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The Orange Yellow Diamond

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But Melky made no sign of gratitude or pleasure. He was eyeing the rich
man before him in inquisitive fashion.

"Mister!" he said suddenly. "I'd like to ask you a question."

Levendale frowned a little.

"Well?" he asked brusquely. "What is it?"

"This here," replied Melky. "Was that there book wrapped up? Was it brown-
papered, now, when you left it?"

It seemed to Lauriston that Levendale was somewhat taken aback. But if he
was, it was only for a second: his answer, then, came promptly enough.

"No, it was not," he said. "I carried it away from the shop where I bought
it--just as it was. Why do you ask?"

"It's a very fine-bound book," remarked Melky. "I should ha' thought, now,
that if it had been left in a 'bus, the conductor would ha' noticed it,
quick."

"So should I," said Levendale. "Anything else?" he added, glancing at
Ayscough.

"Well, no, Mr. Levendale, thank you," replied the detective. "At least not
just now. But--the fact is, Mr. Multenius appears to have come to his
death by violence--and I want to know if whoever took your book into his
shop had anything to do with it."

"Ah!--however, I can't tell you any more," said Levendale. "Please see
that my book's taken great care of and returned to me, sergeant. Good-
morning."

Outside, Ayscough consulted his watch and looked at his companions.

"Time we were going on to the inquest," he remarked. "Come on--we'll step
round there together. You're both wanted, you know."

"I'll join you at the Coroner's court, Mr. Ayscough," said Melky. "I've
got a few minutes' business--shan't be long."

He hurried away by a short cut to Praed Street and turned into Mrs.
Goldmark's establishment.

Mrs. Goldmark herself was still ministering to Zillah, but the young woman
whom Melky had seen the night before was in charge. Melky drew her aside.

"I say!" he said, with an air of great mystery. "A word with you, miss!--
private, between you and me. Can you tell me what like was that fellow
what you believed to ha' lost that there cuff stud you showed me in Mrs.
Goldmark's desk?--you know?"

"Yes!" answered the young woman promptly. "Tall--dark--clean-shaved--very
brown--looked like one of those Colonials that you see sometimes--wore a
slouch hat."

"Not a word to nobody!" warned Melky, more mysteriously than ever. And
nodding his head with great solemnity, he left the eating-house, and
hurried away to the Coroner's Court.



CHAPTER EIGHT


THE INQUEST

Until he and Ayscough walked into this particular one, Lauriston had never
been in a Coroner's Court in his life. He knew very little about what went
on in such places. He was aware that the office of Coroner is of exceeding
antiquity; that when any person meets his or her death under suspicious
circumstances an enquiry into those circumstances is held by a Coroner,
who has a jury of twelve men to assist him in his duties: but what Coroner
and jury did, what the procedure of these courts was, he did not know. It
surprised him, accordingly, to find himself in a hall which had all the
outward appearance of a court of justice--a raised seat, on a sort of
dais, for the Coroner; a box for the jury; a table for officials and legal
gentlemen; a stand for witnesses, and accommodation for the general
public. Clearly, it was evident that when any one died as poor old Daniel
Multenius had died, the law took good care that everybody should know
everything about it, and that whatever mystery there was should be
thoroughly investigated.

The general public, however, had not as yet come to be greatly interested
in the death of Daniel Multenius. Up to that moment the affair was known
to few people beyond the police, the relations of the dead man, and his
immediate neighbours in Praed Street. Consequently, beyond the interested
few, there was no great assemblage in the court that morning. A reporter
or two, each with his note-book, lounged at the end of the table on the
chance of getting some good copy out of whatever might turn up; some of
the police officials whom Lauriston had already seen stood chatting with
the police surgeon and a sharp-eyed legal looking man, who was attended by
a clerk; outside the open door, a group of men, evidently tradesmen and
householders of the district, hung about, looking as if they would be glad
to get back to their businesses and occupations. Melky, coming in a few
minutes after Lauriston had arrived, and sitting down by him, nudged his
elbow as he pointed to these individuals.

"There's the fellows what sits on the jury, mister!" whispered Melky.
"Half-a-crown each they gets for the job--and a nice mess they makes of
it, sometimes. They've the power to send a man for trial for his life, has
them chaps--all depends on their verdict. But lor' bless yer!--they takes
their tip from the Coroner--he's the fellow what you've got to watch."

