A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P R S T U V W X Z

The Orange Yellow Diamond

J >> J. S. Fletcher >> The Orange Yellow Diamond




Purdie did remember, and he looked at the famous expert with great
interest. There was, however, nothing at all remarkable about Dr.
Sperling-Lawson's appearance--he was a quiet, self-possessed, plain-faced
gentleman who might have been a barrister or a banker for all that any one
could tell to the contrary. He gave his evidence in a matter-of-fact tone
--strongly in contrast to Dr. Mirandolet's somewhat excited answers--but
Purdie noticed that the people in court listened eagerly for every word.

He happened to be at the hospital, said Dr. Sperling-Lawson, when the man
Parslett was brought in, and he saw him die. He fully agreed with Dr.
Mirandolet that it was impossible to do anything to save the man's life
when he was brought to the hospital, and he was quite prepared to say that
the impossibility had existed from the moment in which Gardiner had seen
Parslett collapse. In other words, when Parslett did collapse, death was
on him.

"And--the cause of death?" asked the Coroner.

"Heart failure," replied the witness.

"Resulting from--what?" continued the Coroner.

Dr. Sperling-Lawson hesitated a moment--amidst a deep silence.

"I cannot answer that question," he said at last. "I can only offer an
opinion. I believe--in fact, I am sure!--the man was poisoned. I am
convinced he was poisoned. But I am forced to admit that I do not know
what poison was used, and that after a most careful search I have not yet
been able to come across any trace or sign of any poison known to me. All
the same, I am sure he died from the effects of poison, but what it was,
or how administered, frankly, I do not know!"

"You made a post-mortem examination?" asked the Coroner.

"Yes," replied the specialist, "in company with Dr. Seracold. The deceased
was a thoroughly healthy, well-nourished man. There was not a trace of
disease in any of the organs--he was evidently a temperate man, and likely
to live to over the seventy years' period. And, as I have said, there was
not a trace of poison. That is, not a trace of any poison known to me."

"I want to ask you a particularly important question," said the Coroner.
"Are there poisons, the nature of which you are unacquainted with?"

"Yes!" answered the specialist frankly. "There are. But--I should not
expect to hear of their use in London."

"Is there any European expert who might throw some light on this case?"
asked the Coroner.

"Yes," said Dr. Sperling-Lawson. "One man--Professor Gagnard, of Paris. As
a matter of fact, I have already sent certain portions of certain organs
to him--by a special messenger. If he cannot trace this poison, then no
European nor American specialist can. I am sure of this--the secret is an
Eastern one."

"Gentlemen," said the Coroner, "we will adjourn for a week. By that time
there may be a report from Paris."

The crowd surged out into the damp November morning, eagerly discussing
the evidence just given. Purdie, Lauriston, and Guyler, all equally
mystified, followed, already beginning to speculate and to theorize.
Suddenly Melky Rubinstein hurried up to them, waving a note.

"There was a fellow waiting outside with this from Zillah," said Melky.
"She'd heard you were all here, and she knew I was. We're to go there at
once--she's found some letters to her grandfather from that man Purvis!
Come on!--it's another step forward!"



CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO


MR. KILLICK GOES BACK

Ayscough and the man from New Scotland Yard came out of the court at that
moment in close and serious conversation: Melky Rubinstein left the other
three, and hurried to the two detectives with his news; together, the six
men set off for Praed Street. And Purdie, who by this time was developing
as much excited interest as his temperament and business habits permitted,
buttonholed the Scotland Yard man and walked alongside him.

"What's your professional opinion about what we've just heard in there?"
he asked. "Between ourselves, of course."

The detective, who had already had several long conversations with Purdie
at headquarters during the previous afternoon and evening, and knew him
for a well-to-do young gentleman who was anxious to clear his friend
Lauriston of all suspicion, shook his head. He was a quiet, sagacious,
middle-aged man who evidently thought deeply about whatever he had in
hand.

"It's difficult to say, Mr. Purdie," he answered. "I've no doubt that when
we get to the bottom of this case it'll turn out to be a very simple one--
but the thing is to get to the bottom. The ways are complicated, sir--
uncommonly so! At present we're in a maze--seeking the right path."

"Do you think that this Parslett affair has anything to do with the
Multenius affair?" asked Purdie.

