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The Orange Yellow Diamond

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




"Are you certain of it--yourself?" demanded Zillah.

Ayscough hesitated and finally shook his head.

"Well, between ourselves, I'm not!" he answered. "I've a feeling from the
first, that the lad's innocent enough. But it's a queer thing--and it's
terribly against him. And--what possible explanation can there be?"

"You say you've seen those marks," said Zillah. "Would you know them
again--on other goods?"

"I should!" replied Ayscough. "I can tell you what they are. There's the
letter M. and then two crosses--one on each side of the letter. Very
small, you know, and worn, too--this man I'm talking of used some sort of
a magnifying glass."

Zillah turned away and went into the shop, which was all in darkness.
Ayscough, waiting, heard the sound of a key being turned, then of a
metallic tinkling; presently the girl came back, carrying a velvet-lined
tray in one hand, and a jeweller's magnifying glass in the other.

"The rings in that tray you're talking about--the one you took away--are
all very old stock," she remarked. "I've heard my grandfather say he'd had
some of them thirty years or more. Here are some similar ones--we'll see
if they're marked in the same fashion."

Five minutes later, Zillah had laid aside several rings marked in the way
Ayscough had indicated, and she turned from them to him with a look of
alarm.

"I can't understand it!" she exclaimed. "I know that these rings, and
those in that tray at the police-station, are part of old stock that my
grandfather had when he came here. He used to have a shop, years ago, in
the City--I'm not quite sure where, exactly--and this is part of the stock
he brought from it. But, how could Mr. Lauriston's rings bear those marks?
Because, from what I know of the trade, those are private marks--my
grandfather's private marks!"

"Well, just so--and you can imagine what our people are inclined to say
about it," said the detective. "They say now that the two rings which
Lauriston claims never were his nor his mother's, but that he stole them
out of your grandfather's tray. They're fixed on that, now."

"What will they do?" asked Zillah, anxiously. "Is he in danger?"

Ayscough gave her a knowing look.

"Between you and me," he said, lowering his voice to a whisper, "I came
around here privately--on my own hook, you know. I should be sorry if this
really is fixed on the young fellow--there's a mystery, but it may be
cleared up. Now, he's gone off to find somebody who can prove that those
rings really were his mother's. You, no doubt, know where he's gone?"

"Yes--but I'm not going to tell," said Zillah firmly. "Don't ask me!"

"Quite right--I don't want to know myself," answered Ayscough. "And you'll
probably have an idea when he's coming back? All right--take a tip from
me. Keep him out of the way a bit--stop him from coming into this
district. Let him know all about those marks--and if he can clear that up,
well and good. You understand?--and of course, all this is between you and
me."

"You're very good, Mr. Ayscough," replied Zillah, warmly. "I won't forget
your kindness. And I'm certain this about the marks can be cleared up--but
I don't know how!"

"Well--do as I say," said the detective. "Just give the tip to your cousin
Melky, and to that young Scotch gentleman--let 'em keep Lauriston out of
the way for a few days. In the meantime--this is a very queer case!--
something may happen that'll fix the guilt on somebody else--conclusively.
I've my own ideas and opinions--but we shall see. Maybe we shall see a
lot--and everybody'll be more astonished than they're thinking for."

With this dark and sinister hint, Ayscough went away, and Zillah took the
rings back to the shop, and locked them up again. And then she sat down to
wait for Mrs. Goldmark--and to think. She had never doubted Lauriston's
story for one moment, and she did not doubt it now. But she was quick to
see the serious significance of what the detective had just told her and
she realized that action must be taken on the lines he had suggested. And
so, having made herself ready for going out, she excused herself to Mrs.
Goldmark when that good lady returned, and without saying anything to her
as to the nature of her errand, hurried round to Star Street, to find
Melky Rubinstein and tell him of the new development.

Mrs. Flitwick herself opened the door to Zillah and led her into the
narrow passage. But at the mention of Melky she shook her head.

"I ain't set eyes on Mr. Rubinstein not since this morning, miss," said
she. "He went out with that young Scotch gentleman what come here
yesterday asking for Mr. Lauriston, and he's never been in again--not even
to put his nose inside the door. And at twelve o'clock there come a
telegram for him--which it was the second that come this morning. The
first, of course, he got before he went out; the one that come at noon's
awaiting him. No--I ain't seen him all day!"

Zillah's quick wits were instantly at work as soon as she heard of the
telegram.