Then Melky looked around more narrowly, and suddenly espied the legal-
looking man who was talking to the police. He dug his elbow into
Lauriston.

"Mister!" he whispered. "You be careful what you say when you get into
that there witness-box. See that man there, a-talking to the detectives?--
him with the gold nippers on his blooming sharp nose? That's Mr.
Parminter!--I knows him, well enough. He's a lawyer chap, what the police
gets when there's a case o' this sort, to ask questions of the witnesses,
d'ye see? Watch him, Mr. Lauriston, if he starts a-questioning you!--he's
the sort that can get a tale out of a dead cod-fish--s'elp me, he is! He's
a terror, he is!--the Coroner ain't in it with him--he's a good sort, the
Coroner, but Parminter--Lord love us! ain't I heard him turn witnesses
inside out--not half! And here is the Coroner."

Lauriston almost forgot that he was an important witness, and was tempted
to consider himself nothing but a spectator as he sat and witnessed the
formal opening of the Court, the swearing-in of the twelve jurymen, all
looking intensely bored, and the preliminaries which prefaced the actual
setting-to-work of the morning's business. But at last, after some opening
remarks from the Coroner, who said that the late Mr. Daniel Multenius was
a well-known and much respected tradesman of the neighbourhood, that they
were all sorry to hear of his sudden death, and that there were
circumstances about it which necessitated a careful investigation, the
business began--and Lauriston, who, for professional purposes, had heard a
good many legal cases, saw, almost at once, that the police, through the
redoubtable Mr. Parminter, now seated with his clerk at the table, had
carefully arranged the presenting of evidence on a plan and system of
their own, all of which, so it became apparent to him, was intended to
either incriminate himself, or throw considerable suspicion upon him. His
interest began to assume a personal complexion.

The story of the circumstances of Daniel Multenius's death, as unfolded in
the witness-box into which one person went after another, appeared to be
the fairly plain one--looked at from one point of view: there was a
certain fascination in its unfolding. It began with Melky, who was first
called--to identify the deceased, to answer a few general questions about
him, and to state that when he last saw him, a few hours before his death,
he was in his usual good health: as good, at any rate, as a man of his
years--seventy-five--who was certainly growing feeble, could expect to be
in. Nothing much was asked of Melky, and nothing beyond bare facts
volunteered by him: the astute Mr. Parminter left him alone. A more
important witness was the police-surgeon, who testified that the deceased
had been dead twenty minutes when he was called to him, that he had
without doubt been violently assaulted, having been savagely seized by the
throat and by the left arm, on both of which significant marks were
plainly visible, and that the cause of death was shock following
immediately on this undoubted violence. It was evident, said this witness,
that the old man was feeble, and that he suffered from a weak heart: such
an attack as that which he had described would be sufficient to cause
death, almost instantly.

"So it is a case of murder!" muttered Melky, who had gone back to sit by
Lauriston. "That's what the police is leading up to. Be careful, mister!"

But there were three witnesses to call before Lauriston was called upon.
It was becoming a mystery to him that his evidence was kept back so long--
he had been the first person to find the old man's dead body, and it
seemed, to his thinking, that he ought to have been called at a very early
stage of the proceedings. He was about to whisper his convictions on this
point to Melky, when a door was opened and Zillah was escorted in by
Ayscough, and led to the witness-box.

Zillah had already assumed the garments of mourning for her grandfather.
She was obviously distressed at being called to give evidence, and the
Coroner made her task as brief as possible. It was--at that stage--little
that he wanted to know. And Zillah told little. She had gone out to do
some shopping, at half-past-four on the previous afternoon. She left her
grandfather alone. He was then quite well. He was in the front shop, doing
nothing in particular. She was away about an hour, when she returned to
find Detective-Sergeant Ayscough, whom she knew, and Mr. Lauriston, whom
she also knew, in the shop, and her grandfather dead in the parlour
behind. At this stage of her evidence, the Coroner remarked that he did
not wish to ask Zillah any further questions just then, but he asked her
to remain in court. Mrs. Goldmark had followed her, and she and Zillah sat
down near Melky and Lauriston--and Lauriston half believed that his own
turn would now come.

But Ayscough was next called--to give a brief, bald, matter-of-fact
statement of what he knew. He had gone to see Mr. Multenius on a business
affair--he was making enquiries about a stolen article which was believed
to have been pledged in the Edgware Road district. He told how Lauriston
ran into him as he entered the shop; what Lauriston said to him; what he
himself saw and observed; what happened afterwards. It was a plain and
practical account, with no indication of surprise, bias, or theory--and
nobody asked the detective any questions arising out of it.