"Yes--undoubtedly!" answered the detective. "There's no doubt whatever in
my own mind that the man who poisoned Parslett is the man who caused the
old pawnbroker's death--none! I figure it in this way. Parslett somehow,
caught a glimpse of that man leaving Multenius's shop--by the side-door,
no doubt--and knew him--knew him very well, mind you! When Parslett heard
of what had happened in Multenius's back-parlour, he kept his knowledge to
himself, and went and blackmailed the man. The man gave him that fifty
pounds in gold to keep his tongue quiet--no doubt arranging to give him
more, later on--and at the same time he cleverly poisoned him. That's my
theory, Mr. Purdie."

"Then--the only question now is--who's the man?" suggested Purdie.

"That's it, sir--who's the man?" agreed the detective. "One thing's quite
certain--if my theory's correct. He's a clever man--and an expert in the
use of poisons."

Purdie walked on a minute or two in silence, thinking.

"It's no use beating about the bush," he said at last. "Do you suspect Mr.
Levendale--after all you've collected in information--and after what I
told you about what his butler saw--that bottle and phial?"

"I think that Levendale's in it," replied the detective, cautiously. "I'm
sure he's in it--in some fashion. Our people are making no end of
enquiries about him this morning, in various quarters--there's half-a-
dozen of our best men at work in the City and the West End, Mr. Purdie.
He's got to be found! So, too, has this man Stephen Purvis--whoever he is.
We must find him, too."

"Perhaps these letters that Melky Rubinstein speaks of may throw some
light on that," said Purdie. "There must be some way of tracing him,
somewhere."

They were at the pawnshop by that time, and all six trooped in at the
side-entrance. Old Daniel Multenius, unconscious of all the fuss and
bother which his death had caused, was to be quietly interred that
afternoon, and Zillah and Melky were already in their mourning garments.
But Zillah had lost none of her business habits and instincts, and while
the faithful Mrs. Goldmark attended to the funeral guests in the upstairs
regions, she herself was waiting in the back-parlour for these other
visitors. On the table before her, evidently placed there for inspection,
lay three objects to which she at once drew attention--one, an old-
fashioned, double-breasted fancy waistcoat, evidently of considerable age,
and much worn, the others, two letters written on foreign notepaper.

"It never occurred to me," said Zillah, plunging into business at once,
"at least, until an hour or two ago, to examine the clothes my grandfather
was wearing at the time of his death. As a matter of fact he'd been
wearing the same clothes for months. I've been through all his pockets.
There was nothing of importance--except these letters. I found those in a
pocket in the inside of that waistcoat--there! Read them."

The men bent over the unfolded letters, and Ayscough read them aloud.

"MACPHERSON'S HOTEL, CAPE TOWN,

"_September 17th_, 1912.

"Dear Sir,--I have sent the little article about which I have already
written you and Mr. L. fully, to your address by ordinary registered post.
Better put it in your bank till I arrive--shall write you later about date
of my arrival. Faithfully yours,

"Stephen Purvis."

"That," remarked Ayscough, glancing at the rest, "clearly refers to
whatever it was that Mr. Multenius took from his bank on the morning of
his death. It also refers to Mr. Levendale--without doubt."

He drew the other letter to him and read it out.

"CAPE TOWN,

"_October 10th_, 1912.

"Dear Sir,--Just a line to say I leave here by s.s. _Golconda_ in a
day or two--this precedes me by today's mail. I hope to be in England
November 15th--due then, anyway--and shall call on you immediately on
arrival. Better arrange to have Mr. S. L. to meet you and me at once.
Faithfully,

"Stephen Purvis."

"November 15th?" remarked Ayscough. "Mr. Multenius died on November 19th.
So--if Purvis did reach here on the 15th he'd probably been about this
quarter before the 19th. We know he was at Mrs. Goldmark's restaurant on
the 18th, anyway! All right, Miss Wildrose--we'll take these letters with
us."

Lauriston stopped behind when the rest of the men went out--to exchange a
few words alone with Zillah. When he went into the street, all had gone
except Purdie, who was talking with Melky at the entrance to the side-
alley.

"That's the sure tip at present, mister," Melky was saying. "Get that
done--clear that up. Mr. Lauriston," he went on, "you do what your friend
says--we're sorting things out piece by piece."

Purdie took Lauriston's arm and led him away.

"What Melky says is--go and find out what Mr. Killick can prove," he said.
"Best thing to do, too, Andie, for us. Now that these detectives are
fairly on the hunt, and are in possession of a whole multitude of queer
details and facts, we'll just do our bit of business--which is to clear
you entirely. There's more reasons than one why we should do that, my
man!"

"What're you talking about, John?" demanded Lauriston. "You've some idea
in that head of yours!"

