I have heard them speak of you more than once.”
She had invited Madam Devinne Barthelme to drive with her


94 THE DOVERFIELDS DIAMONDS
in the park, her son, of course, accompanying them. We put
the ladies in their carriage and turned away to retrace our steps
officeward. There was the usual throng upon the streets and
we made our way slowly, both somewhat preoccupied and dis-
inclined to talk. At the corner I pulled myself up suddenly.
“Upon my word, Roy, I must leave you here! I had quite
forgotten for the moment, that I had written a note to Mrs.
Devereaux asking her to receive me this afternoon. I will take
a cab at the nearest stand, and you?”
“I shall go back to the office for an hour or two. A little
matter of research, the same that took me to the Waldorf. Our
agreeable friends almost put the matter out of my head; so I
won't criticise you, my son. Only, take a friend's advice, Ken,
and don’t lose any sleep over that charming Madam Barthelme.
I'm interested in that quarter somewhat.”
He favored me with a smile at once whimsical, mocking, and
enigmatic, and turning plunged into the crowd. As he crossed
the street, seeing a cab making its way toward the side entrance
to the hotel, I turned to watch it. Then seeing that it was
about to discharge its fare I lifted my hand and started toward
it, catching the cabman's eye as I went. I had reached the cab,
and was about to step in, when I observed that the Landis car-
riage was drawn up just in front of me, and that Hal Landis
was standing beside it.
“Here yet, are you?” he called on seeing me. “Something
caught in the confounded harness, but we are off now. Ta, ta.”
And he sprang to his place upon the front seat. -
I lifted my hat to the ladies as the carriage drew out of the
line and bade my own cabman follow in its wake. As we swung
out into the street, I heard an oath from the driver, and looking
back saw a man dart out seemingly from between my own and
the Landis vehicle. As he dodged my horse and the driver's
oaths, I had just the glimpse of a pale, haggard face, hair grey
and unkempt, and a figure that I recognized at once. “Gad!” I
muttered. “It 's the sandwich man and it looks as if he was
watching the Landis carriage! Or else—upon—my—word l”


CHAPTER XIII.
A DEFENSIVE ALLIANCE.
Mrs. Agnes Devereaux was a widow with a moderate fortune,
was popular with the young, and beloved of the old, and to her
daughter, a fair and stately girl of eighteen, she was, and ever
had been, the ideal comrade, “guide, philosopher and friend.”
She was capable in matters of business, having lost her husband
in a disastrous railroad accident while her daughter, Enid, was
still a child. With all her charm she had not been caught again
by matrimonial lures, and had welcomed her brother into her
family, making him its nominal head. It was an ideal home for
Captain Wraylands, and he seemed to grow younger in its
genial atmosphere.
Mrs. Devereaux's house was on one of the quiet and aristo-
cratic streets that radiate from Fifth avenue and the park, and
it was not far from the somewhat more pretentious dwelling of
the Landis family. Enid Devereaux and Hal Landis had been
playmates and friends through childhood and youth, and the
families had ever been on a cordial, almost intimate footing.
Captain Wrayland, upon his arrival in the city, had lost no
time in introducing me into this little family circle, and I had
long since acquired the footing of a friend of the family, always
welcome, and seldom omitted from a pleasure program of Mrs.
Devereaux's arranging. I had said, in my note, that I desired to
consult her “upon a little private puzzle,” and, as I fully expected,
she was awaiting me in her snug little morning room, and alone.
“We shall be quite tete-à-tête,” she said, as she welcomed me.
“Enid has been rather moping lately, I fancy, and I have per-
suaded her uncle that it was his duty to take her up the river
drive this lovely afternoon. They have just now driven away.”
“Thank goodness!” I ejaculated, as I dropped into a cozy seat
near her favorite window.
After turning to assure herself that the door was closed, and
that we were quite alone, she said: “Kenneth, I am very
anxious! And your note has increased that anxiety. Something
has happened ! Something serious; I am sure of it. Tell me
(95)


96 THE DOVERFIELDS DIAMONDS
the worst, and at once! No—wait! First tell me, does it con-
cern Enid P”
The look in her eyes brought from me a prompt answer. “No.
Assuredly not!” *
She breathed a quick sigh of relief and then smiled faintly.
“See how selfish we mothers can be. Then it does concern my
brother? I knew he was troubled about something more than
business. But—my other anxiety—” she checked herself, and
turning, dropped into the nearest seat. “There,” she said, more
quietly. “I must not begin by mixing up things! Tell me,
please, what has happened?”
I had meant to do this promptly, without loss of time, or waste
of words, but now I hesitated, while I studied her face. “You
know that I am the Captain's friend?” I began. “And that all
I may do or say is in his interest!” * -
“Assuredly we have ample proof of that!”
“Thanks! Before we go further, will you kindly tell me just
what has caused you to think your brother has anything un-
pleasant upon his mind? Please think carefully, and do not
omit anything that you may have observed since—yesterday.”
Mrs. Devereaux was clever and tactful, and as direct upon
occasion as the most accurate business man. She studied my
face a moment, then replied:
“Yesterday I entered the library hastily, unaware that Albert
was in the house. He was sitting near a small table, with an
open letter in his hand, and before he could cover it, as he did
a moment later, I saw that a cablegram lay upon the table.
I recognized the business wrapper at once, and noted, with the
same glance, that it had been opened, and, doubtless, read. I was
in search of Enid and in some anxiety lest she had gone out
without my seeing her; but even then, while I excused myself,
and turned to go, I noted a look upon his face such as I have not
seen there since that strange letter from Ralph Meyrick came on
the day he left the prison.” She paused long enough to dart to-
ward me a quick look of inquiry; then, as I still sat silent, and
apparently waiting, she resumed: “I found Enid, and, my anxiety
being allayed, my mind went back to my brother, and the look of
mingled vexation and doubt which I had seen upon his face.
Of course when I found him not at all inclined to go out for the
afternoon, I gave him ample opportunity to confide in me, and
presently he did, in part.”


A DEFENSIVE ALLIANCE 9/
“In part?”
“Yes. He let me see a letter, posted in Paris, and written by
Ralph Meyrick. You know what it contained?” I nodded. “But
he neither showed me the cablegram, nor spoke of it; and yet
somehow, I feel sure that message either came from Ralph
Meyrick, or, in some way, concerned him Now, don't suppose,
Jasper, that I would have told you even this much if I did not
happen to know that my brother visited you at a late hour last
evening about this same letter. Am I not right?”
“Yes. And now, before I confess, will you tell me, as nearly
as you can, all that the Captain said to you, pertinent to that
matter? Please understand me. Your brother has asked for my
help, and I, in my turn, am here to ask for yours; for your
confidence, and co-operation. I intend to be quite frank on my
part.”
“And—” with womanly quickness, “you are anxious yourself!
You see something between the lines of this Paris letter?”
Again I bowed my head.
“You know,” she said, with a more assured manner, “how the
mere mention of poor Daphne's death excites and almost unnerves
him. Of course he ran on in his usual way, for a few moments,
denouncing Meyrick, and voicing his detestation of him, and I
saw clearly that he put no faith in the statements in the letter.
‘It 's my opinion, he declared, hotly, that the villain means
blackmail, or some manner of extortion; and that he 's counting
on our strong desire for secrecy, in the matter of poor Daphne's
death ! He means to make that his lever, his crowbar !’ And
then he declared, with a preface of adjectives that I won't repeat,
that, secrecy, or no secrecy, Ralph Meyrick would never finger
another dollar of his money; and that, rather than this, he would
spend every penny he possessed in putting the wretch back in
prison, or on the scaffold. He 's planning a coup of some sort !'
he declared, but he will find I am not so ignorant— here he
stopped, clapped his hand to the pocket, where, I felt sure, lay
the cablegram and the letter, and suddenly shut up like a clam.
He pooh-poohed when I mentioned the subject and soon went to
see you. Now, that letter was written more than twelve days
ago and it made me very anxious, for I do not believe that Mey-
rick is either ill or in want of money. If he were really ill and
in need, he would have specified the amount he required; it would
not have been small, and he would have sent on his physician's
certificate! I know Ralph Meyrick's methods, I think.”


98 THE DOVERFIELDS DIAMONDS
“You never approved of the marriage, I am told.”
“Never ! I detested the fellow from the first and he knew it.”
“Doubtless. Tell me, Mrs. Devereaux, what, in your opinion,
does this letter signify? What is his game?”
She drew her small figure erect and clasped her hands tightly
in her lap.
“Ken Jasper, you men may laugh at “woman's guesses.
“Intuitions,” I interrupted. “I think they are often Heaven
sent, my dear lady! Please be quite explicit.”
“Well, I believe that Ralph Meyrick is planning mischief of
some sort and that it menaces my brother! If he is not ill, he
desires us to think he is, and that he means to go, eventually, to
the Southwest in pursuit of fortune. But he is coming back;
coming here, and if he does!” She paused. I was looking my
surprise and admiration quite too plainly. “What is it?” she
asked.
“Talk about woman's guesses!” I cried. “My dear lady, you,
in a flash of intuitive vision have seen what I only arrived at
by slow stages of what I have called reasoning; and, with the
help of the cablegram, too, of which you know nothing, save
that it has been received.” And, before she could reply or
question, I launched into the story of her brother's visit to me,
and told her all I knew and surmised. To all of which she
listened without comment until I had concluded, by saying, “I
have been more frank with you than the Captain has been, and
from a much more selfish motive. Your brother, knowing your
hatred and distrust of this man, wished to spare you uneasiness,
and he took no thought for himself. I, recognizing in you the
nature that will suffer less from knowledge than from suspense,
have made this my excuse for appealing to you for help.”
“Mine?”
“Yours! I want your aid, your counsel; and I want, most of
all, your tactful, watchful guardianship of the Captain, who
could never be persuaded, by me, to be either cautious or suspi-
cious of the ‘little foxes. If Meyrick arrives in the city
and evades us, I believe his presence here will mean a menace
to Captain Wrayland.”
“And his purpose?”
“That, it is impossible to guess at or to reason out, now. If
your woman’s intuition can help me—” I paused, for there was
a sound in the adjoining room and a hand upon the door. We
* * *


A DEFENSIVE ALLIANCE 99
were in Mrs. Devereaux's private sitting room, and no one in that
household, uninvited, ever passed its closed door. Then we
heard a quick call.
It was Enid's voice, and the face of her mother suddenly
underwent a change. She leaned forward and put a swift hand
upon my arm.
“Kenneth !” her low voice was strong with earnest appeal,
“may I admit Enid and tell her all? She is devoted to her uncle;
she is brave and keen witted; she can help me more than you
think! She has great influence over my brother. And we can
trust her in any emergency!”
I knew Enid Devereaux, and I believed in her, almost as did
her mother. I nodded, and felt that all was going well.
With those two clever and devoted women to guard his coming
and going, the Captain could not get far afield without my
knowledge.
As Enid entered at her mother's bidding I saw, in both faces,
what gave me cause for thought; and I knew that, not only did
Mrs. Devereaux desire an ally, a confederate in her own home,
but she also desired for her daughter an occupation; something
absorbing beyond the ordinary, something that would arouse her,
and take her out of herself; and, looking at the fair, girlish face,
I felt that there was need of such occupation and mental
arousing.


CHAPTER XIV.
AT THE DEVEREAUx's.
Enid Devereaux was tall, lithe, delicate and yet strong.
Slender, but not from the lack of development, quick, easy of
movement, with eyes that shone with kindliness, Enid Deve-
reaux had been guided by a wise and clever mother, and taught
in a school as modern, scientific, and practical, as nineteenth
century wisdom could compass. This young girl had early
learned the folly of the merely fashionable and artistic cultiva-
tion. Through her language work she had gained rare powers
of expression; through the science course, a keen appreciation
of nature in all her moods and phases; while art and literature
had broadened the aesthetic side of her being and trained her
natural instinct for feeling and expression, beyond the common
usages of the average schools.
It was a grave-faced, serious-eyed girl who advanced to meet
me, with a sure and easy step that was as far from self-con-
sciousness, as was her manner from vanity or affectation. But
I looked in vain for the winning smile, the bright, quick word of
greeting, and the humorous query and jest; for Enid Devereaux
possessed a happy and bright nature, as kind and warming as
was the sunshine and soft Spring breezes. But the sunshine was
absent today; and there was a pathetic droop of the perfect lips.
As I held her hand a moment I felt the wisdom of ignoring
all that was unusual in her manner, and as I glanced toward the
door I spoke bluntly, endeavoring to rouse, and draw her out of
herself.
“Is—is your uncle in the morning room, Enid?” I questioned.
“No, Mr. Ken, uncle went at once to his room. I—”
“But your drive, my child! Why so soon home?” queried her
mother.
“It was not a success—our drive, ‘mutter. Uncle, as I readily
saw, was preoccupied, and—I suppose I was dull. We did not
go up the river, but drove round the park. And—neither of
us cared for it. “Mutter'—something is worrying Uncle Alf’!
He was not himself, and,—I think he was glad to come back!”
(100)


AT THE DEVEREAUx's IOI
“And well that you did,” I declared. “Miss Enid Devereaux,
are you ready to join a conspiracy? An alliance, defensive and—
possibly—offensive? Oh,” as she looked from one to the other,
“This is sober, earnest, Missy, and it concerns this same preoc-
cupation that you have observed in your uncle.”
“Yes, dear, it 's serious enough, I fear,” declared Mrs. Dev-
ereaux. “We are most anxious—troubled. The situation is
delicate. It may become dangerous; and—we need your help.”
“You need me? There is really something to do?” Already
a new look was dawning in the young face; eagerness and inter-
est was speaking in her deep, brown eyes. I nodded silently.
“And—it concerns uncle? Tell me about it, Kenneth, don’t
hesitate, please!”
And sitting before me, with her hands in her mother's, and
her eyes fixed upon mine, glowing with a new purpose as the
tale proceeded, I told her all there was to tell. And after, for a
long moment, there was utter silence in the room.
“On!” said the girl with fervor. “I thank you, both of you,
for telling me this! If—if you had shut me out,-now—I
could not have forgiven you! And I am sure I can help, a
little. Jasper, that man is coming back for some evil purpose!”
“I fear SO.”
“And–oh, I do hope uncle will not allow him to levy black-
mail! You will advise him against this, surely! Let the man tell
his story—if he dare! Auntie is gone—Daphne is gone; let us all
defy this wretch! Mother,”—There was life, animation, in her
face now, and strength and courage in her voice—“What have
you two been planning?”
“My dear child, do you not see that we can do little more
than wait and watch for the present? Until the Urania arrives
and the man begins to show his hand, what can we do?”
“True!” The girl sat straight and motionless before us.
There was no excitement, no nervousness, in her look or manner,
only eagerness and resolution, and utter self-forgetfulness. Sud-
denly she leaned toward me. “Kenneth, do you think uncle will
be likely to take mamma or myself into his confidence? Any
further, that is? Because,” she hurried on, “if we are to be of
any use, you must prevent this! You must advise him against
it! He would understand all our little tricks, and we could not
aid you. You must not allow him to frighten us, see?” and, for
the first time, a gleam of mischief crossed her face.


IO2 THE DOVERFIELDS DIAMONDS
And so for an hour, we sat and talked of possibilities and
risks, and all were united in the hope and belief that the Captain
would be as good as his word, and would fling broadcast the
story of Ralph Meyrick, and his identity as that of an ex-convict
and burglar, rather than submit to blackmail in the smallest
degree.
And then as I was about to go, Enid turned an eager face
toward her mother, “‘Mutterchen, why can't we have an officer
in plain clothes in the house? We are two lone women and uncle
is not so young! Besides, there are burglars all about; and—”
smiling across at me, “I almost fancy there may be suspicious
persons about the place soon. Think how poor Ara Doverfields
was robbed, and so boldly, too ! To think of those splendid
jewels, taken from under her very eyes almost.” And then she
swung about and came close to me. “Kenneth, what do you
think of that case?”
I laughed, while I wondered if this keen-eyed young woman
was trying to quiz me, and replied, “I 'll tell you my opinion
when I know more about the affair. It 's certainly very inter-
esting.” And then the face of Josephine Bryce arose before my
mind, and I dropped back into the chair I had lately vacated.
“By the way, ladies, I want you to help me place a young
woman who is in want of a home,” and I told them of Josephine,
stating only that she had once been with Mrs. Doverfields, that
she was needed as a witness in the Doverfields case, and that
I had undertaken to find her a home, out of pure charity, of
course. I told my story lamely, and feeling confident that they
must guess my connection with the case, but, after a quick ex-
change of amazed glances, they met me with a cordial proffer
of help, which ended in an offer to go with me to see the girl
at once, and bring her home with them.
“She must be unique!” declared Enid. “‘Mutter, may I have
her for my maid? Dear me, how dramatic and interesting
things are growing! Shall I call the carriage? Why, mother,
we—at least you ought to call upon Mrs. Doverfields, had you
not?”
“Not too soon, my child; we will let the nine days’ wonder
die away a little first!”
“Wise mutter!’” murmured the girl, clasping her hands, “and
foolish me!”
As we drove out upon the avenue, we met the Landis carriage


AT THE DEVEREAUX'S IO3
returning from their drive. They had evidently just left the
park, and Hal and Madam Barthelme were chatting and laugh-
ing in the best of spirits. I was about to speak of Madam
when I caught a look, two looks. A single swift, tragic, sorrowful
glance of the eyes from Enid, showing her soul and its trouble,
and one from her mother, betraying her knowledge, her com-
passion and anxiety. Both glances passed instantly, and Mrs.
Devereaux was bowing with a charming smile, while Enid's
face was glowing, as she bowed smilingly and cordially, as the
Landis party came opposite and passed.
“Oh, mamma, how funny,–and—what a shame!” A
look of indignation replaced her laughing glance, and, looking
across the space just vacated by the receding carriage, with our
eyes following hers, we saw a poorly dressed man, scampering
away from a tall policeman, who held aloft in his hands a pair
of advertising boards.
“What—?” I questioned, and Enid broke in, unsmiling now.
“That poor creature! He seemed to pop up, boards and all,
just behind the group of young people near that gate,” nodding
toward it, “and he pressed forward as if anxious to see—the
beautiful lady with Mrs. Landis, probably—and then—suddenly
—the policeman had him,” here she laughed again, “then it was
presto, change; the boards remained in the officer's hands, and
the man, see! He is running toward that thicket of shrubbery!
Dear me!” Sinking back into her place as if suddenly weary
of her subject, “How great it is to be a tall policeman and how
unlucky to be a poor sandwich man, with an eye for brunette
beauty; and near Central Park, too! Well, he showed good taste,
she is—very handsome.”
“And—I think she bowed to you, Kenneth,” observed Mrs.
Devereaux, slightly smiling.
“Why, ‘mutterchen' Have you forgotten Mrs. Landis' note and
the P. S., that Messrs. Craig and Jasper would meet us at din-
ner on Monday eve?”
“Quite so,” the elder lady did not seem anxious to follow up
the subject. But, while I am not given to confidences, I
nevertheless knew when they were politic, as well as safe. So,
turning toward Mrs. Devereaux I related the story of my little
encounter with Madam Devinne Barthelme and of her lost
solitaire.
Mrs. Devereaux listened with marked interest. “And this,”


I04 THE DOVERFIELDS DIAMONDS
she said musingly, “happened—?” she glanced across at me with
an outspoken inquiry in her eyes.
“A few days since—only.” I replied, and then for a moment
there was silence between us. It was Enid who next spoke.
“Diamonds and diamonds and diamonds! They are woman's
glory and her bane. Mamma, dear, sell yours, and found—a
school of domestic science. We can begin with the new girl—
what—”
“Josephine Bryce,” I replied. Enid had her mother's trick
of asking half spoken questions. |
“Josephine Bryce,” she repeated. “At all events this spark-
ling and glowing new friend of the Landis family, is fitted by
nature for the wearing of diamonds; Mrs. Doverfields now, is
not, in my opinion. She has the soft, fine delicate loveliness
that can carry off pearls and not be cheapened by them. Is
this the street? 'Mutterchen, will you let me go in after our
young woman? I—I think I should like to.”
Of course she had her way; and while she waited within,
Mrs. Devereaux dropped her mask of indifference, and turned a
questioning and troubled face to me. “Kenneth,” she said, under
her breath, as if the street were full of listeners. “Did you—
notice—anything?”
I nodded gravely. -
“And—can there really be cause for this? You must know!
Enid and I chanced to call at the Waldorf–it must have been
the day after the two met—at the theatre and—we met them at
the entrance—they were going out together. He was so ab-
sorbed that he only saw us after Enid had passed beyond them
both. He flushed, like a guilty school boy, and Enid made a
jest of his seeming embarrassment, but she,—both of us—had
seen his look of rapt devotion. I was not sure until then,-that
she cared.”
“It won't last,” I said lightly, “When Craig enters the field.”
“Royston Craig ! Why, Kenneth 33
“Careful!” Enid had just appeared at the top of the short
flight of steps, with Josephine close behind, and the light laugh
that drew an answering giggle from the new maid, had the right
ring in it.
“Strange,” I murmured, “how the trials and perplexities of one
half of the world seem needful to the welfare and comfort of the
other half. I am going to leave you here, Mrs. Devereaux,


CHAPTER XV.
A COIL INDEED!
I knew that it was neither needful nor required that I should
set out, single handed, to capture—when I had found him—
Keen Johnny Deegan.
There would be plenty of help offered for this search; for
Keen Johnny was wanted on all sides. That he was in hiding,
by day, I felt sure, and now, after this last big robbery, he would
be doubly discreet. Perhaps, when the Doverfield's robbery had
been put in the background by some later sensation in high life,
I might begin to look for him, but it was too soon, as yet.
Having assured myself of this, I went next day to the bank
where the jewels had been deposited, asked boldly for the
Cashier, and frankly told him my business. Imagine my sur-
prise when he said,—“Yes, we have rather wondered why we
did not hear from some one concerned with that affair, Dover-
fields, or his lawyer, or—”
“Mrs. Doverfields' health,” I began, “has concerned her hus-
band, I fancy, quite as much as has this loss!”
“The loss! There it is! How could they have been so singu-
larly negligent, and after our warning, that very morning! One
would suppose they would have had, at least a brace of officers
in the house !”
Here was a facer! As soon as I could get my breath, I said
with an appearance of coolness I was far from feeling, “That
warning—yes! I want you to tell me about that, Mr. Fell!
Somehow, among so many details, you know, I don’t seem to get
all clear. Give me, if you please, the facts, from your point of
view.”
“Why, the facts are simple enough ! We found in the mail an
anonymous letter telling us that the withdrawal of Mrs. Dover-
fields' diamonds was known already. She had drawn them in
person, only the day before, you must know, saying that her
husband desired to see them, and to have her wear them at the
Charity Ball. The letter was anonymous or, rather, it was
merely signed, “A woman who knows, but the matter was so
(106)


A COIL INDEED | C/
serious that we wrote at once, quoting the letter in full and ad-
vising Doverfields to be on his guard.”
“And you sent it—when?”
“That morning at eleven a. m., or thereabouts.”
“Directed—how P”
“Knowing Mr. Doverfields to be absent often for the day, and
the matter being important, it was addressed to Mr. or Mrs.
Doverfields, at their residence.”
Here was a coil indeed! Of course I quite understood, though
I did not so express myself, that the warning had fallen into
the hands of the wife, and had never been seen by the husband.
But her motive? I could not even guess it. That Mrs. Arabel
Doverfields should be in collusion with Keen Johnny Deegan,
and should permit him to steal her own, and her husband's
jewels, was an incredibility worthy of a “penny dreadful,” and
to go to my client with the knowledge I now possessed, and no
more, would be a barbarity. On the other hand, would I not
risk defeat by going to her with what I knew? I pondered
the question late that night, and came to the conclusion that
it behooved me to go deeper into the Doverfield family history.
“There will be little use in looking among the dealers and
pawn shops for your diamonds, for some time,” I said to Mr.
Doverfields, when we next met. “Keen Johnny and his confed-
erate will not have the hardihood to offer them to anyone for
some time to come, and the most crooked fence in the city
would hesitate to take them while the affair is so new. They
would wait until the hunt among their kind had been made,
and they know themselves closely watched at present. We must
have patience.”
“Is there no chance but that of waiting their time?”
“Yes, but an improbable one. If Keen Johnny should happen
to be arrested, for some other offense, I might get something
out of him, but, that would be too good to be true.”
Nevertheless, that is precisely what occurred early on Sunday
morning; the fellow was taken, red handed, in an assault of the
most daring order, and with “intent to kill.” The proof seemed
positive—I was notified at once of his capture—and his chance
appeared so hopeless that I felt quite certain of securing from
him a confession, and went at once to investigate.
I need not chronicle our interview in full, which I obtained


ics THE DOVERFIELDS DIAMONDS
without difficulty, and without the ceremony of asking his con-
Sent.
After describing to him in the fewest and boldest words just
how I had traced the deed to him, I said—“Now, I give you
credit for doing your own planning, and if you also did the
'guying, it was simply because the other fellow couldn't. I’m
ready to wager he was paid by the job and had no handling of
the booty. More than likely he is wanted for something and
is in your power.”
Johnny's broad grin eloquently confirmed this tentative state-
ment. “You know,” I went on “where the jewels are ! Now,
I need not tell you how slim your chances are this time!”
Johnny grunted and shrugged his shoulders. “And I need not
tell you how much this diamond business, if put before a jury,
would lengthen your sentence. I’m here to compromise. Tell
me where the diamonds are, and how we can best get them
back, and, if we do get them, this thing shall be dropped, so
far as you are concerned, and your name left out of it.”
Keen Johnny threw back his head and laughed a good hu-
mored, hilarious laugh. He was the best natured and jolliest
thief it was ever my lot to come across, and while this was my
first actual encounter and acquaintance with this expert bur-
glar, it was not my last.
“If I knew where to look for the Doverfields' diamonds,” he
finally said, when he finished laughing, “and if I had n't—as
you see, a previous and pressing engagement, I'd set out to
hunt them up instanter ! But—while I fully believe there are
some diamonds in the family, I have never set eyes on them "
“I did not come here to jest, Deegan ” I began with dignity.
“No more did I | I’d much rather do my jesting somewhere
else! But this is on the square, boss! I’ve never seen the Do-
verfields’ diamonds, worse luck!”
“Do you deny—”
“Deny nothing! I 'm your man, right enough ! But—there
wasn't a real stone among the whole blamed lot, and the settings,
even, were plate! I call that a low down trick to play on an
honest fellow like me, after all the sweetness I’d wasted on
that gullible little Josey, too!”
When he had exhausted his chaff, Keen Johnny told his
story. “Yes, we got the swag all right; the door was not even
locked! The bedroom door, I mean, and the key was in the inner


A COIL INDEED 109
side. I’d a mind to lock the little woman in, just for fun, but
she had slept so accommodatingly, I thought better of it. The
key was stuck in the drawer, too, and I left it as I found it.”
“In the drawer?” I asked quickly.
“Yep! that 's what I said. I took a few of the pieces, they
were a handsome lot, to a friend,—he 's not so much my friend
since, by the by—to get some money on,"—Johnny, as I learned
later, seldom descended to thieves argot,-" meaning to go over
the big pond on that, and to dispose of the rest in Paris or
Vienna—”
“Why not London?” I asked.
“Made in London, the real ones. Oh, I know my biz! And
I didn't mean to do another stroke of work here. I 've grown
too—blamed—popular lately! But when I went 'round for
my cash I couldn't find my man, and next day—well, he knew
always where a letter could be left for me, and there it was.
Whoo! but he laid it on I couldn't believe his yarn thought
'twas some rig of his; so I ventured out, and was followed
and spotted quick. Curse the luck! If the diamonds had been
anything but paste I’d be on the blue water right now!”
“This was too much,” I said, as I went home from my inter-
view with Keen Johnny, and, after long deliberation, I repeated
it. “It was too much !” and then I added, “Now it is time to see
Mrs. Doverfields!” But again second thought held me back.
I knew where to find, in the city, a man whose specialty was
the miaking and selling of sham jewels. Not the poor shams
bought by servant and shop girls, but stones that were sought
after by actresses, and by some society women, and which would
deceive the very elect. “If these imitations were made in this
city,” I assured myself, “they were made by Gensenberg.” On
my way to see Gensenberg, I called again at the bank to ask
one question. That question was,— -
“Since the Doverfields' diamonds were first put into the vault
here, were they ever taken out, previous to this last time? and the
answer was, “Yes.”
They had been called for, it appeared, by Mrs. Doverfields,
during the past winter. She wanted to wear them, she had said,
at a “Bachelor's" ball, and it was found, by reference to the
books, that she had kept them two weeks. I did not know Gen-
senberg, but he seemed to have heard of me, and when he was
assured that I was acting for Mr. Austin Doverfields, he will-
ingly answered my questions.


>~~
*
/
/
/
I 10 , THE DOVERFIELDS DIAMONDS
“Yes, he had copied the Doverfields' diamonds; at first the
lady had not given her name, but when she learned that he
knew some of the pieces, through having read of them, and had
Once seen her at the opera, wearing a certain spray of unique
pattern, she confided to him, that she was Mrs. Doverfields, a
fact which the cunning dealer in paste already knew. Having so
many valuable jewels in the house, she had grown fearful and,
having learned that some ladies wore imitations made by him,
and so cleverly as to defy detection by any save an expert, she
had called upon him for counterfeits to take with her upon her
frequent journeys.
“He had made them, of course; and—she had paid him a lib-
eral sum. He had “wondered much, he added, on hearing of
the burglary, if it were the real or the sham jewels which had
been stolen. -
I informed him that “the jewels” had been taken from the
vault only a day or two before the theft.
I had heard quite enough for the present, and after request-
ing him to treat our interview as confidential, and declaring that I
must see him again, I left him. And now, yes now, I assured my-
self, I would see Mrs. Doverfields.


CHAPTER XVI.
A WOMAN AT BAY.
It took me half the evening to reconcile what I had heard, at
the bank, and at the jail, with my preconceived ideas concerning
the Doverfields case, and, for the time, all other things of outside
interest, seemed blotted from my mind. That Mrs. Doverfields
was playing a part, that she suspected, and was attempting to
shield someone, I could quite readily believe. Her indifference
concerning the jewel list, the destruction of the photograph, her
dismissal of the girl, Josephine; above all her manner, her looks,
and her evident anxiety, amounting—as it seemed to me, at mo-
ments, almost to fear, - all gave proof of this. But the sham
jewels! What a situation | And the real ones! where then, were
these? Clearly the Doverfields case was taking on an entirely
new aspect, and a most strange one.
I studied the situation until far into the night, and I wished
mightily that I could take Craig into my confidence. Then, as
I reviewed my talk with Keen Johnny, I began to doubt. Might
he not be tracking me, after all? Being a prisoner, would it not
be quite like him to claim a failure, and might not the real jewels
be safely concealed somewhere? But after much thought, and
examination of the pros and cons, I could hardly believe Keen
Johnny had lied to me. If he had secured the real diamonds
would not his knowledge of their place of concealment have
been a weapon in his hands?
After all, I found it hardest to believe Mrs. Doverfields capa-
ble of playing a double part—of plotting against her husband,
perhaps. It was useless to call on Mrs. Doverfields on Sunday,
for her husband would be with her on that day, and I had no de-
sire to see him, then.
As I set forth on Monday morning to confront Mrs. Dover-
fields, I felt quite secure of finding her husband out when I rang
at the door, but I asked for him, in order to be assured that he
was absent, before sending up my name to her. Nearly a week
had passed since the robbery, and I knew, from Doctor Bird,
(111)


I 12 THE DOVERI ELDS' DIAMONDS
that the lady had almost entirely recovered from her nervous
attack; reassured, doubtless, I thought, by the meagerness of my
reports, and by my repeated assertions to her husband, that the
case was a very difficult one, and that I had small hope of soon
reclaiming the diamonds. I had meant, of course, the real ones.
I had written upon the card which I had sent up to Mrs. Dover-
fields, “My business is with you, and is important,” and I was not
surprised when asked to go up to her sitting room. As I en-
tered the room, the maid was drawing down the softly tinted
window shades, and loosening over them the thin rosehued outer
draperies, which, thus adjusted, threw over the room a rosy gray
shadow, and softened the pallor of the woman, who, at that mo-
ment, entered by way of the curtained door, opposite the one
near which I stood. -
I had determined to make the interview as brief as possible,
and, having returned, respectfully, her rather haughty bow, as
soon as the maid had gone out by the door leading to the corri-
dor, and had closed it softly, I began.
“My errand, Mrs. Doverfields, is to me an unpleasant one. I
have made some surprising discoveries, and, before I go further,
or make them known to others, I wish you to know their nature.
Will you listen to a brief report of my investigations, thus far, -
and—to my conclusions?”
She bowed again, seated herself, motioned me to a chair, which
I did not take, and with her eyes upon my face, direct and dis-
concerting, she said coldly, “Go on.”
“I have taught myself to be a close observer,” I said, “and
while here for the first time, I could not help noting, first, that
you were much disturbed by this robbery; next, that you did not
follow it up with enthusiasm; and, finally, that you seemed actu-
ally to be endeavoring to keep back helpful evidence, or what
might prove such.”
“Sir p.
“If I am wrong, madam, I apologize most humbly. I must give
you my impressions, in order that you may follow me. I speak,
for instance, of your hesitancy, and seeming inability to describe
accurately your own jewels—”
“They were—so many "
“In spite—” I went on, “of the fact that you wrote, with your
own hand, the list and description. I do not want to make a
mystery of my part in this business, and I must tell you that Mr.


A WOMAN AT BAY I 13
Doverfields found and brought me this very comprehensive list;
and, also, that, later, he found, in your grate, proof that you had
destroyed the photograph of these jewels, —all save a fragment,
which he brought to me.”
She was sitting very erect now, her hands clasping the arms
of her cushioned chair, her lips white and set. All of the child
look was gone from her delicate, blanched face, but she did not
tremble, and her eyes met mile straight, firm, and clear. Some-
how, they disconcerted me, and, manlike, I hardened my heart
in consequence, as I went on.
“Your discharge of Josephine Bryce, at such a time, and for
any reason, surprised me most of all, and puzzled me greatly.
I sought for this girl at once, and—I found her!”
“Ah !”
“From her, and from another, I learned that you sent her away
knowing, or believing, that she was concerned in the robbery.”
. “Was she not?” quickly.
“As an innocent tool, no more. When it was over she
guessed that her so called lover was a burglar, and that the man
who had slipped past her in the darkness, and who, she was led
to believe, was only a shadow born of her imagination, was an-
other thief, and she left this place in mortal terror of arrest.
She did not guess that he was, like herself, only a tool who en-
tered only that she might hear him go out the next moment,
leaving her lover inside.”
“And yet—you found her—it seems—readily.”
“It is my business to find people, Mrs. Doverfields! I have
also found the man who stole your—property—” she started,
and her eyes questioned mine, but she did not speak. “And he
has found, to his cost, that instead of stealing jewels of value,
he has risked a prison for the sake of a beautiful collection of
paste, set in imitation of the Doverfields jewels. Shall I give
you the details, Mrs. Doverfields?”
She shook her head and slowly arose. Now that the crisis
had come, this small, pale, delicate woman was self controlled,
and, seemingly strong. “So,” she said, “you have, it seems,
stumbled upon the robber, or one of them—or is it only some
cheap thief who, having nothing to lose sits in his cell and seeks
to manufacture for himself a bit of notoriety as a diamond rob-
ber. And you, sir, presume to come to me with this—tale of
false jewels! False-paste! And do you think me a woman


II.4 THE DOVERFIELDS DIAMONDS
who would wear, or mourn over paste jewels? The Dover-
fields diamonds are too well known to be thus copied—parodied.”
She swung herself about until, with her back squarely toward
me, she was moving toward the door, her head haughtily erect,
her hand extended to reach the bell.
“Madam,” I suggested, mildly, “are you willing to confront
this man? I am personally convinced that he was in your room
on last Tuesday night.” -
, “I” she faced me again with scorn upon her lip. She seemed
to grow taller while she looked me straight in the eye. “You
ask me to meet this jail bird? This weaver of melodrama? As-
suredly, I will not!”
For a moment our eyes met, and while I think mine did not
falter, or show the growing indecision that was fast entering my
mind, neither did hers waver or express doubt. But—after a
moment's thought, the haughtiness gradually changed to cold
courtesy, she let the half upraised hand fall, and moved a step
away from the door.
“Mr. Jasper,” and now her tone and look was that of a queen,
who, while aware of her subject's offense was yet minded to be
loftily and indifferently lenient, “I know that you are looked upon
as a man of unerring judgment, in affairs of doubt and mystery.
My husband believes in you fully, and I also know that your so-
cial position is unassailable. I have allowed myself, for the mo-
ment, to forget that you are here with my consent, and at my
desire, to help solve this strange robbery. But you can
scarcely wonder that what you have just said has aroused feel-
ings I should have held in control, and I must beg you to con-
sider! Put yourself, if possible, for a moment, in my place!
I am not fond of publicity and vulgar gossip, and yet I am, and
have been for days, suffering the humiliation, not alone of being
the subject of gossip, both in the newspapers and in society, but
of feeling that because of my own heedlessness, I have exposed
myself to danger, and my own and my husband's property to
theft and utter loss.”
“Not utter loss, let us hope!”
She waved her hand impatiently. “I have no such hope, and
the fact that the robbers have taken this course, in order to se-
cure for themselves a lighter sentence, and would add insult to
injury by declaring to the world that the jewels they have robbed
me of are paste, shows how helpless is our effort to regain them.”
"Pardon me—just a word—there is no desire,—on my own


A WOMAN AT BAY II5
part, nor on that of Keen Johnny Deegan, to make this state-
ment public. Quite the contrary. The man shows actual cha-
grin, and quite dreads the possibility of his mis-hit, as he calls
it, becoming known These people have their standards,—rather
peculiar ones, ’tis true,—and he would be loath to lose his title,
a title of honor, as viewed by the under world.” -
“Keen Johnny! Mr. Jasper, this man is keen He knows that, as
between what you call his mis-hit, and the theft of many and val-
uable diamonds, the former will receive the lesser punishment;
and, when this fellow emerges from a year or two of seclusion,
and the jewels are in his hands once more, whose then will be
the blunder?” She looked into my eyes long and earnestly, and
all the anger had gone from her as she said, almost plaintively,
“Mr. Jasper, how could you—a man of your acknowledged acu-
men—be deceived by this truly keen criminal? Great heavens !
His word against mine! And I—" her face growing cold again,
“I am permitting you to accuse me! To bring the unsupported
word of a criminal against that of a loyal wife, a woman with an
unspotted name!” Suddenly she stiffened and stood erect before
me. “Mr. Jasper, allow me to terminate this interview. In
listening to you, I am wronging myself, and, still more my hus-
band, who would never allow you to—”
“Madam,” I came so close that I could have touched her hand,
and my own face must have hardened, for I was almost certain
that a slight tremor passed over her, but her look did not change,
and her eyes still met mine coldly, indifferently. It seemed to
me then, and after, that never from any pair of eyes had I met
a more open, a more direct and fearless gaze. “For your own
sake, madam, allow me to make a further statement.”
She stirred impatiently,–then, as if holding back a haughty
impulse, by a strong mental effort, she bowed slightly. “Begin,”
she said, as glancing behind her she took a backward step, and,
sweeping aside her trailing draperies with one slender hand,
sank into the chair that was nearest her. “I must not forget that
you are trying to do a duty—” she said, with a touch of for-
bearance in voice and movement. “Take that chair, Mr. Jasper.”
I bowed, but did not seat myself. Instead, I again placed my-
self opposite her, still standing, and in the moment of silence
that followed, a hundred thoughts, doubts, possibilities, flitted
through my mind. For a moment, I doubted myself, and dis-
trusted my most carefully thought out reasonings and deduc-
tions,


CHAPTER XVII.
MY WATERLOO.
I knew the danger of circumstantial evidence; and could
see the possibilities on both sides. Looking into Ara Doverfields'
pale, beautiful face, and in her clear eyes, that never hesitated
to meet my own, I asked myself how it could be possible! Could
it be possible that this fair woman of untarnished fame had been
deceiving and tricking her husband and conniving with crim-
inals? And yet— the pages of my “beauty book,” arose before
my mind's eye and I stiffened and threw back my head.
"If I have been over zealous, and it is proved that I am
doing you an injustice, Madam, I shall suffer more from such a
mistake then can you; and I ask you to consider, however this
affair may end, that while striving to serve your husband, I have
come to you in his absence that you may hear what I have done
and discovered. And—it may rest with you in the end to say
how much, if any, further—this that I am about to tell you,
—shall go. Believe me, I shall wish to stand between yourself
and all publicity, when possible.”
With her fine eyes still fixed upon my face, and with just
the least scornful curl of the short curved upper lip, she said,
“Go on, if you please.”
“I happen to know, what many do not. That there is in this
city at least one artist in sham jewels. His name is Gensen-
berg—” I paused to note the effect of my words, but she did not
stir so much as an eyelid. “If this woman is acting,” I assured
myself, “she is a royal actress.” I rapidly described to her my
visit to the maker of paste jewels, and again paused.
“Have you done?” She asked in the clearest of icy tones.
Was she trying to exasperate me? If so, she had almost
succeeded. “Not quite,” I replied. “On the morning of the
day before the robbery, your bankers received a note warning
them that said robbery was in contemplation; and, after some
consultation, they sent Mr. Doverfields a letter of warning, ad-
(116)


MY WATERLOO 117
dressing it to this house. That warning, I have reason to be-
lieve, never reached your husband.”
“Ah!” Suddenly her tense attitude and her icy tone relaxed,
and a look of actual relief overspread her face. “At last,” she
said, “you are saying something that I can comprehend, can
reply to ! And, Mr. Jasper, pray be assured that wherein I am
able to explain, I will—and most gladly. After all, it is very sim-
ple! Understand, pray, that I do not seek to defend my course;
I see most clearly, now, how weak I have been in my desire to
spare Mr. Doverfields any needless annoyance.”
“Needless?”
“I thought it so then. Try to see it as I did! I had withdrawn
the jewels to wear that night, and the letter came after he had
gone for the day. He came home late, –we had guests at din-
ner, and I had scarcely a moment alone with him. Besides, I
knew how uneasy this letter would make him, not so much be-
cause of the jewels, as about me. It is less than a year since
one of our young society women was attacked in her own car-
riage while returning from the theatre—you remember it.”
“You refer to the Unwin robbery?”
“Yes. I felt sure that this letter, if shown him, would spoil
his evening. I felt that the jewels would be quite safe upon my
person, and next day they would be returned to the vault. I was
wrong, Mr. Jasper, I admit it. But I could not bear to have
my husband spend a long evening standing guard over me and
those jewels. He is so kind and so easily made anxious,” here
her voice sank to a gentle, trembling cadence, that was full of
pathos. “To be quite frank,” she went on, “I thought less of the
jewels and their safety, and more, much more, of my husband's
ease of mind! He has had so many business worries, of late;
and I have been made most anxious because of his anxiety.
“Next morning,” she went on, an early message from his sec-
retary called him down town before I was awake. He left me
a note of explanation, and he did not return at the luncheon
hour, although I sent the carriage for him. I knew by this
that he was still troubled by those western land difficulties, and
so, saying to myself that I would only add to his annoyance by
giving him this silly note from the bank, I flung it into the grate.”
She sighed softly, and resumed; “Then came the robbery, and
I was horror stricken at what I had done. All that day he had
been preoccupied, and so therefore was I. I scarcely gave a


II8 THE DOVERFIELDS DIAMONDS
thought to the case of jewels lying locked in the double drawer
of my dressing case. I am considered, I believe, a normally
sane and sensible creature, but here I behaved like a frightened
child. I had retired that night, leaving my door unlocked, as I
often did when he was out late, in the hope that he might drop
in for a few moment's talk, a good night word, at least, and when
my maid aroused me next morning to tell me of the robbery, a
dozen things rose up to terrify and condemn me. I recalled how
I had gone down to see the cook and had passed someone lurk-
ing near the stairway, and close to the area door. I was quite
certain that it was the girl Josephine, and, in my selfish preoc-
cupation, had paid no heed, although it was against the rules
of the servant's hall to loiter thus so late. But when the alarm
was given, I thought of her, and found by inquiry, that it was
not one of our own people, but a stranger, who was with her,
near the area door, so I went, in a flash of anger, and dismissed
the girl, as if by that means I was condoning, or trying to repair
my other blunders! I dare say that my anxiety and qualms of
conscience made me seem to you a worthy object of suspicion,
but—to be accused of even worse, of actual guilt—conspiracy-
to be accused upon the false witness of a thief and burglar!”
She turned her face away for the first time.
Rising, she exclaimed with new spirit, “Mr. Jasper, do you
not see how this man's story must work in his favor—to mitigate
his sentence—to steal sham jewels is surely a lesser crime, than
to rob one of many costly real ones. And this man, this maker
of paste diamonds, it is not more than likely that he is in the plot
a—a fence, as you call it? The receiver, perhaps of my
precious jewels, and the sharer to be, in the final division of
the spoils? You must do your duty, of course, whatever the out-
come, and you are trying to do it now ! I believe this, still—
I do find it hard, Mr. Jasper, to forgive what you have said
this morning!” *
She was standing very erect once more, but I could see that
her hands were trembling. I looked—and hesitated. Whether
this were sincerity, or splendid acting, I felt myself worsted; and
turning, took my hat. As I moved toward the door, I saw her
eyes widen, and she came a step after me.
“What,” she asked, almost too quietly, “do you intend to do
—now P”
“I intend to say nothing to your husband, of all this, until I


MY WATERLOO 119
am sure of my ground! And—I intend to find your gems, sham
or real, wherever they may be.” And then, for the first time I
saw doubt,-uncertainty, anxiety, look out from her beautiful
eyes and quiver across her face. She drew back step by step, and
her hand went out with a groping movement until she touched
the tall chair she had so lately occupied, like a queen judging
her subject.
“It is very—complicated—” she said hesitatingly. “I shall
wish to be—to seem frank—” she caught herself, and shot me
an eager, questioning glance; her face crimsoned, her lip quiv-
ering, but I was earnestly consulting my watch, and as I replac-
ed it with a preoccupied air, I saw for an instant, the mask fall
from her face—. And I knew ! She had fought splendidly, but
she was a woman, delicate, with nerves overtaxed doubtless,
to the point of breaking.
But how she played with me! and how much she had already
wrung from me, by way of concession. Well, the honors were
hers, but she should not be self deceived for this reason. As she
now sat before me the stately and defiant calm was gone, replac-
ed by little nervous movements of the hands and head and roving
eye no longer strong, and direct of gaze.
Again I lifted my hat from the chair beside me, as I said,
lowering my voice almost to a whisper, “I have given you my
promise—in a way, and I shall abide by it, Mrs Doverfields,
nothing could induce me to tell your husband the things I
know—now—without the explanation you only can give. There
was no crime in duplicating your own jewels. But, until I know
—from you or by a more laborious method, why you suppressed
that warning from the bank, why you permitted Keen Johnny
to steal your sham jewels—”
“Per—mitted !”
“Mrs. Doverfields, after my first visit to this house, I called
upon Dr. Bird, and from him learned—several things; among
them, that you were at all times a light sleeper; I also discovered,
during that first visit, that to open the jewel drawer without a
sound was an impossibility, even though the metal and the inner
edges of the wood had been recently oiled. Again—the key to
that drawer—as I have before stated, was put where it was
found next morning. These are strong statements, but, such
as they are, I intend to keep them before me while I, silently,
pursue my search.”
5.


