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




Melky jumped up and wrung his visitor's hand.

"Mister!--you're one o' the right sort," he said fervently. "That there
book has something to do with it! My idea is that the man what carried
that book into the shop is the man what scragged my poor old relative
--fact, mister! Levendale, he wouldn't tell us anything much this
morning--maybe he'll tell you more. Stand by Lauriston, mister!--we'll
pull him through."

"You seem very well disposed towards him," remarked Purdie. "He's
evidently taken your fancy."

"And my cousin Zillah's," answered Melky, with a confidential grin.
"Zillah--loveliest girl in all Paddington, mister--she's clear gone on the
young fellow! And--a word in your ear, mister!--Zillah's been educated
like a lady, and now that the old man's gone, Zillah'll have--ah! a
fortune that 'ud make a nigger turn white! And no error about it! See it
through, mister!"

"I'll see it through," said Purdie. "Now, then--these police. Look here--
is there a good hotel in this neighbourhood?--I've all my traps in that
taxi-cab downstairs--I drove straight here from the station, because I
wanted to see Andie Lauriston at once."

"Money's no object to you, I reckon, mister?" asked Melky, with a shrewd
glance at the young Scotsman's evident signs of prosperity.

"Not in reason," answered Purdie.

"Then there's the Great Western Hotel, at the end o' Praed Street," said
Melky. "That'll suit a young gentleman like you, mister, down to the
ground. And you'll be right on the spot!"

"Come with me, then," said Purdie. "And then to the police."

Half-an-hour's private conversation with the police authorities enabled
Purdie to put some different ideas into the official heads. They began to
look at matters in a new light. Here was a wealthy young Scottish
manufacturer, a person of standing and position, who was able to vouch for
Andrew Lauriston in more ways than one, who had known him from boyhood,
had full faith in him and in his word, and was certain that all that
Lauriston had said about the rings and about his finding of Daniel
Multenius would be found to be absolutely true. They willingly agreed to
move no further in the matter until Lauriston's return--and Purdie
noticed, not without a smile, that they pointedly refrained from asking
where he had gone to. He came out from that interview with Ayscough in
attendance upon him--and Melky, waiting without, saw that things had gone
all right.

"You might let me have your London address, sir," said Ayscough. "I might
want to let you know something."

"Great Western Hotel," answered Purdie. "I shall stay there until
Lauriston's return, and until this matter's entirely cleared up, as far as
he's concerned. Come there, if you want me. All right," he continued, as
he and Melky walked away from the police-station. "They took my word for
it!--they'll do nothing until Lauriston comes back. Now then, you know
this neighbourhood, and I don't--show me the way to Sussex Square--I'm
going to call on Mr. Levendale at once."

John Purdie had a double object in calling on Mr. Spencer Levendale. He
had mentioned to Melky that when he met Levendale in the Highlands,
Levendale, who was a widower, had his children and their governess with
him. But he had not mentioned that he, Purdie, had fallen in love with the
governess, and that one of his objects in coming to London just then was
to renew his acquaintance with her. It was chiefly of the governess that
he was thinking as he stood on the steps of the big house in Sussex
Square--perhaps, in a few minutes, he would see her again.

But Purdie was doomed to see neither Mr. Spencer Levendale nor the pretty
governess that day. Mr. Levendale, said the butler, was on business in the
city and was to dine out that evening: Miss Bennett had taken the two
children to see a relative of theirs at Hounslow, and would not return
until late. So Purdie, having pencilled his London address on them, left
cards for Mr. Levendale and Miss Bennett, and, going back to his hotel,
settled himself in his quarters to await developments. He spent the
evening in reading the accounts of the inquest on Daniel Multenius--in
more than one of the newspapers they were full and circumstantial, and it
needed little of his shrewd perception to convince him that his old
schoolmate stood in considerable danger if he failed to establish his
ownership of the rings.

He had finished breakfast next morning and was thinking of strolling round
to Melky Rubinstein's lodgings, to hear if any news had come from
Lauriston, when a waiter brought him Ayscough's card, saying that its
presenter was waiting for him in the smoking-room. Purdie went there at
once: the detective, who looked unusually grave and thoughtful, drew him
aside into a quiet part of the room.

"There's a strange affair occurred during the night, Mr. Purdie," said
Ayscough, when they were alone. "And it's my opinion it's connected with
this Multenius affair."

"What is it?" asked Purdie.

