JOHN'S DIAMOND PIN.

Otago Witness, Issue 2928, 27 April 1910, Page 89

JOHN'S DIAMOND PIN.

By Mary Cross, author of “A Darfe Deceiver,” ‘‘After All,” ‘‘Under Sentence,” etc.

Although John Lamer has made a fortune during the years he has toiled abroad diamond-digging, he comes back to hia native land the same simple, self-depre-ciating mortal he has ever been, with none of the arrogance and assurance acquired wealth so often begets. No one seeing him arrive at Easton, sun-burnt and shabby, carrying only a battered valise in his ungloved, toil-hardened hand, would deem him other than an impecunious traveller sorely in need of rest and refreshment and that article for toilet we have 3ome to associate with “Good-morn-ing. 1 The only outward sign of wealth is in the diamond he wears as a pin, which sends forth lines of light whenever the sun touches it, and the value whereof runs into thousands. He stands forlornly looking about hfrn, feeling very much a stranger among strangers, and then becomes aware of a radiance equalling, if not excelling, that of his diamond, andi traces it home to a pair of sapphire eyes which are fixed upon hire with a steadfastness that makes hia colour rise. He has once or twice been on the brink of love, but his'native bashfulness has held him back; now he falls over head and ears into that perilous alj/ss, and at first sight, too. He sees the blue eyes shining under “fluffs” of brown hair, ever a red mouth and chin, and for the rest is vaguely conscious* of a slender figure robed with sweet and elegant simplicity. When his eyes meet hers, she does not turn away nor blush, nor seem in tlw* slightest degree embarrassed.' On the contrary, she smiles and nods, comes forward a trifle hesitatingly at first, as hadoes not respond to her salutation, but finally with quite a rapturous little rush. “ Charlie, .you dear old stupid, don’t you know me?” she cries, and the voice seems to John Lamer just the kind of arrow so perfect a “Cupid’s bow” should let by. Before he can prevent her, her arms are about his neck, and) be is half smothered n lace and a delicious odour of violets. He is conscious of that, and of a bitter regret that he is not the dear old stupid referred to, and of a wild) jealousy of that happy man, before he gasps, hot to the very root of his hair: “I—l beg your pardon, but there’s soma mistake. My name is John Lamer—er—i er ’ ’ The young lady draws back with a faint shriek, and looks at him more fixedly: “Oh!” she says, and it seems ail she can say fox a r oment. Her confusion is distressing to Mr Lamer, and he is groping after words to assure her that! bo rather likes it, when, she finds her voice :|. “I am very sorry—please excuse me. Oh,' dear, how dreadful-” A.nd with one hand ! lifted to her flushed cheek vanishes in an evident agony of embarrassment. Lamer stands staring after her until she has quite disappeared,- then begins ta, call himself an ass for allowing her to , go, for Hot finding out who she is, and he pushes his way through the crowd ■ with a sudden energetic resolve to find ■ her that proves entirely futile. “ The . gates of heaven are closed!, and she is gone,” and with a sigh he gives up the pursuit. , He has engaged chambers through a fel-low-traveller until he shall have decided where to make his home, for he is quite , alone in the world, and is not attached to any . particular place therein. He plods _ wearily to Doulton square, forgetting hansom or four-wheeler, so absorbed is he. ire the memory of those eyes and low, sweet tones. It is only when lie is refresh.-: 5

jior himself with a wash iu his new room fhat he discovers that his diamond pin is missing He looks all over the room, pulls his tie almost into shreds, searches even his pockets before he can believe that this really is the case. Then he rings up his landlady and informs her of his loss. She is positive that he did not wear the pin when he came in, although she glances vaguely over the florid carpet and toilet Stands as if expecting to see the jewel shining somewhere. She tells him that London is a den of thieves, that he has very likely been robbed at the station, and that he should communicate with tho police at once—on which suggestion he acts with as little delay as is possible, though he is far from understanding how his pin can have been taken literally from under his nose without his knowledge. Still, as it could not possibly slip out. he perforce believes in the supernatural cleverness of the London thief.

The authorities hear his excited statement without responsive wonder —without an overwhelming sympathy, and ask him a series of questions in a stolid, all-in-the-day’s work style he finds irritating. Is he'sure he had the pin when he alighted at Euston? He is quite sure; he distinctly remembers feeling it just as he got out of the compartment, because he had fallen asleep during the journey, and wished to assure himself that it was safe. Was he hustled in the station or on the streets? Did anyone push against him? Was there no incident to rouse his suspicions? At these questions Mr Earner Hushes. Someone certainly did “ hustle ” siim, but it is like sacrilege to connect Iher with the loss of his diamond, and he 'has no intention of confiding the incident to, the astute person who questions him. (Nevertheless, he somehow does—“the one as a skilful dentist, the other a tender tooth,” and he is soon out. __ A faintly disdainful smile creeps over the inspector’s face. “ Of course, it was the young woman, sir,” he says, compassionating Mr Earner’s verdant softness. “Bless you, that s a very old trick. She has got it safe enough. Can you help us to a description of her?” “ I certainly will not,” says Earner hotly. “T will not expose young lady to suspicion and annoyance !” He is in a fine temper when he goes away, and the official looks after him with a smile.