I2O THE DOVERFIELDS DIAMONDS
“You say—silently?”
“I do. I should like to tell your husband the story, Keen
Johnny's story, at least, but I have promised you silence for the
present. When I have solved the riddle, then—”
“You will speak—” she whispered. “But, -you have far to
O.”
“Possibly, still as far as I have gone every link seems to fit.
I lack one thing, however; one thing of importance.”
“And that is—”
“A motive. On your part.”
“Ah indeed,” she smiled a little frosty smile, as if in a last
effort at defiance; and then—she came close to me, and again
looked me firmly in the face.
“You were right in saying that there must be a strong motive
to induce a woman to do, as in your opinion, I have done. And
for her to tell you or any other, that motive would render all
her trickery, deceit, and self-contempt, of no avail! I have
nothing to tell you! I repent of nothing that I have done!”
“But—have you thought of your husband, and the future!”
“Have I?” How her eyes glowed. “Be sure that I think of
no one else,” she cried. When do I not think of him And
yet, before I would open my lips I would let you tell him all
and I would go out of his home, and never see him again! Let
us end this conversation, Mr. Jasper. My husband may return
at any moment.” -
I looked at her in wonder, and doubt. She was drawn to her
fullest height, her head was again thrown back, and once more,
her eyes met mine in scornful defiance.
“Mrs. Doverfields,” I exclaimed, “I beg that you will confide
in me! I am not, I do not wish to seem, an enemy! If your
secret is one that should be kept, guarded, I will help you. I—”
“It is not my secret,” she cried, as if goaded out of herself.
“If there is a secret, it is another's and—” I threw up my
hand to stop her wild words, but they came, clear, distinct, and
firm, in spite of my gesture, and my warning look, “and I will
keep it, guard it, if it costs me my home and –my husband'"
“Ara!” She turned swiftly at the word, and there in the
doorway, holding back the light silken draperies, stood Austin
DOverfields.
For a moment she stood gazing at him, statue like, then, with
the cry, “Austin!” falling brokenly from her lips, she reeled,


MY WATERLOO 121
clutched at the empty air, and was caught in her husband's arms.
Early that evening, I received a note from Mr. Doverfields.
“My wife,” it said, “is very ill, and is muttering and saying
strange things, which no one can understand. God forgive me,
if now that the first shock and terror is over, my mind reverts
to those last words from her lips, and that strange warning ges-
ture of yours. Will you, can you explain? And so silence
the hateful thoughts that torment me? My wife, the Doctor
says, must have absolute quiet; her life depends upon it.”
To this I replied, like a hypocrite; for I could not accuse a
woman not yet proven guilty, and who was, perhaps dying.
“Dear Sir:” I wrote,
“This morning I asked at the door for you, and in your ab-
sence sent my card to Mrs. Doverfields. I tried to review a few
points of your case as they appeared to me, and she seemed not
quite as usual. In fact was very strange from the first. Then some-
thing I said was taken by her as an accusation; her eyes flashed
and I saw that she was much excited. I suppose her illness was
working upon her then, for when I tried to reason mildly she
began, as you heard, and my efforts to check her wild words
seemed to make her talk the more. I deeply regret that my call
was made at such an inopportune time, and until I hear from you
that all is well, will pursue my investigation without a report.
Yours,
- JASPER”
It was a lame effort, but my wits seemed to have forsaken me,
and I could pen no more facile subterfuge,


CHAPTER XVIII.
KEEN JOHNNY REVIEWS MATTERS.
To say that my morning's experience with Mrs. Doverfields
was unsatisfactory, would be to put the situation very mildly,
for I walked away from that stately home of mystery almost
dazed by the interview, and its results. I had looked for a very
different issue.
While I might have doubted Keen Johnny's unsupported dec-
larations as to the quality of the stolen jewels, I knew the man
Gensenberg to be an honest artisan, in spite of the rather doubt-
ful quality of his manufactures; for, while he dealt in shams,
he sold them as such. As for Mrs. Doverfields' suggestion that
he was in collusion with Keen Johnny Deegan, I knew that to be
absurd. The man sold shams, and he sometimes did a little bus-
iness as an aside, in the way of loaning money, but as for Herr
Gensenberg in the character of receiver of stolen goods, or one
who traffics with double characters, I smiled at the thought. I
had good reason to smile.
At the beginning of our interview, it had seemed impossible
to doubt, or question, with that clear, direct beautiful gaze fixed
fully upon me, but I had trained myself to study, not alone the
face, but every movement of body, to note the signals of ner-
vousness, and at what stage of the discussion, or inquiry, these
appeared. -
I had called upon the lady prepared to make due allowance
for circumstantial evidence; as for Deegan's admission that he
had entered the Doverfields' house through the ignorance and
gullibility of Josephine Bryce, I had her corroborative evidence;
and his statement as to the jewels, would have had little weight
without the additional testimony of the old artist in paste. But
while I could not wholly exonerate Mrs. Doverfields, I was quite
willing, even anxious, to believe that the paste copies had been
prepared as a matter of protection; and that there might be some
reason—financial probably—for allowing the theft of the paste
jewels to seem more serious than it was in reality. The lady
had property of her own, controlled, as I learned, by her own
(122)


KEEN JOHNNY REVIEWS MATTERS 123
man of business. Might not the real gems have been hypothe-
cated for—a little flutter in the street,-perhaps?
This was the brighter of the two possibilities I had been con-
sidering. Then, there was the circumstantial evidence; and that
wore a more gloomy aspect, as Mrs. Doverfields had cer-
tainly had the paste duplicates prepared, and she had, after re-
moving them—if it were the duplicates that had been stored in
the bank—received a letter stating that their removal was known,
and that a plot was afoot to rob her.
This letter, according to her own assertion, she had destroyed,
without making its contents known to her husband; and she had
made no effort to keep the suppressed jewels as safely as possible
in her possession.
Indeed she had left her door unlocked, and the key of the jewel
drawer in it. On the morning after the robbery, she had hastened
to dismiss a servant, who, on the previous evening she had not
seemed to observe, as being worthy of suspicion. Was ever a
stranger case? And this was not all.
When I had attempted to investigate she had hampered my
work. Having sent for me, according to her husband's state-
ment, she could give only vague answers to pertinent questions;
she could give no full description of the lost diamonds, and no
clue to the list of them, and she knew nothing of the photograph,
supposed to have been taken as a precaution against loss like
the present. All of this I knew, and it had been written in my
note book hours before I had visited Mrs. Doverfields.
And yet—I assured myself, with the smart of self-contempt,-
at the beginning of that morning's interview, I was ready to
admit extenuating circumstances. I looked for, hoped for them.
A little later I was wavering between doubt—and sympathy, and
quite lost in admiration. It was only when at the last, she had
lost her splendid nerve and let the mask fall, that I came to my
senses, after I had committed myself to silence. She had been
an actress indeed! A magnificent actress, but it would re-
quired the strength of an Amazon, to endure the nervous strain
she had labored under and not go to pieces, sooner or later.
She had tricked me, at first. She had broken down and given
up at the last. For me this unequal battle of words and wits,
had been a veritable Waterloo ! -
But there had been no acting at the last. The hauteur, scorn,
and hurt dignity, all had been acting.—But that last passionate
outbreak, half appeal, half defiance; that had been the real woman.
And when she had fallen, deathly pale, and with that look as of


124 THE DOVERFIELDS DIAMONDS
one mortally stricken, to be caught in her husband's arms, I
knew that, for a time, there could be no more acting. And I
feared, as in leaving the house I heard the shrill telephone call
for Doctor Bird, that now the case lay for its settlement, between
life and death.
And yet, so strong is the ruling passion, that after driving
half way to my office, I called up to my cabman, and instructed
him to drive to the jail, where without delay I was admitted to
the cell of Keen Johnny Deegan.
It had only now occured to me that something, of importance
as I looked at it now, had been omitted from his story by Johnny,
and overlooked, by myself. I was in no mood for parley, and
came at once to the point.
“Deegan, I was preoccupied on Saturday, and there 's a ques-
tion or two I think you won't mind answering. That is, if you
really had no confederate inside the Doverfields' house, but the
girl Josephine.”
“Lord save a man! How could I have another among that
straight-laced crew? Had n’t we sounded the servants, one
after another, and watched 'em for two months, before we finally
pulled off the job?”
“Did it ever occur to you that the lady herself might be sus-
pected—by some?”
“What rot!” Then, with sudden change of tone. “By Jove!
—you mean if it comes out that the stuff was all paste. Mm—m
—I—see!”
“Kindly enlarge my vision then.”
“By—! Ye see, boss, I have figured it all along that that
handsome lady never guessed she had been wearing paste; and
that the old gent had needed the real stones some day, and when
Madam was out at a pink tea, or a gabble party, had just swapped
the shams for the real. Diamonds, ye know, would often be as
good as gold in his business. Wish’t it had been so in mine!
But I guess I can see through a rat-hole now!”
“Well ?”
“Say—what was yer question, boss? Don't let me git ye off
the track.” And Johnny grinned amiably.
“I won't. Johnny you did not tell me whether or no you
waked the lady when you opened that drawer. I need not tell
you that it could not be opened without a little noise?”
Johnny's grin widened. “Did ye also take note,” he ques-


KEEN JOHNNY REVIEWS MATTERS I25
tioned, “that the machinery, even to the woodwork, had been sort
of slicked up, as it were?”
I nodded, “Come,” I said insistently. “Did you waken the
lady?”
“I’m afraid I did—a little. Ye see I had been fearin’ somethin'
might spring loose on me, an’ when that little drawer let out a
real squeak I looked, swift like, over my shoulder. Gee! but it
was a startler for me! Her eyes were wide open an lookin' straight
at me, and then, while I still kept starin’ she quietly closed 'em
agin without a move, or a sound. My soul, Mr. Jasper, that
little thorobred must a knowed about the paste deal, and prob'ly
was laughin’ in her sleeve all the time. Gosh! but that was
nerve l’’
“Did you ever think that she might have been expecting you?”
“Huh !” Evidently, I had awakened some new thought in
his mind, or memory, and I added, “Did you know that someone
was good enough to warn the bank that the withdrawal of the
Doverfields’ diamonds was known, and that this letter was sent
to Mrs. D—?”
“NO—when P”
“The day the deed was done.”
“Before?”
“Before.”
“I—see!” he whistled softly. “How things do come out!
You see I wrote that note as a bit of brag, meaning to post it
the minute the job was pulled off, and I thought I had it in a safe
pocket, ready to drop into the first handy letter-box. But when
I looked for it, the thing was gone, and I at once jumped to
the conclusion that it had been dragged from my pocket when
I was takin’ out somethin’ else—those things will happen some-
times—and as the job went off so smartly I said to myself, ‘any-
way, it was lost too late to help the other party and will be re-
ceived at the bank too late, if found by any honest person, just
as I had meant it.’”
Johnny was now in his most amiable mood, and I felt hopeful
for the success of my next effort. I pulled my chair, the only
one in the cell, close to the cot where he lounged, and spoke in
subdued tones, “Deegan, I want to talk business with you.”
“Business?” he grinned amiably, and awaited my lead.
“Strict business. I won't waste my time—and yours—”
“Crinkly Moses! but that 's good of you! You can't think


I26 THE DOVERFIELDS DIAMONDS
how I hate to have my time wasted. It 's that that 's botherin'
me, right now !”
I smiled to humor his mood. “Will you answer a few more
questions, Johnny?” I asked.
“Depends! Sometimes questions are compromisin'.”
“You mean answers.”
“Huh ! I clean forgot you was double barrelled—a lawyer 's
well as sleuth! It's the same thing, anyhow.”
“Deegan, if you call me sleuth, I shall cut your acquaintance.”
“M—yah! Well, would n’t that jar you! Cruel too, an’ me so
lonesome! All right, Cap' I'll consider you a lawyer. Wish 't
you was my lawyer !” *
“It's not impossible that I might be your adviser, Johnny. I
want a favor of you, and I know you ’re not the man to throw
away favors.”
“’Specially to your sort hey?” It was wonderful to see the
change that suddenly blotted out the carelessly seeming, chaffing
person of a moment since, leaving in its stead, a sedate firm
lipped, sphinx faced individual, looking ten years older, and, in
spite of a slight and boyish figure, quite formidable. With two
keen blue eyes fixed upon my face he waited, then after a mo-
ment, “I’m listenin'!” he almost snapped.
I pushed back my chair a trifle, and put my hand in the side
pocket of my sack coat,-Deegan was as strong and agile as a
Jap, and I was about to probe him in a very tender spot.
“I presume you have not forgotten the Frieble case, eh?”
He frowned. “I remember it all right,” he said coldly, “but
—’t aint interestin’.”
“I think I can make it so, Deegan.”
No answer. “It’s been a decided puzzle to the police.”
“SO ?”
“But, somehow, I fancy they have lost interest in it.”
“Frieble was n’t a man to feel much interest in A wife
beater, so I’ve heard,” commented Johnny.
“Yes, and a man willing to sell his own daughter—for money.”
Deegan ground an oath between his teeth.
“Even the search for the missing daughter has ceased, I hear.
in spite of Frieble's offered reward.” Silence. “Still, of course,
if found she must be restored to her parents. She 's under age,
you know.”


KEEN JOHNNY REVIEWS MATTERS 127
Suddenly the tiger in the fellow broke its leash. He sprang
up and stood before me with fury in his eyes.
“Curse you! What in Hell you drivin' at?”
“Don’t excite yourself, Deegan I wonder if you know that
she ’s been found.”
“G-r-r !”
“And can easily be restored to her fond parents?”
“You—cursed—cur !”
I had expected it, and the hand in my pocket came out in a
flash; a little pistol lay in the palm. “Sit down, Deegan,” I said
calmly. “Oh, you need n’t look that way; I shall not call a jailor!
I 'm here to deal with you!” The fellow knew when he was
beaten. He dropped back upon the cot, but his frown was still
black.
“Any man that would take that girl back to that big beast—
no matter where he found her, 's a worse man than I 've ever
dared be! I'm likely to die with my boots on, but I can hold
up my head an’ say with my last gasp, that I’ve never hurt a
woman, nor done wrong by one that trusted me! You ’d better
get on,” he added sourly. “I spose you ’ve sleuthed her out in
order to put the crimp on me, in this cussed false jewel deal |
What the h– d’ ye want, anyhow?”
“I want you to get back into your senses, first of all,” I de-
clared, “and then I want you to listen to me. No, I did not
‘sleuth’ the young woman. I came upon her by purest accident,
weeks ago, while I was looking for a gentleman friend’ in an
alley at the rear end of a certain tenement in Avenue A. I had
seen her picture—you know her father had them rather freely
displayed in the yellow journals at the time of her disappear-
ance.” -
“D–m him l’’
“With all my heart; and I think it will doubtless come to pass.”
“What! Ain't you in his pay, then?”
“Deegan, you are a fool! I quite agree with you when you
declare yourself a better man than that canting, wife bruising,
child selling Dutchman. And I would n’t help him to find his
daughter any more than you would.”
“Gee!” Deegan's face was slowly relaxing.
“Because—I think she is in good and safe hands.” Again I
drew toward him, and assumed a milder tone. “Deegan, in this
matter of the girl, I'm your friend—until I find myself mistaken


I28 THE DOVERFIELDS DIAMONDS
in you. And I 'm telling you this to prove it. Wait,” as he
seemed about to speak. “Let me tell you the circumstances.
When I saw the girl, and thought I recognized her, I tested the
matter by calling her name, Lizzie. She looked out, and up
and down—she could only see my shoulders, as I stood—and
presently she called, just above her breath, Johnny!' And then,
in an eager, tremulous tone, ‘Oh, Mrs. Deegan ' I did n’t think
much of the matter then, only to be glad the girl seemed to be
in decent hands—”
“She is that.”
“But later,” glancing at him with a significant smile, “I had
reason to recall these things.”
“After you’d found me hoppled !”
“Just so. And now we come to the point. Johnny, I think
you must know, the man in you must tell you, that this young
girl will never come to harm or trouble through me! No matter
how this talk of ours turns out. But—I want from you, now, as
man to man, favor for favor.” *
“All right! I’m right in position to grant big favors. Name
yours and—if it won’t let me in—”
“It won't! I simply want those paste diamonds you took from
Mrs. Doverfields.” I was careful not to qualify his statement of
the robbery by a doubtful “you say.” But Deegan's face clouded
agal11.
£ve n’t got 'em,” he declared.
“Strange! What I want to know is, who has?”
“Huh ! Anything else?”
“Yes, I want your written order for those shams.”
Deegan shook his head, and I got upon my feet. “I’m rather
sorry, Deegan,” I said, with all the indifference I could feign.
You might have saved me a little trouble, such as getting out a
search warrant, for instance. And—I was even prepared to
pay a little for the lot,—their value, say.”
“Value ! Huh !”
“I know it, to a penny.”
“Who’s the search warrant to bluff?”
“The premises of Mrs. Deegan, and Miss Lizzie Frieble.”
He swore softly, and I set my hat firmly upon my head and
drew back a pace, then putting just the right touch of contempt
into my voice, I delivered myself of my well studied climax; for
I had guessed pretty accurately the outcome of my interview.


130 THE DOVERFIELDS DIAMONDS
“As I have already said, I did not care a rap for old man
Frieble, who was once sent up, for a time, for abusing his girl's
dead mother. As for the money you took, well—it was told at
the time of his first wife's death, and his trial, that all the old
man claimed, was, or had been, hers! You see, the howlings of
the wronged couple had told me that you were Lizzie's lover.”
“Give it to me!” said Johnny, holding out his hand for the
picture. But I put it behind my back.
“Give me the order,” I demanded, and then we faced each
other for a moment, in silence.
“It’s a proof of your presence there,” I declared. But, though
I felt that he was won, Johnny still obstinately shook his head.
"Not good enough,” he said gently. -
“Is that all?”
Here I produced a soiled yellow telegraph envelope, with his
name written across it. “I found this with the picture. It con-
tains a cipher message, that would interest the police.”
He swore softly. Then—“Got a pencil?” he asked.
I gave him my pencil, and a page from my note book, and he
began to write. Suddenly he looked up, the ingrained suspicion
of the crook in his eye.
“Put it there—the picture,” he demanded, nodding toward
his little table, upon which he had laid the bit of paper.
I crossed over and put the picture down before him, directly
upon the slip. “Take it” I said, and then dropped the cipher tel-
egram beside it. “There, my son, you 're safe from me,” I said.
For a moment he sat moveless, staring at the pictured face.
Then a slow red began to creep into his own, as he lifted it, and
looked me over from head to foot, as if I were an intricate and
new Chinese puzzle.
Then, once more, he took up the dropped pencil, and mur-
mured, as if to himself, “Well—if that wouldn't jar you!”
Presently he lifted the paper. “Not very well writ,” he observed,
“but they 'll know the fist, all safe. This do?” and he read
slowly,
“Miss Lizzie Frieble,
Dear Liz:—Please give bearer of this the packet marked with
three crosses, unopened. It 's safe! He 's my friend all right,
an' yours too, don't you forget it! Name, Jasper. Love to Mom.
Yrs.
* *
Johnny.”


KEEN JOHNNY REVIEWS MATTERS 131
He got up slowly with this missive in his hand, and stood
before me, a new look in his face. “Mr. Jasper,” he began,
“half a dozen times since you ’ve been in this room, I’ve had a
glimpse of a man! A square man, and my better in will and
wit! Many a time I've bragged to my mates that honesty and
fairness were just mere lack of opportunity, and only skin deep,
and that if ever I met, in my biz, a man I considered my superior,
not only in honesty, but in brains and wit, I'd knuckle to him,
knowin' I'd met my hoodoo ! I’ve met him! And when I get
out of this scrape, I'll—no, I won't make no promises—but if
you’ll let me, I'll come to you, and if I can ever do you a good
turn, count on it, sure! I mean it!” He looked down at his
right hand, and I promptly extended mine.
I was sure he meant it, then ; and I talked with him, direct
and business like, as if his sudden right about face was the
everyday thing; and when, at last, I turned to go, he surprised
me by asking with a sudden return of his dare devil grin—"I say,
you said there was two reasons why I could not raise on them
fake gems. What was the other one?”
I thought it well to humor him.
“Is it a confidence?” I questioned.
“Sure! Cross my heart.”
“Did you happen to think, my friend, when you found Mrs.
Doverfields' door unlocked, the key in the drawer, and the hin-
ges oiled, that she wanted to lose the fake gems?”
As I came away with the slip of paper in my hand, I did not
flatter myself that I had reformed or converted Keen Johnny
Deegan, but I hoped, almost against hope, that the girl whose
picture I had left in his possession, could do so.
As for the sham jewels, the only reason I then had for getting
them into my possession, was that I might add accurate knowl-
edge to the search I was always making wherever I saw a jewel
blaze, or shimmer. For I meant somehow, sometime, to find the
trail, at least, of the real Doverfields diamonds.


|
CHAPTER XIX.
A STAY OF PROCEEDINGS.
I had gone from my defeat at the Doverfields straight to my
interview with Keen Johnny, because, while I believed a talk
with Dr. Bird of vital importance, its value depended upon his
visit to Mrs. Doverfields, which, I felt assured, he would make
at once upon receiving the summons. Upon leaving the jail I
resolved to look after my office mail, partake of an early lunch-
eon, and then set out at once for the Doctor's up town office.
But this seemed a day of unexpected happenings, and as I
neared my office, I saw the Doctor fling his short, plump body
from his private cab, before its very door. His keen face was
toward me, as he touched the pavement; and he seemed to en-
counter my eyes, and gesture, on the instant.
As I approachd him, I noted the preoccupied look on his face,
and was not surprised to hear him say, as he put out his hand,
“Must talk with you at once, Jasper; lunched yet?” I shook
my head. “Jump in then | We'll go to that French place just
off Broadway. It's near, and my time is short l”
I sprang into the cab, not even waiting for him to enter first.
I was beginning to know this busy and kindly man, who was
severe, often, because of that very kindliness.
Few words were exchanged until we were closeted in a little
cubicle, holding table, two chairs, and a wall hat rack, and then,
as soon as the waiter had gone out with our orders, he spoke,
and to the point. “Jasper, what have you done to Mrs. Dover-
fields?” I stared, but I knew it was not yet time to answer.
“That poor little woman must have received a tremenduous
shock!” he went on. “I found her insensible! and she remained
thus quite too long for safety.”
“Well?” I meant to know the worst, before I spoke of his
patient. -
“It is not well! She has not uttered a rational word since
she recovered from her collapse! The case is serious I tell you!”
“How serious? Do you mean to the point of danger?” Al-
ready my mind was made up. If Austin Doverfields wife died
(132)


A STAY OF PROCEEDINGS I33
from this seizure, no word of suspicion, no reflection upon her
fair fame, should become public if I could prevent it! And I
felt that, at that stage of affairs, I could. My influence would,
at least, reach thus far.
“Jasper,” the Doctor leaned toward me, “Ara Doverfields' life
lies in my hands—and yours! Her ravings, though vague, are
most strange! Already I have shut out her husband, and her
maid, and installed a trained nurse, upon whom I rely. But,
in order to do the case justice, I must know all that passed be-
tween you two today! Everything, mind! You were with her
for more than an hour, and—her maid tells me that when she
presented your card with some message written upon it, the
poor lady's face blanched, and she recovered herself by an evi-
dent effort.” He paused at my warning gesture, and I whistled
softly while the waiter arranged our luncheon before us. As
he was about to serve us the Doctor tossed him a bank note,
saying:
“Never mind the service old man, we're in haste! Just bring
in the coffee and cigars now, and then you may go. A doctor's
life,” he grumbled, as the man turned away, “is a dog's life, eh,
Jasper. I think I need not assure you,” he resumed, when we
were quit of the servant, “that you may trust me. You are a
specialist; so am I, and when—or if my patient recovers, your
way will be clear, so far as I am concerned. Think quickly,
man l’’
But I had thought, and decided, while he spoke. Leaving
my meal untasted, I reviewed briefly for him, the story of the
Doverfields' diamonds, rehearsing the scene of the morning, as
nearly as I could, word for word. At the conclusion—
“Wait,” I said. “Let me put a few questions, so that I may
know just where I stand, for I see clearly that this closes my
industry in the Doverfields case, until you give the word.”
His face cleared a little. “Do you mean to drop it?” he ques-
tioned. -
“I do not mean to pursue a possibly dying woman I shall
follow up certain inquiries, because they have gone too far, now,
for me to draw back; but the persons who are carrying on the
work know nothing of the motives behind it, know nothing of the
case in fact; but think they know that I am looking up a disputed
will case.”
“May I know where this inquiry leads?”
t


134 THE DOVERFIELDS' DIAMONDS
“Why not? since you know all the rest! You have heard of
old John Sibley?”
“Of course! The living parchment?”
“Exactly! I have set him to look up the family history of
Mrs. Ara Doverfields, and—her husband.”
“And—”
“And now I intend to turn his attention to the gentleman,
first. To reverse the order of his industry, in fact.”
A queer look crossed the Doctor's face. I could not quite
call it one of relief. “Why did you not come to me?” he grum-
bled. And then in answer to my questioning look, “I know some-
thing of Ara Doverfields' family, and a little of her husband's "
"All in good time;” I said, and then, laying a hand upon his
arm, “Doctor Bird, I have not only given you my confidence,
but I have determined to follow your advice.”
“My—advice?”
“Your advice, and now, I ask, in return, all you can tell me
of those two people.”
“Why,–of course—”
“But first I want your opinion, minus your personal preju-
dice.” *
“My—prejudice!”
“In favor of a lady, until this morning under suspicion of
knowing—a little too much about this robbery.”
“Come, come, Jasper—”
“Doctor this lady is your friend.”
“She is certainly not my enemy!”
“You formed a hasty opinion, when I first visited you; you
have seen the lady daily, since then. You are an observing man,
and here, today, you have heard the fuller story. I will not in-
sult your intelligence by asking if it has not modified your former
hasty, though quite natural opinion.” -
Doctor Bird drew his chair still closer, and then looked at his
watch. “Time presses,” he said briskly, “but, having gained
my own point I can't desert you now ! Yes, I have uttered my
view,-no, don’t begin to cross question It is now my duty
to be frank—like yourself, but don't think that I have lost faith
in little Ara Danton whom I have known from childhood to wife-
hood. To the present day, in fact. To know my patients has
always been my policy—and my practice.—They are not always
the same thing, as you may have observed.”
*


A STAY OF PROCEEDINGs 135
“Often.” ..
“As a child Ara Danton was honest and loyal to the verge of
quixotism, too sympathetic for her own comfort, and ready,
willing, and even determined to sacrifice herself, when possible,
for a friend at need; or even for a suffering animal, and she
has not changed with her growth.”
“She suppressed the letter from Cashier Nixon—”
“From the National Bank P” -
“Yes. We will say, too, that she was awake, for she is a
light sleeper, when your friend the burglar entered her room;
for a woman with quick wit, and sufficient courage, could even
control her nerves and muscles to that extent;—still—” with a
sly smile, “we have only the burglar's word for that, and it's
just possible, you know, that his eyes, and nerves, might have
played him a trick—eh?”
I nodded. The good Doctor should be humored to the full.
He was conceding much, and shattering, and with his own hand,
as I thought, one of his ideals in character.
“We will concede the worst, if you like,” he finished briskly,
and got up and pushed back his chair.
“Time ’s up really, Jasper, and here 's my position in a sentence.
Whatever Ara Doverfields has done, in connection with the jewel
problem, whatever she may know, and be concealing, all is done
from a good and pure motive! When the truth is known, if it
ever is, you may find others, perhaps, covered with guilt, but not
this woman! Look for the future, to the honor, the life, perhaps,
of some one near to her, if you would solve this riddle, but, for
the sake of a suffering self-sacrificing woman, do not prosecute
your search with bloodhounds, or a brass band l’” He took up his
hat, but I put out my hand.
“Not yet,” I said, “I am ready now, to ask for that inform-
ation.”
“Ask then—but be brief!”
“Mrs. Doverfields?” I saw a shadow cross his face, “are her
parents alive?”
“No.”
“Has she sisters or brothers?”
“A brother—only.”
“Where is he?”
“I do not know.”
“Tell me what you can of him.”


136 THE DOVERFIELDS DIAMONDS
“He is older than Ara. He did not like a business life. He
went South.”
“When and where?”
"To New Mexico, I think, ten years ago.”
“Ever been back?”
“Not to my knowledge.” -
“Do you think he may be concerned in this?”
"How can I tell?” Then, a trifle petulantly, “why don't you
begin nearer home?” I smiled.
“Thanks! I will,” I answered. “Doctor, how long have you
known Austin Doverfields?”
“Since he married Ara.”
“And you do not like him?”
“He’s an upright business man; all the city will tell you that!”
“H—m—m p
“I have never heard a whisper against him! But—damn it!
you know, don't you, that he has done some rather heavy plung-
ing of late? It was rumored, a few weeks ago, that his wife's
money helped him out. Anything more?”
“I think not. Th: "k you, Doctor l’’
“Then I’m off. I Dn't come! Stay and finish your lunch.”
“Thanks, I believe I will.” It was evident that he had enjoy-
ed quite enough of my company, and I let him go, and bolted a
few mouthfuls and then hastened back to my office, flung myself
down before my desk, and ran my eye over a little pile of letters.
Yes, it was there, the one for which I had looked with greatest in-
terest, and I pushed the others aside, and opened it with eager
fingers.
After my first interview with the Doverfields, I had visited
an old man living in a mean little cottage in Barclay street. He had
spent much of his life poring over records and all manner of
public and private documents, so that I had been glad to obtain
his services, and to set him the task of looking up the family
record of Mrs. Doverfields. I did not choose to make my object
too clear, even to this man of parchments, who never questioned,
or displayed the slightest interest in the work he did so patiently
and well. I had also requested a report of Austin Doverfields,
and of his family.
The document I drew forth from the long envelope, was vol-
uminous, and full of details. Having read the many pages, I
felt that I knew a little of the past of these two people; and


d A STAY OF PROCEEDINGS 137
much, all indeed, concerning the ramifications of the families
of Danton and Doverfields.
Briefly stated, and shorn of detail, Mrs. Doverfields’ story,
and that of the Danton family, was much as stated by Doctor
Bird. Not a large family, it would seem, and soon accounted
for. Austin Doverfields' people had been rather numerous a
century ago, but my agent had begun very wisely, as it turned
out, with the grandfather of the present wearer of the name
“Austin D—the Ist,” as my little old man had called him. His
wife had been one Anna Fitzray, only daughter of a wealthy
Southern planter, who, it seemed, had not confined his commer-
cial energies to cotton planting, but had invested wisely, both
North and South, so that at the death of Anna Fitzray Dover-
fields, there was a fine fortune, large enough to divide between
her two sons, Austin, the eldest, and the father of my patron of
the present, and Eugene, the mother's youngest, and her favorite.
It was because of this favoritism probably, that “grandmother
A. F. D.” to quote again from my scribe, gave the home plantation,
in Kentucky, and much fine bottom land, to Eugene, and some
stocks, and real estate in the North, to Austin, the 2nd. It was the
property in the North that had descended to the present Austin,
and in his hands it had formed the nucleus for a still greater for-
tune.
The son of Eugene Doverfields had also prospered, it was said,
up to a certain point; but he had sold the old plantation and
realized upon his other holdings, and had gone abroad to travel
and enjoy life, no doubt, some years since.
I pondered over this businesslike account of dead and gone
people and their heirs, and then began to write, swiftly, concise-
ly, and at considerable length. My old searcher of parchments
preferred a written to a spoken order. It was apt to be more
compact and more complete, he said. But while I wrote swiftly,
I paused for thought between the sentences; and in one of these
pauses I heard Roy Craig's step pass my door as he entered his
office. Half an hour later, with my letter in my hand, for it
was my habit to see letters of this nature into the post box, I
knocked at Craig's door, and then entered, according to our in-
variable ceremony.
Craig was wedded to the typewriter, and he was thrusting a
big creamy envelope into the machine when I entered.
“Hello, Ken!” he called over his shoulder, “shut the door and


138 THE DOVERFIELDS DIAMONDS
sit light for just a moment. I'm finishing—” thump, thump,-
“with this.” Thump. He swung half around, and began to fold
and enclose sheet after sheet, until four letters of unusual length
for business documents, had been placed in their respective envel-
opes, after which he opened a drawer, found and placed the
stamps, and tossed them down at his elbow.
“Going out?” he questioned, as he swung fully toward me at
last.
“Only as far as the corner,” holding up my own letter, and
then, by one of those sudden impulses that sometimes possess
us, to the overturning of our preconceived ideas or determin-
ations, I asked—
“Roy, how much do you know of Austin Doverfields?”
Craig, who had been putting his letters together in a neat
little pile, looked up and smiled quizzically. “Still harping on
the DOverfields’ diamonds?” he asked.
I had not meant to do it. I had entered his presence with no
such intentions but, as I looked at my partner, and met his
shrewd, friendly gaze, the folly of my reticence seemed sudden-
ly borne in upon me, and I knew that I might never need his
help, his sound practical advice, more than at this moment; and
then I was sitting before him, knee to knee, and telling him the
precise situation of affairs, where Mrs. Doverfields was con-
cerned.
Craig was a man of few words, and when I had finished he
was silent for just a moment, then, “Have you made any move—
since leaving the Doctor?” he asked.
“Made it, not quite.”
“Planned it, then?”
“I have written to “Parchments,’” I replied, holding up the
letter.
“Instructing him—how?”
“To go into the detailed personal history of the Doverfields
for two generations.”
“Very good!”
“If, as Bird declares, Mrs. Doverfields may be ill for weeks
to come, there is ample time.”
“Meantime you—?”
“I shall not be idle! Craig, tell me, candidly, where, in your
opinion, Austin Doverfields stands in this case?” -
“I wish I could, Ken ' I want to think it over a little, but I’ll


A STAY OF PROCEEDINGS 130
say this now: I know the lady better by general reputation than
from social contact. I know him a little better, from a business
point of view. And I know this, Austin Doverfields, within the
past six weeks has been in sore need of a large sum of money,
has wanted it without delay, and with as little publicity as pos-
sible, and has obtained it—at the last moment—but from what
source no one seems to know.”
“Then it may be that the diamonds, the real ones, have gone
to help him in some straight, eh? And possibly they may both
be willing, be almost obliged to play a part —Is that your idea?”
“I have not gone so far as that, and I advise you not to hasten!
Think it over for twenty-four hours; there seems to be time.
But, Ken, don’t be too ready to eliminate the man from his
share, from a knowledge, at least, in this case.”
“I won't!” I declared with emphasis.
“And remember also, that the woman who is devoted to a hus-
band may also be ready to help an only brother, at need. Have
you—” but I tapped the letter still in my hand.
“I have thought of that,” I declared. “And it's about time
for the postman at the corner.” I put on my hat.
“Hold on, Ken,” Craig caught up the letters at his elbow,
“just drop these, along with your own little missive.”
As I stepped outside, the topmost letter in my hand caught
my attention. It was one of Craig's and I saw that it bore a
foreign stamp, and was addressed to one, Leon Savate, at which
I uttered a low whistle, for I knew this Leon Savate to be a
French spy of national fame. And then I deliberately glanced
at the others; all were directed to Paris, France. One to an
attorney, whose name I had often heard upon the lips of Craig.
The third letter was to a Captain of police, and the fourth—
to a woman. Suddenly, I recalled the queer half-smile upon my
friend's face when I took the letters from his hand, and then as
the letters slipped from my hand they slid also from my mind,
for during the day I had been acquiring a new and strong im-
pression. Three times since morning I had received from as
many people the same hint, “Look for a possible clue, and motive,
toward Austin Doverfields and his business ventures.”


CHAPTER XX.
DINNER AND DIPLOMACY.
The dinner at the Landis home that evening, was what might
have been expected from the point of view of luxury and good
taste.
The splendid drawing rooms were candle lit and softly shaded.
The library and conservatory were in a soft glow, while the can-
delabra illuminating the silver, gold and crystal of the dining
room, at once irradiated and softened fair faces, silken raiment
and rare jewels.
It was a small party, and it seemed a most congenial one.
The Captain was seated at his hostess’ right hand, while his sis-
ter sat opposite beside her stately host, who in matters social,
knew no law save that of his wife. Madam Devinne Barthelme,
who was regal in lustrous black lace, lighted here and there
with knots of glowing orange velvet, and with only the jewels
that gleamed upon her long and shapely fingers, somewhat to
my surprise, was led in by my friend Craig, while Enid Dever-
eaux, a lovely vision all in gleaming white, was escorted by
young Landis, and quite to his liking, it would seem. But Hal
Landis was a gentleman, and if he felt a qualm of jealousy or
envy, as he smiled across at Madam, and my very impressive
friend, there was no sign of it in face or manner.
As for myself, I led, or was led in by Loretta Garston, a doll
in prettiness, with an innocent way, and a gossip loving tongue.
She carried diamonds enough for all present, for “Hi” Garston,
who entered alone as usual, was the nephew of Mrs. Landis and
inherited a fortune from both sides of his house. The Garstons
were privileged guests at the Landis board; and gossip had it
that Mrs. Landis had welcomed the baby faced, talkative, and
irrepressible Loretta Wayne, as her future niece, the more cor-
dially because, as Loretta Garston, she had now no more fear
that she might some day have to welcome a Loretta Landis.
For Hal had lavished a year of somewhat warm calf love upon
Loretta, who had been a childhood playmate. But college and
(140)


DINNER AND DIPLOMACY 141
Hi Garston, had intervened, and, for the anxious and over crit:
ical mother, this fear was forever set at rest.
At first I had little time to look about me, and observe, for
Mrs. Garston was babbling over with gay chatter, in which,
somewhat to my surprise, she was ably abetted by Enid Dever-
eaux, who sparkled and glowed as if she had never had a sad
or serious hour, and, while pondering at the strangeness of
woman, I soon forgot my very real interest in Craig and the
charming brunette beside him. Then during a momentary lull,
I heard the voice of Madam. -
“No, not quite that, dear Mrs. Landis. Paris is not, I sup-
pose, a good school for a solitary woman. But while I might
call myself a Parisian, having been born and educated there,
still,” with a slight lift of the eyebrows, “when one is reared by
the good Catholic sisters, and leaves their care only to be mar-
ried, and to divide one's time between a suburban home and trav-
el, one is in little danger of becoming a-'giddy Parisian,’” and
she laughed musically. Then, in a softer tone, “my poor hus-
band was always an invalid, and obliged to live a quiet life,”
and a sigh fluttered her lips. -
“Yet,” commented Craig, “one is bound to see much of the gay
outdoor life, if there for long. I spent a few months there two
years ago, and found the life very interesting. The shops, the
streets, the faces—”
“And—the races!” interpolated Hi Garston.
“Ah, yes, the races.” Craig smiled. “I am not a betting man,
but I have reason to remember the races. It was there,” turning
toward Madam, “as you may remember, that the scene occurred
which inaugurated a scandal, and ended with the death of a
French politician of some note, a death which is, I understand,
still a mystery—”
Madam was trifling with her wine glass, “Explain sil vous
plait,” she said lightly. -
“I mean the Massonni affair,” said Craig. “The case of the
beautiful Frenchwoman who came near stabbing the great man
who had caused her to make a losing bet. I—forget her name?”
questioningly.
“It was Denise La Devin,” declared Garston. “I read it in
the papers. It was a sensation.”
“True,” carelessly. -
“And—you saw it?” questioned Madam.
*


142 THE DOVERFIELDS DIAMONDS
“Hardly! At least not at close quarters. I saw a weepin ,
woman, and an angry man, escorted by officers, and—friends,
taken from the field, as one might say, but it was a distant view,
only.”
Madam leaned back in her chair and surveyed him seriously.
“And—is it really true that you are going to disappoint us—me?
Can you not describe her? This countrywoman?”
“Oh—h” Loretta Garston turned with her swift sparrow-
like movement, “I remember that We heard it even in
school—”
“Horrible!” shrugged Hal.
“And,” she went on unheeding, “I never heard the end, you
know ! but the man was killed ! er—”
“This was never proven, Mrs. Garston,” murmured Craig.
“The man Massonni? Why all the papers said he was killed—
poisoned. And that she did it!”
“Mon Dieu !” from Madam.
“You are lifting my hair, my dear cousin,” cried Hal once
more.
“Pah! Could n’t if I would !” glancing scornfully at his close-
clipped pelt. “Really now, Mr. Craig, how was it? They said she
poisoned him and took the jewels. She had been seen entering
his hotel, and she knew where he kept them; opals, diamonds,
rubies. How did it end?”
“I don't think it has ended, except for him, Mrs. Garston,”
replied Craig soberly. “I have a Parisian correspondent, how-
ever; shall I cable him for information ?”
“Do!” cried the little lady, in no wise daunted. “And then
telephone to me.”
“'Pon my word,” again interposed Hal Landis. “How our
minds do run upon jewels, and jewel robberies.”
Madam lifted dark, reproachful eyes. “Don’t, Mr. Landis.
You remind me of my own lost solitaire! Ah where are your
so fine police? Was my reward too small ?”
“Our city, Madam,” declared Garston, “can give its full at-
tention to only one mystery at a time, and at present we are
seeking for a great collection of family jewels. Mrs. Dover-
fields', you know.”
“Oh, yes! Is there anything new 2" asked Mrs. Garston,
shrilly.
“I saw that—I think, in the newspapers,” mused Madam.
s


DINNER AND DIPLOMACY I43
“Does anyone know the true story? How was it, Mr.—Jasper?”
lifting her fine eyes suddenly to my face. But even as I shook
my liead, Craig took up the word, and soon the Doverfields' loss
was the topic all about the board.
Then, presently, Madam was telling,—being urged to it by
Loretta Garston—how she had lost her own fine solitaire, and
how the hunt for it had been such an utter failure. She told
her story indifferently and did not attempt, this time, to de-
scribe the size, lustre, and absolute purity of the gem. “But
ah me!” she said, with uplifted palms, “how can I prate of my
loss here, where doubtless you are all friends of the lady who
has lost all of her jewels! Mon Dieu ! and to put them all to-
gether—in a drawer ! Was it not? And not to lock her door !
It's recklessness! You know her, Mr. Craig? this—lady?”
“Very slightly.”
“Ah, you disappoint one, and I hear she is so beautiful and
charming. To hear of one so—so indifferent to such treasures,
arouses one's wonder Who will tell me of her? Who knows her
best ?” •
Mrs. Landis leaned forward. Mrs. Doverfields is very ill,
Madam, so the morning papers tell us. I know her—a little;
she is a very lovely woman, an aristocrat to her finger tips!”
“Thank you, dear Mrs. Landis!” spoke Enid Devereaux.
“Ara Doverfields is my dear friend, and the very woman who,
in her stately home with its charming seclusion, would never
dream of loss or danger to her jewels. To her they were just a
portion of her wardrobe, her rightful adornments. I dare say,
to her, their value was the least of their merits.”
“Why, of course!” chattered Loretta Garston. “Beauty for
beauty's sake, you know !”
“Besides,” went on Enid, with the warm color rising in her
cheeks, my friend is too sincere herself, too trustful—too fearless,
to suspect those of her household, or dream of menace or
danger. I think Madam Barthelme, that, upon seeing her, you
would not find it so difficult to understand her. She has lived
in an atmosphere of safety, trust, and high honor, all her life!
Such women seldom look down.” The girl spoke clearly, and
there seemed a shade of coldness in her voice; there was a
momentary silence all about the table as she ceased.
“How charming!” murmured Madam. Ah, I have heard just
such delightful things said of you beautiful, cultured women


I44 THE DOVERFIELDS DIAMONDS
over here! Cordial, confiding, fearless. There is a difference
between you and us, I truly think. A Frenchwoman is brave,
if you will, and she is cordial and kindly. I also think she may be
just the least bit more practical than the American belle dame
She would, I believe, be very sure to look well to the safety of
her jewels, and would sleep sounder for it.” Here she laughed
musically. “You have heard, doubtless, how our great ladies
even protect their treasures by having them duplicated in paste.
If your friend had done that Miss Devereaux—”
"I cannot fancy Ara Doverfields wearing a sham of any sort,”
Enid said with her head very erect. And I was glad to hear the
voluble Mrs. Garston's voice, rising above the others, in her de-
sire to learn more about Frenchwomen—and paste.
Later, in the drawing room, while Loretta Garston was at the
piano favoring us with an operatic selection, in a clear, high
and somewhat thin soprano, Mrs. Devereaux signaled me to
sit beside her on a remote divan.
“Kenneth,” she said, with one of her friendly smiles. “You
are a born actor, and yet—I have made a discovery.”
“You are sure to do that, you know.”
“Nonsense! But, really, when you veered in your place with
that slow motion of shoulders and head, that looks so careless,
but which I have learned to know—”
“As—what?”
“As betokening interest beyond the moment.”
“And in what?”
“In Madam, and in her comments concerning the Dover-
fields' jewels. Something in her words impressed you.”
“Say amazed me.”
“Better still! and it was borne in upon me, at the moment,
that you are really interested—concerned—in that case! There!
You know I don't mean to quizz you?” I laughed as our eyes
met. “Only,” she finished, “if I can aid you—in some way—
later you know—”
“I know that I can trust you in all things, dear friend.”
“And—in that case, or in any case that concerns Ara Dover-
fields, you can likewise trust Enid; she is true to her friends.”
“Thanks! I shall not forget?”
“Will it be quizzing to ask about Mrs. Doverfields' illness?”
“It is a nervous breakdown, I fancy. And Doctor Bird for-


DINNER AND DIPLOMACY I45
bids any thought of approaching her seriously—for—weeks to
come.”
“Indeed! This, then, is another barrier to Madam's prompt
meeting with the poor child; Ara is, really, as much a girl as
Enid, and but little older.”
“You say another’?” I questioned.
“Yes; before you men came back from the dining room
Enid surprised me—all of us, I think, by questioning Madam
Barthelme as to her social intentions and desires. Madam, it
seems, does not look forward to great gayety in New York,
for a time at least.”
“And wherefore?”
“She expects to be joined soon, by a brother, her only living
relative, she says. He is an invalid; weak lungs, I believe, and she
does not care to go out where he cannot go, so long as he re-
mains with her. Ah—”
“Mr. Jasper?” It was Enid's voice close behind us. “May
I sit down here and say just one word?”
“You may say two, eh, Mrs. Devereaux?”
“Oh, mutter never reproves me,—at least not often,” de-
clared the girl earnestly. “I want to ask a favor. I have been
sure, all along, that you were in the confidence of the Dover-
fields—”
“Upon—my—word!”
“Oh, it's not so strange! They’d be sure to call you. And I
want you to promise that I shall know as soon as Ara can see
anyone—and,” bending toward me, “if possible—let me help
you—and her! This thing will hurt her—so much. And—I
can nearly always cheer her a bit, if nothing more.” I started,
and almost caught her hand.
“It’s the very thing, Miss Devereaux. Only—please go to the
doctor ! Go soon, and say this to him. I believe he will be
glad of your aid—after a little.”
“And—you?”
“And I, also.” Over the girl's fair head her mother shot me
a grateful glance.
As we drove home together that night, Craig and I, our minds
seemed to be occupied with different features of the evening's
happenings. For myself, my chief interest had followed the
words and looks of Enid Devereaux and Hal Landis, and I was
well pleased to recall the girl's apparent ease and enjoyment,


146 THE DOVERFIELDS DIAMONDS
and her manner toward Hal. A mixture of unconcern, with
just the right degree of cordiality, frankness, and a well distri-
buted interest in all about the table.
As for Landis, his enjoyment and composure were sufficiently
evident. Indeed one could hardly be less than satisfied with the
companionship of this beautiful girl. There was no trace left
of the preoccupied and sad-eyed Enid of the day before, and
soon I found myself voicing some of these thoughts, but with
no mention of Madam, and her possible place in the minds of
these two young people.
“Hu—h !” Craig seemed to rouse himself from a reverie. “And
you think, then, that young Hal Landis may have been too much
attracted by Madam's dark eyes and fetching smile, eh? Well,
and why not? Um—I—ah—I am somewhat attracted in that
direction myself!” And he uttered a short laugh.
“You !” I laughed also.
“And why not—pray?”
“Why not, indeed! Only—I 'd far rather see you attracted'
toward sweet Enid Devereaux.”
“Thanks, many; so much for friendship! Ken, for a clever
fellow, you are sometimes horribly dull of perception. You
have known this girl always—almost. You have seen her, of late,
far oftener than I have ; and yet—you don't seem aware that,
for her, there is but one man—and that man is Hal Landis.”
He was silent for a moment.
“Yes, and I intend to see that she has what she most wants!
I may not be quite up to him in the matter of looks, but—I 'm
his match, I trust, in diplomacy. My purse is not supervised
by papa. And my motive, I believe, is as honest and as strong
as his !” And he threw himself back in his cushioned corner,
and began to paw for his cigar case.
As for myself, with all my dullness I thought I saw a new
light, and one pure, white, and strong, and presently I found
myself saying to myself,
“Every heart its sorrow knows
Canker gnaws at breast of rose—”
And then I laughed at my own absurdity, but I kept thinking—
“Enid Devereaux.” -


CHAPTER XXI.
THE WRONG PASSENGER.
I had entered upon my work for the Doverfields and for my
friend the Captain, with sufficient reticence—secrecy even, but
I soon found that in both cases my friend and partner was des-
tined to be my confederate as well.
As the days wore on, and the time for the arrival of the Uran-
ia drew near, I found the Captain growing both restless and
reckless. He almost haunted my office, during the last week of
our waiting, and one morning, as I returned from a reconnais-
sance out “Bowery way,” I heard the sounds of laughter issuing
from my friend's sanctum, and, before I could pass on to
my own, my boy bobbed up from his favorite bench corner in
the long corridor and gave information according to his cus-
tom.
“Got er gen’l'am been to see ye sir. Yur fr— M–Cap'n
Wrayland. He 's waitin' for ye in there,” nodding toward
Craig's door.
I had entered with my mind full of a thing which I felt quite
free to unburden to my friend, and having told him of my en-
counter with the sandwich man, I was now eager to tell of a fresh
encounter with this queer personage. For I had seen him once
more, and once more he had seemed to vanish before my eyes.
With my hand upon Craig's door I turned; “Anyone else with
Mr. Craig?” I questioned.
“NO Sir.”
I opened the door and entered without ceremony, and whether
it was the word I caught as I swung myself in, or the look that
passed swiftly between them, leaving a broad smile upon one
face, and the solemnity of a sphinx upon the other, I felt that
Craig knew the story of Meyrick's return to his fatherland, in
all its details, so far as the Captain could give them. With a
sense of actual relief I sat down opposite them and we went over
the case with its pros and cons once more. When, at last, the
Captain withdrew, Craig turned to me with one of his whimsical
smiles,
(147)


148 THE DOVERFIELDS DIAMONDS
“I could n’t help it, old man. The Captain was so full of his
subject. He was pouring out his story before I could anticipate
him, declaring—when I could make him understand or listen
that he supposed I knew it; knew all your secrets, indeed!”
Whereupon I assured him that I was very glad to have him
in my confidence, and felt grateful to the Captain. In all of
which I was perfectly sincere, and now we again reviewed the
ground.
“Of course,” said Craig, after a long discussion of the possi-
bilities, “he,—Meyrick, will arrive in disguise?”
“Of course !”
“And—he will hardly venture to make any change on ship-
board. Having embarked as a workingman, he will come ashore
as such.” -
“He would hardly place himself upon the roll of suspects at
the very outset,” I declared. “The outgoing passenger is rather
closely scrutinized.”
“True!” He was thoughtful for a moment. Then, “Have
you thought to go alone to the docks?”
“No. Meyrick is a crafty chap, and will probably be on the
lookout for gentry of my cloth. Of course I only desire at
first to trace him to his lair, and, if possible, to learn if he has
friends.”
“He has.”
“Ah! you know—”
“I believe! All the known facts point that way. In spite of
all I have heard I believe this. Meyrick is not a strong man;
astute—yes, tactful, cautious, even reckless, when pushed to
, the wall, but, with a friend, an admirer or helper behind him—
always. Such a man needs must have some one to feed his van-
ity, to applaud him, in success. To advise and support him in
disaster. That, I believe, is your man.”
“And yet, you do not know the scoundrel!”
“Individually, no. But his kind, yes.” He bent toward me.
“Jasper, who goes with you to meet this boat?”
“Kenyon—from the Central, if he gets back from Boston in
time.”
“Have you spoken with him?”
“No.”
“Then—suppose you take me!”
“You, Craig' will you go?”
<--
*


THE WRONG PASSENGER I40
“I wish to go.”
“But this will be regular trailing! A sleuth's work. And—
in disguise.”
“So much the better. If you can trust me.”
“Trust!” I laughed out my relief and pleasure. “I should
think I might! It 's a bargain, old man.” And I put out my
hand.
* k >k k >k >k >k >k
“Kenneth !”
“Eh ?”
“Quiet,-listen; move out, and get as near the edge of the curb
as possible; look straight across my shoulder. See that closed
carriage just behind the Victoria with the greys and the fat old
lady? Pass it, and look inside if you can; careful, my son!”
“All right, General.” I drew away from the post against
which I had anchored myself, and, as Craig slipped into my
place, made my way toward the line of waiting carriages, coming
toward them from the water side, so that the face of the occu-
pant would meet my own, for that I should see the occupant,
I was sure, for the Urania was almost at the dock, puffing and
warping in her great bulk as she neared the end of her long
voyage.
In the throng about the landing, Craig and I were inconspic-
uous objects. My friend, wearing a hat neither too new nor too
old, but just a bit shabby, a loose sack coat, a bit faded, and some-
what sagging at the sides, as if pockets were too often
overloaded, looked like a very respectable man of the common
sort, and not too fine to be seen speaking with a fellow in a jumper
and wool cap, wearing the faded gray brown “highlows,” of
the wharf roustabout, wearing, also, a metal badge, to indicate
his right to handle parcels, “grips,” etc., at a price which was,
in many cases, as movable as the proverbial traveler's feast. -
In this disguise I approached the smart closed carriage, and as
I came opposite, a face appeared at the window, glanced toward
the laboring ship, and was quickly withdrawn; as quickly as
possible I made my way back to my waiting companion.
“Madam expects a friend, it would seem,” I said.
“Yes. Have you forgotten the invalid brother?”
“True! but why is she alone?” I demanded, as if he knew.
“Invalids are nervous creatures, you know. And—there would
be much to say. Ah—a ! Come, they are putting out the plank.”


