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The Orange Yellow Diamond

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"Mister!" exclaimed Melky, eagerly. "Could you describe this here Purvis,
now? Just a bit of a description, like?"

"Sure!" answered the American. "That is--as I remember him. Biggish, raw-
boned, hard-bitten sort of a man--about my age--clean-shaven--looked more
of a Colonial than an Englishman--he'd been out in South Africa, doing one
thing and another, since he was a boy."

"S'elp me if that doesn't sound like the man who was in Mrs. Goldmark's
restaurant!" said Melky. "Just what she describes, anyhow!"

"Why, certainly--I reckon that is the man," remarked Guyler. "That's what
I've been figuring on, all through. I tell you all this mystery is around
some diamond affair in which this lady's grandfather, and Mr. Spencer
Levendale, and this man Purvis have been mixed up--sure! And the thing--in
my humble opinion--is to find both of them! Now, then, what's been done,
and what's being done, in that way?"

Melky nodded at Purdie, as much as to invite him to speak.

"The authorities at New Scotland Yard have the Levendale affair in hand,"
said Purdie. "We've been in and out there, with Mr. Multenius's solicitor,
all the afternoon and evening. But, of course, we couldn't tell anything
about this other man because we didn't know anything, till now. You'll
have no objection to going there tomorrow?"

"Not at all!" replied Guyler, cheerfully. "I'm located at this hotel for a
week or two. I struck it when I came here from the North, a few days back,
and it suits me very well, and I guess I'll just stop here while I'm in
London this journey. No, I've no objection to take a hand. But--it seems
to me--there's still a lot of difficulty about this young gentleman here--
Mr. Lauriston. I read all the papers carefully, and sized up his
predicament. Those rings, now?"

Zillah suddenly remembered all that Ayscough had told her that evening.
She had forgotten the real motive of her visit to King's Cross in her
excitement in listening to the American's story. She now turned to Purdie
and the other two.

"I'd forgotten!" she exclaimed. "The danger's still there. Ayscough's been
at the shop tonight. The police have had an expert examining those rings,
and the rings in the tray. He says there are marks--private, jewellers'
marks in the two rings which correspond with marks in our rings. In fact,
there's no doubt of it. And now, the police are certain that the two rings
did belong to our tray--and--and they're bent on arresting--Andie!"

Lauriston flushed hotly with sheer indignation.

"That's all nonsense--what the police say!" he exclaimed. "I've found out
who gave those two rings to my mother! I can prove it! I don't care a hang
for the police and their marks--those rings are mine!"

Purdie laid a quiet hand on Lauriston's arm.

"None of us know yet what you've done or found out at Peebles about the
rings," he said. "Tell us! Just give us the brief facts."

"I'm going to," answered Lauriston, still indignant. "I thought the whole
thing over as I went down in the train. I remembered that if there was one
person living in Peebles who would be likely to know about my mother and
those rings, it would be an old friend of hers, Mrs. Taggart--you know
her, John."

"I know Mrs. Taggart--go on," said Purdie.

"I didn't know if Mrs. Taggart was still living," continued Lauriston.
"But I was out early this morning and I found her. She remembers the rings
well enough: she described them accurately--what's more she told me what I
didn't know--how they came into my mother's possession. You know as well
as I do, John, that my father and mother weren't over well off--and my
mother used to make a bit of extra money by letting her rooms to summer
visitors. One summer she had a London solicitor, a Mr. Killick, staying
there for a month--at least he came for a month, but he was taken ill, and
he was there more than two months. My mother nursed him through his
illness--and after he'd returned to London, he sent her those rings. And--
if there are marks on them," concluded Lauriston, "that correspond with
marks on the rings in that tray, all I have to say is that those marks
must have been there when Mr. Killick bought them!--for they've never been
out of our possession--my mother's and mine--until I took them to pawn."

Zillah suddenly clapped her hands--and she and Melky exchanged significant
glances which the others did not understand.

"That's it!" she exclaimed. "That's what puzzled me at first. Now I'm not
puzzled any more. Melky knows what I mean."

"What she means, mister," assented Melky, tapping Purdie's arm, "is
precisely what struck me at once. It's just as Mr. Lauriston here says--
them private marks were on the rings when Mr. Killick bought them. Them
two rings, and some of the rings in the tray what's been mentioned all
come from the same maker! There ain't nothing wonderful in all that to me
and my cousin Zillah there!--we've been brought up in the trade, d'ye see?
But the police!--they're that suspicious that--well, the thing to do,
gentlemen, is to find this here Mr. Killick."