"This," replied Ayscough. "A Praed Street tradesman--in a small way--was
picked up, dying, in a quiet street off Maida Vale, at twelve o'clock last
night, and he died soon afterwards. And--he'd been poisoned!--but how, the
doctors can't yet tell."



CHAPTER THIRTEEN


THE CALL FOR HELP

Purdie, whose temperament inclined him to slowness and deliberation in
face of any grave crisis, motioned the detective to take a seat in the
quiet corner of the smoking-room, into which they had retreated, and sat
down close by him.

"Now, to begin with," he said, "why do you think this affair is connected
with the affair of the old pawn-broker? There must be some link."

"There is a link, sir," answered Ayscough. "The man was old Daniel
Multenius's next door neighbour: name of Parslett--James Parslett, fruit
and vegetable dealer. Smallish way of business, but well known enough in
that quarter. Now, I'll explain something to you. I'm no hand at drawing,"
continued the detective, "but I think I can do a bit of a rough sketch on
this scrap of paper which will make clear to you the lie of the land.
These two lines represent Praed Street. Here, where I make this cross, is
Daniel Multenius's pawnshop. The front part of it--the jeweller's shop--
looks out on Praed Street. At the side is a narrow passage or entry: from
that you get access to the pledge-office. Now then, Multenius's premises
run down one side of this passage: Parslett's run down the other.
Parslett's house has a side-door into it, exactly opposite the door into
Multenius's pledge office. Is that clear, Mr. Purdie?"

"Quite!" answered Purdie. "I understand it exactly."

"Then my theory is, that Parslett saw the real murderer of Daniel
Multenius come out of Multenius's side-door, while he, Parslett, was
standing at his own; that he recognized him, that he tried to blackmail
him yesterday, and that the man contrived to poison him, in such a fashion
that Parslett died shortly after leaving him," said Ayscough, confidently.
"It's but a theory--but I'll lay anything I'm not far out in it!"

"What reason have you for thinking that Parslett blackmailed the
murderer?" asked Purdie.

"This!" answered the detective, with something of triumph in his tone.
"I've been making some enquiries already this morning, early as it is.
When Parslett was picked up and carried to the hospital--this St. Mary's
Hospital, close by here--he was found to have fifty pounds in gold in his
pocket. Now, according to Parslett's widow, whom I've seen this morning,
Parslett was considerably hard up yesterday. Trade hasn't been very good
with him of late, and she naturally knows his circumstances. He went out
of the house last night about nine o'clock, saying he was going to have a
stroll round, and the widow says she's certain he'd no fifty pounds on him
when he left her--it would be a wonder, she says, if he'd as much as fifty
shillings! Now then, Mr. Purdie, where did a man like that pick up fifty
sovereigns between the time he went out, and the time he was picked up,
dying?"

"He might have borrowed it from some friend," suggested Purdie.

"I thought of that, sir," said Ayscough. "It seems the natural thing to
think of. But Mrs. Parslett says they haven't a friend from whom he could
have borrowed such an amount--not one! No, sir!--my belief is that
Parslett saw some man enter and leave Multenius's shop; that he knew the
man; that he went and plumped him with the affair, and that the man gave
him that gold to get rid of him at the moment--and contrived to poison
him, too!"

Purdie considered the proposition for awhile in silence.

"Well," he remarked at last, "if that's so, it seems to establish two
facts--first, that the murderer is some man who lives in this
neighbourhood, and second, that he's an expert in poisons."

"Right, sir!" agreed Ayscough. "Quite right. And it would, of course,
establish another--the innocence of your friend, Lauriston."

Purdie smiled.

"I never had any doubt of that," he said.

"Between ourselves, neither had I," remarked Ayscough heartily. "I told
our people that I, personally, was convinced of the young fellow's
complete innocence from the very first--and it was I who found him in the
shop. It's a most unfortunate thing that he was there, and a sad
coincidence that those rings of his were much of a muchness with the rings
in the tray in the old man's parlour--but I've never doubted him. No,
sir!--I believe all this business goes a lot deeper than that! It's no
common affair--old Daniel Multenius was attacked by somebody--somebody!--
for some special reason--and it's going to take a lot of getting at. And
I'm convinced this Parslett affair is a development--Parslett's been
poisoned because he knew too much."

"You say you don't know what particular poison was used?" asked Purdie.
"It would be something of a clue to know that. Because, if it turned out
to be one of a very subtle nature, that would prove that whoever
administered it had made a special study of poisons."

"I don't know that--yet," answered Ayscough. "But," he continued, rising
from his chair, "if you'd step round with me to the hospital, we might get
to know, now. There's one or two of their specialists been making an
examination. It's only a mere step along the street."