150 THE DOVERFIELDS DIAMONDS
“We can hardly miss him,” I said, as we made our way for-
ward. “A man in the holiday suit of a workingman, a French
workingman.”
“So?—If it were an American, now?” grinned Craig.
“Then it would be a thing to doubt,-our success. But a
French artisan, and with a slight limp—eh?”
“Sh!” They had begun to pour down the gang plank, and we
crowded forward with the rest. As I was about to move a few
paces away from my companion, he pressed my arm, “Where
is Kenyon?”
I glanced about me, “See the fellow with the pencil behind
his ear, and the gray sack across his arm #"
“Straw hat, and blue band?”
“Same, that 's Kenyon. I thought we might want him after—”
“After I suggested it, eh?” Craig chuckled. “Got his orders?”
“He 's looking for a workingman with a limp, same as our-
selves.”
“He ’s safe then. Oh—just let me pass, and—glance at Mad-
am's carriage,” he pushed past me, then he paused to ask hur-
riedly, “Does Kenyon know I'm in this?”
“Sure! He's at your need ! and—” but Craig had nodded and
was gone. Instinctively I glanced toward Madam's carriage,
just in time to see the last flutter of a tiny handkerchief, and the
swift withdrawal of the hand that held it. The lady's face was
invisible. -
And now things began to move almost too rapidly for ac-
curate observation, and I seemed to see as with one glance,—
Craig, rub elbows with the man Kenyon, and pass swiftly on,
and a man in a dust colored, blouse-like upper garment, come
limping up from the waterside. His face was whiskered, and
his pale brown hair hung to his low collar.
He was coming toward me, glancing about him with seeming
curiosity, and I turned my head to look for Kenyon.
As I craned forward, not too well balanced, I was thrust
aside with considerable force, and only regained my poise in
time to see a bent, dingy figure hurrying forward and toward
the line of carriages at the curb beyond. His back was toward
me, and he bore no identifying advertising boards, but I knew
my sandwich man, and, even then, gave a thought to the force
of his shouldering push, and the feverish haste with which he was
elbowing his way toward the street. Evidently what he looked for,


THE WRONG PASSENGER I51
or sought, was not in the direction of the ship, and with the
thought, I turned my gaze upon the limping passenger once more.
And now, I observed that he carried, as if it were a light
burden, a small traveling bag, somewhat worn; then suddenly,
almost as if in answer to a signal, he halted, looking about him
as if in doubt, while the crowd thickened on all sides.
And then I saw a well-gloved hand laid upon his shoulder by
a well-dressed and tightly buttoned up personage, wearing a glossy
top hat, set above a pale and almost cadaverous face, its thinness
accentuated by a sharp grey vandyke, and an upturned and heavy
mustache, while a pair of shining and heavy-rimmed eyeglasses
added to the stiff dignity of his manner, as he uttered what
seemed to be a request to move on, for the man with the limp,
whom I believed to be Ralph Meyrick, moved aside with a gesture
as of apology, and a look of seeming admiration, as the man with
the silk hat crowded past him, walking languidly, and seem-
ingly intent upon something streetward.
By this time I had wriggled myself into and through the
crowd until I was nearly in line with my lame artisan, and I
now let myself lag behind a pace or two, and turned about in the
throng as if carried out of my course by the pressure all about
me. We were both facing townward now, and my man seemed
to delay somewhat; his eyes, if one might judge by the turn of
his head, following the movements of the man in the close
buttoned Prince Albert coat, who now held aloft a slender, gold
headed cane, signaling, evidently, to some one in the line of
waiting carriages.
A little further, I found myself almost opposite the carriage of
Madam, and nearly touching shoulders with my man of the
limp, and then I saw that Craig was close in the rear of this
same vehicle, while the man of the cane and glossy hat was
going directly toward it, beckoned by a slim gloved hand. And
I chuckled. -
It was Madam's brother! The expected, the invalid brother!
And what in the name of all sense possessed Craig? What was
he eyeing back there beyond my range of vision, and so close
to Madam's carriage?
It was not the newly arrived brother. At him he had cast
but one brief glance, as the straight, stiff figure lifted itself slowly
into the carriage and disappeared.
As I wondered, the crowd carried me nearer, and I saw that


152 THE DOVERFIELDS DIAMONDS
Madam's driver was trying to manoeuver his horses out of the
press about them.
Of course, we had provided ourselves with a carriage, and the
driver upon whom we might depend in an emergency, and who,
by our order, lounged close to his horses' heads, his box unoc-
cupied.
And now, for a moment, we were halted by a tangle of for-
eigners, and a wordy and haughty policeman, and I saw a figure,
that must have been seated upon the edge of the curb, or crouch-
ing between the carriages—making a desperate forward plunge,
as Madam's horses, pawing and twisting, brought her carriage
about with a sudden jerk; then there was a swift forward spring.
It was Craig's figure, but before I could see more the crowd
closed in, and I could only note that Madam's driver had gained
the roadway, and was wheeling slowly about and heading
townward, And now, our way being opened once more, we
moved slowly forward, my man just ahead of me, and as the
panorama of the street was once more visible, I again saw Mad-
am's carriage, freed now from the greatest press, swing into the
line of townward moving vehicles, while just behind, and forcing
his horses into the line, in spite of much florid remonstrance,
was Craig upon the driver's box, wielding whip and rein with
the aptness of a trained Jehu, while from the open window pro-
truded a head, dishevelled and shabby, the head—I could not
be mistaken—of the sandwich man. Nor was this all.
The carriage driven by Craig was our own carriage, minus
its legitimate driver, and, at one side, scurrying after, as best it
could, came another cab, with a strange driver, but with my man
Kenyon seated within and actually smiling out at me, as he
rattled past.
“What could it mean?”
I was puzzled, but not greatly troubled, for I knew Craig's
ways, and I now turned my full attention to the limping gentle-
man in the dress of a French workingman. Evidently he was
not in haste, for he did not accelerate his pace, and twice, as we
journeyed westward, he halted at a wayside saloon to refresh
his inner man, while I, for obvious reasons, loitered outside, and,
finally, he took a westbound car, I following.
At first, in the thick of the crowd, I had merely glanced at my
man to assure myself that he did not gain upon me, and to note
his movements. And I was soon convinced, somewhat to my sur-


THE WRONG PASSENGER I53
prise, that he was not apprehensive of followers. Soon, also,
I decided that he was, or was feigning to be, on unfamiliar ground.
And then he alighted, in a less crowded quarter, where I could
gain a more complete view of the figure I was following, and I
found other things to puzzle me.
Several times as we slowly made our way along South Broad-
way, my man studied the signs at the street corner, and once
he halted at an open stairway, and, stepping back from the pave-
ment, studied a pocket map for some moments, after which he
went on with seemingly more confidence, turning suddenly at
a cross street to look up and down, and then entering a little
café, where, sitting with his back to the window, he gave what
must have been an order for a full meal.
During the half hour he passed in this place, I was able to
seat myself in a dingy stairway opposite the café, and study
once more the description of Ralph Meyrick, sent by my friend
abroad, as well as the Bertillion measurements given me by the
officer at the station, where, four years before, he had been
held pending his examination, and then, when I had thus re-
freshed my memory, and my quarry had refreshed his stomach,
I resumed my pursuit, feeling more assured but less satisfied
than when it began.
But now, in this lesser street, my man slackened his pace, and
frankly scanned each building as he passed, until, at the farther
corner of the third block from Broadway, he paused before a big
barracklike building, bearing the sign “Hargis House,” with the
words, “European Plan,” in smaller letters below, across the front
of the second story.
Here, for the first time, my man shifted his luggage from
right hand to left, and turned to look about him. Then, slowly,
he entered the open vestibule, and soon I saw him disappear
within the dingy elevator.
For more than an hour I lingered within sight of the Hargis
House entrance, and then, having seen no reappearance, I made
my way to the nearest cab stand, a defeated man.
For I had quite convinced myself that the man with the limp
and all the outer equipment of the person described by my foreign
informant, and declared to be Ralph Meyrick, was not Ralph
Meyrick. -
In some manner I had been duped ! And by whom and how?


CHAPTER XXII.
“IN A MUDDLE.”
Craig had vanished with my sandwich man in tow, and as I
thought, in the wake of Madam Barthelme's carriage, strange as
this might seem. As for the man of the sandwich boards, how
Craig came to pick him up, or to be picked up by him, I did not
try to guess. It had been slowly dawning upon me, however,
in the midst of my other preoccupations, that this queer indi-
vidual had invariably appeared, like the dingy satellite of some
starry wanderer in space, in the vicinity of Madame Devinne
Barthelme; therefore Craig, too, might have kept the trail of
Madam.
On the other hand, knowing my friend and his methods, I
felt sure, that for some suddenly developed reason, his chief
interest was in the sandwich man, and that it was to him, not
to Madam and her newly arrived guest, that he would cling. As
for Kenyon, he, I felt assured, was at Craig's command, stand-
ing by, in readiness to accompany either of the two vehicles as
his leader should indicate. My thoughts worked rapidly now,
and suddenly, I called up to my driver, “Drop me at the Wal-
dorf, cabby, and the sooner the better.”
It was a simple thing, but it had seemed to bring together, in
a way, the otherwise loose and meaningless ends of my, thus
far, very ragged and shapeless adventure.
That Craig's real or assumed interest in the beautiful French
woman would never have led him to desert my cause to follow
her and her new attendant, I felt assured. But Craig had surely
seen the man with the limp: The man who was not Ralph
Meyrick; and might he not have seen the momentary conjunc-
tion of this man and Madam's silk hatted guest? Have seen
even more than I? As to the sandwich man, he remained an
unknown quantity, but that he held his place in the puzzle, and
that Craig had somehow guessed that place, I now felt assured.
I alighted near the corner of the great hotel block, and had
scarcely set foot upon the pavement, my eyes already roving
up and down, and across when I saw over the way and almost
(154)


ER A CAB.
T
HE WAS ABOUT TO EN





IN A MUDDLE 155
opposite me, the man Kenyon. He was about to enter a cab,
and had halted, evidently, with his hand upon the door, to
direct the driver, and as his lips moved, he glanced beyond
them, but without moving head or hand, in gesture. It was the
quick turn of the cabman's head that directed my gaze toward
a second cab, on my side of the street, and some paces further
down. It was just turning away from before the hotel en-
trance, and as it wheeled out I caught a glimpse of a glossy
hat, of the straight brimmed, unmistakably French make.
Instantly I sent into the air a cry, half cab call, half news-
boy's hello, and so little different from the cries of our street
gamins that only the initiated might note a variation. Kenyon
heard, and his quick eyes darted glances all about him. I moved
to the edge of the pavement, and as he saw me, he sprang into
the cab, and, from the side nearest me, nodded, and, by a swift
gesture, indicated his quarry. Then as he drove away he shook
his head. -
To me it was as if he had said, “I am following him,” meaning
he of the silk hat, “No use to wait.” And soon I turned my face
toward the office of “Craig and Jasper, Attorneys.”
Craig had not returned, and my boy Jem reported a quiet
morning; but there were a number of letters with which to
occupy myself. One of these was from my old searcher of rec-
ords and family histories, and when I saw that it was somewhat
voluminous and statistical, I ran my eye down its pages, to as-
sure myself that it was purely data, and was about to put it
aside for a quieter and less expectant moment, when I ob-
served a postscript, brief and unsigned. This I read—of course.
It ran thus— -
“Apropos of the second Austin Doverfields, the cousin of the
New York A. D. There is a strange rumor afloat. It has just
come to me, and not in detail. It is generally known that this
man, having realized on his family estates, went abroad and for
a time lived luxuriously, and it is believed that a woman—gossip
has it, a Russian, of beauty and title, helped him to squander
his fortune. He also lost large sums at various gaming re-
sorts, and finally disappeared. Has not been heard of since;
but a rumor with seemingly no foundation, has it that he has
been seen quite recently in New York City.”
I dropped the letter with a sensation of mingled relief and
boredom, for I felt but slight interest in this cousin of Austin


156 THE DOVERFIELDS DIAMONDS
Doverfields. He was, or seemed, just an obscure item in a com-
plicated case. And then I took up a note from Doctor Bird,
which told me that Mrs. Doverfields was still exceedingly weak
and helpless, and that only her two nurses and, at stated times,
her husband, were admitted to the sick room. Her recovery
would be slow. I sighed as I put down the note. Little progress
could be made, I thought, in that case.
Pushing back the remainder of the letters unopened, I turned
my mind toward the Captain's troubles, and the disappearance,
or metamorphosis of Ralph Meyrick. An hour passed, and part
of another, and I was reviewing the case with all the memo-
randa before me, when Roy Craig came in, with a rush and
lack of dignity quite unusual to him.
“Hello, Ken I’m awfully glad you ’re here! I'm anxious to
report and apologize!” He tossed his hat aside, and dragged a
chair close to mine.
“’Pon my soul, Kenneth,” he began, “I’ll never forget you for
this! You ’ve let me in for one of the prettiest little conun-
drums! “The prettiest ever!' as your young usher would say.”
I picked out a cigar and began to light it. I knew when com-
ment was useless, and Craig went on, as I was sure he would.
“Oh! and you should be grateful, sir! I’ve cornered your
sandwich man.”
“Sure?”
“Look here! When you told me of your mutual adventures
—your and his–I noted that he and Madam seemed to appear
simultaneously, eh?” I nodded, I was past surprise. “And
when I saw you gazing after this fellow, down there, and saw
the fellow make his way, as close as possible, to the carriage
of Madam, I was interested.”
“He brooks no rivals,” I murmured, as if to myself.
“Quite so! Not even a sandwich man. It was thus, my
friend—” smiling at the remembrance, “after noting that this
grey and grimy person was the object of your keen, if momen-
tary interest, I continued to observe him, until I saw that his in-
terest was centered in Madam, or her turnout. And when I had
watched him shift about, as she, or her vehicle, did, and always
keeping out of her range of vision, I knew it was Madam he
observed; and then, without neglecting your interest, I con-
trived to keep one eye on him. In doing this, I found him, from
time to time, making pretense of interest in a couple of boards,


IN A MUDDLE 157
advertising an up town optician, and then, I knew him for your
friend!” Craig's eyes studied me as he talked.
“I also saw the man with the limp, and the well gotten up
affectation of a French citizen, seeing the world. In moving
toward him, I was in a position to see, what I believed to be
something more than a mere request to move on. Their eyes
met, and both men spoke, the lame man first.”
“Craig ! are you sure?”
“Quite. By the way, was he your man, the artisan?”
“No!” shortly.
“Um—! that may explain Their exchange of words inter-
ested me, and when I saw that he of the silk hat made his way
straight toward Madam's carriage, in answer to her signal, I
decided to abandon you.” Here he grinned amiably, “Two men
It was not to be borne! I had to look after Madam Barthelme!
I got in touch with Kenyon, and signaled that these two were our
quarry.”
“Cool! upon my word!” /
“One has to be in these emergencies, but listen. When I saw
her carriage about to pull out, I made a spring across to where
our cab was in waiting, and the sandwich man made a frantic
dash for Madam's moving carriage. From his position he could
not have seen the face of Madam's guest; and I think he meant
at all hazards to see it. At all events he sprang forward, and
was struck down by one of the horses, or by the pole, I could
not be sure which. Of course Madam's driver failed to see the
prostrate man; although he backed away from him, or the
team did, and in a trice I had lifted the poor wretch, and said
in his ear, for he was not unconscious, only half stunned, ‘I 'm
'fraid y're hurt, cap, an I'll take ye home in my cab, if ye don't
mind a bite of a ride, and then still lower, “I’m bound to foller
that there gent just come off the boat first; he 's my meat, cuss
him!” and I tumbled him into the cab, told the driver to tip
Kenyon to follow, and we were off. Your sandwich man is new
to his business, and he took me at my word like a lamb. There
was a block at a street corner, and we exchanged a few words
there. I told him that the chap ahead came often to New York,
and that he had beaten me out of a big all night fare. I was
busy, but willing to see him through, when I found where my
man was going to put up, and when he understood me, or
- thought he did, we set off together. Result,-Madam and her


158 THE DOVERFIELDS' DIAMONDS
friend, the expected brother, peradventure, alighted before the
Astoria. We watched them, from a respectable distance, and Ken-
yon watched us. I reasoned with my passenger, in my character
of big-hearted cab driver who owned his own outfit; and when
he, being still quite badly 'shook up, consented to be taken to
his quarters, I gave Kenyon the word to stand guard for a time,
in a case of possible flitting, and took my, no your, sandwich
man to a bare room in a tenement on Avenue B–, made myself
agreeable, by asking only about his hurts, and left him, half
fearful, half grateful. He can't desert his present quarters,
for a day or two at least; he ’s too sore and lame, so I left him
after a bit, and—Selah! What do you think of it?”
Before I could declare myself, a tap upon the door brought us
to attention, and Kenyon entered panting and grinning. Ken-
yon was nothing if not laconic.
“He came out !” he declared, and looked at me. “Silk Hat,
ye know.”
“Yes,” from me.
“Of course.” from Craig.
“And I followed him, straight to a place off South Broadway,
Hotel, European plan; called—”
I uttered the name softly.
“Hargis! That's it! T'other chap must a been on the look-
out for him, for he was out on the stones bfore Silk Hat could
have crossed the walk. They drove about, talked a bit, and then
Limpy went back to the Hargis, an Silk Hat to the Waldorf.”
Craig and I exchanged glances.
“Kenyon,” I said, after a moment's thought, “I am going to
turn these two men over to you; get the help you need. You can
do it?”
“Sure!”
“Set some one to look after limpy,” and have a second to re-
lieve either of you at need. As for yourself, you would better
play Western sightseer, and take up your quarters at the W. A.
for a few days, at least. You will draw on me at need, and report
here, every morning.”
“For—all three?”
“Yes. Don't let them give you the slip.”
When Kenyon was gone Craig eyed me, questioningly, and
in silence.
“What's your opinion?” I asked.


IN A MUDDLE 159
“I want yours! You're sure—”
“That it was Meyrick who set sail, disguised in a limp, and
a workman's holiday clothes? I do not doubt it! Soames is not
the man to make a mistake, and he knows Meyrick. It 's not
so queer to me in the light you have thrown upon the page.”
“H’m p”
“If you are right, and these two men exchanged words, then
it may easily be that Meyrick, fearing possible espionage, has
changed roles with—some one.”
“Not with Madam’s brother?”
“Possibly not. Still, the gentleman in the silk hat, and the long
coat, close buttoned, possibly to give an effect of height.”
“And the high heels.”
“Oh ho! But if this is Meyrick—where, then, is Madam's
brother ?”
“And if it is not Meyrick?”
“Then Kenyon's work is cut out for him! And mine—and—”
I looked an inquiry.
“Oh, count me!” Craig smiled. “In a game like this, I stand
pat! Besides, there 's my sandwich gentleman! By Jove!”
“You may well exclaim,” I said with a grin. We’re certainly
in a muddle!”


CHAPTER XXIII,
THE CAPTAIN TURNS CHAMPION.
To say that I was chagrined at the outcome of our visit to the
water-front, and the ease with which our quarry had evaded us,
would be to describe, very mildly, my state of mind. During all
of the day that was left after the departure of Kenyon, both Craig
and myself had remained in. I desired neither to study nor dis-
cuss the situation, and my mind seemed capable of no effort, be-
yond the question, mentally reiterated from time to time as the
moments passed, “Did Meyrick know he was expected? Did
he guess this, merely? Or was he only suspicious, and conse-
quently wary?”
Thus far I had given little thought to the appearance of Madam
Barthelme, or the arrival of the tall man in the glossy hat, al-
though I knew they must, sooner or later, be considered—reck-
oned with, perhaps. *
Again, had Meyrick actually arrived? And if so, was he, could
he be aware that the Captain's friends were on guard?
Craig had left me some time since and it was nine o'clock when
he again came in, hat in hand, evidently equipped for the street.
“Where now,” I grumbled.
“To visit your friend, the sandwich man,” he said, smiling.
“The poor chap was feeling pretty sore when I left him. He was
really badly—at least painfully crumpled, what with the wheels,
the hoofs, and his sandwich boards. He did n't object, when I
offered to look in again tonight. I’ve taken it for granted that
he, like myself, has a crow to pick with the gentlemanly arrival
who drove away with Madam D. And, we may enter into an
alliance, offensive and defensive, eh?”
“Umph! Where does he put up?”
“He does not put up, my friend! He simply ‘hangs out, or
on. And you 'll excuse me, when I say that I am bound by a
promise not to reveal his place of hanging.’”
As I did not reply he moved toward the door. Then–
“To be sure,” he commented, with his hand upon the knob,
“I could n’t hinder you, if you chose to follow me.”
• (160)


THE CAPTAIN TURNS CHAMPION. I61
“Not tonight, thank you,” I replied, indifferently.
Craig stood a moment at the door, his back toward me. Then
he turned and came to within a pace of my swivel chair.
“Ken,” he said soberly, “you are clinging so fast and hard to
the arrival end of this thing that you ’re not awake to the
possible complications! If your man Meyrick went aboard the
Urania, in the disguise of a lame French mechanic, then one of
two things is sure. Either there was more than one lame me-
chanic, or else there was more than one on board that ship, as
well as on shore—who is interested in the arrival of this gentle-
man! In the first case, we shall have the whole city for our hay-
stack. If the second 's correct, then every one connected in the
remotest degree with the lame man, who, you declare, is not our
man, needs looking after. The man in the tall hat spoke to
that lame man. He afterwards visited him. He is, we assume,
the brother looked for by Madam, and the sandwich man, we
have already decided, is interested in Madam! Ergo, I can’t
visit Monsieur, at the W. A., nor the lame man at the Hargis
House, therefore, let me court the acquaintance of the sandwich
man. What say you?”
I sprang up, almost overturning my chair. “I say that you 're
awake, old man, and that I'm a dullard ' Go, and luck attend
you! Meantime, I’ll try and get my ideas in line once more.”
And I fairly pushed him from the room. It was nearly midnight
when he returned, and his news was meager.
“You see it was not my cue to make him talk, or to rouse his
suspicions by seeming too eager,” he said. “The poor chap can't
get out for a number of days, and he's nervous with apprehension
“lest he miss some move of this man, he says. He ’s not a sus-
picious chap, and he took down my story about being the owner
of my cab, and just now taking a bit of a layoff, so far as the reg-
ular work goes, all right. Neither does he doubt my statement
about the held-out fare I 'm after. I did not attempt to draw
him out, and what he said was very rambling and disconnected.
He still claims to have been on watch for this strange friend,
or brother, of Madam's, but—” he paused and seemed to ponder.
“Well,” I said impatiently.
“Well, Ken, the man did not mention the woman, except to
ask who she might be, and why she was at the landing. But,
old man, I’m willing to wager he is interested in Madam al-
together, in Monsieur, not a whit,


162 THE DOVERFIELDS DIAMONDS
“No doubt.”
“And to conclude, as he is out of the running for a few days,
I 'm engaged to be on duty, with my cab, until further orders,
at the Waldorf A.”
“Then, you 'll want a man—”
“Not at all! I shall go in person, or in character, cab and all.”
And so he did. The next day Kenyon made his report, in his
laconic way.
“He 's there yet, sir! Hargis, ye know. At eleven o'clock he
came out—took a car up town,-Astoria. He was inside just
ten minutes, then he came out and went back to his quarters.
When I saw him go in to eat, I bolted for this shop.” And Kenyon
returned to his post. Late that night he hailed me over the
telephone, and being told that I was accessible, he came down
again, and in haste.
“Well, Kenyon, ” I said. “What now?”
“Well, I don't quite know; the lad 's been bowling up at the
bar, and he ’s been talkin', gettin' confidential, as the booze got
in its work.”
“Naturally.”
“U—m ! Got a bit melancholy long to’rds evenin'. Said he was
down on his luck, and, after a little pressin', declared he 'd
come from Paris with a good job, and had lost it the minute he
left the boat. Good berth, good master, both lost with his first
step on American soil. Then he shut up like a clam. Turned
sulky, and would n’t talk.”
“Really | What do you make of him, Kenyon?”
“Nothing, yet.” -
“And what is he? French P”
“Not hel He don't try to be there. He 's an American
born, I guess. I’ve taken a berth there, sir. That right?”
“Quite right,” I answered and, after a half hour of interchange-
able speculation Kenyon went back to his post. The next morn-
ing, passed like the first. I found plenty of occupation at my
office, and only left my desk to receive a report from Doctor
Bird, who telephoned in a rather gloomy mood. Mrs. Doverfields
was not rallying as he could wish. She was rational, but strange-
ly apathetic, and would bear not the least word about the rob-
bery. He considered the case critical.
Craig came in in time to lunch with me, and I waited while
he made an unusually careful toilet. “I’m off duty for the after-


THE CAPTAIN TURNS CHAMPION. 163
noon,” he explained as we set out together, “and I'm going to
pay my respects to Madam.”
“What’s up?” I questioned.
“Don’t know ! Hence this visit. You see the lady puzzles
me! She took a carriage this morning and set out alone. I
followed, with my cab, of course. She visited various places,
all most reputable, but all modest and on quiet streets and ave-
nues. She may have been calling, but I think she was house-
hunting.”
“Why ?”
“Because, at most of the places she visited I saw the sign,
‘This house’—or, ‘These rooms to let.’”
Again, as with Kenyon's report, I could make nothing of it;
and after lunch he left me, to keep an almost forgotten business
appointment before going up town to call upon Madam, and I
went back, slowly and somewhat moodily, to my office, where
I found Captain Wrayland awaiting me.
There was a deep wrinkle between his eyes, and a letter in
his hand, with its foreign postmark uppermost.
“Well,” I said, after the briefest of greetings, and with my
eyes on the letter—“Heard from our friend Meyrick again, I
suppose?” And then, “Got my note, of course?”
I had informed him, in a brief note, of the result of our
visit to the wharf, two days earlier, and had advised him, therein,
not to come to me too hurriedly, as the craft shown, in covering
up his movements upon arrival, would seem to indicate that
Meyrick, as well as ourselves, was on the watch. He frowned yet
more, and nodded, as he tossed the letter upon my desk.
“You advise me to stay away from here,” he grumbled, “when
—bah! Read that!” nodding again, this time toward the desk.
I lost no time, but caught up the letter. It was written in a
stiff, upright hand, not at all like the late Meyrick letter, and it
bore a strange signature. Glancing from this to the head of
the large single sheet, I saw the printed card of a physician, with
address in full, and the name was that signed at the bottom. It
was addressed formally to Captain Wrayland, and it ran thus:
“My Dear Sir:
“At the request of Monsieur R. Meyrick, one of my patients,
I write to inform you that, his illness proving serious, I have
advised him to try the effect of a new country and climate, and,
as soon as he can bear it, an out-of-door life, such as may be


164 THE DOVERFIELDS DIAMONDS
found in South Australia, the ocean voyage, being a large factor
in his—possible cure. Frankly, I believe it to be his only chance.
He desires me to inform you, as above, and to say that, should
you wish to comply with his recent request, he begs that you—if
you have not already written—will await his arrival in A-, and
the address which, when established, he will send you. He goes
within the week.
“Very Cordially Yours,
“Raoul A. Bezes, M. D.”
I read the letter, and laid it down in silence.
“Well, what do you think of it?” the Captain questioned.
I picked up the cigar at my elbow, and began to light it, in owl
like silence:
“Humph! I thought so! Does not this, coupled with your
failure to discover the fellow among the Urania's passengers,
look as if, after all, he may not have come?”
“It looks as if he were playing a very fine game, and for your
especial benefit!” I did not add that it made me even more anx-
ious, more concerned for his welfare, than before, but this was
the fact. “He’s more wary than I had supposed, which, to me,
merely proves that his danger is great, or his stake, here in New
York, a heavy and risky one.”
“I wish I could see where I came into his plans,” grumbled
the Captain. “But we won’t discuss it, Ken. We 've thrashed
the ground all over, and—I suppose we must wait his first move.”
“M—yes.” I offered him a smoke, and he accepted, and puffed
for a time in silence. Then he sprang up.
“I must skurry back,” he said, looking about for his hat.
“Those two women are trying to wear me out, on their social
treadmill! Enid, the young scamp, will hardly go about, nowa-
days, without dragging me at her heels. Says I make a good
foil, and that it 's dull going about without an escort. 'Pon my
soul, Kenneth, I could really feel quite young, sometimes, be-
tween those two women, they are so full of life, and good cheer.
If it were not for this Meyrick business, and all the perplexities
and unhappy memories it recalls!” and his kindly face grew sad,
and the look seemed to emphasize the marks of age which, of
late, were gathering rapidly. I seemed to note an added whiteness
in the gray of his still abundant hair.
Suddenly he arose, with the movement of one constrained to
relax some overtaxed nerves, and began to move about the room,


THE CAPTAIN TURNS CHAMPION. 165
stepping slowly, now here, now there as he spoke, or listened,
with aimless indifference as to directions.
“Do you know, Ken, sometimes I wonder if, somehow, some-
time, I have not been worse, wickeder, than I knew—or meant!
Else why should I slip through nearly all my life so smoothly,
so pleasantly, to find my Nemesis, my curse, at my very door
stone, in the end? And all because of this interloper, this intruder
into my home! Why, man, but for this same Ralph Meyrick,
I might now be at home at Wraylands with my wife and Daphne
—God!” He stopped suddenly, both speech and motion. His
face sombre, his hands clenched at his side.
“Captain,” I said, after a brief silence, “have you forgotten
that the best man the world has ever known, or can know, suf-
fered all that a world could heap upon him? And was that be-
cause of any sin, or wrong?”
“Kenneth, there are some things that should be spoken of
between friends, for their better understanding, once in a life-
time, and only once; I want to say my say—now.” He paused,
waiting.
“Say it,” I answered presently, and somewhat wonderingly.
“I never imagined, or suspected it, during her lifetime, but
after her death, I thought, I grew to believe, as did my dear
wife, that, that you cared for Daphne—Wrayland.”
Another pause, then, without turning my head, I uttered my
first and last word upon this subject.
“You were not mistaken,” I said. “But I was a fool, and only
knew when it was too late, when you wrote me of her engage-
ment, how much I cared.”
The Captain slipped back into his chair, and I took up the pen
and scratched upon a fresh pink blotter. Presently we both be- .
gan to smoke industriously, and, knowing that my friend had
yet more to say, I scribbled and waited.
“Have you observed,” he finally began, “any change, any new
gravity in the manner of our Enid?”
“M—yes.”
“I 'm afraid I'm dull! I know I should be a poor match-
maker, but I have fancied,—yes and hoped that she and that boy,
Hal Landis, were growing interested in one another—eh?”
“I think they—were.”
“They were, eh? Then you had noticed it, too? Ken, I'm
afraid she really cares for that happy-go-lucky chap! About ten


166 THE DOVERFIELDS DIAMONDS
years old, he is, this very minute! But—I fear something 's
gone wrong.”
“What?”
“I can't imagine, and I’ve been once or twice on the point of
asking Agnes.”
“Don't!” I said. “I 'll tell you, It 's Madam Devinne Bar-
thelme.”
“What! the handsome French woman?”
“The same. And I 'm glad this has come up! I believe the
girl is really having a struggle with her pride, and she 's doing
it Well!”
“She does everything well!”
“True! And if I might venture, Captain, to advise you, I
should say that you could not do herself, and her mother, at
this time, a greater favor than to give them as much as possible
of your society. Can't you see that the girl's pride won't let her
avoid meeting Landis? And yet she wants support, her moth-
er's—yours. Stand by her, Captain, she needs you—and never
more than now. You might even strain a point and omit your
monthly run down to Wraylands—”
“Oh, by Jove!” he broke in. “You ’ve opened my eyes, Ken
Enid wants to go down there with me; says she wants a visit
with Nancy B. She always enjoyed the woman's queerness.”
“By Jove! Then I should say, take her by all means! It would
be a rare treat—for Nancy.”
“I will,” he declared, getting up quite nimbly now. “And
we'll go next week!”


CHAPTER XXIV.
HAL LANDIS ASSISTS THE "GAME.”
My office door had scarcely closed behind the Captain when it
opened again to admit Hal Landis. He was dressed just a shade
too perfectly, and so I told him, by way of greeting; but,
contrary to his usual bent, he seemed in no mood for chaffing,
and soon the thing uppermost in his mind came to the surface.
“Oh, you need not rub it in about my Solomon in all his
glory attire! Solomon with all his wisdom added to his wear-
ing apparel, would have been counted out if that chum of yours
had appeared among his thousand wives.”
“Are you alluding to Roy Craig’” I demanded with dignity.
“Who else? Have n't I just left him, outclassed, and cold
shouldered, clear to the street! Why even those confounded
hall servants that tumble over themselves to open doors for you,
gazed at me with less admiration when I came away, than when
I entered. I suppose ‘defeat is writ all over me,” and Hal
walked across to my modest mirror, stuck above the corner
hat rack, and lifted himself upon his toes, to gaze at his image
in mock anxiety.
“I could weep moister tears” I suggested, “if I knew where
the combat took place, and how you left the enemy.”
“Meaning—whom?”
“Was there more than one?”
“There was; there is. Your friend—may his shadow grow
steadily less, -Madam Barthelme, in the most ravishing of tea
gowns—”
“Of course!” -
“And there was, and, I trust is, “Monsieur Veektere,” Mad-
am's lately arrived brother. Allow me to inform you that he does
not resemble his sister.”
“Another type of beauty, eh?”
“Altogether. The lantern jawed, owl eyed, long haired style
of loveliness. And oh! His two front teeth ! I thought there
were teeth stores in Paris, did n't you?”
(167)


I68 THE I)OVERIFIELDS' DIAMONDS
“Say tooth stores, my son. It sounds, by the way, like the
description of an invalid.” -
“It is, good sooth ! Now have you not heard the story of
Madam’s brother?”
“NO. Please relate it.”
“Well. I don't think it 's a secret. You must know then,
that Monsieur is an invalid; he is doomed to quiet and seclusion.
Even the strong light of day is irksome to this weary gentleman.
He considers the W. A., a place akin to Bedlam, and Madam
has spent half of this very morning hunting for the quiet spot,
still believed in, but never found, in this busy city. He must
have a cottage on a quiet, cross street, not too far from the
park, and he purposes to drag Madam into seclusion with him.”
“And society, and yourself—and Craig—for I fear me, my
friend and partner feels an attraction in Madam's proximity;
are we all to be debarred ”
“Well, you see Monsieur is not to be relied upon. He is a
great sufferer at times, and for days must be secluded utterly,
with only his faithful attendant for company. By the way,
he is, I fancy, a rigid disciplinarian. Madam, after he had dis-
cussed his present valet-less condition, explained why, and inci-
dentally gave us a vivid view of the gentleman's distaste for all
the improprieties. Will it interest you?”
“Deeply ".
“And—I may smoke?”
“Like an opium joint, only relate. I am all agog.” And truly
I was, more than Hal could guess.
“It appears,” he began, having daintily rolled and lighted a
Spanish cigarette, “that Monsieur set out from Paris with, as
he thought, a very exemplary and satisfactory young man of
possibly thirty years, more or less and all went well until the
vessel reached New York. Monsieur had kept to his cabin
pretty closely, from necessity, and had little notion of how his
man had passed the various fractions of time not demanded by
himself,—his employer.”
“Why not his master?”
“Monsieur said employer, in speaking of the episode.”
“All right, go on.”
“After Monsieur had been made quite ready for the landing,
the valet begged to be excused for a little time, and, barely ten
minutes before the gang-plank was thrown out, he returned—


HAL LANDIS ASSISTS THE GAME :60
imagine it! The fellow had left Monsieur, neatly and properly
attired as a good gentleman's man should be ; he returned to his
employer shorn of his modest garments, and wearing—think of
it—the cheap Sunday suit of a French workingman | The
shapeless outer garment! The queer shaped cap! The gaudy
necktie! He even carried a cheap French hand-bag; and during
his absence, he had acquired a limp!”
“Great Scott!”
“'Pon my word, Jasper, I have made you sit up eh? Queer
game, was n’t it?”
“And—how did it end?” I was struggling to keep the interest
out of my face. But Hal was not observant, and he was enjoy-
ing his role of narrator. Evidently he bore Monsieur a grudge,
because of Madam's enforced seclusion, so near at hand—or so
he feared.” -
“Why, most properly Explanations were in order, and
the man confessed that, during his walks on deck, he had made
the acquaintance of a most entertaining chap, a mechanic, who
was both clever and amusing, and who, shortly before their
arrival, had confided to him that he was most eager’ to win a
bet, made by letter with his cousin, a woodworker in the city,
who had wagered a considerable sum that, given a knowledge
of the ship on which he would arrive, he could not by any trick
of dress, nor by artful dodging, elude the watchful eye of the
cousin who would await him, and would pick him out from
the line crossing the 'springboard without fail.”
“De—ar—me!” I was growing impatient, but could not
show it. -
“That, I fancy, is what Monsieur said. That or, ‘weally. At
all events, the valet was bribed to change clothing with the
artisan, and did it forthwith ; agreeing to appear at the Hargis
House and ‘trade back, as soon as he could escape from his
employer.”
“And did he?” I was a very eager listener now.
“I really can't say, because the man and his master parted
company at the door of Monsieur's cabin. The valet, in the
artisan's clothes, is probably now in search of a place.”
“Are you sure about this—this discharge?” I questioned.
“I have the word of Monsieur, and of Madam, his sister.
The lady seemed to think only, or mostly, of the inconvenience
of the thing. She considered the man a valuable ser-


170 THE DOVERFIELDS DIAMONDS
vant and she implored her brother to send for him, to take
him back, but the invalid was both haughty and morose. His
dignity had been wounded deeply, and he seems principally
composed of dignity, moroseness, and weak nerves. She calls it,
‘his poor weak heart!’” Hal paused with an air of finality, and
lit a second cigarette.
“And does that end the story?” I urged.
“So far as I know it. Or, no—I forgot! Madam told me,
rather humorously, how the valet came this morning, and very
humbly begged to be given a new trial. But Monsieur was ob-
durate, and sent him about his business. I say Jasper, I find
I 'm growing tired of Monsieur !”
“But,” I persisted, “I’m just getting interested! Of course
Monsieur has advertised for a new man?”
“'Pon my word, I don't know!”
“Do you mean to say they did not speak of this feature
of the case? Why did they not apply to you, a clubman who
might be supposed to be able to aid a stranger in such a diffi-
culty? Your Y. M. club is always more or less of a valet's ex-
change.”
Hal shrugged his shoulders. “It is a bit queer, now that you
mention it; especially as I offered my services, my experience,
and knowledge of the city, but,” and here he frowned, “Madam 's
not like herself! Somehow, this new brother, or old brother,
just as you please, has a depressing effect upon her. She ’s not
so gay, nor so—friendly, and her mind seems to be occupied
with her househunting. When I left them, Craig was being
regaled with an account of her search among the uptown streets.
He tossed away his cigarette, and, after some desultory talk,
took himself off, having kindly, if unknowingly, put into my
hand a suit card, that aroused my somewhat dulled energies,
and that would be of value, I hoped, in playing the game. An
hour later, Craig came in. He was smiling slightly and whistling
softly; by which signs I knew that something had pleased him.
“Sit down,” I said, as he turned a critical eye from chair to
divan as if in doubt. “Put yourself at ease and then unburden.
Did she smile? Did she sigh? And do you find the invalid
acceptable?”
“Hello!” smiling yet more, “So you've had young Hal Lan-
dis here, eh?” -
I looked up quickly. “Is it your sense of smell, or the prick-


HAL LANDIS ASSISTS THE GAME 171
ing of your thumbs that tells you this?” I questioned scornfully.
“Neither,” pointing to the floor near the corner of my desk.
“He 's been shedding his adornments, that 's all. Very simple
solution, eh?” And we both laughed, for, on the rug, just be-
yond my vision as I sat, lay the gardenia that Hal was seldom
without after the luncheon hour.
“Yes,” I assented. “Hal's been with me. I’ve had the story
of his call and heard his opinion of the invalid brother. Do you
want to relate your adventures?”
Craig omitted one of his silent chuckles. “Let 's see; where
did Hal leave off?” he questioned.
“Uport my word " It had just then occured to me that Craig
might have missed the Madam's story of the valet. “At what
stage in the conversation did you arrive? Hal seems to have
been regaled with an account of Madam's morning search for
a quiet apartment, or cottage, and then by the story of the ar-
rival of Monsieur, minus his valet.
“Ah, well, I must have missed that thrilling narration, but I
can still go Hal one better, my boy. They had just finished the
valet story, whatever it may have been—I was not informed
as to his demeanor, but—I was present when the cat came
back.” -
“Meaning—”
“Meaning, simply, that the man you mistook for Ralph Mey-
rick, the man I saw visit the hotel this morning, and leave so
suddenly, came this afternoon, and was admitted to the presence,
after some demur on the part of his late master, who denied
him this morning. The fellow was very penitent, and the invalid,
I fancy, was very tired of being his own man; so they patched
it up, even in my presence, and they are once more master and
man.” -
“And—you did not learn the nature of the valet's misde-
meanor P” -
“Not I? But it must have been something flagrant; Mon-
sieur, as you call him, was very stern concerning it.”
“Listen,” I said; and straightway told him Hal's story of the
exchange of costumes on shipboard, that the worker in wood
might win a wager, while, as was his habit when deeply inter-
ested or strangely impressed, Craig sat quite silent, evidently
studying the situation, while he listened. -
“You perceive,” I concluded, “that the situation is changed.


172 . THE DOVERFIELDS DIAMONDS
I think we may safely presume that the ‘worker in wood' is
our man. How does it impress you?”
“I dare say you are right,” he said. “But really, just now, I
am chiefly interested in the queer way in which Madam Bar-
thelme is mixed up in this affair.”
“I—don't understand?”
“Well, I can't make myself clear, just now. Tell me how you
see this business, Ken.”
“More than ever I am forced to believe that, unless Meyrick
is endeavoring to evade the consequences of some new crime, he
is plotting harm to some one here, the Captain, doubtless.”
“And I quite agree with you; the question is, where to begin
the search for the fellow. He 's undoubtedly clever.”
“He apears to be. As to the search, I intend to begin where
you left off.”
“Explain.” -
“The only person who may have a clue to Meyrick's where-
abouts, and is within our reach, is Monsieur's valet, Meyrick's
substitute, and I mean to cultivate him. As for that what do we
know of this brother of Madam's who came so opportunely—
for Meyrick—by the same liner. As for Madam, don't you think
she is taking rather more than an onlooker's place in our little
drama? And, by the by, what has become of her search for the
lost solitaire? Are they so plentiful in her strong box—”
“Hold hard, old man, what have you got into your head now?”
“Doubts, queer suggestions. Look here; Roy, you put the
first doubt into my mind, where Madam is concerned. You and
your sandwich man—”
“My sandwich man? Ye gods!”
“Yes, yours, since two days! I turn him over to you. And
can you deny that you are trying to settle some doubt or ques-
tion in your own mind, concerning Madam? Those letters to
Paris, for—”
Craig suddenly sat erect. “Look here, Kenneth, if you ima-
gine that those letters had the remotest connection with this case
of Captain Wrayland's you were never more mistaken That they
concerned the lady, I won't deny ! But—only in a personal
matter. Personal to me, that is; and, let me add that no man is
justified in voicing suspicions concerning a woman until he has
some fragment of corroborative evidence.”


HAL LANDIS ASSISTS THE GAME 173
“You ’re quite right, my son,” I said, “and therefore I intend
to take a leaf from your book and cultivate Madam.”
“Dear, dear!” he grinned. “How unlucky that Madam, in
her new quarters, expects to see very little society,” and then we
both laughed.