"Oh, I know all about that wire, Mrs. Flitwick!" she exclaimed. "It's as
much for me as for my cousin. Give it to me--and if Mr. Rubinstein comes
in soon--or when he comes--tell him I've got it, and ask him to come round
to me immediately--it's important."

Mrs. Flitwick produced the telegram at once, and Zillah, repeating her
commands about Melky, hurried away with it. But at the first street lamp
she paused, and tore open the envelope, and pulled out the message. As she
supposed, it was from Lauriston, and had been handed in at Peebles at
eleven o'clock that morning.

"Got necessary information returning at once meet me at King's Cross at
nine-twenty this evening. L."

Zillah looked at her watch. It was then ten minutes to nine. There was
just half an hour before Lauriston's train was due. Without a moment's
hesitation, she turned back along Star Street, hurried into Edgware Road
and hailing the first taxi-cab she saw, bade its driver to get to the
Great Northern as fast as possible. Whatever else happened, Lauriston must
be met and warned.

The taxi-cab made good headway along the Marylebone and Euston Roads, and
the hands of the clock over the entrance to King's Cross had not yet
indicated a quarter past nine when Zillah was set down close by. She
hurried into the station, and to the arrival platform. All the way along
in the cab she had been wondering what to do when she met Lauriston--not
as to what she should tell him, for that was already settled, but as to
what to advise him to do about following Ayscough's suggestion and keeping
out of the way, for awhile. She had already seen enough of him to know
that he was naturally of high spirit and courage, and that he would hate
the very idea of hiding, or of seeming to run away. Yet, what other course
was open if he wished to avoid arrest? Zillah, during her short business
experience had been brought in contact with the police authorities and
their methods more than once, and she knew that there is nothing the
professional detective likes so much as to follow the obvious--as the
easiest and safest. She had been quick to appreciate all that Ayscough
told her--she knew how the police mind would reason about it: it would be
quite enough for it to know that on the rings which Andy Lauriston said
were his there were marks which were certainly identical with those on her
grandfather's property: now that the police authorities were in possession
of that fact, they would go for Lauriston without demur or hesitation,
leaving all the other mysteries and ramifications of the Multenius affair
to be sorted, or to sort themselves, at leisure. One thing was certain--
Andie Lauriston was in greater danger now than at any moment since
Ayscough found him leaving the shop, and she must save him--against his
own inclinations if need be.

But before the train from the North was due, Zillah was fated to have yet
another experience. She had taken up a position directly beneath a
powerful lamp at the end of the arrival platform, so that Lauriston, who
would be obliged to pass that way, could not fail to see her. Suddenly
turning, to glance at the clock in the roof behind her, she was aware of a
man, young, tall, athletic, deeply bronzed, as from long contact with the
Southern sun, who stood just behind a knot of loungers, his heavy overcoat
and the jacket beneath it thrown open, feeling in his waistcoat pockets as
if for his match-box--an unlighted cigar protruded from the corner of his
rather grim, determined lips. But it was not at lips, nor at the cigar,
nor at the searching fingers that Zillah looked, after that first
comprehensive glance--her eyes went straight to an object which shone in
the full glare of the lamp above her head. The man wore an old-fashioned,
double-breasted fancy waistcoat, but so low as to reveal a good deal of
his shirt-front. And in that space, beneath his bird's-eye blue tie,
loosely knotted in a bow, Zillah saw a stud, which her experienced eyes
knew to be of platinum, and on it was engraved the same curious device
which she had seen once before that day--on the solitaire exhibited by
Melky.

The girl was instantly certain that here was the man who had visited Mrs.
Goldmark's eating-house. Her first instinct was to challenge him with the
fact--but as she half moved towards him, he found his match-box, struck a
match, and began to light his cigar. And just then came the great engine
of the express, panting its way to a halt beside them, and with it the
folk on the platform began to stir, and Zillah was elbowed aside. Her
situation was perplexing--was she to watch the man and perhaps lose
Lauriston in the crowd already passing from the train, or--

The man was still leisurely busy with his cigar, and Zillah turned and
went a few steps up the platform. She suddenly caught sight of Lauriston,
and running towards him gripped his arm, and drew him to the lamp. But in
that moment of indecision, the man had vanished.



CHAPTER EIGHTEEN


MR. STUYVESANT GUYLER

Lauriston, surprised beyond a little at seeing Zillah, found his surprise
turned into amazement as she seized his arm and forced him along the
platform, careless of the groups of passengers and the porters, crowding
about the baggage vans.