Purdie followed the detective out and along Praed Street. Before they
reached the doors of the hospital, a man came up to Ayscough: a solid,
substantial-looking person, of cautious manner and watchful eye, whose
glance wandered speculatively from the detective to his companion.
Evidently sizing Purdie up as some one in Ayscough's confidence, he spoke
--in the fashion of one who has something as mysterious, as important, to
communicate.

"Beg your pardon, Mr. Ayscough," he said. "A word with you sir. You know
me, Mr. Ayscough?"

Ayscough looked sharply at his questioner.

"Mr. Goodyer, isn't it?" he asked. "Oh, yes, I remember. What is it? You
can speak before this gentleman--it's all right."

"About this affair of last night--Parslett, you know," said Goodyer,
drawing the detective aside, and lowering his voice, so that passers-by
might not hear. "There's something I can tell you--I've heard all about
the matter from Parslett's wife. But I've not told her what I can tell
you, Mr. Ayscough."

"And--what's that?" enquired the detective.

"I'm Parslett's landlord, you know," continued Goodyer. "He's had that
shop and dwelling-house of me for some years. Now, Parslett's not been
doing very well of late, from one cause or another, and to put it in a
nutshell, he owed me half a year's rent. I saw him yesterday, and told him
I must have the money at once: in fact, I pressed him pretty hard about
it.--I'd been at him for two or three weeks, and I could see it was no
good going on. He'd been down in the mouth about it, the last week or so,
but yesterday afternoon he was confident enough. 'Now, you needn't alarm
yourself, Mr. Goodyer,' he said. 'There's a nice bit of money going to be
paid to me tonight, and I'll settle up with you before I stick my head on
the pillow,' he said. 'Tonight, for certain?' says I. 'Before even I go to
bed!' he says. 'I can't fix it to a minute, but you can rely on me calling
at your house in St. Mary's Terrace before eleven o'clock--with the
money.' And he was so certain about it, Mr. Ayscough, that I said no more
than that I should be much obliged, and I'd wait up for him. And,"
concluded Goodyer, "I did wait up--till half-past twelve--but he never
came. So this morning, of course, I walked round here--and then I heard
what happened--about him being picked up dying and since being dead--with
fifty pounds in gold in his pocket. Of course, Mr. Ayscough, that was the
money he referred to."

"You haven't mentioned this to anybody?" asked Ayscough.

"Neither to the widow nor to anybody--but you," replied Goodyer.

"Don't!" said Ayscough. "Keep it to yourself till I give you the word. You
didn't hear anything from Parslett as to where the money was coming from?"

"Not one syllable!" answered Goodyer. "But I could see he was dead sure of
having it."

"Well--keep quiet about it," continued Ayscough. "There'll be an inquest,
you know, and what you have to tell'll come in handy, then. There's some
mystery about all this affair, Mr. Goodyer, and it's going to take some
unravelling."

"You're right!" said Goodyer. "I believe you!"

He went off along the street, and the detective turned to Purdie and
motioned him towards the hospital.

"Queer, all that, sir!" he muttered. "Very queer! But it all tends to
showing that my theory's the right one. Now if you'll just stop in the
waiting-room a few minutes, I'll find out if these doctors have come to
any conclusion about the precise nature of the poison."

Purdie waited for ten minutes, speculating on the curiosities of the
mystery into which he had been so strangely plunged: at last the detective
came back, shaking his head.

"Can't get a definite word out of 'em, yet," he said, as they went away.
"There's two or three of 'em--big experts in--what do you call it--oh,
yes, toxology--putting their heads together over the analysing business,
and they won't say anything so far--they'll leave that to the inquest. But
I gathered this much, Mr. Purdie, from the one I spoke to--this man
Parslett was poisoned in some extremely clever fashion, and by some poison
that's not generally known, which was administered to him probably half-
an-hour before it took effect. What's that argue, sir, but that whoever
gave him that poison is something of an expert? Deep game, Mr. Purdie, a
very deep game indeed!--and now I don't think there's much need to be
anxious about that young friend of yours. I'm certain, anyway, that the
man who poisoned Parslett is the man who killed poor old Daniel Multenius.
But--we shall see."

Purdie parted from Ayscough outside the hospital and walked along to Mrs.
Flitwick's house in Star Street. He met Melky Rubinstein emerging from the
door; Melky immediately pulled out a telegram which he thrust into
Purdie's hand.

"Just come, mister!" exclaimed Melky. "There's a word for you in it--I was
going to your hotel. Read what he says."