CHAPTER XXV.
TONTO's BURGLAR.
Before the night had grown old, Kenyon appeared before us;
for Craig and I were devoting the evening to a “heart to heart
talk.”
“Well, gents,” said Kenyon, as he pulled off his hat, I’m off
my job.” And he told us, in his usual crisp fashion, what we
already knew, and understood, better, even, than himself.
“There 's something attractive about the W. A.” he declared.
“This afternoon my man went back there, was n’t limpin’ quite
so hard, seemed to me. This time he stay’d half an hour, then
rushed back to the Hargis, and gobbled up his belongin's, they
were not extensive, and then back to the W. A. Took in all his
traps, an’ sent away the cab. I hung about till I found he was
onto a job, there. Then I rigged up like a toff, and lounged
about inside till I learned he was doin’ the valet and nurse maid
to—who, do ye guess?”
Craig laughed outright, and I grinned as I answered, “French
gentleman? Invalid?”
“Yep!” Kenyon sniffed. “Same chap that came over with
him in the Urania. Queer deal, I say!”
And then, I gave him an outline of the situation, and directed
him to go back to his party in the character he could best live
up to; for Kenyon had his limitations. Fortunately, he knew
them, and was wise in his choice.
“I can do a tailor's model, fresh from out west,” he said.
“Sort of sociable, and not too knowin', nor very particular about
the company I keep. Little loose money, of course; crack a bot-
tle now and then—smoke a bit—eh?”
“Good!” commented Craig. “It will enable him to reach up
to Monsieur, should the chance come, or down to the valet, at
need.” -
“Worth my while to flash a roll at the right time—think?”
Kenyon questioned.
Craig and I exchanged glances. -
“He might bite,” I said tentatively, and my friend nodded,
(174)


176 THE DOVERFIELDS DIAMONDS
your newspapers, of her illness,” she looked at me through half
closed lids. “I wonder if you know them?”
“Of whom are you speaking, Madam?”
“Ciel ! How stupid of me, not to have named them! It is the
Austin Doverfields, of whom I speak.”
“Ah!” I met her eye calmly. “I know the head of the family
—slightly.”
“And—the lady?”
“I—believe we have met,” she leaned toward me with an en-
gaging smile, “She has been most unfortunate, has she not?
And to think that when, at the Landis dinner we all talked so
coolly of diamonds, and this most strange robbery, I never
guessed that it was of the sweet, and charming little Américaine,
whom I met that Spring in dear Paris, we were speaking; and
I seem to know so little of that robbery! Was it really so great
a loss? Madam's large velvety eyes were fixed upon my face,
and I met them with just a shade of admiration in my own, and
answered with frankness.
“I scarcely knew her friends. Mr. Doverfields, if my memory
served me, had once or twice visited our office upon some busi-
ness matters—”
“And the lady?” she persisted. “It—they say it has been a
blow ! They were rare jewels, were they not?”
“So I have heard,” I replied with much candor.
“And—is there no clue?” -
I shook my head. * •
“But—they have employed—detectives, surely?”
I shrugged my shoulders. “Depend upon it,” I declared, “these
lost jewels will never again figure in the daily press! Already
the good New Yorker has turned his attention to a new nine
day wonder. These things are but the topic of a day in a city
like this, where every hour has its own mystery.” And Madam
smiled and sighed, and agreed with me. -
Since the illness of Mrs. Doverfields, Doctor Bird had formed
the habit of dropping in at my office quite frequently, and I
could see that, for some reason, he had come to look upon my
attitude toward his patient from a new and more lenient point
of view. I found his carriage before the door, as I approached
my rooms, after my call upon Madam, and himself pacing up and
down the office floor as I entered. That something had annoyed
|


TONTO'S BURGLAR 177
him was evident, and, after a few irrelevant remarks, he came
to the point.
“Jasper, that confounded nurse has left us!”
“You mean—” I was purposely dull of understanding.
“Mrs. Doverfields' nurse, of course! Sick brother, she says,”
and he paused suggestively.
“Have you replaced her?”
“No, and I don't intend to. Don't be a noodle, Jasper! If
you want to run in your Miss Ruff—is it?”
“Miss Hough, do you mean?”
“Miss Huff, then. If you want her then—send her along.”
I looked at him keenly. “Doctor,” I said, “this is a concession!
Something has happened. I wish I might know—” but he snap-
ped me up shortly.
“Well, you can't then. I’m a physician, you ’re a detective—
of a sort—” here I thought it well to conceal my smile. “I’m
going to do my duty, and keep my professional secrets,—but—"
here the crabbedness in his face gave place to gravity, “but I
can't be responsible for—for anything beyond ! I suppose your
Miss Hough is competent—as a nurse?”
“Entirely so. She is a nurse. She is just the woman your pa-
tient needs; strong, gentle—and cheerful.” I scanned his face
as he caught up his hat. “May I know anything of your pa-
tient? If there is a change?”
“There is a change. She is horribly—dangerously weak, but
she is not now delirious.” -
“Thank you Doctor! May I make a suggestion?”
“Of course!”
“Be, from today, doubly guarded about callers—”
“Why, man—”
“I mean about letting her know about such. The cards of
strangers—for instance.”
The Doctor jammed on his hat. “Better instruct the new
nurse,” he said, and, with a curt adieu, he was off.
Clearly in some manner Doctor Bird had received a shock.
And I sat me down to ponder. A week ago I had asked the good
Doctor to allow me to co-operate with him to the extent of plac-
ing in the sick room a nurse of my own choosing, in place of the
one now, so opportunely, departed. But he had frowned
down my suggestion with scorn, and, I thought, with wrath
manfully suppressed. Evidently his point of view had since


178 THE DOVERFIELDS DIAMONDS
been disturbed; thrown, as it were, out of focus. Pondering
much over the possibilities behind his sudden unbending, I won-
dered. Could it be that in her delirium Ara Doverfields had ut-
tered the word too much P -
It had been a part of our plot, Mrs. Devereaux's and mine,
to keep the evenings of Captain Wrayland as fully occupied as
was possible, and I had just gotten into my evening clothes,
and was studying how best to occupy the hours after dinner,
when I heard a peremptory ring at the telephone.
It was Enid Dexereaux's voice that answered my hello, say-
ing, “Is this Mr. Jasper—Kenneth Jasper? Oh, are you occu-
pied seriously? I mean for the evening—I’m glad | Mamma
and I want so much to have you come up—yes, right away—you
must drop in as if by accident—yes, we will invite you, most cor-
dially, to take pot luck with us,—and—yes, I think it is, really
important! Uncle has had a queer letter from Nancy, and—-
there are other things—Oh, will you? So glad—come soon, we
dine early, you know—good bye.”
Our dinner was a merry one, in spite of our little game of
cross purposes, in which the Captain made a point of keeping
from the women all his anxieties and doubts, while they as care-
fully concealed from him the fact that they knew all. It was
while we were sitting with our wine and cheese before us, the
Captain and I, that the real business of the evening began. Pro-
ducing a letter he opened it silently, and with a sharp glance,
first at myself, and then toward the closed door.
“It’s from Nancy Banks,” he said, his voice cautiously lowered.
“And Nancy only writes when she has something to say—she
says it oddly, too,” he added with a grin. “Listen!”
“M—m—m ! ‘Respected Sir: here we both chuckled. ‘I think
you ought to know how things are goin’ down here. Place and
stock are all right, but Tonto has been actin’ queer, and has a most
run Green Jones off the country. Green thought he would like
to move the dog's house because them white hydrangys and the
lilocks was gittin so thick and closte, 'round one side. Tonto
never said nothin', while Green was tyin' back the lilocks, an he
even let him take away his drink trough, an eatin’ dish, an’ some
o' his bones, an he just set an looked on when he loosed the
ground 'round the kennel-house, an' sort o' pried it up,”—“guess
she means the dog hut,” explained the Captain—"But when he
took hold of the house, an' Tonto saw it stir, he said 'stop’ as


TONTO'S BURGLAR 179
plain as day. He said it twice, real mannerly, but when Green
pulled the house over, then Tonto showed his temper, and his
sense too. He had barked first, now he growled, an’ got be-
tween Green and the house, an’ showed all his teeth. Then he
hopped onto the house an' would n't be shook off, an’ finally
he grabbed the fellow by his close an' they rasseled like two
fiters; Tonto allus keepin’ between Green an his house. He
did n’t bite once, an he would n’t let go. Green could n’t master
him, an’ when I seen the poor old dog gittin' fazed, I took a
hand, and sot down on top o' the house an ordered 'em both to
quit. Tonto was first to mind, thout a word, but Green swore.
I made him leave the house where it was, tho’, when I found out
you had n't ordered no such move; and so that stands where it
did. -
‘Another thing, there 's been somebody prowlin’ about the
place here for two nights. Tonto never makes a fuss after dark,
without some reason. First night I heard the dog, an’ thinkin’
Green might be a tryin' to ketch me a nappin', and mebby Tonto,
too, I slid over to the South side o' the house an' looked out
through the back window on that side. I seen him quite plain,
his face was covered up, an he wore a long thing like a rain coat.
He was lookin' up at the South window, an’ when I see him come
t’ords the v'rady I just knocked on the windo 'fore I thought,
an he lit out, an all the while Tonto was barkin', an’ rattlin’ at
his chain. Green got around there about five minutes too late.”
The Captain lowered the letter. “Nancy's a jewel,” he declared.
“That she is!” I agreed, and he renewed his reading.
“‘Next night Green declared he 'd be on watch, but I told him
no use lockin' no barns now. All the same, when they all had got
quiet, I slipped down an unchained Tonto. I felt as if he was the
best man on the premises, and entitled to as much liberty as
Green was. An then, bein’ I’d got sort o' stirred up, I staid up
myself. This time I waited, in my little sowin 'chair, closte be-
hind the dinin’ room blinds, thinkin’ to make a tower 'round the
down stair windo's, but I did n't get the chance, for, jist about
'leven, I heard the awfullest screech from that dog, an another,
sort o' stiffled, from somebody else, and there was Tonto a jum-
pin' 'round right opposite me, an a man—the same one—a run-
nin’ to rds the road.
‘That time Green did get out, most as quick as I did, an he
had the sense to bring a lantern—must a had it lit an all ready,—


18O THE DOVERFIELDS DIAMONDS
an’—here 's the queer part,—we both looked to see Tonto a hold-
in the man, or to hear shootin an' see a tussel, but the man was
out o' sight, an' there was Tonto just ragin' 'round and 'round
his house, an’ makin little short dashes this way an' that; but git
him away from that nest o' his 'n, you could n't! no sir, not by
drivin' nor coaxin', much as he allus loved to chase agents, an’
tramps. -
“Green poked about some with his lantern, an once, when Tonto
was a ketchin' his breath, we heard the rattle of wheels goin'
to'rds town, but next mornin' when Green went to inquire no-
body 'd had a rig out after IO o'clock, an if 't was a town team
it must a been took from some’rs east—of Wraylands. Next morn-
ing we found some raw meat closte to Tonto's house, in the
bushes like; but the dog had n’t touched it, nor would n’t. He
growled, when Green put it under his nose, an I grabbed it away
quick, and godd thing, too, for Green fed it to a old black tom
cat that stole some o his ducks, an’ she was a dead cat in half
an hour.
“If the feller 's been back since, he ain't got closte enough for
Tonto to hear him. But I do think, sir, that there ort to be some
one else in this house! Another good man, or a hull family.
‘We’re all well, and so hopin' this will find you well, I remain,
“Yours Truly,
“Nancy R. Banks.”


CHAPTER XXVI.
KENYON'S ANALYSIS.
For a long moment, the Captain and I eyed each other in
silence. Then—“What do you think of it?” he questioned.
“First, that I begrudge you Tonto more than ever.”
“Humph! What else?”
“And that Nancy is his fitting guardian, pro tem. Seriously,
Captain, I want to think about this thing. And, I am not so
much surprised to hear of the midnight visitor, as I am interest-
ed in the behavior of the dog, and, if I might advise—”
“Do so,” he broke in. *
“Then, direct Green not to interfere with the dogs' present
house place. I can't think what it means, but it has a meaning.
Tonto is as wise as he is faithful.”
“Yes—true—” The Captain looked both puzzled and anx-
1Ol1S.
“His attack upon Green,” I added, “or rather his defense of
his premises, does not seem so strange. The dog might have
simply felt that to be his station; the place of his duty. It is
his refusal to pursue the flying interloper, after having put him
to rout, that complicates the matter. But, I think, Captain, that
Nancy's suggestion was excellent—"
“You mean—”
“About putting more people in that big house of yours.”
Captain Wrayland shifted his glasses and coffee, as if seeking
to rouse himself from an unpleasant reverie.
“Kenneth,” he asked almost appealingly, “do you think, or
believe that Meyrick—” he paused, and I seemed to see, as
never before, how this thing was wearing and worrying my old
friend. “What do you think?” he finished lamely.
I waived the question, “Do you believe Meyrick to be in this
country?” I asked.
“I don't know! I wish I did! and you?”
“I have no proof.” I replied, “but I believe Ralph Meyrick to
be in the city! If he is not, at present, hanging about Wray-
lands.”
(181)


182 THE DOVERFIELDS' DIAMONDS
“But Ken', there 's Tonto! The dog knew Meyrick. Would
he fly out at him—” I put up my hand. -
“You forget! Tonto tolerated him, perhaps, for Daphne'
sake; and he knew him, and was silent, that night when the
scoundrel bound and gagged him. But now, Tonto has caused
me to believe, that it was this man, and no other who so disturb-
ed Nancy—and Green Jones.”
“I—see l’’ he murmured, but his brow was wrinkled, and then
—“explain,” he added, almost fretfully.
“I base my opinion upon what I know of the dog; and I hap-
pen to remember that Tonto never used to put an unknown tres-
passer to flight before he had proved his intentions. He would
greet an approach with a low growl, but when the time came,
would attack in absolute silence. It was only when enraged
that he would lift his voice in the screech described by Nancy.”
My friend drew himself erect.
“Egad!” he exclaimed. “I must be in my dotage! You are
right! Of course you are right! It 's the very thing the dog
would do!” He pushed back his chair, and his face lit up with
sudden determination.
“My soul! but it's worth something to know your ground!
The villain is here on this side! Of course he is, and we’ll hunt
him down, Ken I’m not afraid to fight, boy! It's this cursed
suspense that 's eating the heart out of me! Come, what shall
we do?”
I got up, smiling now and feeling a sympathetic surge of re-
newed vigor. “I think we would better join the ladies—now,
lest they may suspect us of mischief; and—if you leave it to my
judgment I think Nancy's—er—brother, or uncle from out west,
would better run down, say tomorrow afternoon, and look about
for a day or two.”
“I—see And—it ’s in your hands, of course, Ken—en-
tirely so. But—the man? Will a stranger—do?”
“Decidedly not. Especially he must know Tonto.”
“But, who—”
I laughed and tapped my waistcoat.
“You! Capital"
“It will be just for a reconnaissance,” I admonished him. “I
must be back within three days, at the utmost, possibly sooner.
Drop into my office in the morning, and we will discuss pos-
sibilities. You say you have not shown your sister this letter?”


KENYON'S ANALYSIS 183
“No. It would make her uneasy. And Enid, who is a nervous
child, must always know all that Agnes knows.”
I smiled as we turned toward the drawing room, and I smiled
anew, when, after a half hour of chatter, Enid whispered in my
ear, “I have so much to tell you; let 's go into the music room
soon,” and she glanced roguishly at her uncle, who was looking
frankly sleepy, and then at her mother, who was listening, smil-
ingly and fingering a book.
I had asked about Josephine Bryce, and was questioning her
proficiency, when Enid suddenly arose.
"Mamma Agnes, you are not interested in Josephine—as we
are—and you are yearning to finish your novel. It 's good—we
don't believe you want us, as for Uncle, he is simply pretending
to be awake, so I am going to take Mr. Kenneth to the music
room, where you can't hear him laugh, and tell him some of Jos-
phine's anecdotes and 'Legends of Brownsville,’” and so we went
out laughing.
“Mamma understood, and she is even more anxious than I
am,” Enid began, as she closed the door of the music room.
“Mr. Jasper, has Uncle showed you Nancy's letter?”
“Really—”
“Oh, I know all about it! We both know. When Uncle gets
a letter, his face tells of its contents. We knew it was from
Nancy, and when we saw his face change rapidly from amuse-
ment to surprise, then to anxiety, and finally to actual alarm,
mingled with perplexity, we knew things were going wrong,
somehow. Uncle is a trusting soul, likewise a tidy one, and
when, after luncheon, he hung his street coat in the vestibule
closet, donned his ‘kimono, as he calls his smoking jacket, and
went to his den for a cigar and a nap, I listened for the first
snore, and when it came—a long drawn whistly sound, that near-
ly made me laugh almost into the keyhole, I flew at once to the
closet, picked his pocket, and then called mamma. We read the
letter together.” She paused, and then we both laughed and then
became serious again, while Enid, after telling of her mother's
surmises, and her uncle's growing restlessness, began a series
of eager and far seeing questions and comments; while I, in turn,
confided in this strong, hearty girl, more freely and fully than I
had ventured to do during my talk with her uncle.
That faithful Tonto was in danger, we fully agreed, as another
encounter with the man in the “rain coat” might, and probably


184 THE DOVERFIELDS DIAMONDS
would, result in a pistol shot; also we saw the need of more
occupants in so large a house. “At a time like this,” Enid de-
clared, “there can not be too many eyes. If we could only learn
the whereabouts of that man Meyrick!” she exclaimed. “Have
you no little clue?”
“I know where to put my hand upon a man who, I have reason
to think, knows, at least, where Meyrick went under another
name, of course, when he landed.”
“Then—” she checked herself with a half smile. “There!
I won't ask silly questions! There is a good reason of course—”
“For what, mademoiselle?”
“For your delay in interviewing this person.”
“You are quite right. I am having him closely watched, and
think he may lead us to the right man soon. An interview, now,
might only put the fellow on his guard.”
“I see,” she answered thoughtfully.
I did not tell her who the man was, who might lead me to
Meyrick's hiding place. Much as I was growing to admire her
cleverness and tactful reserve, when upon delicate ground, I
felt it unwise to risk the knowledge that the valet of Madam's
brother was the man to whom I referred. It might cause Enid,
in her enthusiasm in her uncle's cause, to study these people too
closely, or even to question Madam concerning her brother's ser-
vant, in some one of the many round about ways known to clever
women. And Madam Barthelme herself was a clever woman,
I felt well assured, and I knew that Madam and the Devereauxs
were apparently, quite friendly.
Feeling that it would be unwise to follow the topic any fur-
ther, I reminded Enid of Josephine, the original cause of our ad-
journment to the music room.
“Oh, Josephine!” A sudden look of deep gravity overspread
her face, “I wonder,” she leaned suddenly toward me with one
of her swift graceful movements, “Yes, it is true that Josephine
has afforded us much amusement by her unique sayings, and her
ig—lack of knowledge of many things. You know Josephine,
of course, but I doubt if you have had time to guess at the pos-
sibilities in that girl. Do you know she has the quickest eye,
and the sharpest ear, of any one I ever knew ! And she is the
most loyal creature! Did you ever notice the look of blank un-
conscious dullness that instantly overspreads her face when in
the presence of a stranger?”


186 THE DOVERFIELDS DIAMONDS
“Then of course, it is all off.”
“It is not! And here 's the rub, she is delighted with the girl!”
“My soul!”
“And Josephine! Oh, I wish you could have been present
Why the girl is an actress.”
“The woods—and fields—are full of them, Miss Enid.”
“Bah! Listen. When she asked to see the young girl'
mamma explained, we were not at all anxious to part with her,
but Madam appealed as for a favor, and Uncle declared that it
might be an invaluable training for Josephine, and that I did
not really need two maids, whereat I promptly rang for my
protégé.”
“The rescue, the rescue !” I clamored.
Enid pouted and then laughed. “Jo– I call her that, her name
is such a mouthful; Jo came in, looking expectant and stopped
straight before me; her eyes were bright and she was smiling,
I think she rather likes me,” she added demurely.
“Impossible!” I declared.
“Well, at all events, she stood before me, and with just her
profile toward Madam. I glanced at Mamma but she only smiled.
Jo has been left quite in my hands—and I told her that the lady,
Madam Barthelme, would like to have her try serving her as
maid. You should have seen the girl's face! It became at once
so stolid, so expressionless! And at that moment Madam's car-
riage was announced, she was driving with her brother, and of
course, “Henri' must not wait, so she arose and approached Jos-
ephine, saying, ‘Would you not like to come to me, my good girl?'
Jo's face was wooden, and as she did not reply, Madam turned
to me. “Is she, perhaps, a little deaf, she asked, and I saw the
girl's lids quiver. Madam repeated her words. Jo's hand went
to her ear, and she looked unutterably stupid. I leaned toward
her and repeated the question. “I don't know, she said hesitat-
ingly, ‘I—I must ask my—my uncle.’”
“Her uncle!” I ejaculated. “Who in—”
Enid's face quivered with amusement. “Wait,” she said, “I
saw that Jo was playing for time, and I took pity on her. Madam
was in haste, and I told her I would explain to the girl, all that
would be expected of her; let her communicate with her—guar-
dian, and inform her—Madam, tomorrow.” -
“Well ?”
“When Madam had gone Jo broke out at once, ‘Miss Dever-


KENYON'S ANALYSIS 187
eaux, I don't like that woman! Do you want me to go away?"
and then she broke down, ‘I can’t go until I have seen Mr. Jas-
per!' she cried, he may help me—or advise me. I’ll go where
he tells me, and— here mamma interrupted her, telling her that
she need not leave us unless she chose, and that she should see
you. And then she added, “Madame Barthelme is not an auto-
crat—in this country.’”
I asked now to see Josephine. A little to my surprise Enid
left the room to summon the girl, but I understood the move-
ment, and appreciated the tact and delicacy inspiring it, when
Josephine entered alone.
I looked at the girl with new interest, and let her tell her story
in her own way, and almost without interruption. I was sur-
prised at the insight and intuitive understanding of this ignorant
country girl, once her shyness had been allayed and her gratitude
and affection aroused. -
“I don't want to go to that French woman!” she declared,
finally. “She 's a meddler; and I know she has made Miss
Enid unhappy!”
“You know?”
“Oh, I have got eyes! She has never spoken unkindly of the
lady, but her smile goes, and she grows silent, when they talk
of her; and she is too polite, and not her real self, when they are
together.” Then, facing me suddenly, “Do you think I ought
to go to this lady?” she asked.
“Would you go if I desired it?”
“Yes, I would.”
“Josephine, why did you feign deafness when Madam Bar-
thelme addressed you?”
“I—at first I was just dazed; then when she asked if I was
deaf, it popped into my head that she would not want a deaf per-
son, and—I did n’t think Miss Enid wished me to go.”
“Josephine, I think for reasons I cannot now make plain to
you—that it would be best for Miss Enid and her mother, as well
as for me, to have a girl whom we could trust in Madam's ser-
vice; a girl, for instance, who was—when there—somewhat hard
of hearing, and not too keen sighted.”
“Near sighted, do you mean?”
“Yes, she need not be too clever, and should not seem to have
much curiosity; a little absent minded, too, it might be; I don't
think she need stay there very long; possibly only a few weeks, or


I88 THE DOVERFIELDS DIAMONDS
even less. Do you think you could fill the bill?”
“Would it please you?” - -
“It would please me, and, I hope, help me. I should wish to
see you, I think, pretty often.”
Her eyes lighted up. “I—see!” she said, in a long drawn out
gasp. “Mr. Jasper, you may count on me for anything you want
me to do! Why its—isn't it—it sounds like detective work!”
“It is—” I replied. “Of a sort;” and then I gave her some
final instructions, and presently closed the interview, fairly well
convinced that Josephine Bryce might, at need, become a weapon
fitted to my hand.
In bidding Enid Devereaux'good night, I said to her, in an
opportune aside, “Josephine will tell you of our talk; you might
have heard it, for I think that, from now, you must become my
active partner. Put her through a careful drill, and send word to
Madam that she will try to serve her. Madam should know
that the girl's hearing is somewhat defective; also that she is
rather near of vision.”
Enid started. Then she said “Oh!” and smiled sagely.
“At eleven tomorrow, you will do me a favor if you will
bring the new maid to my office, in your character of mentor;
and—she would better remain with you, to strengthen her for her
part, until Madam is established in her new cottage.”
>k >k : >k >k >k >k
It was ten o'clock when I reached my room, but I found Ken-
yon again awaiting me. “Monsieur ‘Veektor, has retired,” he
began at once, “and his man also, so I skipped out. Mr. Jasper,
that valet shows no symptoms of secret meetings or of having
a friend or pal outside the hotel. He and the invalid are not far
apart all day long; yet they are seldom together outside their
rooms. That I have noted, and wondered at.”
“Invalids sometimes like to be independent,” I commented.
He shot me a swift glance. “Your instructions,” he went on,
“were to omit nothing from my reports. Now here 's a thing
that you may call nonsense, but—it 's very real to me!”
“Let’s hear it.”
Kenyon, the man of prompt speech, and few words, hesitated.
“I can't seem to shape it,” he complained. “Put into few words,
it sounds—rubbish! But—here it is, sir. I'm all the time haunted
by the feeling that this Monsieur Henri Veektor, is—bother—
that there's two of him! I'll loiter about when he stops in the


CHAPTER XXVII.
WHERE FATE INTERVENES.
I was more impressed by Kenyon's strange observations than
I cared to show, and next morning I communicated with one,
Fedor Bolinski, a Pole who had spent his life in strange and
weird scientific experiments, applied, for the most part, to a long
and close study of criminology. He was an authority upon the
Bertillion system of identification, and some of his tests of iden-
tity by this means had been considered little less than marvel-
ous. I was so fortunate as to reach him over the wire, and be-
fore noon we were face to face, and I had succeeded in arousing
in him an enthusiasm equal to my own, upon a singular subject
That same afternoon a certain Professor Petozzi, small, quiet
and unobtrusive, registered at the Astoria. He was not talk-
ative, but was almost childishly frank when approached, and a
certain well-dressed and seemingly idle young man from, “out
West,” was soon able to inform some of his office acquaintances
that the “Prof.” was a “wise guy” from Washington, one of
those Smithsonian naturalist fellows, with a few days business
at the zoo.”
At about the time of the Professor's arrival at the W. A., I
set out for Wraylands, having persuaded the Captain that to go
down himself might defeat our purpose, by frightening away
Nancy's would-be burglar. A telegram had preceded me by a
couple of hours, worded thus: -
“Miss N. Banks, Wraylands:—
A plumber will come tonight to look over the house. Give
him a bed. Wrayland.”
All of which Nancy quite understood. I arrived in the early
dusk of a Wednesday evening, and remained, “peekin' and plan-
in’” according to Nancy, until noon of the next Friday, return-
ing to the city in time to appear at Madam's dinner, and take
in my friend, Mrs. Devereaux.
But during my stay in the country no burglar had manifested
himself, although Nancy, Tonto, and myself all awaited him
eagerly. Still I did not consider my time lost, and, having ab-
(190)


WHERE FATE INTERVENES 191
solute confidence in her firm loyalty, and keen common sense,
I made the situation, as it concerned the Captain and Ralph Mey-
rick, as clear to Nancy, as I myself saw it. On the whole I went
back to town very well satisfied.
As I was driving to my rooms, from the station, I saw that I
had just an hour before presenting myself before Madam Bar-
thelme. No emergency message had been sent during my ab-
sence; and I was somewhat surprised to find upon my desk two
unstamped envelopes, bearing my name. These I opened at
once. The first was from Kenyon. He wrote,
“No change. The thing that so rattled me has not altered,
only I see now, more of the one and almost nothing of the other.
They leave the W. A. tomorrow. Kenyon.”
The other message was from the Professor.
“My Dear Jasper:
“I have finished my work, and leave the Waldorf this P. M.
You were wise to look into this! I find the difference—quite
marked and the similarity very marked. It 's a quite unusual case.
Yours to command, Bolinski.”
Half an hour later, with a loose top garment concealing my
evening clothes, I was pacing slowly along the tree shaded ave-
nue upon which stood the home of Austin Doverfields, when,
presently, a woman walking with a firm, easy swing, overtook
me. We were fully a block from the house, and as she reached
me I greeted her, with that assured air which usually marks the
man and maid, when they meet for a stroll with no thought of
concealment, or of criticism. I tucked my hand beneath her arm
after the approved manner of the streets, and we turned down
the nearby crossway, talking lightly and—carelessly. All this
for the benefit of a possible watcher.
Miss Hough was as direct and businesslike in her methods as
the best man among my aids; and when we had strolled past
another block, she began to talk business.
“There's been very little to tell that you could not have heard
from the Doctor as well,” she said, “until this afternoon; but I
have taken twenty minutes airing twice a day with great reg-
ularity, and the Doctor, bless him, has kept me up to it.”
“Of course! One can always depend upon Bird,” I com-
mented.
“Yesterday,” she went on, “Mrs. Doverfields' maid brought
in a dainty perfumed note, which so agitated the patient—even
e
*


I92 THE DOVERFIELDS DIAMONDS
before she had opened it—that I remonstrated with the girl,
and she replied that it was left by an 'elegant lady, who said
she was an old friend, and had just learned of Mrs. D—s illness.
This, of course, after we had gotten my charge partially restored
from what came near being a serious collapse.”
“One word! Did you see this visitor?”
“No.”
“But—you know how she looked ?”
“I think I do. A tall person with a fine figure. Dark, hand-
some, with a ‘foreign way with her, and dressed quite simply—
all in black.”
“H—m—m. Go on, please—the note?”
“Mrs. Doverfields had let the note slip from her fingers to the
floor, and, when somewhat recovered from the shock of seeing
it, she asked for it—quite anxiously, I thought. Her maid was
stroking her hair. I found this to have a soothing effect, and
naturally, it became the maid's task.”
“Naturally.” I smiled and the nurse laughed outright.
When the note fell beside the bed, I urged it into further re-
tirement by applying my toe, at a suitable moment, and it was
quite under the frills of the curtain when I got down on my
knees to reach for it.”
“Had you read it?”
“Not when I bent to the search. Fortunately it was brief,
for—” she paused and laughed again.
“For you read it, as you fished it from under the frills?”
“Precisely . And with my head under the curtain. Luckily
it lay half open, and I had only to turn it over with a finger. It
contained just one line,—‘My condolence. May I see you?' That
was all. No address, no signature. Only in the lower right
hand corner, a circle was drawn, large and heavy.”
“And—how was it answered?”
“By Mrs. Doverfields! A little to my surprise, after lying
for a moment with the recovered note under a hand that trembled
perceptibly, she turned toward her maid:—"Go down, she began,
hesitatingly at first, and—tell the lady' then she broke off and
turned to me, “would it be safe to see my—a—visitor, nurse?’
she asked. Of course I replied that all visitors were forbidden,
and offered to go in person and dismiss the caller. But she said
‘no, she would send the maid; adding as the girl left the room,
‘It will seem less formal, don't you think?’”


WHERE FATE INTERVENES I93
“And—the doctor P”
“I told him, in the reception room down stairs, where he has
asked me to report to him, and he seemed annoyed, and again
in my presence, and that of the maid, and Mrs. Doverfields, he
emphasized his directions. The patient was too weak, too ner-
vous; she must positively see no one but her husband and her
attendants, until he saw reason for a change.”
“Ah! And did you hear the name of the guest?”
“No. I learned from the maid that the lady was strange to
her; not one of the Doverfields' society friends, she was sure.”
I had barely time to reach the Waldorf and went thither in
haste, but while being whirled thither, I was mentally debating
which of three persons I would do well to see first in the morn-
ing,—my friend the doctor; Bolinski, the man of science; or the
imprisoned crook, keen Johnny Deegan. For it seemed to me
needful that I see each one, and the sooner the better, and—I
believed the safer, for my own plans, and for the welfare of my
friends. As is often the case, Fate took from my hands the
power of decision, and in a manner quite unexpected.


CHAPTER XXVIII.
A PUZZLE.
My attitude, as I made my bow before Madam and her invalid
brother that evening, was, if not cordial and altogether friendly, at
least one of admiring and open minded inquiry; and some degree
of curiosity. The admiration was surely Madam's due, and was
paid as to a woman at once undeniably beautiful, manifestly
clever and something of a mystery.
It was the striking and unusual first appearance of Madam,
searching for a lost diamond at the entrance to a Broadway thea-
tre, that had aroused in me from the beginning, a feeling that
Madam Barthelme might not prove an open book. And it was
that seeming abandonment of her pursuit of the lost jewel, that
gave me my first real reason for the doubt, or question. True,
Madam had advertised; and she had placed her case in the hands
of the Police; then, seemingly, she had lost interest in the search.
It was a subject never alluded to by her, after the first short week
of rather speculative seeking, and if broached by others, it was
soon dismissed with a sigh, a half smile, and a slow shake of the
head.
“I have lost it,” she would murmur. “I feel that I shall never
see it again. The police—ah—but I must not blame them! And
your thieves, they tell me, are very clever.”
Here the subject would drop of its own weight, and, at times,
I had even asked myself if the lady had really lost the companion
to the splendid jewel I had seen for a brief half hour, sparkling
in her small left ear. That Madam has since worn the Barthelme
family jewels sparingly, I could have testified, at need. Another
thing had fixed itself in my mind, to rise up and stir in me, when
Madam's praises were sung, by Craig, by Landis, and by others,
in club and café.
To see this dark and stately beauty was for me to see, also,
the mental picture of the shabby and ill looking sandwich man,
whose appearance before me had tallied so exactly with that of
Madam. At the theatre, in the park, at the steamboat landing,
the appearance of one had been the signal for the other, and,
(194)


A PUZZLE - I05
but for the affairs of greater moment now occupying my attention,
I should, without doubt, have made some effort to see more of
this luckless seeming man of the advertising boards, for the look
in his swiftly averted eye had aroused my sympathy. I had rubbed
elbows with the world too long to let mere curiosity lead me
far out of my regular course, but Craig had intervened as a
benefactor, and, knowing this, I was willing to await develop-
ments, should they come; or to stand by to aid, at need. For,
after all, might not this poor soul be merely a hanger-on, a can-
didate for Madam's charity? Even the man's claim to a knowl-
edge of Madam's brother might mean only this. Finally, I ad-
mitted this willingly to my own conscience. My friendship for
Enid Devereaux, and my feeling that Madam Barthelme had
hurt her, in her pride, and, I feared, in her affections, by attract-
ing to herself, however lacking the intention, young Hal Landis,
tipped the scale.
Wavering thus in my allegiance, but with an open mind, I
stood before my hostess, intent upon observing as well as enjoy-
ing; and hoping to improve the evening by making a more or
less disinterested study of Monsieur Victore. I even hoped that
Monsieur's valet might become necessary to his master's comfort,
and so give me at least a glimpse of himself without his dis-
guising workman's costume. But this did not come to pass.
Monsieur Victore was a rather quiet and almost effortless host,
saying little, which was set down, by the majority of the guests,
to his state of semi-invalidism. I fitted his rather sedate, and
certainly trifle anxious manner, and his almost silent but very
constant observation, I had almost said surveillance, of those
about him, to various possibilities. He might have been merely
curious; and I suggested this to Craig, as, on our homeward
drive, we discussed, among other things, the peculiarities of Ma-
dam’s brother, and he replied—
“If so, it was an acute form of the sentiment. By the way, is
curiosity a sentiment?”
“No. It 's a vice,” I replied; and then, pursuing my own train
of thought, I added, “Or it might have been just languid inter-
est in his sister's guests?”
“Quite so.” I was sure there was a low chuckle behind the
dry delivery of the two words I especially detested.
“Damn it!” I growled, “what 's your opinion, then?”
This time the chuckle was not suppressed,


196 THE DOVERFIELDS DIAMONDS
“Same as yours. old man, not a doubt of it.”
“Oh, it is! Then you think that Madam Barthelme's brother,
traveled, sophisticated, cosmopolitan, like herself, was ill at
ease! Uncertain at times, and—a bit in awe of Madam?” And
again I heard the chuckle and the dry half murmur I hated.
“Quite so!” Then, in another tone, “Ken, let's drop it for—
now. I 'm not fully prepared to discuss this personage—he 's
a puzzle!” And no more was said upon any subject for many
InOnents.
Madam's evening had not been a failure. As a hostess she had
been all that a clever and worldly wise woman should be, and
conversation was not allowed to flag. Enid Devereaux seemed
in the best of spirits. Craig, too, willed, on this occasion, to
show himself in a mood of light-hearted levity unusual to him,
and which hid, as I who knew him felt assured, a serious purpose.
But what purpose I could not even guess.
That Captain Wrayland was not quite at ease, was, to me,
evident. His sister, during the intervals of speech and listening,
kept close watch over his mood, and at times, cast at me a glance
that meant much. That she, as well as the Captain, were eager
to hear a fuller account of my visit to Wraylands was only nat-
ural, but, for the entire evening, Madam seemed bent upon doing
the Captain especial honor, while her brother favored him with
about all the conversation he seemed equal to, and sought to
draw him out upon various topics of business interest.
He was seeking a good investment, he told the Captain, and
he was almost confidential upon the subject of his invalidism.
He expressed himself as daily growing more doubtful of the
wisdom of remaining long in the city. It was to be near his
physician, he said, that they were taking the uptown cottage, but
he regretted the necessity of remaining in town. His only de-
sire, he declared, was for a place in the country, if only for a
time. He longed to be out of doors, and in quiet. “My sister,”
he added, sighing, “is in love with town life.”
One other thing puzzled me a little. It was the attitude of
Hal Landis toward our hostess. That he had not ceased to be
charmed, and at times seemingly fascinated, by her smiles and
sinuous grace, was certain, and yet, while he often followed her
with glances that were at once admiring and troubled, he did not
seek her society overmuch. Indeed it was she who at times,
drew him into her circle of chatterers, and who approached him,





A PUZZLE 197
as often as her duties as hostess would permit, pausing beside him
with a smile or jest, in passing from group to group.
What did it mean? He actually reddened boyishly when she
bent smilingly, confidentially toward him with a jest upon her
ripe red lips. And yet—I felt sure he was nerving himself to .
resist her. And this was not all. As he drew back from the
woman who yet charmed him, he sought Enid Devereaux. Sought
her with a clear eye, a look, yes, and even a sigh, of relief, as at
her nearness; and he spoke, as he sought to serve her, with a
mixture of respectful pleasure, and half doubtful shyness.
Enid was frankly sweet and deferential to Madam Landis, who
was as openly cordial and affectionate, keeping the girl near her
after dinner, in the drawing room, even when the men had re-
appeared, and treating Madam the hostess with her finest man-
ner, stately and gracious, but somehow, I was sure of it, she no
longer, as at first, doubted, distrusted or feared for her son.
Her eyes did not follow him now with question or anxiety.
Still, from first to last, it appeared to me that, of all that party,
Madam Barthelme and Roy Craig were the two who seemed
most perfectly self-possessed, without concern, and full of cheer-
ful enjoyment of their surroundings. And yet, I knew Craig
and his capabilities, and how wide apart his smiles and jests and
his actual thoughts could be. Might not Madam be equally
adept at concealment? Certainly she must be either the charm-
ing unconcerned and care free hostess she seemed, or else an ac-
tress such as is seldom seen behind the footlights.
Monsieur Victore withdrew, shortly after the dinner came to
an end, Madam first seeming to note in his face the evidence of
fatigue. He was listening to Enid, who had been seated at his
left hand during dinner, and he arose with half reluctant obedi-
ence, when his sister gently advised his withdrawal. It was she
who made his adieux, he merely nodding as he stood in the cur-
tained doorway, and going out leaning upon her round white
arm.
An hour later Enid turned away from Hal Landis and his
cousin to cross to me, where I stood, alone for the moment, in-
dolently gazing at some photographs of scenes and castles in
Southern France.
“I tried to look at these, before dinner,” she declared, coming
* --- - ----- - - w *


198 THE DOVERFIELDS DIAMONDS
close beside me. Then dropping her voice, “Listen Ken, I—I 'm
really excited—I’ve discovered something—”
“Yes ?”
“Ken,—that man, Monsieur Victore, is—disguised. Did you
know it?”


CHAPTER XXIX.
MONSIEUR BECOMES INTERESTING.
Craig and I entered his office together upon our return from
Madam's little dinner, both silent for a time, but both occupied,
as I very well knew, with much the same thought. Craig closed
the door, when he saw me fling myself into his big Morris
chair, and set out the cigars.
“I think I won’t smoke, if you don't mind, Ken,” he said
lazily. “Come,” smiling across at my gloomy face, “I see I’m
in for it, and—I guess we may as well open our little bag o'
tricks, though mine's not much to display. What's on your mind,
old man?”
I faced him suddenly, sitting erect, and letting my words tum-
ble out pell-mell. “Roy,” I began, “I’m puzzled like the deuce
about those people, Madam, her brother, and his valet. Kenyon
says they—the men—are as elusive as wanted crooks. He sim-
ply can’t get at that valet. As for Monsieur-man, did you view
him closely tonight?”
“Um—m, I observed that—he had no desire to monopolize
the conversation; also that he kept himself modestly out of the
glow of his sister's candelabra, and sought the more dusky and
secluded corners. Weak eyes, Madam told me.”
“And you could not see what was clear, even to Enid Dever-
eaux P”
Craig smiled as he answered. “Do you mean the fact that the
chap was more or less made up? Disguised, if you will? Why,
Ken, I saw that on the day he landed from the liner! You must
remember that I was very close to him for some brief but clearly
illuminated moments.”
“And—you held your tongue?”
“Surely! What ails you, man! Madam's brother was not
our quarry, was he? And—we are not gossiping old women
The gentleman may be merely seeking to conceal the ravages
of middle age and—illness.”
“True. I’ll suggest that to Kenyon.”
“And why to Kenyon?”
(199)


200 THE DOVERFIELDS DIAMONDS
"Oh, merely because it 's explanatory, maybe. Kenyon de-
clares that Monsieur's valet is also made up—more or less.”
Craig started as erect as myself. “By—Jupiter!” he ejaculat-
ed. “That does clinch the business! Kenneth, my son, you have
called me! We may as well have a heart-to-heart talk right now.
And, suppose you take the first innings. State your view of af-
fairs, as they concern our, if I may use the pronoun—our visit
to the docks in search of Mr. Ralph Meyrick—expected.”
“I imagine it 's the same as yours,” I grumbled. “Of course
that Madam should appear, expecting to meet her brother, on
that same day might have been a coincidence. And—I have no
reason to view that brother's arrival with suspicion!”
“Did you fancy I had?”
“Not at first. And not even when, after following what I
thought must be my man, as described by Soames, I found it
was merely Monsieur's discharged valet.”
“Well ?” - -
“Well! Confound it! Of course when I assured myself that
I had followed the wrong man, I was all at sea—at first.”
“Same here,” murmured Craig.
“Still,” I went on, “the facts that the man was attired as we
had expected Meyrick to be, and that this seemed my only clue,
made me cling to the fellow, though I had about convinced my-
self that he was not Meyrick before I had trailed him to his
hotel, and, in setting Kenyon to watch him, I was taking what
seemed a chance. I tell you that day's business was a knock-
out blow to me!” -
“Hm! I'm not so sure of that Ken, but—go on.”
“Of course I never thought of connecting Madam Barthelme
or her brother with the affair, until Kenyon made that first re-
port,” I concluded, “and when, between you, I learned of his con-
nection with Monsieur Victore, of his dismissal, and its cause,
I could see no better chance than continue to shadow the fellow;
and now—”
“Now—what now?” Craig's face was sphinx like.
“Now,” I declared, “I mean to tie to both of these gentlemen!”
“Then—you fully believe that Meyrick crossed in that vessel ?”
“I do, now. Fully! First, because Soames is not the man
to be mistaken in a case like this. He knew Meyrick. He has shad-
owed him since first the Captain got his clue from the Chief of
Police.”


MONSIEUR BECOMES INTERESTING 201
“Hm!—what a master stroke that is, to keep tab upon outgo-
ing gentry of Meyrick's ilk, even after they have crossed the
water !”
“Right! And I fancy it 's a custom that Meyrick was not
aware of. Yes, Meyrick sailed on that boat; and he changed
clothes with Monsieur's valet! Besides—I’m convinced that it
was Meyrick who prowled about Wraylands the other night—
Nancy believes this, and so do I!”
“Tried to poison the dog—eh?”
I nodded, and then, after moment's reflection, launched into
an account of Kenyon's strange fancy, concluding with the visit
to the Waldorf of Bolinski, my man of science. Before I had
ceased speaking Craig was upon his feet, and began to pace up
and down in front of my chair. “Go on Ken,” he said, with
suppressed eagerness. “Give me, now, your very last conclu-
sions! This puts a new—oh pshaw ! Go on, old man! I must
know if we think of this thing alike.”
“Think, man! what don't I think! I’m fairly mired in a mud-
dle of theories. I have thought that this valet may have been
only Meyrick's tool, and have almost believed that he is the fel-
low's accomplice! I have even wondered if both Monsieur and
the valet might not be Meyrick's confederates.”
“Ah!” Craig shot at me an inquiring glance. “And their
object?” |
“There it is! It’s quite on the cards that Ralph Meyrick, and
an organized gang, should come over here for loot; but if so
why in Heaven's name should the scoundrel attract attention
to himself by writing these fool letters to Captain Wrayland?”
Craig shook his head. “It’s very complicated,” he murmrued.
“Of course,” I went on, or is it just possible that Meyrick,
having some design upon the Captain, has planned, on the way
across, to victimize Madam's invalid brother, as a sort of side
line, and has made use of the valet as a first step. An opening,
a sort of hold upon the fellow. I have even gone so far as to
fancy that the business at the water front might have been all
a fake; and that one or the other—master or man—might be
Meyrick himself, cleverly disguised. You know how those
French pseudo doctors can fake up a face.”
Craig uttered one of his queer chuckles. “And where, in that
case, do you place Madam Barthelme,” he asked very gently.
“Hang the wo—I mean I have not placed her! But I'll


202 THE DOVERFIELDS DIAMONDS
swear I don't understand her, either. She is certainly a woman
who can charm, allure and fascinate almost at will. She 's a
woman of the world, and she's seen good society. High society;
that I’ll swear !”
“Amen” murmured my friend.
“She 's correct in dress, deportment, sentiment. In short she
knows the whole social game and is safe to play it. She 's clever,
she ’s entertaining.” Craig nodded. He was standing directly
before me now, his eyes fixed upon my face. “A man could
easily fall under her spell.” I added.
“Even a brother?”
“Even a brother. But you and I, Craig, know the world
well enough to be quite sure that a woman may be all these things
and still not be a saint. She puzzles me!”
“Me, too—a little. Look here, Ken, there 's no profit in dis-
cussing the lady—now, and it 's time we understand each other;
for I seem, somehow, to have slipped into your game—at least
this branch of it. And don't think for a moment, young man,
that you are deluding me into thinking you don't know your
next move! Your mind is made up at this moment.” Here
Craig threw himself down in his big chair once more with the
air of one who has also made up his mind. “And neither I nor
‘all the king's men’ could turn you from the course you have
already mapped out for yourself,” he finished.
“Granted, but, all the same, Craig, it would interest me to
hear your point of view.” Craig leaned toward me, his elbows
upon his outspread knees.
“My point of view,” he began, “is much the same as yours, save
for limitations. Remember that, while I have seen more of Mon-
sieur than you, I only saw his valet at a distance, upon his ar-
rival, and later, only between Madam's portières. His voice
would be more familiar to me than his face. I heard him speak,
quite distinctly—at first.”
“And you see this matter—”
“Like this. To make matters quite clear, look back to our, or
my first meeting with Madam Barthelme. Such faces are not
easily forgotten. On the other hand, you and I know that faces
are sometimes duplicated. Something in Madam's face impressed
me. I recalled certain events in the past. And I, with the
help of a chattering guest, brought up the subject of foreign


204 THE DOVERFIELDS DIAMONDS
wait's the outcome of Mrs. Doverfields' illness, and the report
of one or two parties now busy investigating family history;
for I’m more and more convinced that this is not a case of com-
mon robbery, or common intrigue! Like yourself with Madam
Barthelme, I don't feel justified yet, in telling you all I surmise,
all the strange things I see—vaguely, and—uncertainly. At an-
other time I want to put the whole case before you—up to date—
that is.”
“Of course!” -
“Just now, to return to Monsieur and his valet. Without
casting a reflection upon Madam, I have put an—an agent in
her household. And I told him about the girl Josephine, and her
latest venture in my behalf.
“Good!” cried Craig, catching up his cigar and putting it be-
tween his lips. “Very good! Most excellent!”
And now for a few moments we were both silent, and, seem-
ingly occupied each with his own thoughts. Then suddenly,
Craig leaned toward me. “Kenneth,” he exclaimed, “could it be
possible that there are two Monsieurs? And that the valet did not
disembark from the liner that day? Are you sure?”