"Just so," agreed Purdie. "Where is he to be found, Andie?"

But Lauriston shook his head, disappointedly.

"That's just what I don't know!" he answered. "It's five and twenty years
since he gave my mother those rings, and according to Mrs. Taggart, he was
then a middle-aged man, so he's now getting on in years. But--if he's
alive, I can find him."

"We've got to find him," said Purdie, firmly. "In my opinion, he can give
some evidence that'll be of more importance than the mere identifying of
those rings--never mind what it is I'm thinking of, now. We must see to
that tomorrow."

"But in the meantime," broke in Zillah. "Andie must not go home--to Mrs.
Flitwick's! I know what Ayscough meant tonight--and remember, all of you,
it was private between him and myself. If he goes home, he may be
arrested, any minute. He must be kept out of the way of the police for a
bit, and--"

Purdie rose from the table and shook his head determinedly.

"No," he said. "None of that! We're going to have no running away, no
hiding! Andie Lauriston's not going to show the least fear of the police,
or of any of their theories. He's just going to follow my orders--and I'm
going to take him to my hotel for the night--leave him to me! I'm going to
see this thing right through to the finish--however it ends. Now, let's
separate. Mr. Guyler!"

"Sir?" answered the American. "At your service."

"Then meet me at my hotel tomorrow morning at ten," said Purdie. "There's
a new chapter to open."



CHAPTER TWENTY


THE PARSLETT AFFAIR

At a quarter past ten o'clock on the morning following Ayscough's
revelation to Zillah, the detective was closeted with a man from the
Criminal Investigation Department at New Scotland Yard in a private room
at the local police station, and with them was the superior official who
had been fetched to the pawnshop in Praed Street immediately after the
discovery of Daniel Multenius's body by Andie Lauriston. And this official
was stating his view of the case to the two detectives--conscious that
neither agreed with him.

"You can't get over the similarity of the markings of those rings!" he
said confidently. "To my mind the whole thing's as plain as a pikestaff--
the young fellow was hard up--he confessed he hadn't a penny on him!--he
went in there, found the shop empty, saw those rings, grabbed a couple,
was interrupted by the old man--and finished him off by scragging him!
That's my opinion! And I advise getting a warrant for him and getting on
with the work--all the rest of this business belongs to something else."

Ayscough silently glanced at the man from New Scotland Yard--who shook his
head in a decided negative.

"That's not my opinion!" he said with decision. "And it's not the opinion
of the people at headquarters. We were at this affair nearly all
yesterday afternoon with that little Jew fellow, Rubinstein, and the young
Scotch gentleman, Mr. Purdie, and our conclusion is that there's something
of a big sort behind old Multenius's death. There's a regular web of
mystery! The old man's death--that book, which Levendale did not leave in
the 'bus, in spite of all he says, and of his advertisements!--Levendale's
unexplained disappearance--the strange death of this man Parslett--the
mystery of those platinum studs dropped in the pawnbroker's parlour and in
Mrs. Goldmark's eating house--no!--the whole affair's a highly complicated
one. That's my view of it."

"And mine," said Ayscough. He looked at the unbelieving official, and
turned away from him to glance out of the window into the street. "May I
never!" he suddenly exclaimed. "There's young Lauriston coming here, and
Purdie with him--and a fellow who looks like an American. I should say
Lauriston's got proof about his title to those rings--anyway, he seems to
have no fear about showing himself here--case of walking straight into the
lions' den, eh?"

"Bring 'em all in!" ordered the superior official, a little surlily.
"Let's hear what it's all about!"

Purdie presently appeared in Ayscough's rear, preceding his two
companions. He and the detective from New Scotland Yard exchanged nods;
they had seen a good deal of each other the previous day. He nodded also
to the superior official--but the superior official looked at Lauriston.

"Got that proof about those rings?" he enquired. "Of course, if you
have--"

"Before Mr. Lauriston says anything about that," interrupted Purdie, "I
want you to hear a story which this gentleman, Mr. Stuyvesant Guyler, of
New York, can tell you. It's important--it bears right on this affair. If
you just listen to what he can tell--"

The two detectives listened to Guyler's story about the platinum studs
with eager, if silent interest: in the end they glanced at each other and
then at the local official, who seemed to be going through a process of
being convinced against his will.

"Just what I said a few minutes ago," muttered the New Scotland Yard man.
"A highly complicated affair! Not going to be got at in five minutes."