"Ain't nobody but you to call, now, mister," whispered Melky. "Mind your
p's and q's about them blooming rings--and watch that Parminter!"

But Melky was mistaken--the official eye did not turn upon Lauriston but,
upon the public benches of the court, as if it were seeking some person
there.

"There is a witness who has volunteered a statement to the police," said
the Coroner. "I understand it is highly important. We had better hear him
at this point. Benjamin Hollinshaw!"

Melky uttered a curious groan, and glanced at Lauriston.

"Fellow what has a shop right opposite!" he whispered. "S'elp me!--what's
he got to say about it?"

Benjamin Hollinshaw came forward. He was a rather young, rather self-
confident, self-important sort of person, who strode up to the witness-box
as if he had been doing things of importance and moment all his life, and
was taking it quite as a matter of course that he should do another. He
took the oath and faced the court with something of an air, as much as to
imply that upon what he was about to say more depended than any one could
conceive. Invited to tell what he knew, he told his story, obviously
enjoying the telling of it. He was a tradesman in Praed Street: a dealer
in second-hand clothing, to be exact; been there many years, in succession
to his father. He remembered yesterday afternoon, of course. About half-
past-five o'clock he was standing at the door of his shop. It was directly
facing Daniel Multenius's shop door. The darkness had already come on, and
there was also a bit of a fog in the street: not much, but hazy, as it
were. Daniel Multenius's window was lighted, but the light was confined to
a couple of gas-jets. There was a light in the projecting sign over the
side entrance to the pawnshop, down the passage. For the first few minutes
while he stood at his door, looking across to Multenius's, he did not see
any one enter or leave that establishment. But he then saw a young man
come along, from the Edgware Road direction, whose conduct rather struck
him. The young man, after sauntering past Multenius's shop, paused,
turned, and proceeded to peer in through the top panel of the front door.
He looked in once or twice in that way. Then he went to the far end of the
window and looked inside in the same prying fashion, as if he wanted to
find out who was within. He went to various parts of the window, as if
endeavouring to look inside. Finally, he stepped down the side-passage and
entered the door which led to the compartments into which people turned
who took things to pledge. He, Hollinshaw, remained at his shop door for
some minutes after that--in fact, until the last witness came along. He
saw Ayscough enter Multenius's front door and immediately pause--then the
door was shut, and he himself went back into his own shop, his wife just
then calling him to tea.

"You saw the young man you speak of quite clearly?" asked the Coroner.

"As clearly as I see you, sir," replied the witness.

"Do you see him here?"

Hollinshaw turned instantly and pointed to Lauriston.

"That's the young man, sir," he answered, with confidence.

Amidst a general craning of necks, Melky whispered to Lauriston.

"You'd ought to ha' had a lawyer, mister!" he said. "S'elp me, I'm a
blooming fool for not thinking of it! Be careful--the Coroner's a-looking
at you!"

As a matter of fact, every person in the court was staring at Lauriston,
and presently the Coroner addressed him.

"Do you wish to ask this witness any questions?" he enquired.

Lauriston rose to his feet.

"No!" he replied. "What he says is quite correct. That is, as regards
myself."

The Coroner hesitated a moment; then he motioned to Hollinshaw to leave
the box, and once more turned to Lauriston.

"We will have your evidence now," he said. "And--let me warn you that
there is no obligation on you to say anything which would seem to
incriminate you."



CHAPTER NINE


WHOSE WERE THOSE RINGS?

Paying no attention to another attempted murmur of advice from Melky, who
seemed to be on pins and needles, Lauriston at once jumped to his feet and
strode to the witness-box. The women in the public seats glanced at him
with admiring interest--such a fine-looking young fellow, whispered one
sentimental lady to another, to have set about a poor old gentleman like
Mr. Multenius! And everybody else, from the Coroner to the newspaper
reporter--who was beginning to think he would get some good copy, after
all, that morning--regarded him with attention. Here, at any rate, was the
one witness who had actually found the pawnbroker's dead body.