CHAPTER XXX.
IN MADAM's COTTAGE.
I threw back my head and laughed. "Quite sure,” I replied.
As sure as I am that Meyrick embarked at Havre. Monsieur
was a quite conspicuous figure upon the steamer; also Monsieur's
valet. I took care to make my inquiries thorough, and in person.”
“And Meyrick?”
“Was as elusive as the others were in evidence. He was seen
to come aboard—oh, yes! But he must have lost himself in the
second-class crowd, or the steerage, very promptly.” For a long
moment Craig and I looked into each other's eyes, the same
thought, doubtless, behind both glances, but the thought did not
materialize in words. “It is certain,” I added presently, “that all
three were booked for the voyage. Monsieur took first-class
passage for himself and man. The 'French artisan secured a
'second class, as one Jean Beraud,”
Craig got up and tossed aside his not half smoked cigar. “Let’s
adjourn, Ken '" he said. “I 'm dull of wit tonight. I want to
sleep on—things.” Then, as I too arose and made toward the
door, “My word!” he grumbled. “I wish I might hear from
those people in Paris!” But he did not explain.
>k >k >k >k >k >k >k >k
The days that followed passed slowly and more than ever, I
felt myself a factor, more or less important, in a long waiting
111e. -
Madam Barthelme and her brother took possession of the up-
town cottage, where the street cars were two blocks away, and the
park was within easy walking distance. The house stood in its
own grounds, small but full of flowering shrubbery of the more
hardy sort. A row of tall trees bounded it on two sides, and
upon each of these there was a little gate of wrought iron, like
the fence, thus giving to the occupants, two entrances or exits.
When Madam left the W. A., Josephine Bryce joined her at
the cottage, and after a few days of trial and breaking in, Madam
pronounced herself well suited with her new maid. “She 's
eager to please,” declared Madam. “A little slow in some things,
(205)


206 THE DOVERFIELDS DIAMONDS
of course, and not very observing. Not at all of an inquisitive
nature. Of course, there 's her dull hearing. It's quite marked,
and an inconvenience—sometimes. But she 's willing ma foi,
yes, indeed; and—I think she will suit. Henri is quite pleased.”
This to Enid Devereaux, who promptly became a frequent, and
quite informal, caller at the cottage.
“It's my duty to look after Josephine a bit,” she declared to
her uncle. “I 'm responsible for her—in a way,” and she shot
me a laughing glance. Enid and I had grown, of late, quite
confidential.
They seemed to live a very methodical life at the cottage.
Monsieur, so Josephine declared, went every morning to the park
and read his newspaper for an hour. And every afternoon Ma-
dam and he drove for a couple of hours. Josephine had kept up
her little fiction about an uncle to whom she owed some small
duty, and Madam permitted her to go now and then to assure
him of her continued health and content.
“They always do have some inconvenient relatives!” Madam
declared to Enid. “I hope this one is not an invalid pensioner,
as well,” which remark sent a twinkle into the girl's veiled eyes,
for the “uncle” was personified by myself; and Josephine's duty
visits ended, usually, at Mrs. Devereaux's area entrance, where
she confided to Enid such items as seemed to her to be of inter-
est and from where, at need, I could be summoned.
In the meantime, Kenyon, whose departure from the hotel
had followed close upon that of Madam and Monsieur, was still
on duty, and after two days of reconnoitering, he became estab-
lished in a large apartment house upon the opposite side of the
street, and on the Northwest corner of the intersecting thorough-
fares. He had secured a tiny corner suite, from the windows of
which, in his new character, of idle young man with literary
propensities, he spent much time in overlooking Madam's cot-
tage. It stood at the Southeast angle of the four corners, and
from his vantage point, he could view both the front and side
entranceS.
I hardly knew just what I hoped or expected, from this dual
surveillance; but certainly the first reports of the pair, covering
as they did Madam's first week in residence, and given from op-
posite points of view, were both amusing and characteristic, and
they were not without their value. Kenyon's items came in


IN MADAM'S COTTAGE 207
writing, curt, and to the point, of course. They were dropped
upon my desk one morning during my absence.
“All quiet,” so it began.
“First four days lady and gent walked to park in morning,
stayed an hour, then home. Afternoon both drive—2 to 4. Three
times gent has gone out alone on foot. Note. When on foot, and
alone, he goes out by side gate. When driving, always by front.
Same for first four days.
“Friday evening, Io P. M. coupé drove to side gate, lady alone
drove away. Home at 2 A. M. Kindly instruct.” Which, be-
ing interpreted, I knew must mean, “If trip repeated shall I fol-
low P”
This first report was received on a Saturday morning, and on
Sunday evening a messenger handed me the following:
“Lady out again in coupé alone—time IO to 3 A. M.
“This afternoon both he and she drove out as usual. Home
too as usual. Gent had only just gone in at front door when out
he comes at side door. Must have sprinted. Time I minute.
N. B. Have not seen valet since 9 this morning.”
Simple and fragmentary bits of information these, but, coming
from Kenyon, they furnished me food for thought. Josephine's
first report came to me from the lips of Enid Devereaux, who
flashed into my office on the morning of Josephine's fifth day in
Madam's service.
“I drove uncle to his bankers,” she began, the moment the
door had closed between herself and Jem. “He said he should
be detained a full hour, and thinks I am making a call—think of
it! At this hour.”
“And what 's this, then?” I chaffed.
“It’s not a call! It 's business! Consider me a talking ma-
chine, please.”
“I–do.”
“Be quiet, then, and listen. Josephine has reported—”
“This morning?” I ejaculated.
“Already. Monsieur and his valet were shut up in the gentle-
man's private room, and Madam, who had attended a party, so
she told the girl, chose to remain in bed; Josephine was permitted
tlerefore to visit her uncle!’”
“Well,” I encouraged.
“Well—here is her report. Mind, I don't undertake to inter-


208 THE DOVERFIELDS DIAMONDS
pret. Neither will I deliver it in the vernacular. The girl is
certainly observing.”
“Ahem! Has—ah—anything been observed, then?”
Enid laughed. “You must judge of that,” she replied. “To
begin, she finds her duties not at all onerous, and is impressed
with the fact that her new mistress is not the social butterfly
she had expected, perhaps hoped, to find. They live very quietly,
and receive no visitors. Her new master seems to puzzle the girl.
He appears to have two distinct manners. He is impatient and
almost overbearing, not to say querulous, she declares. In his
own sanctuary he orders her about with scant politeness, and
sometimes indulges in profanity.” -
“French—or English?”
“I took pains to inquire, and should think that in these moods
he uses direct and vigorous United States! “You ’d never take
him for a Frenchman' she assures me. On the other hand
when he has donned his street clothes, and sets out alone, and by
way of the side or dining room entrance, he is, she assures me,
most polite, even friendly, and she adds that ‘it’s just too funny.”
He seems to feel always grumpy when he goes out by the front
door, and regularly nice and good matured when he sets out
alone by the dining room way. He 's as different, she de-
clares, as if he was two persons.’”
Enid paused and seemed to study my face. “Do you,” she
questioned, “find anything instructive or interesting in my re-
port, thus far?”
“Talking machines,” I observed, “are not usually inquisitive.”
She made a funny little move, followed it by a low prelimi-
nary whir, like the starting of a phonograph, and began to speak
rapidly. “Josephine is getting new ideas regarding family har-
mony. She declares that, since they have become convinced she
is both dull and semi-deaf, they have not been quite so guarded
as at first. They hold long talks with closed doors. Once or
twice the valet has been called in to their councils, and, once or
twice, they have differed, to judge from their elevated voices,
most decidedly. At such times, Josephine avers, Madam is
stormy and Monsieur sullen for the remainder of the day.”
She hesitated, and shot at me a furtive glance, behind which
a suppressed smile seemed to lurk. “Phonographs are supposed
to omit nothing, I believe,” she murmured tentatively.
“Nothing whatever!” I replied. -


IN MADAM'S COTTAGE 209
“Josephine,” she resumed, “has certainly treasured your les-
Sons—"
“And yours?”
“In her heart. And when the valet goes out, as he frequently
does, she attunes her ears, or inclines them, toward Madam's
boudoir. Yesterday she learned that Madam keeps, somewhere,
something of value which Monsieur much desires—if only to see.
Whether Madam keeps this coveted possession about her person,
as he believes, or among her belongings; or whether, as the lady
vows, it is safe in some bank vault, Miss Bryce is not able to
state. But she opines that, sooner or later, this difference will
be the cause of serious trouble. Upon questioning her, I learned
that this subject never came up between Madam and her brother,
except when the valet is out of the house, and that both seem
anxious to keep the subject for dispute between themselves.”
She paused and looked at me inquiringly. -
“Is that all?” I asked.
“I think so. No, wait. There 's just one other little thing,
that is,—it 's rather clever of the girl, but may be of no value—
as yet.”
“Out with it,” I smiled.
“It seems that in her efforts to convince Madam that her ears
are at fault, Josephine has convinced them both that it is im-
possible for her to get things straight over the telephone, and
she has begged her mistress to let her just run 'round the corner
and order things from the grocer, or even bring them home,
'stead 'o only half hearin' things, and so gettin' orders all wrong.
There 's a good grocery only a little more than two blocks away,
she says, and—if it should be needful, she could call you up
and give you bits of news, at first hand. Oh! Josephine is
developing rapidly!” And she laughed mischievously.
“Thanks for your tutelage, young lady! Seriously, what you
tell me is not without its value. Tell the girl that should any-
thing in the nature of a development, or even a quarrel about this
concealed something, occur, she might do well to seek the nearest
telephone booth and call me up. She must always be sure she
is not watched by Monsieur's man.”
>k >k sk >k >k :k >k >k >k
For several days after his first report, I heard no more from
Kenyon, but on the third day, after Enid Devereaux's visit, Jem
called me in haste from Craig's office.


cio THE DOVERFIELDS DIAMONDS
“Telephone call for you, sir!”
It was Josephine who was at the other end of the wire, and
she lost no time, once she heard my voice.
“You all alone, Mr. Jasper?”
“Quite alone, but—don't use names, my child, unless it is
really needf:11 for the sake of clearness; anything wrong?”
“I don't just know, sir. Shall I tell it—now ’’’
“Yes. At least begin—only—no names!”
“All right. I mean—thanky sir. It was last night, and Mad—”
“The lady,” I broke in.
“Yes, sir. The lady she whispered to me—I was cleanin' in
the dinin’ room—she whispered to me to go up to my room
an' wait for her. An I did. She came in soon, an after a lot
o' talk about my bein’ honest, for she could read faces, and was
sure she could trust me, she asked me to promise never to speak
of her bein’ there, nor what she was goin’ to say. Then she
made out that she had somethin’ very dear to her, it bein’ a
family relic, sort of, and she didn’t quite feel safe about her
brother's man. Her brother trusted him too much, she was
afraid, and he was so much of an invalid she dared not put any
responsibility on him, besides the valet slept in his room.” “I
happen to know he did n’t,” the girl interpolated here. “Then
she produced a leather bag, long and narrow, you know the
sort ladies shop with, and asked me to hide it in the very safest
place in my room, and then lock my door, and not go out of the
room until next morning.”
“Stop! Did she tell you what the bag contained !”
“No, sir, only what I’ve told you.”
“Well—go on.” -
“I hid it good and safe, and the minit she left the house,—
she was goin' to a party, she said, an’ she had a cab waitin’—
soon as she drove off I went to my room, as she had ordered, an’
sat down with a story book. I did n’t want to put out my light,
somehow—an I sat an’ read an napped, by turns, till long after
midnight. I had opened the little transom in my door, and I
could hear things down stairs, like doors an’ such, I was sure.
Then, right in the midst of a perfect stillness, comes a knock on
my door that made me jump, an I let out a screech, part scare,
and part for effect.”
“Good idea!” I commented amiably.
“It was Monsieur's voice that I heard, swearin soft like, an’


IN MADAM'S COTTAGE 2II
tellin' me to shut up, nobody wanted to eat me, nor rob me. He
just wanted me to hand out his sister's keys. He wanted to
get some of his cigars from the sideboard, and it was locked.”
“Did you have the keys?” I asked, hoping to shorten her
narrative.
“Me? No, sir! She never left 'em with me, an he knew it well
enough. I told him I did n't have 'em, but I'd seen his sister
put some keys in a china cup, or some such thing, on the side-
board. You see the sideboard is chuck full of all sorts of knick-
knacks, funny cups an jars, an' so on, and I knew it would keep
him busy for some time, lookin'. He ordered me to open the
door, but I got awful scared then, and made so much noise that
he ordered me to shut my gab, and pretty soon I heard him
fumblin' 'round down stairs—”
“One moment—were the keys on the sideboard?”
I could hear her giggle as she replied.
“Yes, sir. The keys to the sideboard doors and drawers, and
to the cellaret.”
“Very good—what next?”
“Why, only that for two mortal hours, that man rummaged,
first in the dinin’ room for the keys, and then in his sister's
room, the bedroom an' settin' room, or ‘boodoor, she calls it.”
“Where was the Valet?”
“In bed, I spose, anyway, Monsieur took good care to move
'round quiet as he could. He must a got pretty mad, for after
a long time, I heard him come creepin' up stairs ag’in and the
minute he put a hand on my door, I let off a screech that I
thought would wake the valet, and the cook and all the neigh-
bors, an’so it did,—the valet anyhow, came stumblin’ out, an' then
I heard Monsieur explainin' grumpily how he could n't sleep,
an' could n't get into the sideboard or cellaret to get some new
cigars, an he thought I might have the keys. Then, of course,
they sent cook back to bed and went off down stairs, an’ there
wa'nt no more huntin'. I got up on a chair an’ peeked into the
hall. I could see 'em goin’ down the hallway, an I noticed
that neither one of 'em limped.”
“Stop, Jo, my girl. Has n’t the valet been away?”
“Oh, yes, sir. He went off three days ago—no, four, an he
only showed himself back that very—I mean yesterday morning.”


CHAPTER XXXI.
AN IMPORTUNATE GUEST.
For nearly a month Mrs. Doverfields had lain, first delirious,
and then in a partial stupor with low fever following, and during
that time her husband made no sign that his interest in the find-
ing of the diamonds had reawakened. As the days passed and
the unhappy lady still showed little symptoms of improvement,
her white troubled face, her clear eyes, her childlike, sensitive
mouth seemed to haunt me, and instead of contenting myself
with news from the Doctor, I began to call at the door, where
I was known to the servants, as I thought, only as one of a large
circle of anxious and sympathetic acquaintances. Here I would
ask for news of the invalid, and usually informed the polite
servant that I would not trouble his master with messages just
then. But one morning, as it chanced, we met in the outer door-
way, and Doverfields seemed almost cheerful.
“She is brighter this morning, and she recognized me for the
first time! The Doctor now feels very hopeful,” he said, when
I had made my explanations and inquiries. “And, by the way,”
lowering his voice, for the servant stood not far behind, “while
you are right in thinking that you are only known as a friend,
by the servants downstairs, my wife's maid, through an inad-
vertence of my own, knows you as a detective. She is a very
trustworthy person,” he added, “and I think there is no harm
done. Of course I warned her; she quite understands.”
The next time I called, the door of the vestibule stood half
open; and, as I stepped through, I heard the sound of voices,
one high pitched and strenuous, the other lower, but full of de-
cision. The servant moved back to let me pass, as if I were an
expected guest, and shot at me a quick look of appeal, or so I
interpreted it, followed by an almost imperceptible nod toward
the inner hall, in the doorway of which stood a woman with her
back toward me, and confronting her was Mrs. Doverfields’ dig-
nified maid.
The woman in the doorway was speaking volubly—she had not
(212)


AN IMPORTUNATE GUEST 213
heard my step—and I was almost compelled to pause for an in-
Stant.
“I tell you she is expecting me!” she said angrily. “She will
not thank you for not taking me to her at once. It 's more im-
portant to her than to me!”
“Madam, as I told you before, my mistress is very ill! She
sees no one,” said the maid, and it seemed to me that her voice
had suddenly grown tame.
“She 'll see me, never fear,” declared the woman. “She will
never refuse to see so old a friend! She—” at that moment, very
much to the surprise of man and maid, I turned, tiptoed softly
out, and ran down the steps. I had heard the sound of wheels
at the curb, and knowing the Doctor's hours, trusted to the chance
that he had arrived. He was stepping from the carriage when I
laid a hand upon his arm.
“Doctor,” I said, “let me slip into your carriage. There is a
woman in there whom you must put to rout. The servants don’t
seem able to.”
“Why did n't you?” he asked as I sprang past him into the
front seat. -
“Did n't want to be seen " I retorted, and smiled at his puz-
zled face.
A moment later the woman came swiftly down the steps, turned
southward, and walked briskly away, followed at a safe dis-
tance by myself. She was thickly veiled and richly dressed, and
I smiled as I noted her stately but somewhat nervous walk. At
the corner a block away she turned quickly, stepped into a wait-
ing carriage, and, to my utter disgust, drove away so rapidly that
I had scant hopes of overtaking or following her, and this hope
failed me altogether when I found there was not a cab in sight.
“What was her errand?” While pondering this question I
was making my way with long strides back to the place I had so
hastily left. The man servant was not in sight, but Dr. Bird
and the maid were still discussing the affair of the woman, and of
my own strange flight.
The woman had been there before, twice at least, since Mrs.
Doverfields' illness, the maid was saying. Each time she had
been more insistent than before, and the quick-witted maid, upon
seeing me, had been on the point of addressing me as “Doctor,"
relying upon me to understand and carry out the part, when I
had so suddenly fled, and the real M. D. appeared in my place.


2I4 THE DOVERFIELDS DIAMONDS
“That's a woman, Masters,” the Doctor declared, “who has no
business here! I am sorry you missed her trail.” I smiled as he
must have thought, rather inanely, as I declared that I was sorry,
too.
When the good man had gone up to his patient I questioned the
maid rather closely, and before going, I said, “If this lady comes
back, ask her to come again, and, if possible, set a time. Then
inform me at once. Of course you will speak of this to no one.
We must stop these visits to your mistress. The girl was both
intelligent and grateful, and I knew I could rely upon her.
:: :k :k k >k :k :k -k -k :k >k sk
Before this episode, and for days after it, I had kept up
a systematic search among the dealers in diamonds, the jewelers,
and the pawnbrokers, in the hope of identifying the real jewels,
or some part of them, by comparison with the shams, which were
now in my hands. And I spent many evenings in going from one
to another of the places of amusement. All places, in fact, where
jewels could be displayed, were visited, in season and out, but the
days passed, with no results, and other matters began to claim
my attention. Ten days had passed since my encounter with
“the strange woman,” if it could be called an encounter, and six
weeks since my last interview with Mrs. Doverfields, when, one
day, almost at noon, her maid was ushered into my office, eager
and anxious and in urgent haste. She had slipped away while her
mistress, who, now slowly recovering, supposed her to be at
luncheon, and she had driven hither in a cab to tell me that the
strange woman had called that morning.
She had learned, in some way, that Mrs. Doverfields was slowly
recovering, and she was determined to see her, only giving up
and going away upon being told that, if all went well, Madam's
maid, who had affected a complaisant mood, and assumed to think
there must be a debt in question—would contrive an interview;
or, at least, admit her to her mistress' presence.
“And she 's coming tomorrow at ten,” said the girl ruefully.
“Oh, she must not see Mrs. Doverfields, with her harsh talk.
She comes for no good, I am sure of it!”
“I am inclined to agree with you,” I replied. “And while I
can't keep her away, I will see that the Doctor does! As for me
—well, I will try to prevent her coming again! Say nothing to
your mistress. By the way, do you think she expects this
woman P”


AN IMPORTUNATE GUEST 215
“I can't tell, sir. She asked me, almost as soon as she was
herself, if anyone, any stranger, had called to see her, and when
I said no, she whispered, so low that she thought I did not hear,
"Thank God for that! After that, sir, I was determined no one
should trouble her! The very next day the woman came.”
At ten o'clock next morning I sat in a cab not far from the
Doverfields’ driveway, but on the opposite side of the street, and
at a little before ten o'clock Doctor Bird's carriage clattered up
to the door.
Then, in a moment, I saw the curtain go up in the window of
the little reception room, and the carriage I had attempted to
follow drove up. The Doctor's carriage had moved on.
I saw the woman enter, and I knew what was about to happen
in the little reception room. Doctor Bird was never so suave as
when he meant to carry his point, and, when, ten minutes later,
I saw the veiled woman come down the steps, spring into her car-
riage, and drive away, I knew where the victory lay. I could
imagine his story, of his patient's positive need of rest, his gentle-
manly assumption that he was addressing a charming society
friend, who would be all sympathy, and ready, at once, to with-
draw until a more convenient season and this, whether willingly
or not, she had done.
This time, with a well chosen driver, I did not fear to lose her,
but when, after a long drive, her carriage drew up before a tall,
brown-stone house, in a once fashionable quarter of the city
which had now sunk to the level and the use of many of the more
“aristocratic” denizens of the under world, I was aghast, and
wondered more than ever, what could be the nature of the busi-
ness, for business, and of an unpleasant sort, I knew it must be,
which should bring together an Ara Doverfields, dainty, refined,
exclusive, and—yes, with this testimony before my eyes, I was
prepared to say it—“an adventuress.”
Yes; at last I was assured of what I had, from the first, felt
as an intuition. By her own too bold move, she had advanced
me at least one full step in the game.
For the house before which her carriage had halted, and which
she had entered, swiftly, like one accustomed, was a private—and
most sumptuously equipped gambling house, conducted by—
heaven save the mark! “a creole gentlewoman,” and patronized
by ladies and—sometimes—their friends and escorts; a house


216 | THE DOVERFIELDS DIAMONDs
notorious, over whose portal should have been inscribed, “All
hope abandon ye who enter here.” -
And the veiled woman? Ah, Mrs. Doverfields! Must I again
reconstruct my already thrice changed theory of yourself—your
position, and—your accountability in the matter of the diamonds?
The veiled woman was Madame Devinne Barthelme.
Could it be possible that I should find here a clue to the fate of
the Doverfields’ diamonds?


CHAPTER XXXII.
A DOVERFIELDS' DIAMOND.
To say that I was shocked at the result of my pursuit of
Madam's carriage would hardly be accurate. Surprised, I as-
suredly was, and yet what, after all, had I discovered ?
Madam was, at least by education and environment, I could
not vouch for her birthplace, a foreigner, a Parisian, and in Paris
even the grand dame might, and did gamble at will. As to the
place and its repute—well, might it not be charity, even justice,
to argue that Madam simply did not know our social customs, and
limitations? As for her visit to Mrs. Doverfields, or her attempted
visit, had she not told me, with perfect candor, that they had
met abroad? What had I learned then, after all? Probably noth-
ing of value, as I decided after sleeping a night upon the ques-
tion. Nevertheless, this did not prevent me from summoning
Kenyon, and setting him an added task.
Nearly two weeks had passed since Madam and Monsieur had
established themselves in the up-town cottage, and Kenyon had
found little to report, except the fact that Monsieur's man had re-
mained invisible, on two occasions, for periods of two and three
days respectively. “Invisible” to Kenyon on the outside. “Absent,”
as Josephine had duly informed me. With my faith in the girl's
shrewdness growing daily, I felt that it was the part of wisdom,-
now, to send Kenyon forth in the character he could play so
ably, and which, I was sure, he enjoyed, because it called for some
good acting, and a measure of finessé. So he was bidden to
follow Madam, and, if her visits to the brown-stone house con-
tinued, to gain an entrance there, and risk a little money upon
the “green-cloth.” Also he might learn what he could of the house,
its inmates, and its presiding genius.
To the police and “plain-clothes men,” most doors of this sort
are opened upon application. “And when Kenyon came in per-
son, two days later, to tell me that his entrée was assured, I gave
him my final instructions, and he went about his new business.
Meanwhile Josephine had found little to report, save the items
of the valet's absence, the first coming over the telephone.
(217)


218 THE DOVERFIELDS DIAMONDS
Then several days passed with no word from any of my agents,
and I began to fret inwardly at the seemingly slow progress of
events. While in this mood, Dr. Bird came bustling in one
day with a scrap of news.
“The veiled lady,” he declared had been effectually “staved
off” for the present. She had driven up that morning as he was
leaving the Doverfields' home, and he had met her at the car-
riage door, declaring he had at that moment left a note for her,
not knowing her address—a hint which the lady utterly ignored.
He had wished her to know that his patient was still too ill to
be seen; was, indeed, much of the time mentally dazed, but, know-
ing her anxiety,+Madam's, that is—he had wished her to know
that as soon as Mrs. Doverfields was rational and able to con-
verse, he would personally instruct the nurse to admit her.
Whereupon the veiled lady had confided to him her reason for
“seeming so importunate.”
They had been quite friends abroad, she and his patient, and as
she was likely to be called from the city at any moment, she felt
most unwilling to leave without, “at least one look at her sweet
friend—etc., etc.”
“In short—Jasper,” the Doctor finished, “I am much inclined
to think that the a—anxiety, er—and reluctance displayed by
my patient—” he seldom called his patients by their names—“was
the result of her nervous condition.” Then, catching the look
in my face, he hastened to reassure me. “Of course, I shall as-
sure my patient's serenity by consulting her, before this lady
is allowed to see her.” -
“A wise precaution,” I commented and said no more. So long
as the Doctor refused to admit any visitor, I thought it needless
to explain why this special candidate for admission, more than all
others should be denied. And I preferred to know more, and to
be able to explain as well as assert before speaking more fully.
For, after all, what did I know—as between Madam and Mrs.
Doverfields? Merely that there was mystery surrounding both.
A mystery known, in part at least,-in the case of the sick
woman, but quite clueless, as yet, as it concerned the handsome
French woman, who, while claiming the privilege of a friend,
was yet feared and dreaded by the other.
No, it was not the time to speak! And for a little I must trust
to the Doctor's veto, the nurse's shrewdness, and the maid's
loyalty to her good mistress.


A DOVERFIELDS DIAMOND 2IO
Meantime nurse and maid were growing quite friendly, and I
was not surprised, a few days later, to learn that Madam had
made an attempt to bribe the nurse, very cleverly, but without
S11CCeSS. -
I was looking over a rather interesting bunch of mail one
morning, when Roy Craig came in and sat down in the chair near-
est me, without comment, but with—“something to say,” written
all over his face. I glanced at him, across the letter I had just
opened, and encountering this look said:“Just a moment, old man!
This seems to be the only interesting letter in the pile. It 's from
Parchments, which is as much as saying it 's short.”
“Finish it,” said Craig.
I glanced over its contents and again looked up. “Listen,
Roy, here 's the meat of the thing,” and I read slowly from the
middle of the sheet:
“However, I am on the track of what I believe to be a very
strange and unusual record of this man, and hope to bring it up
to date; perhaps, even to locate him, before I write again. In the
interval, I am following up one or two quack lawyers and some
old family servants—all well scattered—which must explain
what may seem a long delay. Certainly this Austin Doverfields
has had a most unfortunate career.”
“What 's that—-about Austin Doverfields' career?” exclaimed
my partner.
“Didn’t you hear me?”
“But—Austin Doverfields!”
“Parchments refers to a second Austin Doverfields—at least,
another. A cousin of Doverfields, our New York millionaire.”
He looked at me speculatively—“You ’re going into this thing
with both hands, eh, Ken?”
“Yes, and head also—I hope! I’ve only struck blind alleys,
as yet, and when I see a real lead, Roy, I'll not fail to give you
the tip,” and now I noticed that he held a tiny parcel in one
hand. “What have you there, eh?”
He placed the thing upon the desk close to his elbow. “There-
by hangs a tale, or part of one, and I came in to tell it. It 's
about our sandwich man.”
I started, I had almost forgotten this queer character. I knew
that Craig had visited him, had stood his only friend, in fact,
after his hurt on the water front, but for some days I had quite


220 THE DOVERFIELDS DIAMONDS
overlooked the man, and Craig's interest in him. Now, as I
looked from Craig to the little packet, wrapped in a quantity of
tissue paper, I had a sudden feeling that I had almost overlooked
a link, a possible clue, to one of the mysteries now troubling my
mind, and my interest and curiosity became suddenly intense.
But I only said—“How is the poor chap? Up and about by now,
I dare say.”
“Then you will dare say wrong. Have you forgotten that I
told you the unlucky man had a bad sprain? Besides there 's
a strained arm.” -
“I believe I had forgotten—almost.”
“Almost, indeed! Why, he was actually under the hind feet
of Madam's horses! And he ’s put himself back by his great anx-
iety to go forward. So he ’s in for a week or two more of se-
clusion,-and he 's chafing under it.”
I, too, was chafing. “Learned anything much that would
explain his queer doings?” I ventured. -
“Much? No! a little—yes. As I first reported, the poor chap
seemed to take to me. He 's not another friend in the city, so
he declares, and I’ve no reason to doubt him. But he ’s made
a rather rum start, since he found, by the merest chance,” here
Craig's eyes twinkled, “that I’m a sort of a lawyer.”
“Merest chance, is good!” I declared flippantly.
“What else could you call it? I happened to spill from a pocket
a business letter, and one of our cards, as I was leaving him a
few evenings ago.”
“Look here, Mr. Foxy Grandpa, I have n’t quite lost my mem-
ory! For instance, a week or more ago I seem to recall that,
according to your testimony, our sandwich board friend had ex-
pressed in your hearing his desire to be well, and able to obtain
the advice of a first rate lawyer, also I seem to recall that
you have not mentioned your protégé since—until today!”
“Possibly possibly l’ murmured Craig; “therefore, with your
permission, I am about to bring my history up to date. After
all, it's not so enlightening as one could wish. Let’s see—where
Was I ?”
“Dropping cards and business letters, quite by accident,” I
replied.
“True! Well, we will omit the details. They can come later.
When next I called our friend had relaxed somewhat; not, how-
ever, to the extent of giving his name—any names, in fact. He


A DOVERFIELDS DIAMOND 221
appealed to me as a lawyer. He had inherited, a few years earlier,
a large fortune, so he stated, and he had still earlier, become the
worshiper of a most heartless creature, not at all in his class.
His words, mind! Becoming possessed of his fortune, he sent
the girl abroad, and as soon as possible followed her. He became
her tool, her victim. He believes, now, that he was both drugged
and hypnotized into giving into her hands all his wealth, believ-
ing implicitly in her devotion to himself. There was a reason,’
he declared why they could not marry. A reason which she
seemed to recognize. One day he was hurt in a motorcar smash-
up, and for weeks lay helpless in a little town in Southern France.”
“Not very original,” I murmured.
“Wait! It 's rather tragic—at least! His devoted one visited
him, at first, as often as permitted. Then, suddenly, her visits
ceased, and the suspense and anxiety pulled him down and pro-
longed his illness. After a time a letter reached him. It was
from America, and it told him that a sudden call to the bedside
of her dying mother had taken her across the Atlantic; without
a moment for explanations, she had to catch the first boat,
but she would write him again soon. She had found time
to take with her all her funds, however, and, after paying his bills,
he was barely able to return to his old home, where he learned
that my lady's 'dying mother had left, weeks before, and very
much alive, to join her daughter.”
“Where,” I asked breathlessly. •
“Ah—there is where the story breaks. It seemed as if he had
determined that no one should know—too much ! Not even his
‘legal adviser. He realized upon his last piece of property, and
has, I very much fear, spent it all, or nearly all, in a round the
world search.”
“And—has he found her?”
“Ken, I have told you all I know—about the affair. The man
is oddly sensitive, and—he is strangely certain that his search,
sooner or later, must succeed. It seems that among the many
documents he has lavished upon her is a deed to his boyhood
home, held in the family for generations. He is a broken wreck,
and he realizes, too late, that he has vowed to pass this property
on, intact, to the next of kin bearing the family name. And—he
has a half crazy idea that he will find this woman, and will wrest
from her this deed to his old home.”
“But—”


222 THE DOVERFIELDS DIAMONDS
"One moment, Ken! When I tried to reason with him, to learn
how he had hoped to accomplish this, I could get but one answer.
"I can do it! I know the way; I know the way !'”
"And your advice? What did he want of that—if—?”
"Simply this. He seems to take justice into his own hands:
To confront her, and wrest his homestead from her, and he merely
needs me, so he thinks, to show him how to turn it over to the
"next of kin’ without unpleasant publicity. Not for his own sake,
or the woman's, but for the sake of this other heir.” -
"Do you think he has traced the woman?”
"He was careful not to say so. But, as I have said, he dis-
played much confidence in finding her, once he is well again.”
“H-m—m!” I pondered so long that Craig took up the little
packet and began to remove the wrappings. -
"Last night,” he began slowly, “our friend had a scare, a real
one. A burglar—very hard up, no doubt, and finding an entrance
easy, made his way into the building, and up to the floor upon
which this queer chap rooms; lives, in fact. He—the burglar,
even made his way to my friend's door, and was caught in the
act of prying at the jamb. It was secured by a bolt, a new bolt,
put on by the resident tenant. It was this alarm that has caused
him to bestow on me this last and greatest mark of his favor, and
-faith ! The latter not quite merited, one might think.”
He had clipped away the tissue paper, and now held in his
hand a tiny chamois bag, or pocket, such as jewels are often car-
tied in by ladies when traveling; a long cord was twisted about
it, and, as he slowly unwound this, my friend added, “His in-
structions were simple. ‘Take this home with you, he said, and
examine its contents there, and, if, before night, you will put it
away, in your own safety deposit box, I will be forever grateful.”
I am, as you see, about to open the little bag.”
I bent forward, half expectant, more than half skeptical.
“Jove! Look, Ken '"
As if I were not looking, and with all my eyes; “My—soul!”
I gasped, as I bent nearer.
“Ken! Good Heavens, man, what ails you? You look—”
He broke off, as I silently plucked from his palm the splendid
glittering object, and followed me as I carried it to my east
window, and studied it from all points of vantage.
“Ken, speak——what is it?”
I felt my face go white, as I held the gleaming thing toward


A DOVERFIELDS DIAMOND 223
him at arm's length, and my voice was husky when I said, “Take
it, Craig ! You have done well, indeed. Almost without an effort
you have found the first, and one of the finest, of the Doverfields'
diamonds.”


CHAPTER XXXIII.
THE PLOT THICKENS.
Without waiting for comment or question, I strode up to the
small safe, masked as a bookcase, which had served all my pur-
poses so well, and took from it the mock jewels obtained weeks
before from Keen Johnny's sweetheart; and when I had com-
pared the sham gem with the real, and convinced Craig, I told
him how I had obtained the paste jewels, and we fell to studying
and trying to analyze this new situation. The gem had been
consigned to the care of my friend, with no explanation, and,
after much discussion, we decided upon our present course.
“The situation,” I said, “looks to me, like this. Our sandwich
man, if your doctor is right in his diagnosis, will be confined to
his room, for—how much longer?”
“Ten days at least, he says. Two weeks, more likely. He
gains slowly.”
“And—we can easily keep an eye on him?”
“I’ll volunteer for that service, Ken.”
“Then the sandwich man 's safe, and this one real diamond is
Secure in your safety vault. No,-I won't take charge of it now!
Meantime, many things may happen in ten days; and, at the
worst, if I fail in finding any other clue, we can confront our
man at any moment, and find out, as we must, how this stone
came into his possession.”
Craig shook his head. “I don’t believe he was in the rob-
bery!” he said sturdily. “The man’s weak by nature, and weaker
because of the life he has lived, but he ’s not a criminal ' You
would say as much, if you had seen him,-as I have! He ’s a
victim, not a vulture!”
“Still, he has one, at least, of the Doverfields' diamonds,” I
reminded him, “possibly more, that are better hidden.”
“True! But he may have come by this stone honestly. It may
even be a trust. And, he might have found it.”
“Ah!” I started, and a vision of my first sight of the sandwich
man arose before me. Again I stood near the great theatre,
and saw the pinched face, and meager figure crouched against
(221)


THE PLOT THICKENS 225
the marble pedestal of one of the tall supporting pillars of the
vestibule, and again, I was watching him, as, jostled and pushed
by the crowd, he picked himself, and his bill-boards, from the
gutter, and limped across the street, dodging in and out among
the moving vehicles and stationing himself, for a breathin
spell, perhaps, on the further side. -
“Yes,” I agreed. “He may have found it.” And we decided
to do nothing for the present to disturb the quiet convalescence
of the sandwich man. That afternoon I received two letters that
I found of interest, although they added to the puzzle, rather than
threw any ray of light upon it. The first, from Josephine Bryce,
caused me to smile, and to congratulate myself.
“Dear Mr. J–.” So it began.
“You told me better not trust to notes, but I can't get to Miss
Devereaux today, and I dare not try the telephone booth, just
11OW.
“I went out an hour ago to tell you that after being away again,
three days and nights, Monsieur's man has come back this morn-
ing early. After breakfast I went out to order some things for
Madam's lunch, and as I was just three doors from the tel’ booth
place, I dropped my shoppin' bag and then looked all around me,
like I always do, while I picked it up; and there, on the other side
of the street, was Mr. Valet, pokin' along slow an’ careless like;
so I went back home, and am writing this, to drop in the letter-
box just a minute before the man collects the mail. I told Madam
about her brother searchin' her room that night, an about him
askin’ me for her keys, but I done as you said, an didn't tell her
about his comin’ to my room.
“They had high words this morning, and I heard her tell him
that she would rather run her chances in a safety deposit vault
than with such things too near herself, or him; and he swore
awful! That’s all for today—so far.
“Yours,
“J. B.”
“P. S. I begin to think it is good for Monsieur to have his
man away. It 's funny but he 's always good natured those
times,—real polite, and seems to feel real well, sort o' walks
more springy, though of course not so very fast, and never scolds
at me—or the cook. Queer, I call it.”
And so did I. I made a few entries in a fat note book and
pondered a few moments, speculating as to where the valet went


226 THE DOVERFIELDS DIAMONDS
on these visits. He had now been absent three times, and each
time for two or three days. A few moments later I found my-
self wondering if I could not make at least a guess at his desti-
nation. But first, I read my second letter. It was from Nancy
Banks, and was as fierce and pungent as herself.
“Mr. Kenneth Jasper,
“Respected sir:—
“This is to inform you that in my humble opinion this old
house wants more people in it, and at least two dogs. I wish't
I had a stuffed one that looked like Tonto! Three nights ago
some one was prowlin' around the place, but Tonto made such
a noise that he had to run for it. Next night I made Tonto
come into the house—by main force, and fixed a blanket by his
hut so as to look like a dog curled up. I made the two men
promise to be on watch, too, but they did n’t want to ; scared
maybe. Anyhow, little after midnight a man crept right up close
to the dog-house an fired two shots into my old blanket. Then
the men got out, but of course the wretch got away.
“Now I’ve had just enough ! I want somebody else down here
soon. The master, a friend, or a tenant even An at least one
man with a brain in his head An' I've written as much to the
Captain twice.
“Yours truly,
“NANCY K. BANKS..”
>k >k sk •k >k :k * :k :k -k >k
Of course Captain Wrayland duly came to discuss with me
Nancy's latest letters, and most urgent request. He called it a
command, and we were not long in deciding that she was right!
Some one should be at Wraylands; two or three someones. But
not the Captain. This to me, was clear. It was, I felt, the last
place for Captain Wrayland, until we had found Ralph Meyrick;
or, at least, knew his game. But this was the last reason to give
to the Captain, and I resorted to diplomacy.
“It’s a bit difficult, Captain. Of course if it were not for this
troublesome Meyrick, you might go down and take the ladies
with you. It's the fact that you ’re absent, I dare say, that has
encouraged some local, or nearby talent, to attempt to loot the
house. You 've much fine old silver, and some valuable rugs,
tapestries and pictures, still there, you know.”
“Do you think that is it?” he questioned.
-" ----,


MANY IRONS IN THE FIRE 231
better than they seem, but—until I know they are, and not from a
mere declaration, mind, Madam Devinne Barthelme cannot again
be received by me. I shall not meddle, I shall leave this affair
as it now stands to you, and I only ask you to remember
that you are a gentleman, with a clean name and unsmirched
honor ! That you do not quite forget your mother, and—I am
going to trust you; ” here he paused.
“And—you?” I questioned.
“I did the only thing possible; I thanked her, kissed her, and
went out.” His eyes lingered on mine for a moment. “It was
too soon for promises, and—the thing hit me hard. Wait!” as
I was about to speak. “Let me finish. You will understand me
better then—I think.”
“By all means,” I acquiesced.
“I need not say that I have been attracted, fascinated even,
by Madam Barthelme! She was to me, a new woman, with a sub-
tlety and charm of manner quite different from the more direct
and calm methods of our American princesses, yet, with all her
grace and charm, there has always been a-a something vague,
and yet strong enough to make me feel—well, uncertain! I
believe I am sensitive to atmosphere. At all events, when I
found myself alone, I suddenly discovered that there was no
need for thought. I knew at once what I meant to do, and I did
it—that very evening.”
“Ah!” Instantly, I guessed what he was about to say, but
I closed my lips upon the monosyllable, and Landis hurried on.
“I 'm going to make this thing short,” he declared. “I find
it d-d unpleasant! At six o'clock that afternoon I sent a mes-
senger to the cottage with a note asking if Madam would re-
ceive me after dinner. She replied, regretting a previous engage-
ment. And I at once went on with my plans. I had heard of
this house, but had never visited it. In fact, it is but lately opened,
but—I need not tell you how easy it is to obtain entrée to these
places!”
“For you, that is,” I smiled.
“For me and my kind. I know a club man who prides him-
self upon his knowledge of all that is smart in the sporting
world; this place is decidedly 'smart, and Healy had only to say
a few pretty things over the telephone to obtain for me the
“freedom of the house.’”
“Tell me something about this place—just a few details.”


232 THE DOVERFIELDS DIAMONDS
“I was about to do so. There are several rooms, upon two or
three floors, and sumptuous suppers are served on the top one.
No one is admitted without a passport, a voucher; and, while
the double parlors on the second floor are given over to one class
of patrons, and the tables are more or less open to all comers, the
next floor is divided into smaller rooms, where private games can
be arranged, and where some heavy betting is done.”
“I see!” I nodded. “It’s on the foreign plan.”
“Precisely. The lady patrons all play on the upper floors,
but the rooms are connected by heavy doors, open, or closed, at
will; and the presiding genius—a woman—can be persuaded
to ‘conduct a desirable guest, through these rooms, and even
present him to her lady patrons. These ladies, I fancy, are few,
but are quite regular in their attendance.” -
“I—see.”
“I had determined to waste enough money in this place to
establish a footing, if necessary, and Healy was instructed to in-
troduce me as a young simpleton from Chicago, with some money
and few brains. “My name 's too well known, I declared to him,
‘and I don't want to be turned into an “angel” the first evening.’
Of course the fellow saw it as just a whim of mine, a sort of lark.
Well—” his face grew grimmer, “the luck of the luckless was
with me from the first, and at three o'clock the plump and hand-
some mistress of the house, who could play an amazing game her-
self—when she chose—consented to take us through the upper
rooms; we had been drinking champagne, and she had heard me
declare, while sipping my first glass, that it always went to my
head. It began to manifest itself, in the form of increasing hi-
larity, as we ascended the stairs.
“At the rear of the oblong hall was a closed door, but our
conductress passed this by, although voices and laughter came
out to us through the open transom. The other doors stood,
either open or ajar. One room, the largest, contained four card
tables, the next, a ‘red and black layout, and two others were
occupied by one and two poker games, respectively.
“There were half a dozen women in those last rooms, and twice
as many men; lastly we came upon a game of roulette. We ling-
ered a little over the roulette table; and then, coming out upon
the landing near the stair head, our hostess moved toward it,
while I fell to the rear, paused near the closed door to scrutinize
a picture, and then, suddenly exclaimed, a bit thickly—"I say,


234 THE DOVERFIELDS DIAMONDS
and cheeks, was less than nothing to me! It startled me! I
thought it must be a phase, that would soon pass; but I awoke
next morning in full possession of my senses, and with the
knowledge came both relief and—self contempt. For Madam,
as I now know her, I have but one thought.”
“And that?”
“The wish, the hope, that I may never see her again! That I
may keep her from—my friends.”
“Landis, is this a confidence? Or may I be permitted to make
use of—of your discovery if—if it seems to me needful—in the
service of another?” The answer came, straight and manly.
“In the service of another, Jasper, I can trust you to use my
story as seems good to you,” he said. And then I drew my chair
yet closer to his, and lowered my voice, from force of habit.
“Listen to me, Hal,” I said. “You are the friend of Captain
Wrayland, and the Devereauxs?”
“The sincere friend,” he reddened as he answered. “You must
know that.” -
“And could you do something a bit unpleasant to serve them?”
“Try me! Why, good heavens, man what are you driving at?
I have fancied of late—” I lifted my hand.
“One moment, Hal, this is serious. The Captain is, I believe,
in real danger, and his sister and niece are in much anxiety
because of this. They need all their friends.”
His eyes brightened and his face became eager as he said,
“Next to my mother they are my dearest friends. If they were
not in the question, I would still do my utmost for Captain Wray-
land! Why man, he was my mother's sweetheart—years ago!”
And then, with elbows on knees we sat, face to face, and I
told him all the story of Ralph Meyrick and Captain Wrayland,
and of the present status of our inquiry into the whereabouts
and intentions of Meyrick, et al.
ź :: :: :k •k * >k -
That evening I talked with Josephine Bryce in Enid Dever-
eaux's little sitting room. I listened patiently to all she could
tell me and questioned her closely, and when we were about to
separate, I said to her, “Remember, Josephine, if you succeed in
this undertaking, you will earn our lifelong thanks and I trust
a very real reward, but you must be careful. Once excite sus-
picion in any of the three and your opportunity is lost. I have
overlooked the grounds, and I can see your rear window from


MANY IRONS IN THE FIRE 235
the street. Remember, you are to strike a match if you succeed,
at ten minute intervals, or until you see my return flash at the
corner of the garden—this is to guard against possible interrup-
tion—such as a passer-by, at the moment when I would return
your flash. When you do see it, put out your light, open your
window, and lower the package. Then leave the string hang-
ing and watch at the window, the north window this time. It
will not be longer than half an hour, probably much sooner, when
you will see a light lifted and lowered twice at the corner window
of the third story of the house I have told you of ; go to your open
window, then, and wait for a pull on the string. Do you un-
derstand?” -


CHAPTER XXXV.
IN THE BLACK SATCHEL.
Several days passed after I had laid my plans, with the help of
Enid and the girl Josephine, and nothing occurred by way of
news or development. And yet—I knew that Enid Devereaux
was ignoring her own finer feelings by seeking the society of
Madam Barthelme, ready to drop the “word in season” that
should soon bring results; and that Josephine also ready to act,
simply waited an opportunity.
As for myself, every night I was at the rendezvous, but for
three successive nights Josephine's east or rear window, remained
dark, while from the one facing the North, and the side street,
a lamp showed its beams, signaling, as prearranged, the informa-
tion that Madam had not gone abroad that night, and would not
O.
g Her reason was easily guessed. Startled by her encounter with
Hal Landis, my lady was in doubt as to the effect of the discov-
ery, as she supposed it to be, and was on her guard, until, by the
subtle arts she so well understood, she had assured herself of the
effect of the, to her, unlucky encounter in the gambling rooms.
But Landis was now enlisted and ready to meet Madam with her
own weapons, and when, on the third day after their encounter,
that lady received a brief but friendly note, followed later in the
day by Landis in his auto, she felt that he was a more liberal, and
worldy wise young man than she had dared to hope; and I felt
assured that Josephine's opportunity, and mine, would soon come.
For, every night now, Madam's leather bag was entrusted to
Josephine's watchful care, and the lady slept the sleep of one who
has nothing to conceal, hence nothing to fear. And still we
watched, Kenyon, Nancy, myself—and others, and found no trace
of Meyrick. -
The nights passed quietly at Wraylands, and Tonto, in the
flesh, chafed in the confinement of the comfortable barn loft,
while Tonto, in effigy, kept guard undisturbed, and the guardians,
who, since the coming of the French steamship, had kept alter-
nate watch over the Devereaux home, and the comings and goings
'.
(236)





THE DOCTOR TURNED TOWARD ME A BEAMING FACE.