"Nor in ten!" said Ayscough laconically. He glanced at Guyler. "You could
identify this man Purvis if you saw him?" he asked.

"Why, certainly!" answered the American. "I guess if he's the man who was
seen in that eating-house the other day he's not altered any--or not
much."

The man at the desk turned to Purdie, glancing at Lauriston.

"About those rings?" he asked. "What's Mr. Lauriston got to say?"

"Let me tell," said Purdie, as Lauriston was about to speak. "Mr.
Lauriston," he went on, "has been to Peebles, where his father and mother
lived. He has seen an old friend of theirs, Mrs. Taggart, who remembers
the rings perfectly. Moreover, she knows that they were given to the late
Mrs. Lauriston by a Mr. Edward Killick, a London solicitor, who, of
course, will be able to identify them. As to the marks, I think you'll
find a trade explanation of that--those rings and the rings in Multenius's
tray probably came from the same maker. Now, I find, on looking through
the directory, that this Mr. Edward Killick has retired from practice, but
I've also found out where he now lives, and I propose to bring him here.
In the meantime--I want to know what you're going to do about Mr.
Lauriston? Here he is!"

The superior official glanced at the New Scotland Yard man.

"I suppose your people have taken this job entirely in hand, now?" he
asked.

"Entirely!" answered the detective.

"Got any instructions about Mr. Lauriston?" asked the official. "You
haven't? Mr. Lauriston's free to go where he likes, then, as far as we're
concerned, here," he added, turning to Purdie. "But--he'd far better stay
at hand till all this is cleared up."

"That's our intention," said Purdie. "Whenever you want Mr. Lauriston,
come to me at my hotel--he's my guest there, and I'll produce him. Now
we're going to find Mr. Killick."

He and Lauriston and Guyler walked out together; on the steps of the
police-station Ayscough called him back.

"I say!" he said, confidentially. "Leave that Mr. Killick business alone
for an hour or two. I can tell you of something much more interesting than
that, and possibly of more importance. Go round to the Coroner's Court--
Mr. Lauriston knows where it is."

"What's on?" asked Lauriston.

"Inquest on that man Parslett," replied Ayscough with a meaning nod.
"You'll hear some queer evidence if I'm not mistaken. I'm going there
myself, presently."

He turned in again, and the three young men looked at each other.

"Say!" remarked Guyler, "I reckon that's good advice. Let's go to this
court."

Lauriston led them to the scene of his own recent examination by Mr.
Parminter. But on this occasion the court was crowded; it was with great
difficulty that they contrived to squeeze themselves into a corner of it.
In another corner, but far away from their own, Lauriston saw Melky
Rubinstein; Melky, wedged in, and finding it impossible to move, made a
grimace at Lauriston and jerked his thumb in the direction of the door, as
a signal that he would meet him there when the proceedings were over.

The inquest had already begun when Purdie and his companions forced their
way into the court. In the witness-box was the dead man's widow--a
pathetic figure in heavy mourning, who was telling the Coroner that on the
night of her husband's death he went out late in the evening--just to take
a walk round, as he expressed it. No--she had no idea whatever of where he
was going, nor if he had any particular object in going out at all. He had
not said one word to her about going out to get money from any one. After
he went out she never saw him again until she was fetched to St. Mary's
Hospital, where she found him in the hands of the doctors. He died,
without having regained consciousness, just after she reached the
hospital.

Nothing very startling so far, thought Purdie, at the end of the widow's
evidence, and he wondered why Ayscough had sent them round. But more
interest came with the next witness--a smart, bustling, middle-aged man,
evidently a well-to-do business man, who entered the box pretty much as if
he had been sitting down in his own office, to ring his bell and ask for
the day's letters. A whisper running round the court informed the
onlookers that this was the gentleman who picked Parslett up in the
street. Purdie and his two companions pricked their ears.

Martin James Gardiner--turf commission agent--resident in Portsdown Road,
Maida Vale. Had lived there several years--knew the district well--did not
know the dead man by sight at all--had never seen him, that he knew of,
until the evening in question.

"Tell us exactly what happened, Mr. Gardiner--in your own way," said the
Coroner.

Mr. Gardiner leaned over the front of the witness-box, and took the court
and the public into his confidence--genially.