Purdie unfolded the pink paper and read.

"On the track all right understand Purdie is in town if he comes to Star
Street explain all to him will wire again later in day."

"Good!" said Purdie. He handed back the telegram and looked meditatively
at Melky. "Are you busy this morning?" he asked.

"Doing no business whatever, mister," lisped Melky, solemnly. "Not until
this business is settled--not me!"

"Come to the hotel with me," continued Purdie. "I want to talk to you
about something."

But when they reached the hotel, all thought of conversation was driven
out of Purdie's mind for the moment. The hall-porter handed him a note,
remarking that it had just come. Purdie's face flushed as he recognized
the handwriting: he turned sharply away and tore open the envelope.
Inside, on a half-sheet of notepaper, were a few lines--from the pretty
governess at Mr. Spencer Levendale's.

"Can you come here at once and ask for me? There is something seriously
wrong: I am much troubled and have no one in London I can consult."

With a hasty excuse to Melky, Purdie ran out of the hotel, and set off in
quick response to the note.



CHAPTER FOURTEEN


THE PRIVATE LABORATORY

As he turned down Spring Street towards Sussex Square, Purdie hastily
reviewed his knowledge of Mr. Spencer Levendale and his family. He had met
them, only two months previously, at a remote and out-of-the-way place in
the Highlands, in a hotel where he and they were almost the only guests.
Under such circumstances, strangers are soon drawn together, and as
Levendale and Purdie had a common interest in fishing they were quickly on
good terms. But Purdie was thinking now as he made his way towards
Levendale's London house that he really knew very little of this man who
was evidently mixed up in some way with the mystery into which young Andie
Lauriston had so unfortunately also become intermingled. He knew that
Levendale was undoubtedly a very wealthy man: there were all the signs of
wealth about him; he had brought several servants down to the Highlands
with him: money appeared to be plentiful with him as pebbles are on a
beach. Purdie learnt bit by bit that Levendale had made a great fortune in
South Africa, that he had come home to England and gone into Parliament;
that he was a widower and the father of two little girls--he learnt, too,
that the children's governess, Miss Elsie Bennett, a pretty and taking
girl of twenty-two or three, had come with them from Cape Town. But of
Levendale's real character and self he knew no more than could be gained
from holiday acquaintance. Certain circumstances told him by Melky about
the rare book left in old Multenius's parlour inclined Purdie to be
somewhat suspicious that Levendale was concealing something which he knew
about that affair--and now here was Miss Bennett writing what, on the face
of it, looked like an appealing letter to him, as if something had
happened.

Purdie knew something had happened as soon as he was admitted to the
house. Levendale's butler, who had accompanied his master to the
Highlands, and had recognized Purdie on his calling the previous day, came
hurrying to him in the hall, as soon as the footman opened the door.

"You haven't seen Mr. Levendale since you were here yesterday, sir?" he
asked, in a low, anxious voice.

"Seen Mr. Levendale? No!" answered Purdie. "Why--what do you mean?"

The butler looked round at a couple of footmen who hung about the door.

"Don't want to make any fuss about it, Mr. Purdie," he whispered, "though
it's pretty well known in the house already. The fact is, sir, Mr.
Levendale's missing!"

"Missing?" exclaimed Purdie. "Since when?"

"Only since last night, sir," replied the butler, "but the circumstances
are queer. He dined out with some City gentlemen, somewhere, last night,
and he came home about ten o'clock. He wasn't in the house long. He went
into his laboratory--he spends a lot of time in experimenting in
chemistry, you know, sir--and he called me in there. 'I'm going out again
for an hour, Grayson,' he says. 'I shall be in at eleven: don't go to bed,
for I want to see you for a minute or two.' Of course, there was nothing
in that, Mr. Purdie, and I waited for him. But he never came home--and no
message came. He never came home at all--and this morning I've telephoned
to his two clubs, and to one or two other places in the City--nobody's
seen or heard anything of him. And I can't think what's happened--it's all
so unlike his habits."

"He didn't tell you where he was going?" asked Purdie.

"No, sir, but he went on foot," answered the butler. "I let him out--he
turned up Paddington way."

"You didn't notice anything out of the common about him?" suggested
Purdie.

The butler hesitated for a moment.

"Well, sir," he said at last, "I did notice something. Come this way, Mr.
Purdie."

Turning away from the hall, he led Purdie through the library in which
Levendale had received Ayscough and his companions into a small room that
opened out of it.