IN THE BLACK SATCHEL 237
of the Captain, had found their vigils monotonous and without
results.
So far as we could guess, Captain Wrayland had been neither
watched—save by his friends—followed, nor threatened. And
yet, I believed, as fully as at first, that the danger was there, lurk-
ing somewhere in the shadow. And still no trace of Meyrick.
The situation was galling on my nerves. It was growing almost
unbearable. On the last day of this week of waiting, shortly after
breakfast, a messenger brought me a note from Kenyon.
“I’m stayin' at home close these days,” he wrote. “Reason—
our new boarder. If I had n't had one eye on him, so constant,
I might not have guessed him, for we don't meet each other at
close quarters, here, and it's a good respectable middle aged make-
up. Name, James L. Daley. Board O' Trade. All the same it 's
Monsieur's valet who has taken the Southwest corner room, close
to the side staircase, second floor, and paid a month in advance.
What he's up to is the thing I'm stayin' in—with a slight cold—
to find out. Kenyon.”
I dropped the letter and swore softly. What was he up to?
My mind was a blank. What indeed? I knew where to look for
Doctor Bird at about the noon hour, and I dropped in upon him
to ask after Mrs. Doverfields. The Doctor turned toward me a
beaming face.
“She 's better!” he declared. “Weak yet, frightfully weak!
And looking like a white wraith, but rational, and able to talk—
a little. In spite of me she has managed to get two or three short
talks with her husband. And, after the first one, I told the nurse
to permit it, for I saw that, somehow, these brief little confabs
do seem to cheer her up, —put heart into her.” He paused and
frowned. “I’m sorry to say,” he then added, “that they have the
opposite effect upon Doverfields; he comes out of his wife's room,
nurse tells me, looking perplexed, harassed, and uncertain. She
sees no one else, and I don't want her to, not for another week, at
least. It has been touch and go with Ara Doverflelds, I can tell
you!” And he went his way leaving me plunged in gloom and
perplexity. I had expected it, of course, but I had likewise ex-
pected to be prepared. Back in my office I reviewed the situation.
When Ara Doverfields defied me, and fell fainting at my feet, I
left her presence vowing to myself that, when she again found
strength to face me, I would be master of the situation, and of
the secret of the Doverfields' diamonds. And then, I would give


238 THE DOVERFIELDS DIAMONDS
it—the secret—back to her, to keep, or to confess, as she would.
I thought, dolt that I was, that in Keen Johnny Deegan I had
the clue, if not the key, to the situation. And now ! I had sucked
that orange dry. Keen Johnny had failed me, and all I had to
show for my efforts was a single white diamond, found by my
friend. I clenched my hands and shut my teeth hard. “It must
be done!” I muttered, half aloud. “If I am to play the game now,
it must be a forced hand.”
“Whose?” said a voice at my shoulder.
I had forgotten my office door, and Jem had not returned from
his luncheon. -
“I tapped,” Enid declared with a laugh in her eyes, “but you
seemed quite deaf The janitor told me you were here, and—I
was so full of my news. Pray excuse me Ken,—you are dis-
turbed !”
“I’m relieved—now,” I declared. “Sit down and let’s have the
news. I want news! Lots of it!”
She dropped into the seat at the corner of my desk, and began,
speaking rapidly. “Our plot is working, I am quite sure. And
uncle, the innocent dear, is abetting it, nobly. Monsieur, so Ma-
dam says, is delighted at the possibility of getting Wraylands.
And Madam is desolate. I truly think that she goes—if she does
go—against the grain, as you say. And I don't believe she
knows why Monsieur is so anxious to leave town. Of course, it
is all in the air, as yet, but—I think the leaven will work.”
“It can't work too soon,” I grumbled.
“I will do my best, I suppose one might invent a rival appli-
cant. Meantime what do you make of this? Uncle received it
by this morning's mail. He just cast his eye across the page at
the table, and then cast that same sly, foxy eye across at Mutter-
chen and me, as he stowed it in his waistcoat pocket. Of course
that made me watch him.”
“Of course !”
“Kenneth, don't! You are evidently not in a mood for sar-
casm today! As I was saying, I watched. He went straight from
the table to the library, and the poor innocent never thought to
glance toward the music room, where I went, as soon as he had
cleared the way. I saw him, by peeping between the curtains, as
he read again, the nice little smelly note, sniffed, swore, and then
tore it in two, tossed it into the grate, and, without as much as
a glance, to see if it was going to burn, went out and banged the


IN THE BLACK SATCHEL 230
door behind him. Luckily, as you see, the bottom half did not
even ignite. The fire had been lighted early, because of the damp,
and the upper half was only partly destroyed. It 's—understand-
able—yet.”
And so it was. It was written in a pretty flowing hand, fine
and dainty, and utterly without character. Part of the opening
sentence had been burned away, but the meaning was quite clear
enough. Couched in the language of the ingénue, it pictured the
writer as alone in the big city; she had seen him one summer,
at the seashore, where, as a child, she had noted his kindness to a
young girl in his care, and, seeing him one day “last week” when
at a down town café, she had recognized him,—she had never
forgotten. She had found his address, and she much needed
some advice—business advice. He had looked kind—she felt she
could trust him, etc., etc. Would he come to see her that evening
at—” here I exclaimed, aloud and with force; and then laughed
out my delight and derision.
The address given by Miss Ingénue was the address of the big
house on the Northwest corner, from the window of which my
friend Kenyon overlooked Madam's cottage. The house wherein
Monsieur's disguised valet had so lately taken up his quarters.
“Do you think,” I began, but she interrupted.
“He won't go,” she said. “He went straight to mama and ar-
ranged with her to attend the opera tonight.
At nine o'clock that evening my telephone bell tinkled and a
voice saluted me.
“Is that you, Uncle John?”
“How's your rheumatism?”
“Good l if you are better I won’t come down tomorrow. I’m
makin’ me a new dress, good bye.”
This was the message which, being interpreted, meant, “I’m
ready, come!”
And I went straightway. Half an hour later I left Kenyon on
guard, midway between his corner and Madam's cottage, and
walked briskly past the latter, on the side street. The house
seemed utterly dark; but, even as I came opposite the rear end,
I saw a flickering light in the window at the back, that was nearest
the street. It flared up and went out suddenly, and, as I reached
the high board fence that skirted a neat and primly kept alley, I


240 T[JE DOVERI IELI)S. I.) [AMONDS
-
stopped, looked carefully about me, and struck a match, making
as careful a pretense of lighting a reluctant cigar as if I knew
there was a watcher in Madam's shrubbery. I even grumbled,
under my breath, at my failure; and then I went, very quietly,
but not with an air of stealth, to the side gate. The rear door
was just beyond Josephine's window, and, if observed, I might
have passed for a servant of the house seeking a quiet entrance,
or a late laundryman. It was not yet ten o'clock.
I found the gate ajar—thoughtful Josephine!—and the way to
her window was almost direct and free from obstruction. There
was neither sight nor sound as I halted, screened from neighbor-
ing and street lights by the bits of shrubbery between myself and
the street, and by the vines about the kitchen entrance, just be-
yond me. And, best of all, my exploring hand promptly touched
a leather surface, and soon I was going back, as carefully as I
had come. -
“Coast's clear, I think,” declared Kenyon a moment later.
“Just gave the officer on this beat, cigar. He 's very attentive to
this vicinity, someway. Almost seems as if he suspected some-
thing.”
“You, very likely,” I jested, and smiled as we went up in the
“cage.” I knew the officer on this beat. In fact, unknown to
Kenyon, he was my man. When the door was locked, and the
curtains close drawn, I placed the leather bag upon the table.
“I don't know what this bag contains, Kenyon,” I said with
my hand upon it. “But I had to know. If the contents concern
us, I will tell you why. If not, well, in any case I can rely on
your silence, and—forgetfulness.”
“I should hope!" said Kenyon, and I began to work upon the
lock of the little receptacle.
“It must be handled with care,” I commented, while trying
my first of many ready keys, “and it is to be returned intact.”
“Intact—h–1!” commented my aid.
“Intact,” I repeated, and smiled.
I will not declare that the moments before the satchel yielded
to my efforts were not moments of suspense; but they were few,
and when, at last, it lay open before me, I was as calm as if I had
expected what I saw there, and nothing less.
"Gee!” ejaculated Kenyon. “What's that?” and then, as I
lifted it out and laid it upon the table between us, “snakes!” he


IN THE BLACK SATCHEL 241
chuckled. “If it aint a woman's bustle!” He was a Benedict
and doubtless knew.
The thing before us was oblong in shape, concave at one side,
convex at the other, and at either end was a strap of white ribbon,
folded and stitched, presumably for strength.
As I took it in my hands, I could feel a thin layer of something
soft, and within that, ah! I felt my face flush, and my fingers
groped for the opening which proved to be made with a running,
or “draw string,” on the upper or concave side. My hand fum-
bled over the close, tight knots, and Kenyon came to the rescue.
“Aw Cap', let me! I can untie these things like a French
maid! Baby's frocks, you know,” and he did.
I took them out, one by one, each folded in its bit of soft
silk, opened them, and spread them out on one side of the table,
while my companion ejaculated under his breath; and then, still
in silence, I took from about my person an oblong parcel, opened
it, and laid out its contents opposite the others, while Kenyon
relapsed into speechless wonder.
Then, with a wave of the hand, I said, “examine them care-
fully,” and under my breath, I added, again and again—“Eure-
ka!—Eureka!” I did not need to look
Slowly he moved around the table gazing, wondering, touch-
ing gingerly, now and then lifting something up to the light, and
delighting in its gleam and glow ; and presently, “For Heaven's
sake," he questioned, “What is it? What 's your game?”
“It 's a game that 's nearly up, for somebody!” I answered;
“and these are the much wanted Doverfields' diamonds.”


CHAPTER XXXVI.
A FRESH COMPLICATION.
There was not a doubt of it. They were the Doverfields' dia-
monds; both sham and real! But while the paste copies of my
friend Gensenberg were intact, each clever fraud, in its well
plated setting, the real jewels lacked one stone, a large white
solitaire, set as an ear drop, and its mate glowed and gleamed in
conspicuous splendor alone in the tiny velvet lined case, with
its one empty nook where the twin jewel once rested, and where,
I assured myself, it should rest again, and soon.
I told Kenyon as much as was needful; and, presently, I had
carefully put the sham jewels, the larger ornaments in their soft
silk wrappings, and the lesser pieces in the dainty boxes of velvet
and leather—in place of the real. I carried the bag back to Jos-
ephine, who drew it up safely, and went back to town, leaving
the reliable Kenyon on guard opposite the cottage; and once more
in our bachelor quarters, I aroused Craig, and we sat for hours
discussing this sudden new phase of our puzzle.
We had found the Doverfields' diamonds, but the mystery of
their disappearance was only increased by this latest revelation.
What a situation The real gems, stolen, or otherwise myster-
iously obtained, by Madam ! The shams burglarized by Keen
Johnny Deegan | And—Ara Doverfields? What part had she
played among these mysteries? What part, if any, was she play-
ing now?
More than ever it became clearer to us that the mystery of
the diamonds had only deepened with the discovery of the gems;
and that to announce their finding, now, would hurt, rather than
help, our chances of a full and final clearing up of their strange
complication. As the dawn began to show grayly, and we were
about to separate, I said to my friend, “Old man, I don't see my
way, far—as yet. But you have placed yourself at my service,
and I see, at present, just one role for you—no two ! You can
become the custodian of these jewels, for the present,-put them
alongside the solitaire found' by the sandwich man. Mrs. Dov-
erfields' solitaire it is, beyond a doubt! And-shades of my an-
(242)


A FRESH COMPLICATION 243
cestors, found, I'm ready to wager, on the day when Madam
lost her heirloom near the theatre—eh?”
“Right, my boy!” Craig smiled.
“You'll take them, then? Thanks, Roy! And—second, use
all your finesse to learn the story of this find. Can the man,
too, be somehow in the Doverfields' mix up?”
Craig shook his head. “I only know—or believe, that our
sandwich man is the enemy of Monsieur, Madam, or both.
Come, Ken, I'll do my part in this affair, only command me.
And now let's say—good—morning, and try for a nap.”
And this we did. -
>}: >k >k >k >k >k :k
I had just returned from an early breakfast, next morning,
when a special messenger put into may hand a note from Madam
Devinne Barthelme. “My Dear Mr. Jasper,” so it ran,
“I wonder if you know that I am about to take my invalid
out of the city for a month or two, thanks to the kindness of the
good Captain Wrayland, who will open his country home for
our occupation. I shall be pleased if you will find a moment to
run down and see us some fine day; forty miles and a ‘devil
wagon' will bring you, I am told, and as we go almost at once,
I fear, else, we may not meet for many days.
- “Yours cordially,
“Helene Devinne Barthelme.”
I placed this message before Craig, across the luncheon table
that day, and awaited his comment. It came in the form of a
question.
“And—how do you interpret this message?"
“Merely—as to myself—that she wishes politely to warn me
against calling upon her here; at—it may be, an inconvenient
season.” -
“And—as to herself?”
“Either that she is utterly ignorant of Ralph Meyrick and
all his works, or—that she is a past mistress of diplomacy and
deception. And you—?"
“Agree with you; with the addition that Madam, for some rea-
son, would like to keep in touch' with yourself.”
“And why, my lord?”
“For one of two reasons; Madam—the Madam ignorant of
Meyrick, may have been honestly attracted by your many graces
of mind and person—” -


244 THE DOVERFIELDS DIAMONDS
“Thanks! my dear Leon "
“Or—she may have detected the sinister nature of your pre-
vious attentions, and prefers to know, in the language of your
boy Jem, where you are at.’”
I shrugged my answer. It was useless, I saw, at this stage
of the game, to attempt to get from Royston Craig, his real
opinion; his doubt, or possible suspicion, of Madam Barthelme;
and, soon after, I dispatched a polite but vague note to the lady,
ending it thus—:
“Our return is uncertain; but a fortnight, I trust, will see us,”
meaning Craig and myself—"back in the city, etc., etc.”
Later in the day I looked in upon Mrs. Devereaux, and found
that Enid had gone to make her first real call upon her friend,
Mrs. Doverfields.
“Enid has left her card, and has seen Austin Doverfields, a
number of times since Ara's illness,” said Enid's mother. “But
she has not seen her friend, until today. She met Doctor Bird
yesterday down town, and he told her she might see his patient,
but that she would be the first one admitted and possibly the only
one for a time. It is an experiment, I believe.” And then she
told me of the near departure of Madam and Monsieur for Wray-
lands.
“At first,” she explained, “until Enid made the situation clear-
er to me,” meeting my eye, with a smile in her own—“I did not
favor this move, but of course,” with a soft little laugh, “we soon
prevailed upon my brother, who had favored giving Nancy a bit
of his own society. Such helpless females as we at once discover-
ed ourselves to be! And now, I fancy, he thinks himself respon-
sible for nearly the whole plan. They will take possession, Mad-
am and her brother, the day after tomorrow.”
“And—she takes Josephine?”
Again Mrs. Devereaux laughed.
“They are becoming inseparable,” she shot me a keen ques-
tioning glance. I hope you will find her as you expect, or hope!
No, please not go into details. I prefer not to know too much—
that may concern me. On the other hand don't fail to point out
any possible danger, or menace, to my brother.”
She paused; then, as I rose to take my leave, she said—
“I suppose Enid has told you of her whim—the taking up of
pistol practice?”
I nodded.
3 *


A FRESH COMPLICATION 245
“Absurd—don't you think so?”
“Frankly I do not, Mrs. Devereaux. If I were king all my
women subjects should learn to use firearms—and should carry a
weapon—at times.”
I did not tell her that I had already been informed by Madam,
of her intended flitting; and I did not mention my projected de-
parture to Washington, “upon urgent business.” That inform-
ation was for the benefit of Madame Barthelme alone. I had taken
care to state in my note, that my friends in the city were not to
be told of my going; at least of my destination, for the present,
but that I wished her to understand why it might not be possible,
etc., etc.
That evening I went with Craig to pay my first visit to the
sandwich man, who was still shut in, but with promise of re-
lease from his bandages in a week, or probably less.
The doctor, a keen eyed young hospital physician, was taking
his leave, as we entered the bare little room, and I was not slow
to observe that, between him and Craig, a complete understand-
ing existed. And that the time when the invalid might go forth
a free man would be determined, and agreed upon, between them.
My visit was brief, and I could see that it was not entirely
agreeable to the invalid. He was ill at ease, and, I was sure,
habitually nervous, almost timid. A weak man by nature, I
judged him; but even the brief glimpse I had of this pale and
almost silent invalid, convinced me that he had not always been
a derelict. His speech, a combination of awkward attempts to
seem illiterate, and forgetful lapses into smooth and correct
English, his voice, his reserved avoidance of personalities, all
bespoke the onetime gentleman; and his soft and slender hands,
well cared for still, were, for me, the final proof. •
And here again Craig showed a disinclination to express an
opinion. “He is growing used to me,” he said, as we walked
homeward, “and before long I believe he will confide in me of
his own accord. I hope so! Somehow I do not care to speak
first, about—that solitaire, for instance.”
“Still,” I ventured, “it may be necessary.”
“‘Needs must, and will.’ You know the saying; I'll act
when the need must come, Ken,” but he looked reluctant.
“Confound it!” he ejaculated presently. “The fellow's reserv-
ed, not stupid. Weak, I'll grant you, but has been, bred—if not


246 THE DOVERFIELDS DIAMONDS
born, a gentleman. They never quite lose the stamp.” I smiled
as he echoed my own thoughts.
It was late when we reached our quarters, but I found to my
surprise that Doctor Bird had been waiting for me a full half
hour. He was smoking one of my cigars, and, seated in my
easiest chair, looked comfortable, but nevertheless anxious, and
he arose at once and flung away the cigar the moment I crossed
the threshold of my inner sanctum, where the boy Jem had seated
him. Craig, after a glance over my shoulder had passed on to
his own room, and as I closed the door, my visitor began at once
to talk, hurridly, almost breathlessly.
“Hello, my boy! You have arrived—finally! Good job, too,
for I’ve outstayed my time, now! No,” waving me off. “Can't
sit down again, I’ve come with a message from—Doverfields—
and his wife's nurse and they—he wants to see you, what's
more,” meeting my eye sharply, “I want him to. Now, don't
ask questions, and don't begin to sniff suspicions. I just saw
that the man was sick and tired of that perpetual attitude of his
servants—even the best of 'em! I had advised him to send for
you and so I offered to come after you.”
“Tonight?”
“No, no!” Impatiently. “But in the morning, at ten o'clock,
you will be expected; and the nurse,—your nurse, will meet you
and take you directly to Mrs. Doverfields' private sitting roon...”
“What! Is she—”
“Tut, tut! She 's in bed still; saw her first guest today, Enid
Devereaux, a fine young woman that, well, what are you staring
at, you’ll go?—of course you’ll go!”
I pulled myself together and assured him that I would, won-
dering not a little.
>k >k :k :k >k :k :k
I was prompt at the door of the Doverfields' house next morn-
ing, having done some thinking in the meantime, and I was re-
ceived by the nurse, as per program. At the door of Mrs. Doy-
erfields’ rooms, she paused with her hand apon the knob, and
whispered with a meaning lift of the eyebrows, “This evening?”
I nodded, and she opened the door, saying in an undertone to
someone within, “Mr. Jasper is here.”
From the further side of the room a heavy curtain was swept
aside, giving me a glimpse of a tall Japanese screen just beyond,
and Austin Doverfields, looking pale and harassed but calm and


A FRESH COMPLICATION 247
a trifle cool, came to meet me. But the eyes that sought mine,
and then shot a quick glance toward the now closed curtain,
belied the voice.
He had sent for me, he said, to discuss with me the matter of
the loss of his wife's jewels, and—first, would I kindly be quite
frank with him? Had I, at present, any real ground for believ-
ing, or even hoping that I could solve the mystery of their dis-
appearance?
With my thoughts upon that heavy brocade curtain, I answer-
ed, “Do you wish a full report?”
He shook his head vigorously; but he said, “Why, not in detail;
I still feel as at first, that the ins and outs of a-er professional
robber hunt are needless. To know of your success or failure
is all I desire. The police made known the arrest of that young
man—a professional criminal, I understand? They thought it
looked like his work—his methods?”
“Yes.” I had now made up my mind. “And I agreed with
them, Mr. Doverfields. But—well,—I have had two or three
interviews with him, and—I think I may say, with a fair degree
of certainty, that Deegan did not steal your wife's jewels. Of
course there are many skilled crooks in New York, and—my
men are closely shadowing some very skillful parties. No jewels
that answer your description have been offered at the pawnshops,
or to the small dealers; I am quite sure of that.”
He nodded, and his eyes seemed to urge me to go on.
“Of course a case like this may be of long duration, one of
waiting and watching for the time when some of the gems must
be turned into money. Then—”
“Ah!” he held up a slim hand. “One moment,” and he van-
ished behind the curtain, from whence, as the last word left my
lips, I had caught a soft exclamatory sound, half wail, half
ejaculation, and the tinkling fall of shattered glass: something
small and light. My host came back almost at once and began
to speak, quite rapidly now.
“Probably the doctor has told you of my wife's present con-
dition, Mr. Jasper; and how much depends upon quiet, and
peace of mind—for her. The search for her jewels has harassed
her mind throughout her illness, and—I fear, is retarding her
recovery. The doctor advises—or rather commands, a complete
change of scene, as soon as possible, and, as soon as possible, I
intend taking her away—to the coast, probably. Personally, I


248 THE DOVERFIELDS DIAMONDS
do not enjoy the notoriety of this business, and the thought of
being followed during our travels by these newspaper theories,
speculations, and reports of 'clues, is repugnant to me. The lost
jewels do not now represent so much money—to me, but simply
my wife's adornments. She blames herself, quite needlessly, for
the loss, and she may, and doubtless will, urge the continued
search.”
“Naturally,” I murmured, “a collection like that.”
“Quite so. Still, I sent for you, this morning, to ask if you
would be willing to call off this hunt? At least for a time—the
time of our absence? Drop it completely. For myself, I should
be very grateful; and while Mrs. Doverfields may be, at first,
disappointed, we believe that, once she can bring herself to give
up the hope of soon regaining her jewels, she may be able to for-
get the whole episode. The jewels can be replaced, and are,
in any case, of far less value than her future health and comfort.”
My rôle, as I saw it, more and more clearly, was to say little,
and to acquiesce; and I now said, “Ordinarily, Mr. Doverfields—
I may as well be frank—this would come in the nature of a real
blow, a shock to my professional amour propre; but now,” here I
drew my chair close to him, and to the curtain, “now there are
mitigating circumstances; a city man, who is known to you, as
to myself, but whose name, of course, I must withhold, is, I fear,
in actual personal danger,-is being shadowed, persecuted, I
might say—whether for purposes of mere blackmail, or for
something yet more serious, we cannot guess. Both my partner
and myself are studying the case, and, to be quite candid, these
two cases—yours and—this other, bid fair to clash at any mo-
ment. Besides, I ought—in pursuit of this affair, to leave town
for a time; therefore,” here I arose and looked at my watch, “this
request of yours comes in the nature of a relief-of course I
should be at your service, later.”
“It is your case, remember, if it seems best to take it up again—
later. Meantime—” •
Someone tapped upon the outer door—and the doctor entered,
starting at the sight of me, in well acted surprise.
“Hello Jasper! What 's this? Have you been letting him see
our patient, Austin? I can’t have it! I told the nurse to admit
no one!”
Of course my host testified in my behalf, and I took my leave,


UPON THE RACK 251
“I did not merely advise. Listen! This is a professional con-
fidence.” I nodded and he hastened on. “I have seen, more
and more, as the days passed, that Ara Doverfields' illness was
altogether the outcome of the shock, and was being heightened
and lengthened by an additional mental trouble. At first I called
it nerves, but, later, I had to give it its real name. It was dread
or fear, or both heightened by suspense, and you were connected
with it! She would flush and palpitate at mention of your name;
and yet she herself would introduce it, when rational; and it
was constantly upon her lips when delirious. You two must
have had, at least, one exciting interview P”
“Yes,” I replied quietly.
“And—you understand me?”
“Quite.”
“Two days ago she sent away her maid and the nurse, and
asked me to sit beside her, quite close. I will not repeat her
words, I couldn’t, but this was their purport. She is sensitively
anxious for her husband's good opinion, and she fears, constant-
ly, that in spite of his assertions to the contrary, he feels that she
was “worse than careless, in exposing her jewels; sometimes
she even fancies that he may grow into the belief that she plot—
planned to lose them.”
The loyal soul! How carefully he chose, and discarded, cer-
tain of his words in speaking of his beautiful and beloved patient!
I felt that I would do much for this chivalrous old physician, and
I would have liked to have embraced him then and there.
“She has a fear,” he went on, “that, in some manner, you will
suggest to him that idea.”
“Suggest!”
“It was her word; and the poor proud little woman must have
reached the last stage of mental distress before she could bring
herself to ask of me this favor, with its accompaniment of se-
crecy. She feverishly besought me to promise that, whatever my
verdict, I would never speak to her husband of this interview.
A less ingenuous woman would have effectually bridled my
tongue by saying, to anyone!"—but he is everyone to her.”
“Yes ?”
“She then confessed to me that she could not rest, nor grow
strong with so much anxiety always in her mind; that if she
was ever to get up and be well, and keep her senses, she must have


252 THE DOVERFIELDS DIAMONDS
mental relief from the constant strain, the—” As he paused, I
bent toward him—
“Doctor, wait! I want her word, not your translation, but the
very word she used ! Was it not—what was it?”
“I think you know ! It was—suspense.” I nodded. “She
wished me to speak to Austin—” he added. -
“And to ask him to stop all further investigation? Giving,
if necessary, your commands, as her physician?”
It was the doctor's turn to nod.
“And it was by your advice that we met, her husband and I,
in her morning room, and within her hearing?”
“You are wrong there. It was Austin who suggested that.”
I bit my lip and pondered ! Then—“Possibly though, this was
your suggestion!” And I held up Doverfields' little twisted note.
“No,” he answered, wonderingly. “What is it?” I held the
note toward him. “Read it, ” I said. “We may as well keep on
being pals.”
“Good God!” He was pale, as he put the note back into my
hand. “Then he does suspect—or doubt her! Have you ever
thought it?”
“Thought what?”
“That Austin Doverfields doubted his wife?”
“Never!” Then by an afterthought, “have you?”
I saw his hand clench and unclench itself. Then at last, “Yes
—we may as well continue to be conspirators,” he said, with a
shade of self-disgust in look and tone. “I have fancied it, once
or twice.”
“And—when?” I was very eager now.
“Never when she was conscious. He was always gentle, sooth-
ing, even tender toward her; and seemingly indifferent to the
matter of the jewels. It was once or twice during her times of de-
lirious ravings, that he let his face betray him.” The doctor looked
down at the slip of paper in my hand. “I wonder—” he began—
“Don’t l” I remonstrated. “We shall soon know.” We were
at my office door now, and smiling somewhat ruefully the doc-
tor drove away. As I entered my office I was feeling both cha-
grined and angered at being thus suddenly pulled up, just as my
work was beginning to promise things definite and interesting;
and my thoughts wove strange fancies as they dwelt upon the
singular new attitude of the Doverfields.
Ever since my first meeting with Ara Doverfields I had been


UPON THE RACK 253
veering to and fro between two opinions, but I never doubted
that Ara Doverfields was withholding from all concerned, some
knowledge, for lack of which we still floundered and doubted
and wrought aimlessly and in the dark. And now—was it—
could it be possible that, already by some occult means, she knew
that the fact of the existence of both shams and real gems was
known to me? Did she, perhaps, even know that the real gems
had changed hands?
“How absurd " I exclaimed aloud in my impatience. And
then a slow and martial tread, and Jem's voice without, brought
me back to my senses, and Austin Doverfields came in, bowed
stiffly, and waved away the chair I proffered him.
“Thanks. I won't sit, Jasper; I must start back in ten min-
utes, and it 's quite useless to go into this thing at length ! It
seems to grow worse the deeper we go. Mr. Jasper, I have not
questioned your methods, nor the advance you have made in this
matter. I observe—ahem —I believe that you and Doctor Bird
are very good friends?”
I nodded.
“And—I think you understand one another.”
This being assertion rather than query, I made no reply.
“Possibly,” he went on, “you know why I asked you—as I
did, to abandon this search 2"
“The-search?” I pointed my question with a glance of in-
quiry.
“I see that you do understand me. You know, perhaps, that
the doctor advised me—for my wife's sake—” here his face paled
—“to drop all effort.”
“Yes.” Suddenly his face hardened.
‘What you may not know is, that I was in Mrs. Doverfields’
morning room—the doctor having entered the chamber from the
passage direct—he had found the other door locked; and—
through the curtain—I could hear—enough ! She begged Bird
to advise me to drop the search.”
“I—understand,” I ventured. It is a useful phrase, and sounds
wise and dignified.
“I wonder if you do? I think, Mr. Jasper, that there are some
things you should understand more thoroughly One of these
being—my personal attitude in this case! It—ah—it seems-
complicated.” -
He drew a step nearer, and a dull red flushed his usually sallow


254 THE DOVERFIELDS' DIAMONDS
and colorless cheeks, as he went on. “Heretofore, I have neither
questioned nor criticised. I have talked with you, twice, about
these lost diamonds; once in my wife's presence. You have
talked with her since?”
“Yes.”
“Still—do you, or do you not, regard me as your employer?”
“At present, sir, I regard myself as not concerned in the matter
of the Doverfields' diamonds. I have been—called off.”
Something suspiciously like a profane epithet dropped from
between his thin lips. “Then, you really considered the matter
at an end?” he questioned.
“Where I—where the diamonds are concerned; yes.”
“Mr. Jasper, I have never questioned you! Do you mind tell-
ing me, now, just how far you have gone in this matter?”
“Two hours ago I could not have refused to reply to my em-
ployer. Now—” and I smiled faintly—“Pardon me, it is not
now my affair.”
Again that sharp expletive, followed by a dry hard laugh.
He came yet closer, and seated himself upon one corner of my
open desk. “Mr. Jasper, I have not been so blind as I have
seemed ! For instance, I have known—or believed—that the
nurse now in charge of my wife's rooms, is in your service. Also,
I believe she is there to study my wife; am I not right?”
“Mr. Doverfields, let us cease sparring. Is, or is not, the case
of the Doverfields' diamonds a closed chapter, between you and
me?” -
“No! My God, man, I have yet some blood in my veins!
Listen! I love my wife! If I did not, I might call off this case
as she thinks I have | But not now ! Not while I know that a
doubt rests in your mind—yes, and in mine. It was there even
before I heard her plotting with Doctor Bird, and declaring that
she could no longer bear the—suspense! I love my wife, even
while I doubt, and fear and dread—I know not what! Like her,
I feel that any certainty is better than this cursed delay and sus-
pense! I must know the truth! even if the knowledge drives me
mad! Man, can't you guess what a Hell doubt puts a man in 2”
He clenched his hands, and mopped his brow, with feverish move-
ments.
“Your work,” he rushed on, “has not ceased; it has doubled !
While before it was straightforward, it must be, from today,
covert, done by stealth, and therefore, no doubt, doubly difficult;


UPON THE RACK 255
for from today my wife must believe you quite out of the case,
and the search dropped. It 's not the diamonds, now-curse
them! I don't care a rap if we never see them again.”
“You will,” I asserted.
“What,-you have found them?”
“I can find them—at need.”
“Then—great Heavens, man, find them, and the truth along
with them! Bah! I am becoming maudlin! I have not even
asked—Mr. Jasper you'll stand by us still? You'll continue in
—or reopen the thing!—but secretly now 3"
“I should have done that in any case. I must !”
“My soul! But the gems? And my wife? Tell me for mercy
sake.” *
“Mr. Doverfields, I will continue, or go on, as before; but only
upon my own terms.”
“Of course ! And the terms?”
“That you trust to me fully. I shall have nothing to tell until
I know all. At present, I know where to look for the jewels, but
what your wife knows—suspects, doubts, or fears, I know no
more than you.”
“But—my soul, man, you must have a suspicion?”
“I never voice a mere suspicion especially when, as in this
case. I have not one shadow of proof!”
The man groaned. -
“Mr. Doverfields,” I put out my hand, “will you take my ad-
Vice?”
He nodded.
“Believe the best! This is a most singular, a most complicated
case! It may reach further than you can guess! Your wife
may be a victim. If she has never yet failed you, or deceived
you, remember this now, and keep your faith. I believe we are
nearing the end, whatever that may be!”
He looked at me strangely, with a new relief in his face.
“Do you mean that? Just that?”
“I do—fully! Just that.”
“And–you agree with the doctor; my wife will be better—in
the dark?” -
“Assuredly! At present her nerves are vibrating out of tune.
She must have relief.” - -
“She shall!” he declared solemnly.


CHAPTER XXXVIII.
A BLOW AT THIE CAPTAIN.
The visit of Austin Doverfields gave me something to think of;
it also gave me a pause. It settled for me one question, at least.
A question, and a possibility that it suggested. It was a point
that the police had argued, good naturedly, but insistently, from
the first.
“I tell you,” the Captain of the aristocratic precinct in which
the Doverfields crime had occurred, had repeated, again and
again, “You ought to take a new lead, if you have n’t ; on the
side, as it were. I didn't see much that first day, I knew my cue,
but I saw and heard enough to make me think that the lady was
a bit worried, and that she sort of shunned her husband, both at
once, as it were. You ought to dig into Austin Doverfields'
hist'ry, Jasper, an dig deep!”
“You say, saw and heard,’” I suggested.
“A word dropped here and there, by a talkative servant, tells
a lot sometimes ! In cases like this, I'm always pretty to the
servants,” the Captain declared, comfortably.
I had pondered his words, and had investigated, or “dug into”
the record of Austin Doverfields; was digging still, in fact; but
if there had been moments of doubt, these had been ended, by
the man's last visit, and his urgent demand for a thorough secret
search, however prolonged.
No! From the hour when he followed me, from his wife's
rooms to my office, to retract in the one place what he had said
in the other, I eliminated Austin Doverfields as an active force
from the problem of the diamonds. And now, for a time, my role
seemed one of masterly inactivity. Kenyon, Craig, our lesser
aids, and myself, all with eyes open, with hands ready and minds
alert, waited now, for the next move; and this, it seemed, must
come from the other side.
At the time appointed, Madam Barthelme, and Monsieur her
brother, with their ménage, retired to the quiet of Wraylands;
and a week passed, in the city, with no advance to the front, and
no word from the outposts.
(256)


A BLOW AT THE CAPTAIN 257
Madam's cottage in town was left in charge of a queer com-
bination of cook and housekeeper, and, during the first week of
the absence of the family, Kenyon reported that the valet had ap-
peared there twice, spending the night on each occasion and
leaving town on a morning train. Josephine, of course, had gone
with her mistress, after receiving from me full instructions, cov-
ering, as I believed, any and every possible emergency.
In my very courteous note, I had duly paid my respects to
Madam, as had also Hal Landis, who was proving under my tute-
lage, and his own changed point of view, a very expert actor and
ready aid, at need ; and our two missives had succeeded in win-
ning for ourselves a yet more cordial invitation from Madam, to
visit them at Wraylands.
Madam had been free in her expressions of regret at leaving
the city, and of impatience because her brother was so bent upon,
what she called his “whim,” and I felt almost assured that she
was sincere in her protestations. She was the last woman to care
for rural walks, shady nooks, and purling streams. The opera,
the park—yes, and more than all, perhaps, the gaming table, were
more to her mind. -
While waiting I pondered upon this. If the country were not
to Madam's taste, then it was Monsieur who longed for “green
fields and sunny hillsides,” and if she went so reluctantly, for his
health’s sake, whence had fled that sisterly affection, that solic-
itous care, so oft expressed, for her “dear invalid.” Here was
another link in the chain of puzzles. If Madam were the devoted
sister she had seemed, then she must believe that Monsieur was
not seeking the country solely in search of health; and if so, why
this pose of devotion? Where was the deception and who the
arch deceiver ?
More than once since I had heard Josephine's reports, and
queer deductions, had I asked myself if it were possible that these
two were not in perfect accord? If Madam, the astute, the
worldly wise, was not altogether in Monsieur's confidence? And
did they, perhaps, distrust each other,-just a little? The epi-
sode of the bag of jewels, and the midnight hunt for the lady's
keys and the gentleman's cigars, must mean this, and might mean
more—much more. I found ample time to study these things,
during the quiet of the week following Madam's departure, and
then, one morning there came, what Jem, my boy, called a hurry
call over the telephone.


258 THE DOVERFIELDS DIAMONDS
"Could I come at once to Marony's?” It was from Enid Dev-
ereaux, and I set off straightway.
Marony's was a cozy little café, much liked by the ladies, and
within easy walking distance of the Devereaux home. Enid was
awaiting me, looking flushed and excited; and when we were
established in a remote nook, she launched into her story.
Once or twice of late, she declared, she had fancied that some
one was lurking about the house, glancing in at the windows, or
watching and loitering on the opposite side of the street, and the
cook had reported, twice within the week, an applicant for a
"hand out,” which, being given, had been tossed into the alley,
before the beggar was out of sight. -
"These visits,” said Enid, “had been reported to mamma, and
when she told me of them, I saw that she felt uneasy, and so did
not tell her that I believed there were spies in front, as well as
in the rear. But last evening the climax came!” Here Enid
sighed, and hesitated a moment; then—“Perhaps we have been
too open of late, in our surveillance of uncle,” she resumed, “for
he has seemed restive, and inclined to dodge some of our atten-
tions. But the poor dear finds it hard to dissemble. Last even-
ing while at dinner, he seemed, I thought, a bit preoccupied,
while striving to appear exceedingly amiable, and at ease. Even
mamma noticed it. I did not lose sight of uncle until half an
hour after we had left the dinner table, where he announced his
intention to smoke and glance at the evening news. I espied
him, from my nook in the little reception room,-you know what
a point of vantage that is?”
I nodded, and she hurried on. A spot of red was beginning
to show on her cheeks, and her words came faster.
“Uncle came down stairs dressed for the street; and, standing
behind the portières, I heard him tell the butler that he had an
appointment at his club, and that he need not tell the ladies he
had gone out. Mamma was entertaining Mrs. Landis in the rear
drawing room, so I slipped away, put myself into my plainest
street things, veiled my face partially, leaving a lookout between
my drooping hat rim and my cheek bones, and—shadowed Uncle
Bert.”
“Bravo!” I exclaimed. But Enid hurried on.
“Uncle always walks to his club; and, as you know, he walks
rather slowly. I won't describe our movements; you know the
streets and the points of light and shade. I gained the street by


A BLOW AT THE CAPTAIN 259
way of our area door, and I had not crossed the block when I
saw, what I believed to be a spy, hurrying from the opposite
side. There was a reception, or some such function, afoot, just
beyond the point where he attempted to cross, and four or five
carriages tore around the corner directly in front of him. I had
not walked very fast, thus far, having uncle in full sight, and
feeling that I was a good sprinter at need, but, as the carriages
came between us, I seemed almost impelled to scuttle across
the way; as I did so my ankle got a slight twist, causing me to
limp for a few steps, and when I turned my head, as if to look
at the carriages, and saw that the man was just beyond me and
hurrying, I was inspired to continue my limp, and keep to my
lowered chin, with a slight forward droop; and then the thought
struck me, so forcibly that I almost spoke it. ‘If the man is
dogging uncle, and knows where he is going, he will aim to over-
take him at the next crossing !’ You know how those elms, at the
corner of the old Belmore place, overhang the street, for a short
distance?”
“So far as the carriage entrance? Yes.”
“Yes! well at the nearest corner, sure enough, my man in-
creased his pace, there was not a soul in sight, upon the cross
street, so far as I could see; the trees obstruct the view, you know,
as well as darken the spaces below them. At the opposite corner
the rascal was only a few feet behind uncle, and I made a silent,
but rather swift dash across. As I ran I could see—something
in the fellow's hand, and I felt for a-something, in my pocket!”
“Enid " I ejaculated.
“Hush! It was over almost as my feet touched the opposite
curb. They were close together, and the man's arm was raised,
as I sprang at him. My cry uncle, the flash of my little pistol,
and the fall of the man's arm seemed simultaneous.”
“BraVO !”
“Be still ! My soul, Ken, you can't imagine what I felt when
I saw Uncle Bert topple one way, and the man with the sandbag
tumble the other. He went into the gutter, and I was glad of it!”
“So am I? And you got your man?”
“Why won’t you listen! I’ve often wondered how it is that
our policemen are so seldom on the spot before, and so prompt
to arrive after a shooting affair.”
“Plain as day! They come when they are needed—to carry
off the assassins. Did they try to take you, fair sportswoman?”


260 THE DOVERFIELDS DIAMONDS
“Ken Jasper! And you joke like this when I have not yet told
you about poor hurt uncle yet.”
“Young woman, would n't I have known, from your manner of
telling this story of adventure, that the Captain was safe, even
if I had not seen him grinning at me from the library window,
as I passed it?”
“M—m–! could you see the lump on his head?”
“No, but I will presently. Tell me about the prisoner. Your
prisoner.”
“Mine! G—r—r! I only wish he was ! If you don't think
it was a cut and dried plot, Mr. Sleuth, listen! As miraculously
as the officer had appeared, but just a second sooner of course,”
viciously, “up drove a cab! I was bending over poor uncle, and
as I looked up on hearing the wheels, I saw them cease to revolve,
and the man in the gutter raise his head. Then the driver
sprang down, and half lifted, half dragged him to his feet! Shot,
by God! I heard him say, and the next moment they were in the
carriage, and the 'officers, citizens on foot and in carriages, etc.,’
'arrived, just in time to see them drive away. But I had ob-
served, in the brief interval of arrival and departure, that my
sandbagger had the use of his right arm only; the other hung
quite limp, and it made him swear shamefully, as he was pushed
and hoisted into the cab. Hurt some, at least I hope so! Uncle
revived about that time. Thought he had stubbed his toe and
fallen down, and when he was told the truth, fancy it,” her eyes
beginning to twinkle, “he began to lecture me for being out
alone after dark. Thought the policeman had shot the sandbag
man.”
“But—he has been enlightened.”
She shook her head. “No indeed! How could we? How was
I to explain the fact that I had followed him, pistol in—pocket?
Before he became conscious I begged the policeman to take the
credit of the shot. I had to explain that my relative had been
threatened. The officer seemed very willing.” She laughed
and there was a bit of malicious mischief in her eyes. “You see
it was put the onus upon Mr. Upholder of law and disorder, or
take my chance of being arrested for carrying concealed weap-
ons. Don't look so serious, Kenneth. All 's well that ends well!”
“But we have not seen the end | Your man, you say, escaped?”
“He did. More 's the pity; leaving his sandbag behind. It
*


A BLOW AT THE CAPTAIN 261
•
seemed a good sandbag, too. I wanted it—as a trophy. My first
battle, you know.” -
“You shall have the sandbag, and—Enid, we must not let this
attack be repeated, through our reticence, at least ! Your uncle's
danger seems very real | I think he must be told—now !”
She looked grave, and was silent for a moment. Then “Not—
about my—”
“About everything! Take me to him! If I think he is quite
recovered I shall tell him.”
“He 's recovered, all but the bump; and—Uncle Bert is no
coward, Ken '"
“Mercy, Mademoiselle! That 's impossible! He 's your
uncle! I knew better than to attempt to tell her what I thought
of her courageous defense of her uncle; but my first thought,
as we retraced our steps toward the house, was of Hal Landis,
strange as this might seem, and I inwardly hoped that I might be
the one to tell him the story of the sandbagging. And then, as
Enid announced me and turned swiftly away, as I found myself
face to face with the Captain, and Landis, I understood. If Hal
Landis hoped to regain his place in Enid Devereaux’ favor
he must work, and perhaps humble himself to obtain it. In-
stantly I made my decision. -
Landis had been taken a little way into my confidence, and I
knew, as also did the Captain, how safe it would be to trust him
fully. He had always been a favorite with the Captain, and with
Mrs. Devereaux, and the threatened breach of friendliness be-
tween himself and Enid had been a grief to them both. Besides,
I wanted his assistance, for in the moments while I listened to
Enid's story, I had determined to take the initiative and to force
the hand of—the enemy.
The two men were smoking and chatting amiably when I
entered ; and after we had discussed, for a short time, the ad-
venture of the previous evening, as it had affected Captain Wray-
land, who seemed inclined to make light of it, I put a friendly
hand upon Hal's shoulder. “Captain,” I began, “how much con-
fidence have you in this fellow?”
“A whole lot!” was the smiling reply. “Why, was he the sand-
bag man?” and they both laughed.
“I have n’t suspected him, thus far. But—he 's the man I
need to carry out a bit of business in your interest, and connected
with your friend of the sandbag. At all events, I want to give


262 THE DOVERFIELDS DIAMONDS
you, yes and Hal here, my version of the affair of last night;
after which we can discuss this third party, while I tell you of a
plan I have in mind.”
“Fire ahead,” said my host. I 'll vouch for Landis! Sit
still, boy!” as Hal was about to rise. “Now, Ken.”
"Captain, this attack upon you was not—accidental. It was
meant for you.”
“W—What!”
“And—it was not the officer, who singed your assailant.”
“Not? Who else could it have been P”
“It could have been, and was, Miss Enid Devereaux,” and then,
before the Captain could close his mouth for astonishment, I
dashed into my story, telling it, slightly modified, from the be-
ginning.
At first the Captain was silent, next he swore softly, then
he sighed, and his eyes grew moist. As for Landis, he sat
speechless for many moments, but with glaring eyes. Then,
when I had answered many questions, and, without mentioning
a name, had convinced the Captain that he was the victim of a
conspiracy, he burst out:
“And all this has been the work of that—Meyrick!”
Instantly I glanced from him to Landis.
“Oh, hang it all! Landis knows what that fellow—was. His
mother was the best friend Agnes had during that wretched
time, why should n't he know? And you said you would want
his help! That you had a plan, eh? Tell it now !”
“I propose to invade the field of suspicion, which is, at present
—Wraylands.”
“My soul!”
“And as Landis and I have been invited, separately, to visit
your tenants there, I purpose that we go!” And then I explained.


CHAPTER XXXIX.
AN ourtised CAMPAIGN.
“If I understand you,” said the Captain, “you propose that I
shall go down to Wraylands and play the complacent land-
lord, taking the ladies with me?”
I nodded. “And you and Landis, here, will follow, so contriv-
ing matters that some of us shall be there for a week on end?”
“Correct.”
“You never had a glimpse of Meyrick, you say?”
“Never !”
“And no actual evidence that he and these people are in collu-
Sion ?” -
“True.”
“And yet—” he shook his head; “I’m afraid I'm a dull old
fellow !” he sighed.
“Captain, I have kept back a link, I find. Are you convinced
that some one has been shadowing you, since the arrival of the
good ship Urania?”
“Oh, yes! I have had proof of that—since yesterday! And—
I have your word for it, also.” -
“Then listen.” Here I reminded him of the letter asking him
to come to the aid of a helpless and friendless young woman;
without telling him how this came to my knowledge. They had
been obliged to take much that I told them upon faith, for the time
had not yet come, or so I believed, for full explanation.
“The house to which you were asked to come,” I concluded,
“stands just across from Madam’s cottage, and the room, to
which you were referred, was taken by one of the occupants of
that cottage; he has been observed by my man, on several occa-
sions.” Here I told him of Kenyon, and his long and close sur-
veillance of the cottage. -
“My theory,” I added, “is this. Meyrick is on unsafe ground
here, and, in some manner, he has connected himself with these
people; the men, at least, for there is no evidence that Madam is
in this plot. While lying in concealment, may he not be working,
through one or both of these men?”
(263)


264 THE DOVERFIELDS DIAMONDS
“Have you thought,” suggested Landis, “that one of these
may be Meyrick in disguise?”
I looked at the Captain.
“That is not possible!” he declared, “I have dined with Mon-
sieur Victore, and I have seen the valet; not closely, of course,
but he is not Meyrick! They might possibly be brothers, mas.
querading as master and servant; there is a superficial resem-
blance, say in height and in similarity of feature, but Meyrick,
oh no! eh, Jasper?”
“I think I have seen Monsieur, even oftener than yourself,
sir,” I replied. “Twice at dinner, and once in his own apartment.
As for the valet, while I have seen little of him, both Craig and
Kenyon declare that he is not a man disguised.”
“And Madam Barthelme?” ventured Landis.
“At present the lady is—to me, an enigma ! I am almost in-
clined to think she is not in sympathy with this country flitting,
and does not understand it.” Of course, all mention of Madam,
as related to the Doverfields' case, had been avoided; and her name
came, as little as possible, into the statements made to my two
friends.
“What I do believe,” I went on, “is this. Monsieur has some
important reason for going into the country just now; whether
his objective point is really Wraylands—in which case I should
feel sure it was in pursuit of Meyrick's interests—or whether it
is merely a quiet and secluded haven that he seeks, I have still
to learn. What I propose is this; after a series of visits from our
party, we will withdraw, one after another, but contriving to
arrange for the speedy return of some of us. Then—if Monsieur
has business at Wraylands, he will endeavor to transact it in our
absence; which absence Hal and I will spend at my aunt's cot-
tage in the village, and in close touch with Nancy, and—the
new gardener.” -
“Your man?”
“Yes.”
“And what, may I ask, are we to expect from this? All of it.”
“This! If there is a plot, and there surely is, Monsieur will
naturally lie quiet for a few days at least.”
“Why for a few days?” The Captain was looking very alert,
and a trifle impatient. He was thoroughly aroused at last. “Why
may he not act at once,” he urged. “Are you reasoning by the
old method?” and his eyes twinkled.