Lauriston, his colour heightened a little under all this attention,
answered the preliminary questions readily enough. His name was Andrew
Carruthers Lauriston. His age--nearly twenty-two. He was a native of
Peebles, in Scotland--the only son of the late Andrew Lauriston. His
father was a minister of the Free Church. His mother was dead, too. He
himself had come to London about two years ago--just after his mother's
death. For the past few weeks he had lodged with Mrs. Flitwick, in Star
Street--that was his present address. He was a writer of fiction--stories
and novels. He had heard all the evidence already given, including that of
the last witness, Hollinshaw. All that Hollinshaw had said was quite true.
It was quite true that he had gone to Multenius's pawnshop about five-
thirty of the previous afternoon, on his own business. He had looked in
through both doors and window before entering the side-door: he wanted to
know who was in the shop--whether it was Mr. Multenius, or his grand-
daughter. He wanted to know that for a simple reason--he had never done
business with Mr. Multenius, never even seen him that he remembered, but
he had had one transaction with Miss Wildrose, and he wished, if possible,
to do his business with her. As a matter of fact he saw nobody inside the
shop when he looked in through the front door and the window--so he went
round to the side-entrance.

All this had come in answer to questions put by the Coroner--who now
paused and looked at Lauriston not unkindly.

"I daresay you are already aware that there is, or may be, some amount of
suspicious circumstances attaching to your visit to this place yesterday
afternoon," he said. "Do you care to tell the court--in your own way--
precisely what took place, what you discovered, after you entered the
pawnshop?"

"That's exactly what I wish to do," answered Lauriston, readily. "I've
already told it, more than once, to the police and Mr. Multenius's
relatives--I'll tell it again, as plainly and briefly as I can. I went
into one of the compartments just within the side-door of the place. I saw
no one, and heard no one. I rapped on the counter--nobody came. So I
looked round the partition into the front shop. There was no one there.
Then I looked round the other partition into the back parlour, the door of
which was wide open. I at once saw an old man whom I took to be Mr.
Multenius. He was lying on the floor--his feet were towards the open door,
and his head on the hearth-rug, near the fender. I immediately jumped over
the counter, and went into the parlour. I saw at once that he was dead--
and almost immediately I hurried to the front door, to summon assistance.
At the door I ran into Mr. Ayscough, who was entering as I opened the
door. I at once told him of what I had found. That is the plain truth as
to all I know of the matter."

"You heard nothing of any person in or about the shop when you entered?"
asked the Coroner.

"Nothing!" replied Lauriston. "It was all perfectly quiet."

"What had you gone there to do?"

"To borrow some money--on two rings."

"Your own property?"

"My own property!"

"Had you been there before, on any errand of that sort?"

"Only once."

"When was that?"

"Last week," answered Lauriston. "I pawned my watch there."

"You have, in fact, been short of money?"

"Yes. But only temporarily--I was expecting money."

"I hope it has since arrived," said the Coroner.

"Mr. Ayscough was with me when it did arrive," replied Lauriston, glancing
at the detective. "We found it--two letters--at my lodgings when he walked
round there with me after what I have just told you of."

"You had done your business on that previous occasion with the grand-
daughter?" asked the Coroner. "You had not seen the old man, then?"

"I never to my knowledge saw Mr. Multenius till I found him lying dead in
his own parlour," answered Lauriston.

The Coroner turned from the witness, and glanced towards the table at
which Mr. Parminter and the police officials sat. And Mr. Parminter slowly
rose and looked at Lauriston, and put his first question--in a quiet,
almost suave voice, as if he and the witness were going to have a pleasant
and friendly little talk together.

"So your ambition is to be a writer of fiction?" he asked.

"I am a writer of fiction!" replied Lauriston.

Mr. Parminter pulled out a snuff-box and helped himself to a pinch.

"Have you published much?" he enquired, drily.

"Two or three stories--short stories."

"Did they bring in much money?"

"Five pounds each."

"Have you done anything else for a living but that since you came to
London two years ago?"

"No, I haven't!"

"How much have you earned by your pen since you came, now?"

"About thirty pounds."

"Thirty pounds in two years. What have you lived on, then?"

"I had money of my own," replied Lauriston. "I had two hundred pounds when
I left home."

"And that gave out--when?" demanded Mr. Parminter.

"Last week."

"And so--you took your watch to the pawnshop. And--yesterday--your
expected money not having arrived, you were obliged to visit the pawnshop
again? Taking with you, you said just now, two rings--your own property.
Am I correct?"

"Quite correct--two rings--my own property."