"The idea that you and that girl are in love with each other!" said Purdie
with a sly look.

"I'll not deny that!" asserted Lauriston, with an ingenuous blush. "We
are!"

"Well, you can't ask any girl to marry you, man, while there's the least
bit of suspicion hanging over you that you'd a hand in her grandfather's
death!" remarked Purdie sapiently. "So we'll just eat a bit of lunch
together, and then get a taxi-cab and drive out to find this old gentleman
that gave your mother the rings. Come on to the hotel."

"You're spending a fine lot of money over me, John!" exclaimed Lauriston.

"Put it down that I'm a selfish chap that's got interested, and is
following his own pleasure!" said Purdie. "Man alive!--I was never mixed
up in a detective case before--it beats hunting for animals, this hunting
for men!"

By a diligent search in directories and reference books early that
morning, Purdie and Lauriston had managed to trace Mr. Edward Killick,
who, having been at one time a well-known solicitor in the City, had
followed the practice of successful men and retired to enjoy the fruit of
his labours in a nice little retreat in the country. Mr. Killick had
selected the delightful old-world village of Stanmore as the scene of his
retirement, and there, in a picturesque old house, set in the midst of
fine trees and carefully trimmed lawns, Purdie and Lauriston found him--a
hale and hearty old gentleman, still on the right side of seventy, who
rose from his easy chair in a well-stocked library to look in astonishment
from the two cards which his servant had carried to him at the persons and
faces of their presenters.

"God bless my soul!" he exclaimed. "Are you two young fellows the sons of
old friends of mine at Peebles?"

"We are, sir," answered Purdie. "This is Andrew Lauriston, and I am John
Purdie. And we're very glad to find that you remember something about our
people, Mr. Killick."

Mr. Killick again blessed himself, and after warmly shaking hands with his
visitors, bade them sit down. He adjusted his spectacles, and looked both
young men carefully over.

"I remember your people very well indeed!" he said. "I used to do a bit of
fishing in the Tweed and in Eddleston Water with your father, Mr. Purdie--
and I stopped some time with your father and mother, at their house, Mr.
Lauriston. In fact, your mother was remarkably kind to me--she nursed me
through an illness with which I was seized when I was in Peebles."

Lauriston and Purdie exchanged glances--by common consent Purdie became
spokesman for the two.

"Mr. Killick," he said, "it's precisely about a matter arising out of that
illness of yours that we came to see you! Let me explain something first--
Andie Lauriston here has been living in London for two years--he's a
literary gift, and he hopes to make a name, and perhaps a fortune. I've
succeeded to my father's business, and I'm only here in London on a visit.
And it's well I came, for Andie wanted a friend. Now, Mr. Killick, before
I go further--have you read in the newspapers about what's called the
Praed Street Mystery?"

The old gentleman shook his head.

"My dear young sir!" he answered, waving his hand towards his books. "I'm
not a great newspaper reader--except for a bit of politics. I never read
about mysteries--I've wrapped myself up in antiquarian pursuits since I
retired. No!--I haven't read about the Praed Street Mystery--nor even
heard of it! I hope neither of you are mixed up in it?"

"Considerably!" answered Purdie. "In more ways than one. And you can be of
great help. Mr. Killick--when you left Peebles after your illness, you
sent Mrs. Lauriston a present of two valuable rings. Do you remember?"

"Perfectly--of course!" replied the old gentleman. "To be sure!"

"Can you remember, too, from whom you bought those rings?" enquired Purdie
eagerly.

"Yes!--as if it were yesterday!" said Mr. Killick. "I bought them from a
City jeweller whom I knew very well at that time--a man named Daniel
Molteno!"



CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE


MR. KILLICK'S OPINION

The old solicitor's trained eye and quick intelligence saw at once that
this announcement immediately conveyed some significant meaning to his two
young visitors. Purdie and Lauriston, in fact, had immediately been struck
by the similarity of the names Molteno and Multenius, and they exchanged
another look which their host detected and knew to convey a meaning. He
leaned forward in his chair.

"Now, that strikes you--both!" he said. "What's all this about? Better
give me your confidence."

"That's precisely what we came here to do, sir," responded Purdie, with
alacrity. "And with your permission I'll tell you the whole story. It's a
long one, and a complicated one, Mr. Killick!--but I daresay you've heard
many intricate stories in the course of your legal experience, and you'll
no doubt be able to see points in this that we haven't seen. Well, it's
this way--and I'll begin at the beginning."