AN OUTLINED CAMPAIGN 265
“And what may that be?” asked Landis. “Remember, gen-
tlemen, if I am to be let into this thing, and I want to be, I must
also be of it, to be of much practical value to you!” He had been
listening, thus far, with intent gravity, and almost in silence, and
I could see that his words pleased the Captain.
“It is the “Put yourself in his place method, ” I said, turning
toward him. “Yes, Captain, I have done just that! A stranger,
I argue, may enter the city and begin operations at his pleasure,
but, if I wanted to do a secret, and, maybe, a doubtful or danger-
ous thing, in a place like Wraylands and its vicinity, I should
first allay rural curiosity, by letting myself become exhausted
as a subject for curiosity. If Monsieur is going to Wraylands
on business, he will be likely to allow the people about him to
become used to his habits of coming and going, and to his appear-
ance, and he will let them know, or think they know, all of his
reasons for his country sojourn. Then, when they have become
used to him, he will begin his work!”
“By Jove!” cried Landis, “how simple it sounds and how sen-
sible! I am sure you must be right, Jasper!”
“Of course he 's right!” grumbled the Captain, “only he's been
so confounded reticent.” *
“Meantime,” I laughed, “while I intend that your new ten.
ants shall think myself and Craig in Washington, during these
first two weeks, unless we should meet with unexpected new de-
velopments, I do not intend that one moment of their sojourn in
Wraylands shall go unnoted. There will be Nancy—”
“Nancy 's a host in herself,” commented the Captain.
“She is that! and there is Josephine,” and here he grinned.
“And, last, there 's my man Lane, the new gardener, who will
have an eye upon-Tonto, for instance.”
“And meantime—what will you be at while—while you are in
Washington?” quizzed Captain Wrayland.
“I have just sent Aunt Jem a long letter—” I replied, smiling.
“M—m! Smart old lady that! she 'll comb you chaps down!”
and he chuckled.
“Don’t frighten Landis,” I admonished. “I shall let Craig—”
“My soul! I had forgotten Craig ! You'll have him down, of
course,—at need?”
“The need for Roy and for Kenyon, too, I'm thinking, will be
in the city; Craig will have his own business, plus mine, to look


AN OUTLINED CAMPAIGN 267
“I’m his to command!” smiled Hal. “Do you need a stable
boy, for instance?”
“You’ll find an occupation, never fear,” I replied, and we began
- - p p 9.
to discuss details.


CHAPTER XL.
NANCY COMEs To Town.
A week passed quietly in the city. Mrs. Doverfields, it was
said, was slowly coming back to health ; she had been allowed to
sit up for a little time, on the day of Enid's third visit to the
sick room, and the girl came home delighted because of this
advance in her friend's journey toward recovered health.
"She is pitifully weak,” Enid declared, “and so pale and shad-
owy. But—she begins to feel an interest in things. Of course,”
smiling across at me, “I had to do most of the talking. Doctor's
orders, you see. He said I was to get her interested, if possible,
in outside matters. Change the current of her thoughts. So I
told her about—about uncle's adventure.”
“And yours?” I suggested.
“And mine, then. And it quite aroused her. And then I told
her about the going away of Madam Barthelme and Monsieur.
It seems she knew Madam slightly, met her abroad, I think,
and she was surprised and really interested, even asked several
questions about my acquaintance with Madam, the length of her
stay at Wraylands, and so on. She seemed almost cheerful when
I left her.”
I had dropped in upon Mrs. Devereaux that afternoon, and,
after a little chaffing with Enid, I left them and returned to my
office, thinking upon the ways of Mrs. Doverfields and her in-
terest in Madam and her brother. Evidently, her seeming re-
luctance to meet Madam had not been made manifest in what
she had said of the lady when discussing her change of residence
with Enid. As to her increasing cheerfulness, I thought I might
fairly divide the cause between Enid's own cheerful presence
and, the latter portion, at least, of her news bulletin. Was Mrs.
Doverfields well content to have Madam Barthelme out of town?
If so—why?
There had been no news from Wraylands, save the daily bul-
letins of the “assistant gardener;” which, thus far, had been con-
spicuous for their uniformity.
“All quiet. Nothing doing.” This having been repeated for
* *
(268)


NANCY COMES TO TOWN 273
\
out o' my shoes when I see that first hunk o' meat come flyin'
past my winder, an land right before dummy's nose. 'Twas last
night he throwed the last one. Now I don't know what you make
of this, Mr. Ken, but it 's gettin' on my nerves! an’—if that
Meyrick's in it—well—I want somebody else down there, that 's
smarter'n me!'n I just had to come an' tell ye about it!”
“And you were right, as usual, Nancy. Now let 's see if we
read these things in the same light. Monsieur, from the first,
has remained secluded and is seldom seen by the household?”
Nancy bobbed her head.
“And—he takes his exercise, after—sunset?”
“After dark,-better say! I 'll tell ye how it looks to me—
that is, if—”
“By all means, Nancy
“Course he may be sick! But he don't seem to fear the night
air none. Then, I think that he hoped, first off, to git friendly
with Tonto, but when he found he could n’t he's been tryin’ to put
him out o' the way. 'T's my opinion 'twas him, or that valet,
that was hangin’ round tryin' to poison or shoot the dog, 'fore
they came down here, an I 'm sure if he was, trying to keep
everybody at a distance, he could n't do more to 'complish it than
he does. I get chances enough to see her, but them two men
are sure enough dodgers; wearin their big rimmed soft hats
over their noses, an’ tilted this way an' that, whenever me, or
anybody else shows up. And there's that room business! First
I thought 'twas only for a chance to kill off Tonto, but—I ain't
so sure now ! Oh, an’ he’s been tryin' to git the men to move the
kennel to another place; said it was so unsightly, and spoiled
his landscape. Of course the men came right to me, an I–I
just told 'em Tonto would howl all night if his house was
moved, and, anyway, 'twould be 'gainst orders.”
“And—about Josephine?”
“Oh, the girl 's all right. I spose you drilled her good before
she took the job, anyway she and me understand, and yet she
don’t talk much. She 's put me up to several things. There 's
four of us, all workin’ together there, an' yet we’re seldom to be
seen talkin', an’ we don't flock any.”
“Good! And Madam? Do you say she is restless?”
“Yes sir! An Josephine told me, this very mornin', that she
heard my lady say she meant to go to the city for a couple o'
days, before the week's out.”
1”


274 THE DOVERFIELDS DIAMONDS
“Good!” I exclaimed and with my exclamation Enid's little
cuckoo clock chimed the hour, and Nancy sprang up in alarm.
“Land sakes, it 's awful late; I can't stop another minute.”
Nor would she; so I sent for a cab, and asked Enid to accom-
pany us.
“What you have told me, Nancy,” I concluded, “convinces me
that we may be able to force this game at Wraylands, whatever
it may be. I think I begin to understand—dimly—the situation.
Mind I say, dimly ! And I think I see how we may, at least,
make these people show their hand.”
“Oh, Kenneth !” breathed Enid, “may I know?”
“You may, and even help—a little. What Nancy has said—
you shall hear it all as we drive back—leads me to think that
this man, Madam's brother, is waiting, impatiently, for just the
right conditions. I think that, for some reason, he wants a free
hand at Wraylands, with the minimum danger of interruption
or observation; and, by working in concert, we will try and give
it him.” -
“But how?” urged Enid.
I turned to Nancy, sitting grim and silent opposite me. “Nancy,
do you think Madam really wants to come to the city?”
“I’m sure of it! She 's restless there; and I don't believe she
an him are none too confidential—"bout everything. Josephine
declares she ’s sure Madam is not actin', when she vows she 's
no patience with his evenin's prowlin’.”
“Well, let us say that Madam does come to the city—by the
way, Nancy, if this should happen, tell Josephine she must try
hard to come with her mistress; her uncle may need her. That
will remove two. Then I think One of the men would better
take to drink, about that time, and if you, Nancy, could manage
to be confined to your room for that same occasion, Monsieur
might find that his way was clear. It must be carefully
managed.”
“Huh ! There's the dog?”
“I have thought of that. The night before Madam leaves for
town put Tonto in the dummy's place, and see that one of the
men gives him occasion to bark as much as he will; then, when
the remonstrance comes, as it doubtless will—”
“Sure it will!” declared Nancy. -
“Good. Then you can be amiable, and remove Tonto, also of
course keeping the dummy hidden. Meantime a letter from


276 THE DOVERFIELDS DIAMONDS
“Yes. It 's true.”
“And you think his evening rambles and late hammock and
smoking lounges do not harmonize with the state of his health,
as pictured by Madam? How do you account for this? Why
should he, a stranger, shun the people around Wraylands?”
“I don’t know ! Only it strikes me if he is in cahoots with
Mr. Ralph Meyrick, stands to reason he 's off the same bundle
o' rags, ain't he? An if that 's so, there 's more 'n one reason
for not wanting to be seen too plain.”
“Quite right, my friend.” And now I dropped back upon my
cushions. “The point ’s here; you are in the best position to
know of any change, or absence, however brief, and, from this
time, I beg that you and Josephine will redouble your vigilance.
Among the four of you who are now on guard, it ought to be
impossible for any one, stranger or friend, to meet these people—
either of them—without the knowledge of some one of you
And you two, who are inside the house, must watch for the least
sign of diguise, or attempt at disguise—you 're sure you under-
stand fully about the telephone and telegraph changes?”
“Sure!”
“And you'll never use the house telephone when any one is be-
low stairs?”
“We 've got our signs all fixed, every soul of us! Don't you
fret about us, Mr. Ken, we 'll do our part; an' as much more
as you say. My, my, that 's my train a whis lin'!”
* * - . . . . . . . . . • * : * . . . . . . , , !
:-





* *
~
ESTIONS P 22
SK A FEW QU
AY I A
I
“KEN, M


CHAPTER XLI.
ENID STANDS BY U.S.
When we were well out from the press of carriages about
the station, Enid turned to me an inquiring face. “Ken,” she
began, “May I ask a few questions?”
“All at Once P” I fended.
“No. One at a time. You don’t have to answer, you know.”
“I will answer every one, my friend, if I can. If I cannot, or
do not, remember, it will not be because I do not trust you fully.”
“Thank you, Ken, I observe in speaking of these people, that
your interest seems to center in the two men, rather than in
Madam. Is she not in—the plot—or whatever it is that the
others are maneuvering so strangely?”
“My dear child, I do not know. I only wish I did!”
“Ken, I wish you would tell me frankly your opinion of this
woman. I know you have strong reasons for doubting her,
stronger even, than the gambling episode.”
“First, then, there is the fact that she is associated with the
two, who are, in turn, connected with the man, I believe to be
your uncle's enemy—”
“Meyrick?”
“Yes.” -
“You say, ‘first, there are other reasons then?”
“Listen, we have gone so far, now, that I need not hesitate
to tell you what is not mine, as a discovery; and what is thus
far, only an added figure to the puzzle.” And here I reminded her
of the dinner at the Landis home, and of the table talk started
by Craig, and taken up by Garston, about a certain French
scandal—the Massonni affair—briefly sketching this, and telling
her of our after talk, while driving home with Craig. “You see,”
I ended, “Craig may have seen, or fancied, a resemblance; and
thus far his letters, the ones upon which he might have counted
for identification, have not appeared, although long overdue.
The history of the affair he has received, and some account of
(2.77)


278 THE DOVERFIELDS DIAMONDS
the woman in the case—but until his doubt is settled, for or
against—”
“I see! Mr. Craig will not utter her name, or allow a doubt
to cross his lips; I honor him for that! Him and you.” She
mused for a moment; then, “I—see,” she said again slowly, “It
is the two circumstances, or, rather, her presence at the pier, her
connection with these two men, and the possibility suggested by
Mr. Craig; these, taken together, have been strong enough to
place her under suspicion.”
“Enid, if this man is a doubtful character, and his actions all
point to this conclusion—why does Madam allow herself to go
about in his company?”
“Is she not his sister?”
“So it—appears.”
“And—he is an invalid Ken, let us be fair. Tell me, do you
believe her to be in the Meyrick secret—if there is such P”
“Candidly, at first it seemed—possible, but, since hearing all
that Nancy and Josephine have been able to tell, I begin to
doubt.” s
Again that earnest, questioning look came into the girl's fine,
clear eyes. “Ken,” she began slowly, as if pursuing some intense
mental argument, while she spoke, “Please help me to under-
stand! I want to be just. The woman has been differently
reared from—from us. Her ideas of sociability, and—license,—
are not ours.” She was thinking, I knew, of the gambling epi-
sode—“and I do not wish, I must not let myself, become unchari-
table. If Madam Barthelme is simply standing by a brother,
and endeavoring to shield him, I must not accuse; I ought to pity
her. Change your plans—at least delay them a little, and let me
go down to Wraylands! If she is unaware of their schemes, if
she is unhappy—and alone—she is a woman, Ken, and—”
It was beautiful, gracious, womanly, sweet, but—I could not
let it go on; after all, what was Madam Devinne Barthelme, or
even Ara Doverfields, as against this fair, pure souled girl? She
should know the truth—as I knew it—where it concerned Mad-
am Barthelme, and putting a finger upon her kindly, merciful
lips, and begging her to let me speak, I began with the scene in
front of the theatre, and told of my first meeting with Madam,
and of Hal Landis, and his chivalrous proffer of aid; and—I
did not forget the sandwich man.
Step by step I traced the story of Madam as I knew it, omit-


ENID STANDS BY US 279
ting nothing. The scene at the water front, the story of the
gambling house, as told by Landis, and of the cottage as nar-
rated by Kenyon and Josephine Bryce. Monsieur's search for
Madam’s “keys,” and last, the finding of the Doverfields' jewels
in Madam's possession; after which—
“My dear friend,” I said. “You have now the full story of
Madam, as it is known to me. Of the Doverfields' share in the
business we will not speak now ; but—you must see that, until I
can learn how those jewels, the real ones, came into Madam's
possession, and the shams in the safety vault, I cannot report
the find—for—for the sake of all concerned. It would—it might
be an injustice to your friend.”
Enid caught her breath and nodded assent.
“As for Madam, you see, now, why I have grown more and
more reluctant to see your mother and yourself her guests—at
Wraylands; you understand?”
“Yes.” the girl shuddered. “What a terrible tangle! Ken,
let 's not speak of it any more now ; I want to go home to be
alone, and to think. I must not tell mamma P”
“No,” I answered, “not yet.”
“Nor uncle, of course. You may trust me Ken, and—look in
tomorrow, please.”
>k >k :: >k k >k >k >k # >k :k >k
Under all the circumstances it would not have been strange
if I had forgotten the letter of Josephine Bryce, lying unread in
my waistcoat pocket, for several hours. As a point of fact
it had been clearly registered at the back of my mind from
the moment it came into my hand. But it bore upon its face no
sign of urgency, at sight of which I should have opened and
read it, in any presence, and at any time; and I was about to
do so now, as soon as I had seated myself beside my desk, when
Jem appeared, in his swift silent fashion, saying—
“Somebody from down the country's been callin' for you sir,
sev'ril times, wouldn't give no name nor nothin', but said to tell
ye not to go out again till he 'd got a word with ye.”
“How long since, Jem?” I asked.
“’Bout half a nour I guess,” he replied, and I told him he
might go out for the evening, I wanted to be alone, and did not
intend to leave the office again except to dine.
Settled comfortable in an easy chair, I opened Josephine's let-
ter. It was not long, and I began to read.-


282 THE DOVERFIELDS DIAMONDS
presence of the Captain was necessary to them, then he should
only come surrounded and watched over by his friends. -
But, why ponder and question? It was like trying to peer
through a blank wall. I shook my head impatiently, and stop-
ping my restless promenade up and down the office, went back
to my desk and—Josephine's letter, which, this time, I had quite
forgotten, for the moment.
Where had I left off my reading? Ah yes.
“She, Madam, must not go to the city, etc., etc., it would not
be safe. But my lady will go; I'm sure of it. There's a reason.
why she wants to go. Tho' I don't know what it is. One thing
shows out more and more, since we came down here. They—”
meaning Monsieur and Madam, “watch each other closer than
ever, and each one is tryin' to pry out the other's secret. That 's
as far as I’ve got on that line.
“And now for the strangest thing of all. Mr. Kenneth, as
sure as I'm a livin' girl, Monsieur and Mr. Valet, Debree, change
about! When Monsieur comes down to dine with Madam, or
goes out by daylight, it's the valet dressed in Monsieur Victore's
clothes. And when Monsieur prowls about at night, swingin'
and smokin' on the hammock, till all hours, it's not the valet, but
himself. And since I’ve come to this conclusion, I see, as plain
as plain, that it's always been the man Debree that plays at bein’
Monsieur by daylight; and it 's Monsieur, that is valet by day,
and lookin' back, now, I can well remember that whenever Mon-
sieur is seen out, anywhere, by day, the valet keeps to himself, or
is only to be seen, now an' then, at a distance, and for just a
minute; and sometimes, not at all. This may seem real queer
to you, but if you could look into their rooms once, I reckon
it would seem plainer. The way things are kept boxed and locked
up in their rooms is a caution. Of course my lady can't help
knowin’ all about this turn about business; an' she helps it on.
She has to ; but she don't understand it much better 'n I do.
We're a queer lot down here, all seemin' on the watch fer some-
thin', and all knowin a thing or two; but no two of us seemin'
to know just the same things. I’m gettin' awful observin', and
I've noticed just lately, that Nancy Banks is givin' more close
study to Monsieur—both of him—than to all the rest together;


284 THE DOVERFIELDS DIAMONDS
awaited a client, and—a pal. When he arose to go he was look-
ing grave and anxious.
"I'll tell you how I'll arrange it,” he said. “Nurse, -if the
woman comes in my absence—and I'll be there, for a few days,
as much as possible—must send her to me, and I will assure
Madam that at the very first fit and safe moment, I will notify
her in person, and that she shall be the first to whom I allow this
privilege! Now that you have explained more fully I see the
necessity for keeping this woman out of Ara Doverfields' pres-
ence. And—I 'll keep her out.”
I knew that he would. Determined at last, to take the Offen-
sive at need, I had also decided to play my game with all cards
on the table, so far as my trusted friends and helpers were con-
cerned; and so I had, at last, put the Doverfields' case, briefly,
but fully, before the doctor, and he left me, fully alive to the
situation, and a host in himself; while, feeling that I might now
leave the city for a few days, secure in the thought that, until
the time seemed to me good, Madam, and the woman who was
either her tool, her victim, or her prey, and who so dreaded
and feared her coming, would be kept apart.
As the doctor took his hurried departure the Captain and
Landis arrived, and we were soon closeted together—this time
in Craig's sanctum—and again I had a story to tell. Rather, the
skeleton, with which they were familiar, to fill out in detail.
This time it was of Wraylands and Monsieur and Meyrick that
we talked, and our plans were made together, and each man was
given his part to play.
The Captain and Craig were to remain in the city, unless
called to Wraylands by sudden developments, and they were to
be at all times in touch, and ready for an emergency. As for
Landis and myself, we hoped soon to be inconspicuously domi-
ciled in my Aunt Jem's, “parlor suite,” as the dear soul loved to
call the two cosy front rooms of her cottage, and as we, like
Monsieur and his valet, intended to live exclusive and secluded
lives, while there, we had little fear. -
To make our way smooth the Captain lost no time in procuring
and placing in our hands, four warrants; the first for one Ralph
Meyrick, the others for the group which Enid now persistently
dubbed, “Madam and party.”


A NEW AUSTIN DOVERFIELDS 287
gether you did not care for the moves in the game, only for the
solution. Have you changed your mind?” -
The man let himself sink into the nearest chair, with a gesture
of weariness. “When I came to you,” he said, in a slow half
questioning, half hesitant manner, “I wanted,—I thought I
wanted—information. I am sure, now, that I wanted encourage-
ment more. You have made me ashamed, Mr. Jasper, and I'll
only ask, now, for—a word of courage—or, at least, sympathy.”
“Of course! As many words as you like, sir.” I said, still
meeting his gaze and smiling now. “But—I never waste my sym-
pathy—and you don't need it!” He started. “No sir, your wife
is improving. Oh, yes, I keep well informed, and Doctor Bird
is too honestly and heartily her true knight not to guard her every
step in the road back to health. Don't you go to him asking for
sympathy. To him Mrs. Ara Doverfields is the one woman
above all criticism, without fault, and with just one weakness,
a too absorbing affection for her husband, and a too anxious
and palpitating dread of his least disapproval. Pray don't mis-
understand me, Mr. Doverfields. May I offer a word of advice,
before—” -
“Go on!” he broke in almost eagerly.
Sometimes—at rare intervals—we speak from a source of in-
spiration. I had mot thought to put myself on record, as it were,
as Mrs. Doverfields' champion, and I knew that her sick ramb-
lings and ravings had given her husband strong reason to look
upon me, rather as an accuser than a friend, but as I ceased
speaking, and saw the change that slowly overspread his counte-
nance, seeming to smooth out the lines, soften the shadows, and
relax the still speechless lips, I was not sorry.
What I had done might have been ill judged, but as I stood
before this man, who, here before my eyes, seemed to be slowly
relaxing from a bitter mental and physical tension, I threw back
my head and mentally patted my own back, as I assured myself
—this time with due deliberation, that what I had done was, at
least sufficient for the day. Then, as he continued silent, “Do
you care for unfinished details?” I asked.
He shook his head.
“Details—no. A few more encouraging words—if you have
them—yes!”
“Ah,” I was quite reckless now, or so Craig would have said.
The truth was I wanted to burn my bridges. “There are to be


288 THE DOVERFIELDS' DIAMONDS
no details, remember! Mr. Doverfields, I can put my hand upon
your wife's jewels to day—at any time—all but one, that is—”
“My word ' Then why—” something in my face seemed to
check the inquiry.
“I can find the diamonds now, not the identity of the—thief.
The mystery surrounding the case is yet to solve, and as the
jewels are safe, and I am following a clue—of a sort—I desire
to leave them in their safe retreat; for—until I have played my
last card, and won or lost the game—”
“Jasper—you see something more in this than a common rob-
bery?” -
“I have mentioned—complications.”
He came to his feet with sudden elasticity. “Mr. Jasper, I
have—have you ever thought that there might be a—a plot?”
“How—a plot?” -
“Against—my wife?”
“My dear sir, if I were to tell you all I have thought concern-
ing this case, it would take all day, and—I have n't the time.
If you will trust me a little longer—a few days only, it may be—
I promise to tell you all I know—of victory or defeat. As to
what I think, I have stopped formulating theories. At present
I am just waiting for things to happen.”
He turned suddenly and caught up his hat. “I understand '''
he said half smiling. “And I am going home to wait, too!
Have you—meantime, any advice or—suggestions, for me? to—
to help kill time? A harder task than waiting—in suspense—
was never set a man.” -
“Will you let me advise you again? Ah, thanks! Then be
kind, and very gentle to your wife. Be as nearly like the man you
were—to her—before this thing happened—as you are able.
She, too, may find it hard to wait—in suspense. And—if you
feel the need of any more comfort—talk as freely with Doctor
Bird, when next you meet, as you have with me.”
“Thank you, Jasper!” he put out his hand, and held mine for
a moment in a firm, strong clasp, and then the door closed
behind him.
Of one result of this interview I felt assured. Austin Dover-
fields and I, henceforth, would understand each other; and in
the end, would be friends—or strangers! These were the days
when the poor waif of a sandwich man held small space in my


A NEW AUSTIN DOVERFIELDS 289
mind, in spite of his seeming connection with Madam, by the link
of the diamond solitaire.
Of course I had settled, with my own mind, that the man's
part in the mix up was an accidental one. And I could picture
him, as I had seen him that day before the theatre, prostrate
for a moment in the mud beside the curb, then scrambling to
his knees, his thin hands fluttering above the ground aimlessly,
and, as it seemed, in dazed bewilderment, until the gamin, who
was first to spring to his rescue, had pushed toward him his
sandwich boards, and helped him struggle to his feet. It was
here that Madam's carriage must have stopped, and where, as
she leaned from it, the solitaire, doubtless, had slid from the
folds of her silks and laces, to the mud of the street.
It was small wonder that the man, with the diamond clenched
in his muddy fist, had suspected, in every one, a possible pursuer,
if not an officer, and had dropped his limp as soon as it seemed
to him safe, to seek his lair by the roundabout route he had led
me, and to drop his boards at last, and vanish upon the L road.
I had not fully shared my partner's belief in a romance, possibly
a tragedy, behind the man's present squalor and seemingly out-
cast condition, and knowing him safe in Craig's careful hands
I had let him drop out of my thoughts.
There was one man, however, who now more than ever was
in my mind, and who, among all my helpers, was causing me
wonder, and some anxiety, because of his long silence, and, after
the going of Austin Doverfields, my thoughts turned again to
this man, Parchments, who was still pursuing, Heaven only knew
what line of leisurely inquiry, among the early homes - and
scenes of the Kentucky Doverfields of a past generation.
Since his report, at the beginning of his inquiries into the where-
abouts of the cousin of my patron, he had made no sign, except
the letter, written soon after, to say that he must follow up a clue
through several counties, and, it might be, into another state;
and to give me a permanent address, from whence letters or mes-
sages would reach him. Suddenly I determined that a message
should reach him now; at once, if possible; and I wrote out the
following telegram:
“If there is anything of use in the case of which you know,
ready to hand, send or bring at once. Crisis is upon us.”
This message I addressed and sent out promptly. I had lit-
tle hope of help from this quarter now, for Austin Doverfields'


292 THE DOVERFIELDS' DIAMONDS
“Poor devil l’” I muttered.
“Umph! Better apply that to me!”
“I did,” I retorted.
“Good! Now you shall hear the story of the sandwich man.
Though—” with another wicked glance, “of course it can't
interest you—as it did me.”
“I’m a good listener, you know,” I replied. “And I’ll try to
discover the point of interest, unless—of course—you omit it!”
Craig drew himself erect, put on a look of grave, impenetra-
bility, and in a curt, unornamental way, began the story of the
sandwich man. And, as I listened, while I could detect neither
break nor omission, I knew that, for me, this story was to be lit-
tle more, and no less, than a conundrum. And yet, when later,
I reviewed the little history, I could see no flaw; while still
again and again, to my mind, would come the question, “what
has he left Out?”
“Our friend of the sandwich boards,” began Craig, “who has
never given his true name, and freely admits it, has had a check.
ered career, which, shorn of his numerous adverbial phrases,
has been about like this: As the acknowledged heir of
wealthy parents, and grandparents, he ran for a time, a rather
tame and not very dangerous course, and during his earlier life,
and up to his twenty-seventh year he had seen only the soft and
pleasant side of existence. It is evident from his story and from
what is left of the man himself, that his natural tendency was
toward the easy things of life, and that—because of an inborn
indolence, a pretty taste for the romantic, a liking for wo-
men's society, and a strain of hereditary weakness and vanity.
“When he came into possession of a large property, he was
living surrounded by cousins, aunts and neighbors, all feminine,
and more or less pretty, of course. The change came with the
return, from a Northern school, of a handsome young woman,
the pet and protégé of his mother. The girl was a brunette, no
darker and no different, in physical points, from many young
Southern aristocrats, but she had been born a slave, the child of
a handsome octoroon, and had been the petted and indulged
personal attendant of his mother, for mother and child had re-
mained with their former mistress, after the emancipation proc-
lamation had sent so many of their race trooping northward to
harder masters and, very often, worse fare. -


THE STORY OF “THE PRINCESS" 293
“For four years this girl had been studying in a Northern sem-
inary, where she had been sent by her mistress, who had entered
her as a white child of good parentage. The lady, a true
- Southern matron, seemed to relish the joke of sending among
those “Northern agitators one of her former slaves, to live and
learn with them on equal terms; and the girl certainly knew how
to play her part.
“She played it so well, indeed, after her return, that she utterly
charmed her benefactress, as well as the late young master;"
for, after hearing the poor chap's story, and having studied his
personality, I am convinced that all the planning—and some of
it was very clever—was done by the astute, old, young brain of
the girl; aided, probably, by her mother. I can leave much of
this portion of the story to your vivid imagination. It 's the
perennial tale, a little over decorated, perhaps.
“The first step in our friend's undoing was the death of his
mother, which left him his own master—his father had died in
his boyhood—and the octoroon, nominally the housekeeper for
years, was now in reality at the head of his ménage.
“The fellow's attachment for the girl grew with the nourish-
ment now openly bestowed, and by and by there came a time
when his friends began to remonstrate—more at his reckless
generosity than from any moral objection, I fancy—and this
had an unlooked for result. One morning the octoroon and
her daughter left for New York, on the way to Paris, of course,
and our young man stayed behind, for a time, only, that he might
collect and carry away with him all his available funds. A
goodly sum, by the way.
“Meantime the young woman and her duenna—not her
mother, took luxurious quarters in the Rue de Bennes; and the
younger one began to perfect herself in the arts and graces. She
made rapid progress, and when our friend joined them,
his infatuation grew. Then for a time the young people, with, of
course, a valet, a French maid and courier, traveled, doing the
regular sightseer's route, and money and jewels began to flow
from his purse into hers.” Here Craig's head performed one
of those characteristic vibrations, Jem called them “jerks"—
that bespoke a disgust too big for words.
“I wish I had time, right now, to tell you of some of her clever,
pussy cat methods of working upon his generosity Bah! never
mind! They had been loitering in pleasant places for nearly


294 THE DOVERFIELDS DIAMONDS
six months, when, what you might term the second act in our
man's love drama began. -
“The octoroon had remained behind, from choice, pleading
slight indisposition, and they were suddenly called back to
Paris to see my lady's chere maman die. The lady was disconso-
late, the lover full of sympathy—not unmixed with relief, I
suppose—and the octoroon was ghastly pale, and large eyed, in
a dim and drug laden atmosphere.
“Promptly upon arrival they were gathered around the death
bed, and then the blow fell. Now, Ken, you are to keep in mind
that this poor fool was never what we like to call a strong man,
intellectually. The octoroon had been his nurse in childhood, and
he had always trusted her. A childlike belief in all manner of
people who were decently kind to him, has always been, I ima-
gine, his strongest quality. As for the girl, his faith in her, like
his love, was supreme. And so, when with her eyes rolled heav-
enward, the nurse excluded, the woman upon this death bed, mid
sighs, groans, pains, and frequent stimulant, told this poor
devil how, to please and obey her ‘old master, his father—who
was unable to endure the thought that his first, and only child
should not be a boy, -she had let them take her day old baby,
himself, and place it beside the unconscious mistress, in place
of the girl child, who was the real heiress of all the wealth of
that fine old family, of whom he had believed himself the last
representative. You may imagine the scene.
“It must have been worth something to have heard the wo-
man, as she turned to her supposed daughter with cringing,
fawning respect, and simulated remorse, and tears, and begged
her forgiveness. But, best of all, it must have been to see Cinde-
rella—suddenly become a fairy princess, first shocked, and then
haughtily indignant, until, meeting his miserable look, she melted
with love and pity, forgave the octoroon, and declared that she
would never humble him by depriving him of either name or
fortune. •
“You can anticipate the rest. My lady played her game well;
she protested, she vowed he should always bear the name given
him at his christening. She wanted only his love, etc., etc., and
soon, by degrees, he had turned over, by deed of gift, all the
property he could not realize on without too great loss, all docu-
ments from him being made under the old family name, to her
under the one she had adopted. She declaring that, because of


THE STORY OF “THE PRINCESS" 295
the love she bore him, she would never use or be known, under the
name of her proud old Southern kinsmen, except as his wife—
some day."
“Her kindness never wavered while he still had anything to
bestow. She clung to him to the seeming neglect of the octo-
roon, who—as you have doubtless foreseen—surprised them by
recovering almost before her victim had signed his last deed--
the last, at least—that he did sign.
“It appears that the family lawyer was a stanch old Scotch-
man, and one day our friend wrote asking him to investigate
some stock long out of the market, but which, according to the
foreign news letters, was promising to revive and become of
value once more. It was old mining stock, it appears; and as-
says of some new vein products had revived interest in it. I
will not take up the details of these business doings,” here I
fancied a return of that cynic gleam in Craig's eyes, “that can
come later, if you care to hear further. But no man is quite
without friends, more or less disinterested, as the case may be—
and the affair between the couple, so ill sorted, in the eyes of
the fastidious Southerners, was noted, of course, not only by this
shrewd old family lawyer, but by neighbors, friends of the par-
ents of our unlucky lover, and the everywhere present village
gossip, of course, and when the demands for money began to be
followed by orders to sell this and that piece of property, the law-
yer quietly began to investigate, and the truth as to present condi-
tions was soon unearthed, but not all the truth. The affair of the
changed children was known only to the three most inter-
ested—and to one other; for the plot could not quite be carried
out alone.
“For nearly a year after the death bed confession things
went fairly well, and then my lady began to sigh for more—and
bigger worlds to conquer, and presently jealousy stepped in,
and there were quarrels, and reconciliations, new every morning,
and fresh every evening.
“At last, in desperation, our friend sought the advice of the
resurrected octoroon; there seemed no one else. She told him
that absence would surely work the required charm; that my lady
would pine for him, once he was not at her feet. He must go
without a farewell word, and remain away weeks. The poor
fool, already half ill from worry and sleeplessness, protested,
and went.


300 THE DOVERFIELDS DIAMONDS
“No, indeed, sir! It's a little hotel, way down near Madison
Square, and she named a small but very good house in a quiet
locality and added—“She said she expected to be awful busy
for a couple of days, and didn't want to be bothered by callers,
and invitations, and she's going to take me with her on her bus-
iness round. I reckon she thinks I'm so dumb and green that
I'm quite safe.”
“So much the better, my girl. Is Monsieur and his man still
quiet?” -
“I should think so! We hardly see either one any more, and
never both at once,” eying me curiously. “The valet comes and
goes like a spook. Monsieur seemed grumpy, so Madam said,
at our comin' up, and we had n't seen the man, all day. But he
£urned up all right, and as polite as you please, to see us to the
cars, “Monsieur's orders, he said. An now I must go! How
I wish 't I dared go to see Miss Enid.”
I sent her back in a cab, and as soon as I had swallowed my
breakfast I hurried to the residence of Doctor Bird, told him of
the girl's visit, and showed him Madam Barthelme's letter.
“She must be arrested !” he fumed. “It 's blackmail ! This
letter shows it. Can't you—”
“Listen,” I broke in. “Yes, I have learned much within twen-
ty-four hours and I begin to see my way in this jewel case.
But—you must stand in the breach a little longer, for I must give
myself for the next few days, to Wraylands, and its affairs. I
am going out of the city.”
“But—man -—what—”
“Wait! I must be present, if possible when these two women
meet. If I do not misread the lady's letter——which Mrs. Dover-
fields must not see—."
“Thank the Lord for that l”
“As I say, I think I comprehend its meaning, and, if so, Ma-
dam B., will be in a very ill humor when she appears before Mrs.
Doverfields. You must write her ! Tell her that your patient
has consulted you, and that you hope in three or four days—to be
able to admit her to the sick room. Lie man! Lie splendidly,
for your patient's sake! And when you hear from me, let the
lady come, I shall probably meet her at the threshold. Of course
it's a risk | There are chances for a failure, but— there 'll be no
more bluffing, doctor dear! It 's war to the hilt now.”


WAR TO THE HILT 3OI
What I now relate of the movements of Madam, for the next
two days, I learned later from Josephine and others. But its
place, in our narrative, is here, for more reasons than one.
It would seem that Madam had entrusted to her “Attorneys,”
Messrs. Birdsall & Birdsall, certain documents, claims and deeds,
to be acted upon according to her instructions, and a letter from
these gentlemen had lately informed her that “in the interest of
her business,” it would be well for her to appoint a meeting—
and soon. It is probable that these correct gentlemen had looked
for a request to call upon Madam, and Madam's sudden appear-
ance must have surprised them, though not so much, perhaps,
as it might have done, before the coming of the news from the
South, of which they had notified her.
The details of this interview I neither desired nor obtained,
but Messrs. Birdsall, et al, were a little cooler than usual, and
they wore a somewhat injured air, as, placing before Madam a
number of documents having every appearance of worth and
legal value, they pointed out wherein lay their “weakness” and
sad to say, their "worthlessness.”
“We cannot in the least understand it, Madam,” declared the
elder Birdsall. “But the facts are there. These documents, seem
to convey to you, by party of the first part, these certain proper-
ties—” here followed a reading of the papers, "the fact is, there
are no such properties. In each case the lots, blocks, sections,
bear numbers and letters that do not exist, either upon the rec-
ords, or in fact. It 's a bold imposition, and can only be set right
by having the party of the first part, hauled before the courts
in the county and state herein mentioned, and the imposition, or
error—the later seems hardly possible—but here Madam, show-
ing signs of faintness and much mental disturbance, interposed
a torrent of agitated, and rather unbusinesslike questions, and re-
ceiving scant satisfaction, and no encouragement, murmured
something about consulting a brother, then out of town, and
went away, for the first time, unattended, so far as her carriage
door, by the elder Birdsall, obsequious, sedate, and eminently
respectable. It took her until luncheon to recover her poise, and
then she once more sallied forth. This time on foot, and richly
garbed, but closely veiled.
She visited, that afternoon a retired dealer in rare jewels, who
lived somewhat secluded, and was not widely known-by the
upper tens. And after him, she called upon two others, not re-


WAR TO THE HILT 303
I wish't you’d put a little in a bottle an’ send it to me by that
French valit, he's here now an I’m goin’ to holler down when
he starts back an ask him to bring it out when he brings Mon-
sheer's mail. I’ve got a awful dose of rheumatism, an’ can’t
hardly git up an’ down stairs, an' it's lucky Monsheer don't eat
much, an don't need no great waitin' on. If the linament don't
help me out, etc., etc. She detailed all her household troubles
for Aunt Jem's edification, not to mention that of the “valit,”
whom she knew to be in hearing; and ended thus—
“Seem’s if everything's which ways; what with that drunken
garden man, an’ me as good 's a cripple; an' here comes word las'
night that Green's uncle Silas–Sile Jones, ye know– is down
with newmony, and they're afraid he may git dangerous.”
When we were told all this, Landis and I exchanged pleased
glances. All things were in train, it seemed; and now we had
only to await the final signal. It came, or so we thought, next
morning; and by another of Nancy's daring bits of cleverness.
From our cosy room in the cottage wing, we could see Green
Jones, dressed in his best suit, and looking solemn, as he knocked
at the side door. Promptly I set our own door ajar.
“Miss Jasper,” we heard him say, “I got to go over to Uncle
Sile's to set up tonight, an’—ye know how pore off Nancy is?”
“Yes.” I could picture Aunt Jem's quick nod.
“Wal, she wants to know if ye could n’t come over an' stop
with her tonight. Feels sort o’lonesome, jest her an' the kitchen
girl, and that invalid man boarder.”
“My sakes!” ejaculated Aunt Jem. “I’d be no good there,
tell Nancy. But if I’m feelin' fit I'll run up an’ see her in course
o' the day, tho' I some expect company.” -
>k >k :: >k •k >k *:
There was still one question that troubled me—a little. We
knew from Kenyon that the valet was at the city cottage still; and
Monsieur was keeping “very closte,” according to Nancy, at
Wraylands. We also knew, thanks to Josephine—how it was
that the valet, who came and went directly and almost invisibly
—except when he came to the kitchen in his master's service,
was, in reality, Monsieur in his valet's disguise. That there
could be but one of them at Wraylands we now felt assured, and
Hal and I were discussing this as we whiled away what we hoped
would be our last day in cover.
“Of course,” I said, “you have seen enough of Wraylands to


WAR TO THE HILT 305
concerned. It will be for the first time—to anyone. When I
followed Monsieur's valet to the Hargis house that day, I thought
I was following Meyrick. Before I left him I knew I was
wrong. And then, for many days, I was at a loss. I had little
reason,-if any, to suspect Madam's brother, or even herself—
at that time. Then, later—because the fellow seemed to have so
wholly vanished from among the passengers of the ship,
I recalled Craig's first doubt which, however he would hardly
admit then, because of Madam's resemblance to an adventuress
he had seen in Paris, and I questioned, could Monsieur and Mey-
rick, by any possibility, be identical? I set Kenyon to watch
him. This, as you know, was not a success; because, as we now
know, the Monsieur who appeared in public, who dined with
Madam's friends, and at the hotel table sometimes, was the man
who played the valet! Then I dined in the company of Madam's
brother, and was sure it was not Meyrick who played this role.”
“You say played?”
“Yes, but wait. I have told you of the strange impression
Kenyon at that time confided to me, as of a man with two person-
alities, and of the expert scientist whom I sent to the hotel. But
I did not tell you that this man of keen eyes had a method, pe-
culiar to himself, of judging accurately at a distance, not too
great, of course—and aided by a little mechanical machine, used
by the Bertillion people, and one of their newest discoveries.
This man's report puzzled me at first.
“He had contrived to be at hand when Monsieur was passing
to and from his carriage; he drove with Madam, at first, but
soon substituted the valet, for reasons best known to himself.
The report was, briefly shorn of technicalities, that Monsieur's
height varied by half an inch, from time to time; that the droop
of his shoulders was not always quite the same; and, stranger
still, the measurements of Monsieur's valet, as well as the varia-
tions from time to time, were the same as those of Monsieur !”
Hal's mouth shaped a whistle. Then he swore, softly and
wonderingly. -
“But,” I hastened on, “my conceit got a fall, when, at the din-
ner given by Madam, Enid Devereaux, who sat next him on the
side where the fullest light struck upon his face, discovered, and
afterward managed to tell me, that Monsieur was disguised. Of
course I made light of it, called it merely the vanity of an inva-
lid, a French way. But I redoubled my own watchfulness, and


CHAPTER XLV.
ON GUARD AT WRAYLANDS.
It was a strange situation, and it was telling upon us both a
bit. We had ceased to wonder and speculate, and, in almost
utter silence now, were waiting for the early evening to pass.
As my Aunt's clear voiced clock struck the hour of nine, we
heard the scream of the evening express cityward, and the sound
of its onward rush, as it wheeled through the village; and then
another half hour of silence went on.
Then, suddenly, the outer door was flung open, and some one
seemed to dash straight to our door. We heard Aunt Jem's
voice raised in inquiry, and the door was flung inward and Nancy
Banks, her eyes blazing with excitement sprang in.
“I ain't no time to explain, Miss Jasper !” she declared over
her shoulder. “Kenneth Jasper, do you know what that is ?”
She was holding something out before my face, and she let me
pluck it from her hand, and seemed struggling to get her breath,
while I took time to note that the thing was simply a man's neck
scarf, soft, fine, and daintily made. I eyed it with some wonder,
and shook my head. “A man's neck scarf, and a good one,”
was all I ventured.
“A man's scarf. Yes! A scarf I knew at first glance! look
underside | It's a scarf that poor Daphne Meyrick made for that
beast, right after they came home from the tower. It's his scarf
An' I found it in the man's room, not half an hour ago!”
“Explain, Nancy—and please calm yourself; time, now, may
be of value.”
“My stars, yes!” Nancy seemed to gather herself together
with an effort, then—
“A little before nine o'clock,” she began, “Mr. Valet man came
to my door, all dressed for the road, an he says, “Mis Banks,
Monseer desires me to tell you that you must not trouble about
him any more tonight. I have left him quite comfortable, and
he is already retired. As for me, I am going to the city by the
nine express; it's a commission from Monseer, and I shall return
by the ten P. M. regular tomorrow, he says, an' then he asks, as
(397)


CHAPTER XLVI.
MEYRICK AT LAST.
“Sh!” cautioned Lane. “It 's all right, only—I thought I'd
better explain. Yer friend Landis—say, he's a peach—and solid
all the way through ! He was the one to suggest that, there bein’
a “hit an’ miss down, soon after the 'spress, there was n't nothing
to prevent that Valet turnin' back, an’sort o' joinin’ us down here
all on his lonesome—maybe—an he, Landis—is doing post down
by the big gate.” That was my idea. “Pshaw!” in reply to my self-
disgust at this oversight. “Nobody can think of everything!
Even the Lord had to have an after thought, 'fore He could make
woman. Sh! our man's gone upstairs. Wants to see if Nancy's
asleep, an’ snorin' I guess. Oh, say, he grumbled through the
door this afternoon about her lettin’ Jones go away when she
was almost ill. You see he had been posted up since morning;
Nancy said she was achin' considerabl’, and as her friend could n’t
come, she was goin’ to keep a dim light burnin’ for company.
“Besides, says cunning Miss Nancy, ‘I am kind o' nervous, feel-
in’; an' I mean to git Tonto an’ keep him with me, tied to the
bedpost. He was howlin’ some while back, an I'm afraid he
may disturb ye, if he’s kept out there alone.’
“I got away from the stairs about then,” Lane finished, “for
as soon as he’d heard about the dog, he began to move off, and
went over to his own room, or Monsieur's room. Well—things
are all in shape, Mr. Jasper, an I guess I'll git out before he
gets down stairs again.”
There had been a light fall of summer rain, early in the day,
followed by afternoon sunshine, and as the evening had set in
cloudy, and with no moon, the gloom had been dense. But now,
as we waited in our covert, through long moments that seemed
hours, the clouds began to drift and scatter, and a few stars
peeped out, so that, having become used to darkness, we could
see, dimly, as far as the portico, and beyond the dog house, which
stood—since Jones had made his unkind raid upon its shrubbery,
—quite in the open. -
How still the night was! And how long! Now and then we
(3:3)


314 THE DOVERFIELDS DIAMONDS
heard the rustling or chirp of a sleepy bird, or the flutter of leaves
above us as the breeze came up the hillside. And presently, from
the village, came the slow, clear tolling of the midnight bell. The
sound had scarcely died away in the long sighing echo, when we
heard a series of low too-whoos from one of the nearby trees, or
so it seemed, and then an answer came from the southward;
one loud too-whoo, and, a moment later, two gentle dreamy hoots,
that floated out from among the lilacs, almost overhead; and each
of us held his breath as we waited.
The breeze, light and fitful, seemed, all at once to die out; and
every least night sound became suddenly audible. We heard our
own breathing; almost our heart-beats. Only our eyes moved,
and presently as they ranged slowly from end to end of the south
piazza, we saw something, a figure, standing at the corner of
the house nearest the front entrance.
It stood so long, we began to fear that some one of us had been
heard; detected perhaps. Then, slowly, the figure moved out
from the corner, and stood a little nearer to our lair.
And now we could see him move, and turn from right to left,
bending and listening. Then suddenly, he dropped to the ground,
and we saw a faint glow, that, shining before him, left his
crouched figure in the blackness of an inky shadow.
I knew, then, that he possessed one of the newest, and best, of
tiny pocket lanterns, by which one could give a tiny soft light
or a strong sudden blaze at will. Then, instantly almost, he be-
came erect, and with the light shut off, began, as if he were pac-
ing off a measured distance, to walk toward the southwest end
of the house. Here again he paused, and let the faint light shine
all about that portion of the lawn, that was quite open. And
then, with a quick gliding movement, he passed out of sight
around the rear corner of the big dwelling.
Again there was a long and tedious wait. Once or twice we
caught the glimmer of his dimly burning lantern, and presently,
he reappeared at the starting point, or southwest corner. This
time he made it clear that there was method in the course he
was pursuing. He advanced straight toward our hiding place,
in long strides, and again paused; then he began to walk west-
ward again, and as he passed us we could see that he held some-
thing bulky clasped in his arms. Near the rear angle of the
house he slackened his pace, and a few steps beyond it, he halted.
It was Lane who described for us, his next movements; when,





MEYRICK AT LAST 315
an hour later we were again able to exchange words. “At first,”
declared Lane, “I could n't think what the fellow was up to ; but
when I had wormed myself a bit closer, I saw that he was mov-
ing backward, very carefully, and craning his neck back, and up,
and I knew then, that he was trying to get a glimpse of the win-
dows of the upper rooms. Then he dropped the thing he had
in his arms, bent over it, and seemed to shake it. Once more
he peered all about him, and then—whisk! something big and
fluttering was lifted up, outspread, and wound about him, and I
knew for sure, that it was a big dark blanket like thing, cut out
poncho fashion.
I knew this first by seeing his head come through; and then,
with the arms outspread, like big wings, and half crouching, he
commenced to move toward the dog's kennel, or the shrubbery
just beyond it.
A few feet from the kennel he stopped again, bent forward,
and began to make low, soft hissing sounds, that could not have
been heard at a little distance. Then he became erect again, and
went, still very slowly, toward the kennel, stopping quite close be-
side it, and I heard that sharp little click, that a man who 's ever
heard a Smith and Wesson, or the new auto's, never mistakes;
then both arms, with the bat's wing effect, went out right and
left, and I saw a faint glow of light beyond the edges of the
outspread blanket wings.
A moment before I had said to myself, at sight of the cumber-
some blanket thing, ‘The fellow 's crazy!” Now I admired the
ingenuity of the idea; for aided by this screen, he could inves-
tigate at close quarters, with the minimum of danger; while, if
forced to flight, it could always be dropped, or, at close clinch,
even, be made no mean weapon of hindrance, if not of offense.
By the aid of his small lantern—an excellent and almost
hidden light—covered as it was, by the poncho blanket—the chap
seemed to make a rapid but careful search upon the ground, and
all about the kennel; peering inside, and only ceasing when he
had actually laid hand upon the little sloping roof; seeming to
tug at it as if he would like to tear it from its anchorage, and
making me feel, again, that we must be dealing, or about to
deal with a clever madman. -
“And then,-when, seemingly satisfied he straightened up and
seated himself on the edge of the kennel, I thought it time to sig-
nal for the rest of you; somehow, I did n't feel capable, any more,


MEYRICK AT LAST 310
then we heard a quick ejaculation, and the sound of a lifting lid
that creaked quite too audibly.
“Ah—h—h !” with this long drawn breath of half stifled rap-
ture, he dived head and shoulders out of sight, and caught the
lantern down beside him ; then there was a tug, a strain and a
struggle, again and again repeated, and, in the shelter of the
bushes I began to creep yet nearer. There was just a good man's
length between us now, and I heard him whisper a fervent
curse, and add—
“It’s no use! I must carry them away in the sacks!”
He drew himself out of the “grave” again, and, pulling two
leather miner's sacks from beneath his coat, bent again, and
glancing nervously around for the last time, muttered, “I must
be quick! Who knows—” another backward glance at the sec-
ond floor window, and then he turned to his task.
Holding a sack open with one hand, he began filling it with
gold, jewels, money—a gleaming mass. -
“Heavens!” I started, for I had just felt a quick hand pres-
sure upon my arm—a touch that said, “It is time to act,” and
I quite agreed. Returning the signal in kind, I began to glide
forward, when another sound not far away this time, caused us
all to pause, statue like.
It was sufficiently startling, this sound; for what we had heard
was no soft gentle sigh, but a full grown sneeze, coming straight
down out of the heavens—“the scene had changed," and there
was “a simultaneous tumultuous movement.”
From my place, not four feet from the man on the opposite
side of the treasure hollow, I sprang forward, shouting, “Lane!”
as I went, and, somehow, carrying Craig with me, or so it seem-
ed.
From out the cache came the head and shoulders of our quar-
ry, who, turning, in the effort to rise, grasped his nearby pistol
with a grip so fierce, and an aim, because of his position, so
lofty, that the upward speeding bullet brought down, in the same
breath, an oath, full grown and strenuous, and a swiftly falling
body; and, before Craig or I could cross the chasm, before our
prostrate quarry was more than half risen, we all knew where
Green Jones was—or had been.
No one, then or ever, could tell just how it all happened, but
as Green Jones in falling struck the half prostrate man, a second
yell, this time without the oaths—split the air, and Green's own


32. THE DOVERFIELDS' DIAMONDS
“Come on, you!" she said curtly. “I il look after you, myself
—till the doctor gets here!" and she led him toward the rear
entrance. As we rounded the front corner of the piazza with
our burden, we came upon a queer sight.
The valet, with his hands clasped tightly behind him, stood
very stiffly at attention, with Hal Landis some three feet behind
him, a revolver held menacingly, and a grim look upon his face.
“Fall in, Landis,” was all I found time to say, “you're doing
well, don't break down.”
To which jibe the young scamp, in burlesque imitation of
Craig's most parental manner, retorted, “Don’t get nervous, my
son; we two know our business, in this little play !” And my
glimpse, in passing, of the prisoner, the unwavering “gun” and
the strong young figure behind it, convinced me that they did—
and would.
For the rest, we had all been under no little strain, mental and
physical, for a very long hour, and we now felt—the captors at
least a trifle nervous, perhaps—and, possibly, a bit too gay, for
the occasion.
For when we had laid our burden down upon one of Nancy's
clean, “spare beds,”—not Monsieur's—we who looked upon his
face, and his wounds, knew that we saw before us a dying man.