"What is it?" he demanded. "Has something happened? Where are we going?"

But Zillah held on determinedly, her eyes fixed ahead.

"Quick!" she said, pantingly. "A man I saw just now! He was there--he's
gone--while I looked for you. We must find him! He must have gone this
way. Andie!--look for him! A tall, clean-shaven man in a slouched hat and
a heavy travelling coat--a foreigner of some sort. Oh, look!"

It was the first time she had called Lauriston by his name, and he gave
her arm an involuntary pressure as they hastened along.

"But why?" he asked. "Who is he--what do you want with him? What's it all
about?"

"Oh, find him!" she exclaimed. "You don't know how important it is! If I
lose sight of him now, I'll very likely never see him again. And he must
be found--and stopped--for your sake!"

They had come to the end of the platform, by that time, and Lauriston
looked left and right in search of the man described. Suddenly he twisted
Zillah round.

"Is that he--that fellow talking to another man?" he asked. "See him--
there?"

"Yes!" said Zillah. She saw the man of the platinum stud again, and on
seeing him, stopped dead where she was, holding Lauriston back. The man,
leisurely smoking his cigar, was chatting to another man, who, from the
fact that he was carrying a small suit-case in one hand and a rug over the
other arm, had evidently come in by the just-arrived express. "Yes!" she
continued. "That's the man! And--we've just got to follow him wherever he
goes!"

"What on earth for?" asked Lauriston. "What mystery's this? Who is he?"

At that moment the two men parted, with a cordial handshake; the man of
the suit-case and the rug turned towards the stairs which led to the
underground railway; the other man walked slowly away through the front of
the station in the direction of the Great Northern Hotel. And Zillah
immediately dragged Lauriston after him, keeping a few yards' distance,
but going persistently forward. The man in front crossed the road, and
strode towards the portico of the hotel--and Zillah suddenly made up her
mind.

"We've got to speak to that man!" she said. "Don't ask why, now--you'll
know in a few minutes. Ask him if he'll speak to me?"

Lauriston caught up the stranger as he set foot on the steps leading to
the hotel door. He felt uncomfortable and foolish--but Zillah's tone left
him no option but to obey.

"I beg your pardon," said Lauriston, as politely as possible, "but--this
lady is very anxious to speak to you."

The man turned, glanced at Zillah, who had hurried up, and lifted his
slouched hat with a touch of old-fashioned courtesy. There was a strong
light burning just above them: in its glare all three looked at each
other. The stranger smiled--a little wonderingly.

"Why, sure!" he said in accents that left no doubt of his American origin.
"I'd be most happy. You're not mistaking me for somebody else?"

Zillah was already flushed with embarrassment. Now that she had run her
quarry to earth, and so easily, she scarcely knew what to do with it.

"You'll think this very strange," she said, stammeringly, "but if you
don't mind telling me something?--you see, I saw you just now in the
station, when you were feeling for your match-box, and I noticed that you
wore a platinum stud--with an unusual device on it."

The American laughed--a good-natured, genial laugh--and threw open his
coat. At the same moment he thrust his wrists forward.

"This stud!" he said. "That's so!--it is platinum, and the device is
curious. And the device is right there, too, see--on those solitaire cuff-
studs! But--"

He paused looking at Zillah, whose eyes were now fastened on the cuff-
studs, and who was obviously so astonished as to have lost her tongue.

"You seemed mighty amazed at my studs!" said the stranger, with another
laugh. "Now, you'll just excuse me if I ask--why?"

Zillah regained her wits with an effort, and became as business-like as
usual.

"Don't, please, think I'm asking idle and purposeless questions," she
said. "Have you been long in London?"

"A few days only," answered the stranger, readily enough.

"Have you read of what's already called the Praed Street Murder in the
papers?" continued Zillah.

"Yes--I read that," the stranger said, his face growing serious. "The
affair of the old man--the pawnbroker with the odd name. Yes!"

"I'm the old man's granddaughter," said Zillah, brusquely. "Now, I'll tell
you why I was upset by seeing your platinum stud. A solitaire stud, made
of platinum, and ornamented with exactly the same device as yours, was
found in our parlour after my grandfather's death--and another, evidently
the fellow to it, was found in an eating-house, close by. Now, do you
understand why I wished to speak to you?"

While Zillah spoke, the American's face had been growing graver and
graver, and when she made an end, he glanced at Lauriston and shook his
head.