The old gentleman sat in an attitude of patient and watchful attention
while Purdie, occasionally prompted and supplemented by Lauriston, told
the whole story of the Praed Street affair, from Lauriston's first visit
to the pawnshop up to the events of that morning. Once or twice he asked a
question; one or twice he begged the narrator to pause while he considered
a point: in the end he drew out his watch--after which he glanced out of
his window.

"Do I gather that the taxi-cab which I see outside there is being kept by
you two young men?" he asked.

"It is," answered Purdie. "It's important that we should lose no time in
getting back to town, Mr. Killick."

"Just so!" agreed Mr. Killick, moving towards his library door. "But I'm
going with you--as soon as I've got myself into an overcoat. Now!" he
added, a few minutes later, when all three went out to the cab. "Tell the
man to drive us straight to that police-station you've been visiting of
late--and till we get there, just let me think quietly--I can probably say
more about this case than I'm yet aware of. But--if it will give you any
relief, I can tell you this at once--I have a good deal to tell. Strange!
--strange indeed how things come round, and what a small world this is,
after all!"

With this cryptic utterance Mr. Killick sank into a corner of the cab,
where he remained, evidently lost in thought, until, nearly an hour later,
they pulled up at the door of the police-station. Within five minutes they
were closeted with the chief men there--amongst whom were Ayscough and the
detective from New Scotland Yard.

"You know me--or of me--some of you?" observed the old solicitor, as he
laid a card on the desk by which he had been given a chair. "I was very
well known in the City police-courts, you know, until I retired three
years ago. Now, these young gentlemen have just told me all the facts of
this very strange case, and I think I can throw some light on it--on part
of it, anyway. First of all, let me see those two rings about which there
has been so much enquiry."

Ayscough produced the rings from a locked drawer; the rest of those
present looked on curiously as they were examined and handled by Mr.
Killick. It was immediately evident that he had no doubt about his
recognition and identification of them--after a moment's inspection of
each he pushed them back towards the detective.

"Certainly!" he said with a confidence that carried conviction. "Those are
the rings which I gave to Mrs. Lauriston, this young man's mother. I knew
them at once. If it's necessary, I can show you the receipt which I got
with them from the seller. The particulars are specified in that receipt--
and I know that I still have it. Does my testimony satisfy you?"

The chief official present glanced at the man from New Scotland Yard, and
receiving a nod from him, smiled at the old solicitor.

"I think we can rely on your evidence, Mr. Killick," he said. "We had to
make certain, you know. But these marks--isn't that a curious coincidence,
now, when you come to think of it?"

"Not a bit of it!" replied Mr. Killick. "And I'll tell you why--that's
precisely what I've come all the way from my own comfortable fireside at
Stanmore to do! There's no coincidence at all. I've heard the whole story
of this Praed Street affair now from these two lads. And I've no more
doubt than I have that I see you, that the old pawnbroker whom you knew
hereabouts as Daniel Multenius was the same man Daniel Molteno--from whom
I bought those rings, years ago! Not the slightest doubt!"

None of those present made any remark on this surprising announcement, and
Mr. Killick went on.

"I was, as some of you may know, in practice in the City--in Moorgate
Street, as a matter of fact," he said. "Daniel Molteno was a jeweller in
Houndsditch. I occasionally acted for him--professionally. And
occasionally when I wanted anything in the way of jewellery, I went to his
shop. He was then a man of about fifty, a tall, characteristically Hebraic
sort of man, already patriarchal in appearance, though he hadn't a grey
hair in his big black beard. He was an interesting man, profoundly learned
in the history of precious stones. I remember buying those rings from him
very well indeed--I remember, too, what I gave him for them--seventy-five
pounds for the two. Those private marks inside them are, of course, his--
and so they're just the same as his private marks inside those other rings
in the tray. But that's not what I came here to tell you--that's merely
preliminary."

"Deeply interesting, anyway, sir," observed Ayscough. "And, maybe, very
valuable."

"Not half so valuable as what I'm going to tell you," replied Mr. Killick,
with a dry chuckle, "Now, as I understand it, from young Mr. Purdie's
account, you're all greatly excited at present over the undoubted
connection with this Praed Street mystery of one Mr. Spencer Levendale,
who is, I believe, a very rich man, a resident in one of the best parts of
this district, and a Member of Parliament. It would appear from all you've
discovered, amongst you, up to now, that Spencer Levendale has been
privately mixed up with old Daniel Multenius in some business which seems
to be connected with South Africa. Now, attend to what I say:--About the
time that I knew Daniel Molteno in Houndsditch, Daniel Molteno had a
partner--a junior partner, whose name, however, didn't appear over the
shop. He was a much younger man than Daniel--in fact, he was quite a young
man--I should say he was then about twenty-three or four--not more. He was
of medium height, dark, typically Jewish, large dark eyes, olive skin,
good-looking, smart, full of go. And his name--the name I knew him by--was
Sam Levin." The other men in the room glanced at each other--and one of
them softly murmured what all was thinking.