CHAPTER XLVII.
“THE HOUR WILL COME.”
“He can’t live—long.”
It was Doctor Grey, who spoke, the same who, a few years be-
fore, had stood beside the body of Daphne Meyrick and given
his hopeless verdict.
He bent again over the inert form, listened to the stertorous
breathing, and counted the feeble, uneven pulse. Then he looked
across at me, and I saw that he had recognized his patient.
Meyrick had wisely chosen not to trammel himself with need-
less disguise, in making this last effort of a reckless life, and
the few penciled lines about the mouth and nostrils now stood
out in ghastly caricature and seemed only to make the real
man—in his blood and pallor—the more visible.
“It will be a mere matter of days,” said the doctor presently.
“A little longer, or a little less, but sure!”
“And—this coma? When will he be conscious, doctor?”
“M—m” he looked at me sharply. “You mean—able to talk?
IS that it?”
I nodded.
“He may be conscious soon. But to talk—no. That will be a
risk until these wounds are dressed, and he becomes less weak.
Twenty-four hours, at least—in all humanity.” He was working
rapidly as he spoke and I was assisting, Craig standing near,
ready at need. - -
“There shall be no lack of humanity,” I replied. And Nancy,
who had just entered with towels and hot water, added, as usual,
the final word. -
“Land knows we ain't heathens, any of us! I cal’late to do
my best.”
When the doctor's task was done he followed me to the Cap-
tain's study, and there I told him as much as seemed needful—
he could imagine much, and I felt sure, he could be trusted.
“You see, doctor,” I said, with my hand upon the door, “how im-
portant it is that this man should live, if possible, to tell the truth
(323)


THE HOUR WILL COME 325
too entire and recent to admit of so much as a tap of his strong
and unusually active tail. And then, for nearly an hour, we two
labored at the replacement of the soil above the box, into which we
first put back the contents of the leathern bag, which Meyrick had
but scantily filled.
To replace Tonto's kennel was a work of some difficulty, for
while the dog knew us as his friends, and appeared to recognize
our good will, he, quite as evidently, doubted our judgment
in affairs concerning himself; and, diplomacy failing us, we were
compelled to resort to duplicity—and a rope. However, the ken-
nel replaced, Tonto became his sedate and amiable self, and
wagged us a salute as he took possession of his home once more.
“Watch it, Tonto,” I admonished, and then gave careful in-
structions to Lane, whom I could trust fully.
He was to guard this treasure until the Captain and the
proper authorities came to unearth it once more. In the interim
all the rest, except Nancy, were to suppose that our labor had
been with a different purpose, and that the buried loot had gone
to the city with Craig and myself. It would make his task easier,
and the treasure safer. As for Nancy, she deserved our confi-
dence, and I knew better than to withhold it. She could—and
would—make Lane's task lighter, and once in the city, I would
send him efficient aid. Meantime Green, who had a bloody but
not deep, flesh wound, would soon be ready to aid, at need.
>k >k >k >k >k :k :: :: >k
It was three o’clock A. M., when I stood beside the bed where
Ralph Meyrick lay breathing faintly and still unconscious. The
horrible gashes in throat and cheek, and the torn and lacerated
shoulder, were now dressed, the blood marks removed, and all
concealed by swathing bandages. Yet under the dim light the
man looked old, ghastly and hollow of eye and cheek. He seemed
the mere husk of a man, and I shot an inquiring glance at Doc-
tor Grey.
“He will rally,” the old man said with confidence, “but only
for a time. You will come back soon?”
“Tonight, I trust, and Doctor, will you see that no one dis-
covers his identity in my absence? No one outside those here at
present. Should he become conscious, and able to be told, let
him know that we mean to guard his identity. He may be Mon-
sieur, or another. He must not be Ralph Meyrick—for his dead
wife's sake. -
It was nearing twelve o'clock when Craig and I crept into the


326 THE DOVERFIELDS DIAMONDS
lilac copse to await whatever might occur. It was half after
three, and a cloudy morning, when we left the house, hurried
down the southern slope, and mounting our horses rode back to
the village. It is seldom that a good angel appears in so prosaic
a form, but when we found Aunt Jem wide awake, and a steam-
ing kettle and savory “bite,” awaiting us, we at once adopted
Nancy as our patron saint, for in the midst of all her graver re-
sponsibilities, at the top of the hill, she had found time and the
kindly thought, that warned my Aunt of our coming, and our
near departure cityward. And when at 4:40 we climbed aboard
the Early Bird express, we felt refreshed.
We chose our chairs with a view to conversation and isolation,
and at that hour we found the coach sparsely filled. When we
were comfortably placed and the conductor had flashed his
lantern in our faces and collected fares, I leaned toward my
partner—“Now Craig, old man we have a two hours ride before
us, and—I do not yet fully know what sent you rushing down to
find me. It was Parchments, of course, but what has Parch-
ments discovered, that—”
“Oh, bother!” with my first words he had begun to fumble in
an inner pocket, which seemed well filled, for along with a rub-
ber bound packet which seemed to be the thing he sought, sev-
eral other papers and cards fell out, one escaping from his fin-
gers, dropping between my knees and to the floor, as he threw
out a detaining hand.
“Getting awkward, seems to me, as your friend Nancy would
say,” he exclaimed, shuffling his handful of papers while I
stooped and took up the card, which, being secured, proved to
be an old fashioned photograph of the small card variety.
“Hello!” as I held it toward him.
“That 's yours, old man. Parchments put it in my hand last
thing, after giving me his report, to bring to you. It's your man.”
I leaned toward the light and scrutinized the picture with
somewhat languid interest, and then I uttered an exclamation
and drew the card nearer my eyes. “My soul!” I exclaimed.
“What a resemblance—even now !”
Craig peered across my shoulder.
“My soul, Ken, how stupid I am getting! That’s not the one
I–er—had from Parchments, that 's a likeness of the sandwich
man. The one I cribbed from among several that he showed
me when he told me his story.” Again he was fishing in that
Ç


330 THE DOVERFIELDS DIAMONDS
“Pooh! I wouldn't give a rap for him without you! Couldn't
I see at first glance that he would dance to your piping—or not
at all! You see what I'm getting at?"
“Quite, and it 's good play, too. T will be a winner if it can
be made. I'll get him, then?” -
>k >k >k -k :k :k :k :k >k
At seven o'clock A. M. I sent this message to Dr. Bird,—“I
will call at the Doverfields' place at nine o'clock on business of
importance; will you meet me there?” -
I was in no doubt as to the answer, and, half an hour later, I
informed the nurse of my coming; she too, would understand.
At half past eight as I re-entered the office after a hasty break-
fast, my ear was saluted by the jangle of the telephone.
“It’s been ringin' and ringin,’ ” declared Jem, who seemed
rather aggrieved at my early home coming. “It 's Ken—Mr.
Kenyon, I guess.”
Instantly the receiver was at my ear. “She 's gone out
a ready,” said Kenyon. “Went in a closed carriage, and dressed
in black, veil an all.—Yes sir, she drove up town—westwards.”
“Westward-up town' That must mean Doverfields! The
woman's haste must be urgent. I thanked my stars that Craig
had already been gone an hour, and sent Jem for my cab.
>k :: >}: >k >k :: •k >k >k
It was the nurse herself who opened the door for me, the but-
ler looking on in grave surprise from the background. “This
way, sir.” drawing me into the little reception room, where
stood the doctor with wrath writ large all over his face.
“Quick!” he fumed, “tell him! There 's no time to lose. “It’s
that woman!" he added viciously.
“She came ten minutes ago, Mr. Jasper,” the nurse began
promptly. “And I came down as was arranged.”
I nodded understandingly. The doctor here told me,
only yesterday, that she was not to be admitted until we had
your orders. So when she handed me a note saying it was from
Dr. Bird, and that she was sorry, but must make haste to see
her friend for just a moment, I knew 'twas a forgery she gave
me, and made a little delay by consulting with the maid at the
stair head, and then I told her point blank that Mrs. Dover-
fields was in her bath, and it would be an hour before she could
be seen—if then. Instantly she changed from smiles and gra-
ciousness to a white rage, and was just opening her lips when


3.32 THE DOVERFIELDS DIAMONDS
tory. Explaining how, having met his charming wife abroad, a
friendship had arisen, and how Mrs. Doverfields' illness had so
grieved her—then followed a string of platitudes mingled with
anxious queries as to Mrs. Doverfields' present state, that caused
me no little wonder. What was this woman's purpose? I could
imagine the dignified, even cold attitude of her host, and I felt
that she was talking to soften that courteous coldness, and draw
him out, and off his guard, the more easily to surprise him,
and read him, when the more critical moment—the unsheath-
ing of the claw should come.
And—what should I do? I had the warrant for her arrest
in my pocket, and I was quite prepared to use it. Or—I started
at this thought—I might send the butler in hurriedly with a
note—which had followed her, of course—apprising her of
what she could not yet know—the unmasking of her sham
brother and his present critical condition.
Of one thing I felt assured, this woman did not, and could not,
understand or realize Austin Doverfields' present attitude, or
the extent and nature of his knowledge of his wife's affairs.
And—not realizing his tense attitude, his alternations of doubt,
fear, and anxiety, she must have been a bit puzzled by his seem-
ing coldness, and lack of interest in her personality. Madam
counted this last as not the least among her weapons of attack.
With the thought of breaking in upon the interview, the mo-
ment it seemed to threaten fresh trouble for Ara Doverfields, I
was drawing from my pocket, note book and pencil when Ma-
dam's purling and musical speech was broken in upon so sud-
denly that my hand stayed itself half way, and my hold upon
my notebook relaxed.
“Madam—allow me to interrupt you. If I comprehend your
words you are an acquaintance of Mrs. Doverfields, whom she
met abroad?”
“A—friend! I think she would tell you, sir.”
“Ah, indeed! And you have called several times desiring to see
her ?”
“Desiring it, ah, so much !”
“You were informed of her illness?”
“Oui ' Yes, yes, surely!"
“Ah!” There was a sound from the inner room, and I knew
that Austin Doverfields was seating himself before his desk.
“My time is limited! Still I think we would better understand


THE HOUR WILL COME 333
each other. Perhaps you will be seated, Madam–Ah-–Ma-
dam—"
“Barthelme, Madam Devinne Barthelme.”
“Thanks. Then, Madam Barthelme, since you have been made
aware that Mrs. Doverfields was and still is ill, that she has been
denied to all her friends, even the most intimate, and has been
seen only by doctor and attendants, may I ask why, knowing
this, it has been so disappointing, so surprising, that you have
not been admitted ”
The queer little, half foreign ejaculation that fell from the
lady's astonished lips, caused me to hug myself in wicked glee.
And I fancied her wondering where she had let drop the word
too much, that had torn the veil from all her pretty fine lady
verbiage. How could she know that this man, achingly alert
to my hint of a possible meaning in whatever had to do with
his wife, looked for, suspected, saw, only the doubts or facts,
that might concern her and—what he believed to be her secret.
While he spoke I had, with my penknife, ruthlessly, and
somewhat recklessly, cut a tiny slit in a fold of the full hanging
curtain, and feeling sure that the eyes of those two, sitting face
to face, were intent upon each other, I drew the fold apart, and
peered into the study, just as Austin Doverfields leaned forward
in his chair, and fixing her eyes with his own, said:
“Madam, you appealed to me, just now, in the hope that I
would interfere in your behalf, and admit you to my wife's pres-
ence. Is it not so?”
The woman hesitated for a moment, and I felt a hand upon
my arm. It was Doctor Bird. His trained ear had caught
Doverfields' last sentence, and there was a gleam in his eyes.
“Don’t interfere now,” he breathed in my ear. “Trust me, I
know the man.” He had noted, as had I, the change from his
“Mrs. Doverfields” to “my wife,” and he understood its mean-
ing. Austin Doverfields might doubt or suspect his wife, but—
he would stand between her and other doubters—or dangers.
Madam's answer was a long drawn sigh, and—presently a
low, hesitating—“I had—hoped it.”
“I am glad that you were not wholly disappointed this morn-
ing, Madam, and that you will not be obliged to come yet again.”
Instantly it flashed upon me that he, as well as myself, had
been taking note of Madam's visits, and the doctor and I ex-


336 THE DOVERFIELDS DIAMONDS
the message, the doctor's voice–rounder and firmer than I had
ever heard it—spoke close to the opening,-
“Doverfields, your visitor must excuse you for a moment. My
business won't wait!”
The door closed, and, in a moment was reopened and Austin
Doverfields came out. Instantly the doctor caught his arm and
drew him farther from the study door, and then I stepped be-
fore him. -
"Mr. Doverfields,” I said resolutely, the crisis has come, and
there's not a moment for explanations. We must act! Go
back to that woman, and retain your present cool attitude, then,
as if you had consulted the doctor here, tell her that she may see
your wife.” -
He looked toward the doctor, who nodded. “It is best,” he
said with decision. And I added—“That woman is an adven-
turess, who fancies she has your wife and you in her power.
I am going to show her her mistake. Trust me—” then, as he
seemed to doubt—to hesitate, “Man, we have heard every word.
I know all her claims. Quick, she must not suspect.” I turned
toward the nurse, holding out a slip of paper.
“Take this to Mrs. Doverfields,” I said, “and tell her that I
shall be near and will explain—fully. When she is ready to
receive Madam Barthelme, you are to notify Mr. Doverfields.
You—understand—about the rooms?”
“All ready, sir,” she answered, and I turned again to the
master of the house: “Tell your guest,” I said, “that the doctor
consents, and that she will be called soon. Escort her to the door
of your wife's sitting room. Then join us. The nurse will di-
rect you.”
For a long moment Austin Doverfields’ eyes searched my face,
silently, and the look in my eyes must have reassured him, for
he set his lips, drew himself erect, and, without a word, went
back to Madam, leaving the study door ajar. As he passed,
Doctor Bird breathed in my ear, “I am going to my patient, she
may need me.” I nodded, and as he went up the stairs, I heard
Austin Doverfields say, coldly, “Madam, the doctor consents to
a brief interview.”
“It Shall be brief.”
“It must be! Understand me, in this take of yours I recognize
the personal equation. Answer me one question, if you had


HEARTS AND DIAMONDS 339.
his voice ringing cold, “your visit must be short! The doctor
insists!” -
Madam's reply matched his speech for coldness. “I am wait-
ing, sir,” and she glanced toward the door.
“But with his first step, his wife's voice cried appealingly—
“Austin' Do not go! Tell me—tell me at once what this woman
has been saying to you! Let us end this horrible suspense!”
But Madam, too, had been upon the rack for two long days,
and her nerves, as well as her temper, had also undergone a
severe strain. Believing herself to have been deceived and
trifled with, and having—as between these two—no longer any
reason for reticence, or further deception, she sprang to her
feet, and, sweeping across the floor to stand before the woman
she had come to intimidate, and who had so strangely shifted
their roles, she burst forth—“What I have said is a mere nothing
to what I will now say, Mrs. Doverfields! And, since you so
much desire to confide in your husband—a sudden change of
front assuredly—tell us, myself and him, how you have dared
to trick and deceive me, me who held, what you swore was dearer
to you than life or fortune—in the hollow of my hand! Your
secret of shame! Of nameless dishonor ! The secret which you
implored me upon your knees, to keep—offering me your
choicest treasures—even the famed and valued Doverfields'
diamonds!” - -
“Stop!” It was the man who spoke, striding to his wife's
side. But the torrent of rage rushed on.
“You would bribe me with your choicest heirlooms, reserv-
ing none! And I—bah! I have been guarding—hoarding—for
months, instead of the ‘Doverfields' diamonds"—a collection of
tinsel and paste!”
“What!” Ara Doverfields cried in dismay.
“Woman, are you mad!” demanded her husband.
Madam turned fiercely upon him. “And it is for this that I
have guarded your foul secret. Ha, ha, ha! But you are, after
all, well matched! The fine lady, bedecked in her pinchbeck
splendor; and the club man, and money king, wearing his bor-
rowed name to hide his servile blood, while spending his usurped
wealth ! And why should not the world know that the Dover-
fields’ diamonds, like the Doverfields' name, has been—"
“Woman—devil—stop!” It was Ara Doverfields' voice, but
with a note in its clearness that made us, the doctor and myself,


340 THE DOVERFIELDS DIAMONDS
start out from our concealment, behind the portières of the little
turret ante-room, and what we saw, as we flung them aside,
made me spring forward, and catch back the two thin white
hand, that had gripped at Madam's throat with no mean hold,
and grasp Madam's arm, half raised, with something small and
shining between the tense fingers.
“Madam Barthelme, you are excited!” meeting her eye with a
glance she understood. “You have told your story well. Dra-
matically, very ! but, by your leave, I will finish the narrative.
Pray resume your seat. I regret to say, Madam—or shall I give
you the name you used to wear so gayly in Paris, not so long
ago? No, don't look at the door—yet. I must correct one or
two of your mistakes—or were they mis-statements? Both, shall
we say? Very good. Then, first, you were mistaken in saying
that Mrs. Doverfields gave you that fine collection of paste, you
doubtless have upon your person at this moment. It was I who
extracted the real diamonds from that queer shaped article—of
feminine apparel, which you kept in your black leather bag, and
it was I who replaced them with the paste copies. No—further
explanations must wait a little while. I will pass on to one of
your mis-statements.”
I glanced toward Mrs. Doverfields. The doctor had seated
her again in her easy chair, and was holding her wrist, while her
husband stood close beside her. She met my glance with won-
der and relief in her own, and I felt it safe to proceed.
“Mrs. Doverfields, when you met her abroad, knew, vaguely,
that her husband had a cousin in the South, and—possibly she
knew that his name, also was Austin Doverfields.” Here Madam
started and paled. - -
It appears that between the families, a generation earlier.
there had come a breach that was never healed. Madam if you
compel me to use force, I shall simply call in the two men out-
side that door! All I ask of you, at present, is quiet and silence.
You may speak, later, if you wish.” Madam, who had trans-
ferred her glances from her late victim to the door, sank
sullenly back in her chair, and I addressed myself to Ara Dover-
fields.
“I have no intention to indulge in details, or even explanations,
now. For weeks past, as you know, I have been seeking a clue
to your lost jewels, and in this pursuit, which has carried me, or
my agents, far, I have had to look into the history of that other


342 THE DOVERFIELDS DIAMONDS
Mr. Doverfields, do you understand—now? I think the doctor
does!" The old doctor nodded vigorously, and brushed his eyes.
“Mrs. Doverfields—am I to tell him, or will—”
“I—cannot!” she gasped, and covered her face with her hands.
“While your wife was abroad, sir, with only the gay society
friends of her party to turn to for advice, she was approached by
this woman, who—because her former name had become unpleas-
antly notorious, owing to the scandal and suspicion surrounding
the death of a certain club man—had already adapted the title
of Madam Devinne Barthelme, borrowed, in part at least, from
one of her gay, fair weather friends. Under this name she appear-
ed before your wife, with her octoroon mother's “confession” and
a packet of spurious “proofs.” Is it surprising that what had
deceived your cousin, and made him an outcast, should also de-
ceive your wife, herself all honesty, and, because of her sheltered
life—lacking in the worldly wisdom that might have protected—
a worse woman? That your ancestors were Southern, she knew ;
and that a part, at least, of your inheritance came from old Ken-
tucky. She fell into the trap. Her husband must never know
this awful thing! She would, she must, shield him—and she did
Somehow the bargain was made, and Madam, doubtless, lost no
time in claiming her blackmail. Had she needed money ser-
iously she must have sold the jewels; although Europe is not
so safe a market for such prizes as is America—there is too much
red tape over there. Probably she came here with two motives;
first, the chance of further blackmail, and, next, of selling a few
of her rare jewels to some of our newly rich Americans. Cer-
tain it is that the disappointing raid of Keen Johnny Deegan,
would have made the marketing of the real diamonds a danger-
ous business.
“How I dealt with Keen Johnny, after his—for me—most
timely arrest, can be told later. I obtained from him—without
much difficulty the sham diamonds that had so disappointed him;
and I was able, a little later, to exchange these for the real ones
in Madam's black bag, without troubling her with a consulta-
tion.” Here an imprecation broke from the woman's lips, and
she writhed in her seat. But no one heeded her, and I went on.
“Your diamonds, Mrs. Doverfields, the real gems, are in my
possession, and can be in yours in an hour. When I found them
there was one stone missing, according to the descriptive list.
It was a big solitaire, set as an eardrop. But that stone, also, I


HEARTS AND DIAMONDS 343
have been able to secure. It was picked up before a certain
theatre, on the very day on which the robbery of your paste jew-
els became known to you.” Here I saw Madam start and her
attitude became that of a warily interested listener.
“And here again I must defer the full history of a person, who
will, I think, prove of interest to you, both. It was on that day,
also that I first saw Madam, here. She had driven to the theatre,
and, when I saw her she stood upon the pavement deploring the
loss of a fine solitaire; she had missed it just a moment before.
I had been attracted by the rather interesting movements of a
pale faced sandwich man, who stood crowded against the wall,
quite near my place of observation; and, shortly after Madam
had made known her loss. I saw this man cross the pavement.
slip at the curb, and fall. Then, aided by a street gamin, he
scrambled up, and away from before the horses' feet.
“Later I saw this man often, and always under such conditions,
that I soon came to think him interested in Madam.” Again I
glanced at the woman, but her face expressed only anger—and
skepticism, and this answered—in the negative—a question I had
often asked myself. Had the woman ever known of the nearness
of this man? That he had made every effort to evade her ob-
servation I was well aware.
I looked at Mrs. Doverfields, to judge, if possible, if she was
able to bear yet more excitement. She was leaning back in her
chair, looking pale again, but interested, aroused, and seemingly
quite at peace and freed from her nervous tremors.
“Doctor,” I questioned, “dare I tax your patient a little lon-
er?”
g It was she who replied. “It is a relief to know the truth at
last! To feel—vindicated ! I’lease go on." And the doctor
nodded.
In the fewest words possible I now touched upon the Meyrick
affair, which, in order to make all clear, must be explained; and
which, now, need no longer be kept a secret, from those so deeply
interested, in many ways. But throughout the narration I was
careful to speak only of the sandwich man, as such , giving him
no other title; and, reading Madam's face as I proceeded, I was
doubly convinced that her victims had been more than one—or
two—and that among them she was puzzled to choose the right
party. Briefly I told of our search for Meyrick; and of the rid-
dle of his coming; expanding somewhat at the point of our visit


344 THE DOVERFIELDS DIAMONDS
to the water-front, the arrival of Monsieur and his valet, and the
injury to the sandwich man; and I ended the brief outline—after
telling of Craig's interest in him, thus:
“It became evident to us that this man, who has never yet
breathed his name to my friend—while weak, and easily led, was
not vicious, and had been a victim, rather than a sinner; and
when, on the night before last, he told Craig his story, our belief
was verified. - -
“I have told you had we had guessed, from the first—almost
—that he had been, in some way concerned in the affairs of this
woman,” indicating Madam. “But I have omitted one fact.
This man in falling from the curb to the gutter and beneath the
horses' feet, that day before the theatre, found the jewel lost by
Madam; and, later, put it in my friend's keeping. This happen-
ed before I exchanged Keen Johnny's paste, for Madam's real
gems and when Craig showed me the solitaire, I recognized it.
“We are now having a general cleaning up of secrets, and so,
Madam Barthelme, the fate of the solitaire—Mrs. Doverfields’
solitaire—which you had ventured so recklessly to wear that day,
is revealed to you. Let me tell you something yet more interest-
ing, and important—I fancy—to yourself.” -
Madam met my eye silently with a glare of hatred in her own.
“How 'Monsieur, your brother, so called, and you, came to
join forces for your American invasion, I do not know, and it
concerns me little. Nor do I know whether you are aware of
his real name, and his history. I imagine not!”
A look of uncertainty and uneasiness passed over the woman's
face, but she closed her lips firmly, and averted her eyes.
“From the appearance of ‘Monsieur Henri Victore, and the
non-appearance of Meyrick, Madam’s ‘brother and his man De-
bree have been to me objects of close attention; and some very
interesting facts have been developed in the course of our obser-
vations. We believed, from the first, that it was through these
men that we would reach Ralph Meyrick—if at all.
“But that it was Meyrick who figured as Madam's invalid
brother, appearing, first, in the role of master, and then in that of
servant, the two exchanging garments, gaits, yes and faces, so
that the one who feared the keen scrutiny of men, and the search-
ing light of day, was never seen at close quarters, save when pro-
tected by the dim light of an invalid's room, or the soft and half
concealing glow of candles, and who only went abroad at night—


HEARTS AND DIAMONDS 345
this was a thing so strange, and so cleverly managed, that it is
little wonder we were deceived—at first."
Ara Doverfields bent toward me, her eyes wide, and wonder-
ing; and even then, I seemed to understand that, drawing her
thoughts from her own strange anxieties, and this sudden relief,
to these other amazing facts, still only half revealed, was the very
best method of balancing and soothing emotions which while
splendidly controlled, were yet smouldering, all too strongly
beneath a frail surface.
“My soul!'” she murmured. “It sounds incredible!”
“Nevertheless Mrs. Doverfields, we have the evidence of some
of our best secret service men, as well as of a scientist of national
repute, who is skilled in the use of the Bertillion system, that
the man who received a few callers in his darkened room, swath-
ed in loose robes, and otherwise screened and protected from
close scrutiny, the man was always ‘worse when asked for
by Madam's acquaintances; who went to Wraylands at evening,
and was only visible there after dusk, and on the vine screened
portico —this man, secluded always, was–Ralph Meyrick, con-
fidence man, burglar, and convict; while he who dined at the
Landis table, and at the W. A., who drove in the park with
Madam; who, in short, appeared by day in public, either as Mon-
sieur, or Monsieur's valet, was, always, the man who called him-
self Debree, whose record we have not cared to trace. The fact
of his being Monsieur Meyrick's tool, was quite enough.”
“My soul!” ejaculated the doctor. “I should think so! And I
thought I was in your confidence, Jasper!"
“And so you were, doctor; in so far as the confidence was
mine! That which belonged to others, more than to me, was not
mine to tell. Pardon,” as he seemed about to speak again. “Let
me finish this business, for the time, that Madam Barthelme may
be quite fully enlightened.
“From the moment when we began to doubt Monsieur and his
man, they were very closely observed and studied. For we be-
lieved the presence of Meyrick to be a menace of some sort—to
Captain Wraylands. Twice they have attempted to decoy him
into their power; and, once, he was attacked, and saved—prob-
ably from death—by Enid Devereaux; who, where her uncle's
interests were concerned, was wholly in my confidence.
“When Monsieur set you, Madam, the task of getting for him
the use of Wraylands, we were well pleased. From the time
- - - - -----


346 THE DOVERFIELDS DIAMONDS
your party reached the Captain's place, you were always under
surveillance; and I soon came to know that Monsieur's real pur-
pose in going there, was as much a mystery to you as it was to
me—until last night.” I paused, but she only responded with
a defiant stare.
“Last night,” I continued, “came the denouement. You
doubtless have observed how many unsuccessful efforts to de-
stroy the dog Tonto, were made by the two men? This was un-
fortunate; for, when Ralph Meyrick stole back from your cot-
tage here, to attempt the coup he had so long and carefully plan-
ned, and which could only be executed at Wraylands, the dog
Tonto broke through our little group, as we were about to
take Meyrick in custody—caught in his act of outlawery,–and,
when we had forced the animal away, Meyrick lay a mangled
and bleeding wreck; his life but a thing of days.
I saw in Madam's eyes that she believed me; but I had spoken
with method, and had no mind to enlighten her further, then—
and, later, only by way of exchange; so I turned from the ques-
tion she was now longing to ask, and addressed Austin Dover-
fields: “Mr. Doverfields, in dealing with the diamond question, I
began, as an officer often does—of necessity; I made an inquiry
into your family history; and, in due course, I learned of the ex-
istence of the cousin named—like yourself—Austin Doverfields.”
He nodded a trifle coldly, but his wife caught her breath almost
with a sob, as she met my eyes.
“Four weeks ago,” I hastened on, “I sent into Kentucky a
very capable and patient searcher of records; and, by the way—
my friend Craig had suspected Madam at first sight—having
seen—just once—the heroine of the Massonni scandal; and he
had, some time before, applied to the French authorities for data
and confirmation. This he did in the interest of—friendship;
believing that Madam might become a menace to the happiness
of one who was a friend—to us both.
“Craig—because of many delays, received his confirmatory
answer only a few day since. And my searcher of records re-
turned from the South the day after young Hal Landis and I
had gone to Wraylands; having been summoned there by those
in my service—and the Captain's—because they believed that
Meyrick was ready to act. I had directed this man to report
to my partner, in my absence, should time be of importance; and
when Royston Craig heard his story he caught the first train,


HEARTS AND DIAMONI)S 37
and came to Wraylands just in time to join me and assist at the
strange scene of Ralph Meyrick's undoing.”
Here I made a brief word picture of the scene about the pit
and then hastened on. “When we had heard the doctor's report,
Craig lost no time in telling me a thing that caused both of us
to race back to the city, and, as soon as possible, to you, here.
My friend Parchments had brought with him the full and com-
plete story of your cousin's life tragedy, and when I began to
read his narration I recognized in it a tale I had already heard—
in brief. But this story was not in brief! My agent had found
the family lawyer of the Kentucky Doverfields, and from him
he had obtained documents, copies and originals, that gave proof
of one of the most fiendish plots ever hatched by a remorseless
and gold greedy woman. -
“The story, with its proofs, are for your hands; and I beg
that you and your wife will read them in privacy; for they
will give to you, sir, what they at once gave to me. The last
word in the case of the Doverfields' diamonds. The motive.”
“Oh !” The cry came from the lips of Ara Doverfields, and I
went straight to her, and standing before her made my amende
honorable. “Mrs. Doverfields, let me, before the good doctor,
who has been your champion throughout, and before your hus-
band, who has been ever loyal, let me repeat it, you have won |
And I humble myself and crave your forgiveness. A few hours
ago I learned that I could have set your anxious heart at rest
long since, could I have known your need. For I learned, as the
first step in our inquiry, that your husband was born in the
North ! It was of the other Austin Doverfields that this woman
spoke,” pointing toward Madam, “and she knew when she
wrung your heart with her hideous tale, that no dishonor could
touch your husband. She knew, too, that those oaths, affidavits,
and assertions, were lies, perjuries' She had ruined the life
of one Austin Doverfields, and she very nearly succeeded in
ruining another.” Here I placed in her lap the papers given me
by Craig; and then, turning to her husband, and giving his arm
a meaning pressure, I said, while my eyes held his, “Here sir,
is a photograph of your cousin-you see there is a family resem-
blance.” I waited a moment, while he scanned the picture, then,
with my hand still upon his arm, I held out another—“And here,”
I added, “is a photograph of the sandwich man of whom I have
spoken.”


CHAPTER XLIX.
WHERE HEARTS ARE TRUMPS.
Some one had drawn back the curtain and flooded the library
with brightness since the doctor and I had left it, and, as we en-
tered, two men arose from a divan opposite the door, and stood
facing us in a strong, clear light. The one who arose with brisk
alacrity, and stood at ease, was Royston Craig; the other was a
man of little more than medium height, and of slender build;
whose pale thin face, and drooping shoulders bespoke great
physical weakness, as he came slowly to his feet. His face was
clean shaven, and his clothing looked almost painfully new.
I had placed a hand upon Madam's arm, as we entered, and I
felt the sudden start, as her eyes fell upon him. “Madam,” I
said formally, “let me present the man who found your—er—
Mrs. Doverfields'—lost solitaire, not long since.”
And then we were treated to an object lesson in woman's ways,
and wiles, that helped us—at least the doctor and myself—to
understand how such careers as hers were made possible.
Drawing away from my side, clasping her two hands, and half
out-stretching them, she seemed to falter forward; one—two—
three, hesitating steps, and the cold look of her eyes softened, the
tense set mouth suddenly relaxed: the whole face bloomed. With
such a look Juliet—a little less mature, perhaps—might have met
her Romeo, after a seven years' war. And the yearning in the
cry, “Austin—my Austin l—why did you not come back to me?”
would have, should have placed her high as a tragedy queen.
But the man who had given to her his name, his honor, his
wealth, and his lost manhood's strength, had learned his lesson.
The dull, set calm of his face—a look only learned in life's
hardest schools—never changed. His folded arms clasped them-
selves yet closer. He looked at her unwinking; and then, au-
tomaton like, turned his face to me.
“Do you know this woman, Mr. Doverfields?” I asked.
“I do! She was reared by my mother, and is the daughter
of a one time slave in my family.”
“And—later?”
Gs)


354 THE DOVERFIELDS DIAMONDS
a need to study and theorize, had turned back to his own more
regular routine, and Tonto had been for sometime our theme;
in connection, of course, with the Meyrick tragedy.
“There 's one thing," I said, looking from one to the other,
“that has puzzled me, not a little. The dog, as we know, had
been in the habit of rushing stragglers off the place with evident
pleasure in the chase, until lately; but it seems that none of the
visitors who have sought to make way with him, by pistol and
poison, have been able to lure him away from his kennel. He
has raged—and given loud alarm, but follow—if I am not mis-
taken—not once.” -
“That dog,” said Nancy, has proved more 'n one thing to
my satisfaction. We all know dogs can learn, and I know now
for sure that one dog can remember—an a good, long time,
too ! I'd almost forgot it myself—but he did n't!”
Of course we demanded the story; and she went on,—“I used
to set on the southwest end of the verandy, behind them honey-
suckle vines, an’ knit, summer evenin's, long 's I could see, an'
when them two—Miss Daphne an' that—an him, came back,
they had a way o' promenadin' up an down that east and west
path; for 'twas shady and cool, and was always a favorite strol-
lin place for her. Tonto was always wild to be with her, and
she used to delight in teachin him little tricks. He learn’t 'em
too. One evenin' she had been makin' him fetch her book an’
hat from one place to another, an he sort o’ dared her to try
another kind of trick. ‘Let 's see if he can d-distinguish be-
tween idees, says he ; put down your book, so, an I'll take it
and run—then you order him to chase me.’ Well they did, an’
Tonto did his part as well as any of 'em. “Now, says he, “see
if the dog will stand guard, instead of following. You dig a
little hole, and bury a penny, pretend to be very anxious, and tell
the dog to guard'–Tonto knew a ready what that meant.
“Next, says he, “I’ll make a raid on it, and then run, and we'll
see if he will obey you, when you tell him he must not follow, but
must guard the place where you dug. Tonto done that, too,
and they used to drill him to guard at the spot behind his kennel,
no matter what else needed lookin' after. Ye see?”
We did see. We saw how Ralph Meyrick, after burying his
treasure, had cajoled his wife into training him a guardian,
as he himself could not have done, for the dog had always dis-
trusted him, and only treated him with surly respect, at Daphne's


WHERE HEARTS ARE TRUMPS 355
bidding. Doubtless he had believed, during his long absence
from Wraylands, that, in thus drilling Tonto, his wife had given
him a reliable guardian for the treasure he had counted upon
and planned so carefully to secure.
Poor fool! It was the same old “mill of the god's" that had
been set grinding, and, directed by Daphne's hand, it had ground
out, at last, for his punishment—retribution. Faithfully had
Tonto guarded the treasure—truly, and well. But it had been,
always, for his beloved mistress; and, when those strong, ter-
rible teeth and claws fastened upon Meyrick's throat and breast,
it was still the voice of his loved, lost mistress that he obeyed,
becoming, thus, her avenger, and a bad man's executioner.
:k :k •k :: >k :: >k
The sandwich man—a sandwich man no longer, broken, weak
—dispirited, and hardly daring to realize his habilitation, came
slowly back to an interest in life under the hospitable roof and
cousinly kindness of the Northern Doverfields. The faithful old
Scotch lawyer, last friend of a once large circle, came north,
and, after a time, the two went away together.
“Not abroad this time ! Na, na,” said the keen old man. “It’s
to the North woods we're gangin! It's bracin’ the lad needs
noo! an—there's the money for it yet.” And they went. The
public, in this, as in more cases than they ever guess, learned,
of the affair of that night at Wraylands, a little truth, and more
fiction. They read in a “belated news bulletin,” that, on a cer-
tain night in late June, “an attempted robbery at Wraylands was
foiled by the presence of several of Captain Wrayland's friends,
who had arrived that same evening, for a week-end visit, etc.,
etc.” And, a little later, this followed:
“Monsieur Henri Victore, the invalid Frenchman who, with
his sister, has been for a short time occupying Wrayland
Heights, in the absence of its owner, was made seriously ill as
the result of the skirmish with robbers on Friday night, or Sat-
urday morning, and died this morning. It is said that his sister
is prostrated with grief,” etc.
Ralph Meyrick, under his assumed name, was buried in the
little cemetery, where, a few years earlier, we had laid his vic-
tim and wife, Daphne. But the width of the roomy enclosure
lay between them, as was fitting.
“If he’d been put along side my little Miss Daphne,” declared
Nancy, to my Aunt, “I’d a dug him up with his own tools!


358 THE DOVERFIELDS DIAMONDS
she who suggested the paste imitations, and—somehow—she was
able—later—to tell me where to get them.”
“Meyrick,” I murmured, marveling anew at this fair, tenderly
nurtured, but strong soul, whom I had almost denounced.
I thanked heaven that, now, at last, she was in snug harbor;
and, as I hoped and trusted, for all her days.
As for the Austin Doverfields for whom she had almost sacri-
ficed herself, he was still the tall, dignified and stately man I
had at first known, for Nature had made him thus. But he was
neither stiff, cold nor somber, now. He was a man happy and
at peace, and he looked it. Bearing in his face a gentler look, a
readier and more genial smile. To him the Doverfields' diamonds
were of secondary moment, and when we had agreed that the
truth concerning the return of the jewels did not, of right, be-
long to the dear public, he willingly left the details to me.
Now, the ways of secret service men and their ilk, may not be
“dark” but they can sometimes be devious. I had recovered from
Keen Johnny Deegan, who still languished in jail, the jewels he
stole from the owner's dressing case; and I had promised Johnny
such aid as I could give. Eliminating the paste jewels from the
case, as it now stood, I made my statement and appealed to the
powers that be. Never will I divulge the secrets of the official
throne room; let it be simply stated that Keen Johnny's latest
victim being on the way to recovery, and his prosecutors having
grown suddenly lax, and indifferent, Keen Johnny was admitted
to bail.
Precisely whose money gave him his temporary liberty seemed
a question in doubt. But shortly after his release, Keen Johnny
became almost a hero, in the eyes of the romantic matinee girls,
and a few others, for the newspapers announced, with less than
the usual staring black letter headlines, that—
“On the morning of the seventeenth day of July, Mr. Austin
Doverfields received, via express, a package, prepaid, containing
all of the stolen, and for weeks missing, Doverfields' diamonds,
accompanied by a card bearing upon its face the astonishing in-
scription,—"With compliments of Keen Johnny Deegan. Au
revoir.’”
In the midst of the nine day's wonder and gossip, Johnny came
and went, very modestly, and there began to be talk of his re-
form.
Then, one fine day, he disappeared—suddenly and effectually


WHERE HEARTS ARE TRUMPS 350
—and the man whose money was forfeited breathed a long and
thankful breath; and actually seemed glad. As for myself, the
Doverfields case was at last ended, and I had only to endure
with meekness, Craig's sharp quips, and post-suggestions, and
the doctor's triumphant, “I told you so.” -
In truth I did not flatter myself that I had played the chief,
or wisest role, in these two cases. Meyrick was dead; and the
diamonds gleamed, as of old, in their rightful places. But the
credit was far from being all mine. Even at our best and ablest
we investigators by stealth, are but fallible mortals, and it is only
in the annals of the fiction makers that the solver of riddles is
always a shining success.


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eign Coins.
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Little Giant:
Question-Settler
Over 30,000 Questions
quickly answered. All
countries, cities, navies,
armies, famous men,
Panama Canal, our New
Possessions, Japanese-
Russian War, etc. Al-
phabetically arranged.
Silk cloth......... 25c.
Full leather, gilt,
indexed..........50c
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G0Ilklin's
Handy Mamlal
Of Useful Information
and Atlas of the World.
New Edition. Election
results, Census matter,
Tariff Laws complete,
Tariff of Cuba, War
with Spain, etc. A han-
.dy pocket encyclopedia.
of knowledge- 1,800,-
000 sold.
Flexible cloth..... 25c
Stiff silk cloth ... 50c
|
we-
The 20th Century
Handy Cyclopedia
Britannica
72 portraits and maps.
Over 15,000 - abjects of
intense interest, cover-
ing Law, Business, His-
tory, Geography, Biog-
raphy, Medicine, Zool-
ogy, Botany, etc. Just
what you necd daily. -
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Stiff cloth. • * * * * * .50c
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words and definitions Conversations, practical letter writer, weights,
measures, values of foreign coins and exchanges of moneys. Geograph-
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and list of consulates. Used extensively by the soldiers, consuls and
government officials during Spanish–American war. 392 pages. Size,
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CRIMM-WEBSTER DICTIONARY
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STANDARD SPANISH DICTIONARY
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VEST-POCKET “KAISER” DICTIONARY
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LIT TRE-WEBSTER DICTIONARY
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A New Departure in Word-Books
W E E S T E R 'S
New Standard Speller
BY
ALFRED B. CHAMBERs, A. M.
For all Primary, Intermediate and
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HIE first time that a word-book
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ing. Frontispiece, map United States and new Possessions
in ten colors.
5%x7%ins.
Strong, durable gray cloth binding, special
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Laird & Lee's Diary and Time-Saver
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| in year, Addresses, Memoranda. Seventh Annual Edition. 109
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["T"''': Little Giant Question-Settler
In Ilf glawl
QUESTION
£ith 30,000 Questions, and Arguments. A portable library.
*\ || Every important subject covered. History of Panama Canal,
| our Island Possessions; Patent, Pension, Copyright and
| Business Laws. Alphabetically arranged. Size, 5%x2% ins.
| 288 pages. Silk cloth, aluminum stamping, red edges, 25c
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©
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BooAS FOR THE CHILDREV
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The Tale of a Tail
By A.V.VETTA S. CRAFTS
The Gods and Goddesses of Greece and Rome
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Price. Boards, exquisitely illustrated with classical
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Yellow Beauty
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Six full-page illustrations by MADAME RONNER,
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ESIDES blank Diary pages for each day of the year,
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13 FULL=PAGE MAPS
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Rico, Alaska, Panama Canal, China, etc., made expressly
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---THE –-
Standard Library of Mystery
PRACTICAL ASTROL06Y
By CoMTE C. DE SAINT-GERMAIN, the recognized, leading
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Writ STUDY GF PALMISTRY *....:
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PRACTICAL HYPNOTISM. Theories. Experiments, Full Instructions
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HERRMANN THE GREAT The Famous Magician’s Tricks
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THE GREAT DREAM B00K
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THE SP!RIT WORLD UNMASKED
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*Work of Madame Blavatsky. Illustrated.
12mo, extra cloth, burnished top, . . . . -'75c
For sale everywhere, or sent postpaid on receipt of price, by
LAIRD & LEE, was £e. CHICAGO, U. S. A.


£| |
(
# Lawrence L. Lynch's
92 A. 90 Popular Stories .
92 - -
, ()/(()(V)V(\
The Danger Line
The Woman Who Dared
High Stakes
Under Fate’s Wheel
The Unseen Hand
The last Stroke
The Lost Witness
Shadowed by Three
A Slender Clue
Dangerous Ground
Madeline Payne
A Mountain Mystery
Romance of a Bomb Thrower
Out of a Lybyrinth
The Diamond Coterie
Handsome covers, in five colors, each, 25c.
LAIRD & LEE, PUBLISHERS
CHICAGO, U. S. A.
*
7 | l





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