Purdie, looking round him, found that he was standing in a laboratory,
furnished with chemical apparatus of the latest descriptions. Implements
and appliances were on all sides; there were rows of bottles on the
shelves; a library of technical books filled a large book-case; everything
in the place betokened the pursuit of a scientific investigator. And
Purdie's keen sense of smell immediately noted the prevalent atmosphere of
drugs and chemicals.

"It was here that I saw Mr. Levendale last night, sir," said the butler.
"He called me in. He was measuring something from one of those bottles
into a small phial, Mr. Purdie--he put the phial in his waistcoat pocket.
Look at those bottles, sir--you'll see they all contain poison!--you can
tell that by the make of 'em."

Purdie glanced at the shelf which the butler indicated. The bottles ranged
on it were all of blue glass, and all triangular in shape, and each bore a
red label with the word _Poison_ prominently displayed.

"Odd!" he said. "You've some idea?" he went on, looking closely at the
butler. "Something on your mind about this? What is it?"

The butler shook his head.

"Well, sir," he answered, "when you see a gentleman measuring poison into
a phial, which he carefully puts in his pocket, and when he goes out, and
when he never comes back, and when you can't hear of him, anywhere! why,
what are you to think? Looks strange, now, doesn't it, Mr. Purdie?"

"I don't know Mr. Levendale well enough to say," replied Purdie. "There
may be some quite good reason for Mr. Levendale's absence. He'd no trouble
of any sort, had he?"

"He seemed a bit upset, once or twice, yesterday--and the night before,"
said the butler. "I noticed it--in little things. Well!--I can't make it
out, sir. You see, I've been with him ever since he came back to England--
some years now--and I know his habits, thoroughly. However, we can only
wait--I believe Miss Bennett sent for you, Mr. Purdie?"

"Yes," said Purdie. "She did."

"This way, sir," said the butler. "Miss Bennett's alone, now--the children
have just gone out with their nurses."

He led Purdie through the house to a sitting-room looking out on the
garden of the Square, and ushered him into the governess's presence.

"I've told Mr. Purdie all about it, miss," he said, confidentially.
"Perhaps you'll talk it over with him! I can't think of anything more to
do--until we hear something."

Left alone, Purdie and Elsie Bennett looked at each other as they shook
hands. She was a fair, slender girl, naturally shy and retiring; she was
manifestly shy at renewing her acquaintance with Purdie, and Purdie
himself, conscious of his own feelings towards her, felt a certain
embarrassment and awkwardness.

"You sent for me," he said brusquely. "I came the instant I got your note.
Grayson kept me talking downstairs. You're bothered--about Mr. Levendale?"

"Yes," she answered. Then she pointed to a chair. "Won't you sit down?"
she said, and took a chair close by. "I sent for you, because--it may seem
strange, but it's a fact!--I couldn't think of anybody else! It seemed so
fortunate that you were in London--and close by. I felt that--that I could
depend on you."

"Thank you," said Purdie. "Well--you can! And what is it?"

"Grayson's told you about Mr. Levendale's going out last night, and never
coming back, nor sending any message?" she continued. "As Grayson says,
considering Mr. Levendale's habits, that is certainly very strange! But--I
want to tell you something beyond that--I must tell somebody! And I know
that if I tell you you'll keep it secret--until, or unless you think you
ought to tell it to--the police!"

Purdie started.

"The police!" he exclaimed. "What is it?"

Elsie Bennett turned to a table, and picked up a couple of newspapers.

"Have you read this Praed Street mystery affair?" she asked. "I mean the
account of the inquest?"

"Every word--and heard more, besides," answered Purdie. "That young
fellow, Andie Lauriston, is an old schoolmate and friend of mine. I came
here yesterday to see him, and found him plunged into this business. Of
course, he's absolutely innocent."

"Has he been arrested?" asked Elsie, almost eagerly.

"No!" replied Purdie. "He's gone away--to get evidence that those rings
which are such a feature of the case are really his and were his
mother's."

"Have you noticed these particulars, at the end of the inquest, about the
book which was found in the pawnbroker's parlour?" she went on. "The
Spanish manuscript?"

"Said to have been lost by Mr. Levendale in an omnibus," answered Purdie.
"Yes! What of it?"

The girl bent nearer to him.

"It seems a dreadful thing to say," she whispered, "but I must tell
somebody--I can't, I daren't keep it to myself any longer! Mr. Levendale
isn't telling the truth about that book!"

Purdie involuntarily glanced at the door--and drew his chair nearer to
Elsie's.

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