"Say!" he said. "That's a very serious matter! You're sure the device was
the same, and the material platinum?"

"I've been reared in the jewellery trade," replied Zillah. "The things I'm
talking of are of platinum--and the device is precisely the same as that
on your stud."

"Well!--that's mighty queer!" remarked the American. "I can't tell you why
it's queer, all in a minute, but I do assure you it's just about the
queerest thing I ever heard of in my life--and I've known a lot of
queerness. Look here!--I'm stopping at this hotel--will you come in with
me, and we'll just get a quiet corner and talk some? Come right in, then."

He led the way into the hotel, through the hall, and down a corridor from
which several reception rooms opened. Looking into one, a small smoking
lounge, and finding it empty, he ushered them aside. But on the threshold
Zillah paused. Her business instincts were by this time fully aroused. She
felt certain that whoever this stranger might he, he had nothing to do
with the affair in Praed Street, and yet might be able to throw
extraordinary light on it, and she wanted to take a great step towards
clearing it up. She turned to the American.

"Look here!" she said. "I've told you what I'm after, and who I am. This
gentleman is Mr. Andrew Lauriston. Did you read his name in the paper's
account of that inquest?"

The American glanced at Lauriston with some curiosity.

"Sure!" he answered. "The man that found the old gentleman dead."

"Just so," said Zillah. "There are two friends of ours making enquiries on
Mr. Lauriston's behalf at this moment. One of them's my cousin, Mr.
Rubinstein; the other's Mr. Purdie, an old friend of Mr. Lauriston's. I've
an idea where'll they'll be, just now--do you mind if I telephone them to
come here, at once, so that they can hear what you have to tell us?"

"Not in the least!" assented the American heartily. "I'll be glad to help
in any way I can--I'm interested. Here!--there's a telephone box right
there--you go in now, and call those fellows up and tell 'em to come right
along, quick!"

He and Lauriston waited while Zillah went into the telephone box: she felt
sure that Melky and Purdie would have returned to Praed Street by that
time, and she rang up Mrs. Goldmark at the Pawnshop to enquire. Within a
minute or two she had rejoined Lauriston and the American--during her
absence the stranger had been speaking to a waiter, and he now led his two
guests to a private sitting-room.

"We'll be more private in this apartment," he observed. "No fear of
interruption or being overheard. I've told the waiter man there's two
gentlemen coming along, and they're to be brought in here as soon as they
land. Will they be long?"

"They'll be here within twenty minutes," answered Zillah. "It's very kind
of you to take so much trouble!"

The American drew an easy chair to the fire, and pointed Zillah to it.

"Well," he remarked, "I guess that in a fix of this sort, you can't take
too much trouble! I'm interested in this case--and a good deal more than
interested now that you tell me about these platinum studs. I reckon I can
throw some light on that, anyway! But we'll keep it till your friends
come. And I haven't introduced myself--my name's Stuyvesant Guyler. I'm a
New York man--but I've knocked around some--pretty considerable, in fact.
Say!--have you got any idea that this mystery of yours is at all connected
with South Africa? And--incidentally--with diamonds?"

Zillah started and glanced at Lauriston.

"What makes you think of South Africa--and of diamonds?" she asked.

"Oh, well--but that comes into my tale," answered Guyler. "You'll see in
due course. But--had it?"

"I hadn't thought of diamonds, but I certainly had of South Africa,"
admitted Zillah.

"Seems to be working in both directions," said Guyler, meditatively. "But
you'll see that when I tell you what I know."

Purdie and Melky Rubinstein entered the room within the twenty minutes
which Zillah had predicted--full of wonder to find her and Lauriston in
company with a total stranger. But Zillah explained matters in a few
words, and forbade any questioning until Mr. Stuyvesant Guyler had told
his story.

"And before I get on to that," said Guyler, who had been quietly
scrutinizing his two new visitors while Zillah explained the situation,
"I'd just like to see that platinum solitaire that Mr. Rubinstein picked
up--if he's got it about him?"

Melky thrust a hand into a pocket.

"It ain't never been off me, mister, since I found it!" he said, producing
a little packet wrapped in tissue paper. "There you are!"

Guyler took the stud which Melky handed to him and laid it on the table
around which they were all sitting. After glancing at it for a moment, he
withdrew the studs from his own wrist-bands and laid them by its side.