"The same initials!"

"Just so!" agreed Mr. Killick. "That's what struck me--Sam Levin: Spencer
Levendale. Very well!--I continue. One day I went to Daniel Molteno's shop
to get something repaired, and it struck me that I hadn't seen Sam Levin
the last two or three times I had been in. 'Where's your partner?' I asked
of Daniel Molteno. 'I haven't seen him lately.' 'Partner no longer, Mr.
Killick,' said he. 'We've dissolved. He's gone to South Africa.' 'What to
do there?' I asked. 'Oh,' answered Daniel Molteno, 'he's touched with this
fever to get at close quarters with the diamond fields! He's gone out
there to make a fortune, and come back a millionaire.' 'Well!' I said.
'He's a likely candidate.' 'Oh, yes!' said Daniel. 'He'll do well.' No
more was said--and, as far as I can remember, I never saw Daniel Molteno
again. It was some time before I had occasion to go that way--when I did,
I was surprised to see a new name over the shop. I went in and asked where
its former proprietor was. The new shopkeeper told me that Mr. Molteno had
sold his business to him. And he didn't know where Mr. Molteno had gone,
or whether he'd retired from business altogether; he knew nothing--and
evidently didn't care, either, so--that part of my memories comes to an
end!"

"Mr. Spencer Levendale is a man of just under fifty," remarked Ayscough,
after a thoughtful pause, "and I should say that twenty-five years ago,
he'd be just such a man as Mr. Killick has described."

"You can take it from me--considering all that I've been told this
afternoon--" said the old solicitor, "that Spencer Levendale is Sam Levin
--come back from South Africa, a millionaire. I'm convinced of it! And now
then, gentlemen, what does all this mean? There's no doubt that old
Multenius and Levendale were secretly mixed up. What in? What's the
extraordinary mystery about that book--left in Multenius's back parlour
and advertised for immediately by Levendale as if it were simply
invaluable? Why has Levendale utterly disappeared? And who is this man
Purvis--and what's he to do with it? You've got the hardest nuts to crack
--a whole basketful of 'em!--that ever I heard of. And I've had some
little experience of crime!"

"I've had some information on Levendale and Purvis this very afternoon,"
said Ayscough. He turned to the other officials. "I hadn't a chance of
telling you of it before," he continued. "I was at Levendale's house at
three o'clock, making some further enquiries. I got two pieces of news. To
start with--that bottle out of which Levendale filled a small phial, which
he put in his waistcoat pocket when he went out for the last time--you
remember, Mr. Purdie, that his butler told you of that incident--well,
that bottle contains chloroform--I took a chemist there to examine it and
some other things. That's item one. The other's a bit of information
volunteered by Levendale's chauffeur. The morning after Mr. Multenius's
death, and after you, Mr. Lauriston, Mr. Rubinstein, and myself called on
Levendale, Levendale went off to the City in his car. He ordered the
chauffeur to go through Hyde Park, by the Victoria Gate, and to stop by
the Powder Magazine. At the Powder Magazine he got out of the car and
walked down towards the bridge on the Serpentine. The chauffeur had him in
view all the way, and saw him join a tall man, clean-shaven, much browned,
who was evidently waiting for him. They remained in conversation, at the
entrance to the bridge, some five minutes or so--then the stranger went
across the bridge in the direction of Kensington, and Levendale returned
to his car. Now, in my opinion, that strange man was this Purvis we've
heard of. And that seems to have been the last time any one we've come
across saw him. That night, after his visit to his house, and his taking
the phial of chloroform away with him, Levendale utterly disappeared, too
--and yet sent a wire to his butler, from close by, next morning, saying
he would be away for a few days! Why didn't he call with that message
himself!"

Mr. Killick, who had listened to Ayscough with close attention, laughed,
and turned to the officials with a sharp look.

"Shall I give you people a bit of my opinion after hearing all this?" he
said. "Very well, then--Levendale never did send that wire! It was sent in
Levendale's name--to keep things quiet. I believe that Levendale's been
trapped--and Purvis with him!"



CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Copyright (c) 2007. famouswriterz.com. All rights reserved.