He has taken the disease _/ery badly, i and it keeps him awake all night. Ah ! •why was he stupied enough to allow her j to go? he asks himself again and again. : The loss of the diamond is nothing to the loss of her. He is a haunted man ; everywhere he sees that face, above all sounds he hears that voice, again and again imagines that mistaken caress. Oh! if only ,'t really had been for him; if only she had come to welcome him from his long labours and exile? What was the_ use of all his money now? What happiness could it bring him? He leaves off eating, !he leaves off sleeping; he wanders from places likely to places unlikely in search of that one, fair face, and then, being a desperate man, resolves on a desperate action. He will advertise for her and fling himself and all he has at her feet, and beg her" to choose between him and the nappy man she had come to meet — only let the misery of his present existence 1 ended. He has the following advertisement inserted m several morning papers : “ Mistaken Identity.—Will the lady who believed she recognised ‘ Charlie ’ at Euston, 24th inst., communicate with John Lamer, 15 Doulton square ?” and waits a result on the rack of suspense. . No youth in love’s first fever ever watched the post more eagerly than does stalwart, middle-aged John Lamer ; no girl who has. quarrelled With her lover ever felt a more sickening despair as the well-known step passes hy .without halting. He is sitting one afternoon in melancholy solitude when there is a sharp rap at the door, and in response to his apathetic “ Come in 1” there enters a thin, darkfaced young man, quick, alert, with a newspaper crushed in a long, slender white hand. He takes jha initiative, speaking in brisk but not disagreeable tones, a slight twinkle in either bright, dark eye. “Air John Lamer?” he interrogates, then taps the newspaper, “and the author of this advertisement?” Air John Lamer’s complexion assumes the delicate hue of a ripe tomato as he admits the soft impeachment. “My name is Alaitland,” says the visitor—“ Louis Alaitland. That conveys nothing- interesting to. yon. you will say. ibut I am the brother of the lady alluded to in this advertisement. Will you kindly .tell me why you inserted it?” “Because I am an ass, you might say,” replies John, with his native bluntness ; “it wouldi be difficult for me to explain to you, but I fancy T could to her.” “Some explanation may be due to you in the first place. My sister and I had gone to meet our elder brother, who has just come home from India after a long! absence. She got separated from me in the crush, and believed that she recognised Charles in you; there certainly is a strong resemblance. You can understand that when she found how she had saluted a stranger she was likely to Jose her self-possession .and l not wait to apologise or explain.” “ I hope you won’t s.-< r anv more,” John interrupts. He is inclined to clasp to his bosom the man who declares Charlie” to be only her brother. “It—it was very agreeable and I didn’t in fthe least mind it. In fact, I have ever •since been wishing to meet the young lady again, and that is why I advertised.” “ Not to recover your lost property?” Air Lamer starts and stares. “It is quite true,” he says, rather ■ooldlv, “that on that very day I did lose a valuable diamond pin, but I am far from connecting the loss with the lady. “ And yet she did carry it off,” says Louis Maitland, with a, smile ; she found it entangled in the lace of her bonnet. jVou can guess it was not yeiy easy

tor tier to explain even to me how it came there. We were on the pointy oh advertising the jewel when we saw your advertisement, and I am glad to have the opportuni'J-' of restoring it to you.” He hands i\*> oin, wrapped in tissue paper, to Mr J-iister, who more than ever reioiccs that he has not confided the description ef Miss Maitland, to the sceptics <ii ScrtUaad Yard. ’ I .am very much obliged to you,” he savs, ‘'but I don’t want you to think it hat my advertisement was for the sake of my pin.” . ‘ L fully appreciate your delicacy, Mr Lamer. * Being a gentleman, you naturally wished to spare a lady’s feelings. Of course it was, as I have said, very hard for her to tell her brother that .she had nubhe!v embraced a stranger, to use brutal Saxon: but as 1 know all about it you need not hesitate any longer. My sister will bo just as much pleased to receive her earring as you are to receive your pin.” “ Her earring?” echoes Mr Lamer. ” Yes. On that remarkable occasion she lost an earring, and could only account for it in the way that the presence of your diamond was accounted for. She thought, in fact,” says Mr Maitland, laughing, “ that it must be sticking somewhere in your coat. Fair exchange is no robbery ; but in this case the earring was valued more as the gift of a dead mother than because of any intrinsic value it possessed.” “ I am very sorry,” says Mr Lamer, “ but I have not seen anything of it. I will ask my landlady to search every corner of the house, though. It may have dropped here, if I did carry it off. He rushes to the wardrobe, drags out his overcoat, and searches every inch of it—vainly, of course, since he has been out every day since the event, and the earring is scarcely likely to have taken up a permanent abiding-place in his attire. “ My dear sir, don’t give yourself so much trouble,” says Mr Maitland; “ after all, it is quite passible that the earring may have been lost elsewhere. We just had the hope that it might be in your hands.”