"Yes, that's sure one of the lot!" he observed musingly. "I guess there's
no possible doubt at all on that point. Well!--this is indeed mighty
queer! Now, I'll tell you straight out. These studs--all of 'em--are parts
of six sets of similar things, all made of that very expensive metal,
platinum, in precisely the same fashion, and ornamented with the same
specially invented device, and given to six men who had been of assistance
to him in a big deal, as a little mark of his appreciation, by a man that
some few years ago made a fortune in South Africa. That's so!"

Zillah turned on the American with a sharp look of enquiry.

"Who was he?" she demanded. "Tell us his name!"

"His name," replied Guyler, "was Spencer Levendale--dealer in diamonds."



CHAPTER NINETEEN


PURDIE STANDS FIRM

The effect produced by this announcement was evidently exactly that which
the American expected, and he smiled, a little grimly, as he looked from
one face to another. As for his hearers, they first looked at each other
and then at him, and Guyler laughed and went on.

"That makes you jump!" he said. "Well, now, at the end of that inquest
business in the papers the other day I noticed Spencer Levendale's name
mentioned in connection with some old book that was left, or found in Mr.
Daniel Multenius's back-parlour. Of course, I concluded that he was the
same Spencer Levendale I'd known out there in South Africa, five years
ago. And to tell you the truth, I've been watching your papers, morning
and evening, since, to see if there was any more news of him. But so far I
haven't seen any."

Purdie and Melky exchanged glances, and in response to an obvious hint
from Melky, Purdie spoke.

"We can give you some news, then," he said. "It'll be common property
tomorrow morning. Levendale has mysteriously disappeared from his house,
and from his usual haunts!--and nobody knows where he is. And it's
considered that this disappearance has something to do with the Praed
Street affair."

"Sure!" assented Guyler. "That's just about a dead certainty. And in the
Praed Street affair, these platinum stud things are going to play a good
part, and when you and your police have got to the bottom of it, you'll
sure find that something else has a big part, too!"

"What?" asked Purdie.

"Why, diamonds!" answered the American, with a quiet smile. "Just
diamonds! Diamonds'll be at the bottom of the bag--sure!"

There was a moment of surprised silence, and then Melky turned eagerly to
the American.

"Mister!" he said. "Let's be getting at something! What do you know, now,
about this here Levendale?"

"Not much," replied Guyler. "But I'm open to tell what I do know. I've
been a bit of a rolling stone, do you see--knocked about the world, pretty
considerable, doing one thing and another, and I've falsified the old
saying, for I've contrived to gather a good bit of moss in my rollings.
Well, now, I was located in Cape Town for a while, some five years ago,
and I met Spencer Levendale there. He was then a dealer in diamonds--can't
say in what way exactly--for I never exactly knew--but it was well known
that he'd made a big pile, buying and selling these goods, and he was a
very rich man. Now I and five other men--all of different nationalities--
were very useful to Levendale in a big deal that he was anxious to carry
through--never mind what it was--and he felt pretty grateful to us, I
reckon. And as we were all warmish men so far as money was concerned, it
wasn't the sort of thing that he could hand out cheques for, so he hit on
the notion of having sets of studs made of platinum--which is, as you're
aware, the most valuable metal known, and on every stud he had a device of
his own invention carefully engraved. Here's my set!--and what Mr.
Rubinstein's got there is part of another. Now, then, who's the man who's
been dropping his cuff-links about?"

Purdie, who had listened with deep attention to the American's statement,
immediately put a question.

"That's but answered by asking you something," he said. "You no doubt know
the names of the men to whom those sets of studs were given?"

But to Purdie's disappointment, the American shook his head.

"Well, now, I just don't!" he replied. "The fact is--as you would
understand if you knew the circumstances--this was a queer sort of a
secret deal, in which the assistance of various men of different
nationality was wanted, and none of us knew any of the rest. However, I
did come across the Englishman who was in it--afterwards. Recognized him,
as a matter of fact, by his being in possession of those studs."

"And who was he?" asked Purdie.

"A man named Purvis--Stephen Purvis," answered Guyler. "Sort of man like
myself--knocked around, taking up this and that, as long as there was
money in it. I came across him in Johannesburg, maybe a year after that
deal I was telling of. He didn't know who the other fellows were,
neither."

"You've never seen him since?" suggested Purdie. "You don't know where he
is?"

"Not a ghost of a notion!" said Guyler. "Didn't talk with him more than
once, and then only for an hour or so."

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