"I was writing letters until pretty late that night," he said. "A little
after eleven o'clock I went out to post them at the nearest pillar-box. As
I went down the steps of my house, the deceased passed by. He was walking
down Portsdown Road in the direction of Clifton Road. As he passed me, he
was chuckling--laughing in a low tone. I thought he was--well, a bit
intoxicated when I heard that, but as I was following him pretty closely,
I soon saw that he walked straight enough. He kept perhaps six or eight
yards in front of me until we had come to within twenty yards or so of the
corner of Clifton Road. Then, all of a sudden--so suddenly that it's
difficult for me to describe it!--he seemed to--well, there's no other
word for it than--collapse. He seemed to give, you understand--shrank up,
like--like a concertina being suddenly shut up! His knees gave--his whole
body seemed to shrink--and he fell in a heap on the pavement!"

"Did he cry out--scream, as if in sudden pain--anything of that sort?"
asked the Coroner.

"There was a sort of gurgling sound--I'm not sure that he didn't say a
word or two, as he collapsed," answered the witness. "But it was so sudden
that I couldn't catch anything definite. He certainly never made the
slightest sound, except a queer sort of moaning, very low, from the time
he fell. Of course, I thought the man had fallen in a fit. I rushed to
him; he was lying, sort of crumpled up, where he had fallen. There was a
street-lamp close by--I saw that his face had turned a queer colour, and
his eyes were already closed--tightly. I noticed, too, that his teeth were
clenched, and his fingers twisted into the palms of his hands."

"Was he writhing at all--making any movement?" enquired the Coroner.

"Not a movement! He was as still as the stones he was lying on!" said the
witness. "I'm dead certain he never moved after he fell. There was nobody
about, just then, and I was just going to ring the bell of the nearest
house when a policeman came round the corner. I shouted to him--he came
up. We examined the man for a minute; then I ran to fetch Dr. Mirandolet,
whose surgery is close by there. I found him in; he came at once, and
immediately ordered the man's removal to the hospital. The policeman got
help, and the man was taken off. Dr. Mirandolet went with him. I returned
home."

No questions of any importance were asked of Mr. Gardiner, and the
Coroner, after a short interchange of whispers with his officer, glanced
at a group of professional-looking men behind the witness-box.

"Call Dr. Mirandolet!" he directed.

Purdie at that moment caught Ayscough's eye. And the detective winked at
him significantly as a strange and curious figure came out from the crowd
and stepped into the witness-box.



CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE


WHAT MANNER OF DEATH?

One of the three companions who stood curiously gazing at the new witness
as he came into full view of the court had seen him before. Lauriston,
who, during his residence in Paddington, had wandered a good deal about
Maida Vale and St. John's Wood, instantly recognized Dr. Mirandolet as a
man whom he had often met or passed in those excursions and about whom he
had just as often wondered. He was a notable and somewhat queer figure--a
tall, spare man, of striking presence and distinctive personality--the
sort of man who would inevitably attract attention wherever he was, and at
whom people would turn to look in the most crowded street. His aquiline
features, almost cadaverous complexion, and flashing, deep-set eyes, were
framed in a mass of raven-black hair which fell in masses over a loosely
fitting, unstarched collar, kept in its place by a voluminous black silk
cravat; his thin figure, all the sparer in appearance because of his broad
shoulders and big head, was wrapped from head to foot in a mighty cloak,
raven-black as his hair, from the neck of which depended a hood-like cape.
Not a man in that court would have taken Dr. Mirandolet for anything but a
foreigner, and for a foreigner who knew next to nothing of England and the
English, and John Purdie, whose interest was now thoroughly aroused, was
surprised as he heard the witness's answer to the necessary preliminary
questions.

Nicholas Mirandolet--British subject--born in Malta--educated in England--
a licentiate of the Royal College of Surgeons and of the Royal College of
Physicians--in private practice at Portsdown Road, Maida Vale, for the
last ten years.

"I believe you were called to the deceased by the last witness, Dr.
Mirandolet?" asked the Coroner. "Just so! Will you tell us what you
found?"

"I found the deceased lying on the pavement, about a dozen yards from my
house," answered Dr. Mirandolet, in a sharp, staccato voice. "A policeman
was bending over him. Mr. Gardiner hurriedly told us what he had seen. My
first thought was that the man was in what is commonly termed a fit--some
form of epileptic seizure, you know. I hastily examined him--and found
that my first impression was utterly wrong."

"What did you think--then?" enquired the Coroner.

Dr. Mirandolet paused and began to drum the edge of the witness-box with
the tips of his long, slender white fingers. He pursed his clean-shaven
lips and looked meditatively around him--leisurely surveying the faces
turned on him. Finally he glanced at the Coroner, and snapped out a reply.