Mr. Parminter turned and spoke to a police official, who, lifting aside a
sheet of brown paper which lay before him, revealed the tray of rings
which Lauriston and Ayscough had found on the table in Multenius's
parlour. At the same time, Mr. Parminter, lifting his papers, revealed
Lauriston's rings. He picked them up, laid them on the palm of his hand,
and held them towards the witness.

"Are these the rings you took to the pawnshop?" he asked.

"Yes!" replied Lauriston. "They were my mother's."

Mr. Parminter indicated the tray.

"Did you see this tray lying in the parlour in which you found the dead
man?" he enquired.

"I did."

"Did it strike you that your own rings were remarkably like the rings in
this tray?"

"No, it did not," answered Lauriston. "I know nothing about rings."

Mr. Parminter quietly passed the tray of rings to the Coroner, with
Lauriston's rings lying on a sheet of paper.

"Perhaps you will examine these things and direct the attention of the
jurymen to them?" he said, and turned to the witness-box again. "I want to
ask you a very particular question," he continued. "You had better
consider it well before answering it--it is more important--to you--than
may appear at first hearing. Can you bring any satisfactory proof that
those two rings which you claim to be yours, really are yours?"

There followed on that a dead silence in court. People had been coming in
since the proceedings had opened, and the place was now packed to the
door. Every eye was turned on Lauriston as he stood in the witness-box,
evidently thinking deeply. And in two pairs of eyes there was deep
anxiety: Melky was nervous and fidgety; Zillah was palpably greatly
concerned. But Lauriston looked at neither--and he finally turned to Mr.
Parminter with a candid glance.

"The rings are mine," he answered. "But--I don't know how I can prove that
they are!"

A suppressed murmur ran round the court--in the middle of it, the Coroner
handed the rings to a police official and motioned him to show them to the
jurymen. And Mr. Parminter's suave voice was heard again.

"You can't prove that they are yours."

"May I explain?" asked Lauriston. "Very well--there may be people, old
friends, who have seen those two rings in my mother's possession. But I
don't know where to find such people. If it's necessary, I can try."

"I should certainly try, if I were you," observed Mr. Parminter, drily.
"Now, when did those two rings come into your possession?"

"When my mother died," replied Lauriston.

"Where have you kept them?"

"Locked up in my trunk."

"Have you ever, at any time, or any occasion, shown them to any person?
Think!"

"No," answered Lauriston. "I can't say that I ever have."

"Not even at the time of your mother's death?"

"No! I took possession, of course, of all her effects. I don't remember
showing the rings to anybody."

"You kept them in your trunk until you took them out to raise money on
them?"

"Yes--that's so," admitted Lauriston.

"How much money had you--in the world--when you went to the pawnshop
yesterday afternoon?" demanded Mr. Parminter, with a sudden keen glance.

Lauriston flushed scarlet.

"If you insist on knowing," he said. "I'd just nothing."

There was another murmur in court--of pity from the sentimental ladies in
the public seats, who, being well acquainted with the pawnshops
themselves, and with the necessities which drove them there were
experiencing much fellow-feeling for the poor young man in the witness-
box. But Lauriston suddenly smiled--triumphantly.

"All the same," he added, glancing at Mr. Parminter. "I'd forty pounds, in
my letters, less than an hour afterwards. Ayscough knows that!"

Mr. Parminter paid no attention to this remark. He had been whispering to
the police inspector, and now he turned to the Coroner.

"I should like this witness to stand down for a few minutes, sir," he
said. "I wish to have Miss Wildrose recalled."

The Coroner gently motioned Zillah to go back to the witness-box.



CHAPTER TEN


MELKY INTERVENES

Zillah had listened to Lauriston's answers to Mr. Parminter's searching
questions with an anxiety which was obvious to those who sat near her. The
signs of that anxiety were redoubled as she walked slowly to the box, and
the glance she threw at the Coroner was almost appealing. But the Coroner
was looking at his notes, and Zillah was obliged to turn to Mr. Parminter,
whose accents became more mellifluous than ever as he addressed her; Mr.
Parminter, indeed, confronting Zillah might have been taken for a kindly
benevolent gentleman whose sole object was to administer condolence and
comfort. Few people in court, however, failed to see the meaning of the
questions which he began to put in the suavest and softest of tones.

"I believe you assisted your late grandfather in his business?" suggested
Mr. Parminter.

"Just so! Now, how long had you assisted him in that way?"

"Ever since I left school--three years ago," replied Zillah.

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