"I do not know what I thought!"

The Coroner looked up from his notes--in surprise.

"You--don't know what you thought?" he asked.

"No!" said Dr. Mirandolet. "I don't. And I will tell you why. Because I
realized--more quickly than it takes me to tell it--that here was
something that was utterly beyond my comprehension!"

"Do you mean--beyond your skill?" suggested the Coroner.

"Skill?" retorted the witness, with a queer, twisting grimace. "Beyond my
understanding! I am a quick observer--I saw within a few seconds that here
was a man who had literally been struck down in the very flush of life as
if--well, to put it plainly, as if some extraordinary power had laid a
blasting finger on the very life-centre within him. I was--dumfounded!"

The Coroner sat up and laid aside his pen.

"What did you do?" he asked quietly.

"Bade the policeman get help, and an ambulance, and hurry the man to St.
Mary's Hospital, all as quickly as possible," answered Dr. Mirandolet.
"While the policeman was away, I examined the man more closely. He was
dying then--and I knew very well that nothing known to medical science
could save him. By that time he had become perfectly quiet; his body had
relaxed into a normal position; his face, curiously coloured when I first
saw it, had become placid and pale; he breathed regularly, though very
faintly--and he was steadily dying. I knew quite well what was happening,
and I remarked to Mr. Gardiner that the man would be dead within half-an-
hour."

"I believe you got him to the hospital within that time?" asked the
Coroner.

"Yes--within twenty-five minutes of my first seeing him," said the
witness. "I went with the ambulance. The man died very soon after
admission, just as I knew he would. No medical power on earth could have
saved him!"

The Coroner glanced at the little knot of professional men in the rear of
the witness-box and seemed to be debating within himself as to whether he
wanted to ask Dr. Mirandolet any more questions. Eventually he turned
again to him.

"What your evidence amounts to, Dr. Mirandolet, is this," he said. "You
were called to the man and you saw at once that you yourself could do
nothing for him, so you got him away to the hospital as quickly as you
possibly could. Just so!--now, why did you think you could do nothing for
him?"

"I will tell you--in plain words," answered Dr. Mirandolet. "Because I did
not recognize or understand one single symptom that I saw! Because,
frankly, I knew very well that I did not know what was the matter! And so
--I hurried him to people who ought to know more than I do and are
reputedly cleverer than I am. In short--I recognized that I was in the
presence of something--something!--utterly beyond my skill and
comprehension!"

"Let me ask you one or two further questions," said the Coroner. "Have you
formed any opinion of your own as to the cause of this man's death?"

"Yes!" agreed the witness, unhesitatingly. "I have! I believe him to have
been poisoned--in a most subtle and cunning fashion. And"--here Dr.
Mirandolet cast a side-glance at the knot of men behind him--"I shall be
intensely surprised if that opinion is not corroborated. But--I shall be
ten thousand times more surprised if there is any expert in Europe who can
say what that poison was!"

"You think it was a secret poison?" suggested the Coroner.

"Secret!" exclaimed Dr. Mirandolet. "Aye--secret is the word. Secret--yes!
And--sure!"

"Is there anything else you can tell us?" asked the Coroner.

"Only this," replied the witness, after a pause. "It may be material. As I
bent over this man as he lay there on the pavement I detected a certain
curious aromatic odour about his clothes. It was strong at first; it
gradually wore off. But I directed the attention of the policeman and Mr.
Gardiner to it; it was still hanging about him, very faintly, when we got
him to the hospital: I drew attention to it there."

"It evidently struck you--that curious odour?" said the Coroner.

"Yes," answered Dr. Mirandolet. "It did. It reminded me of the East--I
have lived in the East--India, Burmah, China. It seemed to me that this
man had got hold of some Eastern scent, and possibly spilt some on his
clothes. The matter is worth noting. Because--I have heard--I cannot say I
have known--of men being poisoned in inhalation."

The Coroner made no remark--it was very evident from his manner that he
considered Dr. Mirandolet's evidence somewhat mystifying. And Dr.
Mirandolet stepped down--and in response to the official invitation Dr.
John Sperling-Lawson walked into the vacated witness-box.

"One of the greatest authorities on poisons living," whispered Lauriston
to Purdie, while Dr. Sperling-Lawson was taking the oath and answering the
formal questions. "He's principal pathologist at that hospital they're
talking about, and he constantly figures in cases of this sort. He's
employed by the Home Office too--it was he who gave such important
evidence in that Barnsbury murder case not so long since--don't you
remember it?"

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