” I wish it had been, with all my heart,” says Larner truthfully. “ I—l should ask you to permit me to restore it to the owner myself. Ever since I saw Miss Maitland I have been wanting to see her again.” Mr Maitland looks at the carpet and out of the window and into his hat. “ I am sure I don’t know what to say,” he declares with fascinating ngenuousness ; “ but—well, there is my card. We are staying at the address on it for a day or two, and if you should happen to hear anything of the earring, and should chance to be out way—why, I at least will be delighted to see you.” And then John is alone with his rapture. The happy pin is transferred to the inner breast-pocket of his coat, and he then goes down on his hands and knees, groping over space for the jewel that has trembled in her dainty ear. Alas! love’s labour is lost; his efforts are in vain.' An appeal to his land lady only elicits a sour and somewhat suspicions reply that he seems to be losing a good deal, and it might be better if he would keep his jewellery under lock and key. From heights of joy he falls to depths of despair. He has pictured himself restoring the treasure to its owner; its discovery would be his open sesame. Now, what excuse has he for calling upon her, except, to tell her that the lost is not found. Well, why not? A poor execuse is better than none,, and he is certainly not going to lose the chance of seeing her after all. There is no time to lose either, since her brother has said they are staying at the hotel, and presumably in ■ London, only for a day or two. He bethinks himself of Scotland Yard, and sends information of the recovery of his property, .with a feeling of relief at being done with persons so evil-minded, so trained to doubt and suspicion that they credit an angel with theft. A brilliant idea strikes him in Oxford street, and he goes into a jeweller’s shop and buys the prettiest pair of earrings he can find. He does not know that he will he guilty of a solecism in offering them at bis divinity’s shine, and that ,a young lady is scarcely likely to accept so* valuable a gift from a person she has only seen once in her life. The purchase makes him happy, and the thought of the presentation happier still. Next dav he sallies forth to the Bedford Hotel"with “ a "rose in his coat.” and some would think with a bee in his bonnet, and bis votive offering clasped in his hand, on which he.has managed to strain a yellow kid glove. Hope and fear alternate in his bosom—hope that she will receive him kindly, hear him natiently, not altogether refuse future meetings ; fear that she will be too shy to see him after the scene at Euston, too angry about the loss of her earring; too proud to have anything to say to a man risen entirely from the ranks, and with nothing in the world to recommend him to her favour. Somehow. however, he feels that the brother is on his side, and this might mean a great deal. His evil star is in the ascendant. A stolid waiter informs him that Miss Maitland and her brother have just gone out, and may not be back until late. Is fate against him? Is he doomed never to see her again? Be goes forlornly into the coffee room, and writes a pathetic note asking her acceptance of the enclosed earrings in place of the one he has been the unfortunate means of her losing, and entrusts the whole to the waiter’s • care, with a feeling that nothing in,the work! very much matters, and that the grave is a calm and restful place, until fancy pictures her in a state of delightful surprise at the present, and bis emotions play see-saw with each other all day long. When he comes dmsrn to breakfast next morning he spies a square envelope beside his matutinal chon, and pounces upon it like the proverbial drowning man and the straw. It is dated from the Bedford,

and is signed by Louis Maitland, who writes a very neat flowing band.

“ Dear Mr Lamer,—Whilst my sister fully appreciates your kind thought of her, she hesitates about .accepting so valuable a (rift from you, yet shrinks from hurting your feelings by returning it. It seems to me that you and she will be able to settle this matter yourselves better than a third person can do. We leave to-day for home—Castle Tranby, Lynn—at which address we shall be glad to see you at the end of the week, if your engagements permit, and if you care for a few quiet days in a quiet country house.” The effect of this letter is to make John Lamer feel a giant refreshed. If his other engagements permit! Why, if he were solemnly bound to' appear at Buckingham Palace he would run the risk of being hanged, drawn, and quartered for high treason to see Miss Maitland again! Castle Tranby! It sounds very grand, perhaps too grand for him. Perhaps she will despise a poor, uncouth fellow like him; yet she would not hurt his feelings by returning his offering. Truly, she is every inch as sweet as she looks. An insane desire to shout “Darling!” at irregular intervals and with varying inflection takes possession of him. After all he may woo and win her, and he will have the lucky diamond set in the engagement ring. What a romance it is after all the sordid toil and prosaic plodding of his life. Before the time appointed for his visit to Lynn is reached he has another visitor in the person of the fellow-traveller who had advised him to come to these “ diggings,” and who is a handsome, goodnatured fellow, afflicted with a love of slang. “ So here you are,” he says, with the soft accents wherewith one would hail a steamboat. “Comfortable, eb? Knew you would find this up to time any way_ you took it.” “ I expected you before,” sqys John. As a matter of strict fact his friend’s arrival has reminded him. of his friend’s existence—a trivial thing overshadowed by Miss Maitland, banished to oblivion by the too vivid picture of her dilating more and more, before his menial eye until there is no room for anything else. “ Ob, well, I hadn’t forgotten you, old man. I have been looking after your , interests as I promised, and I have' found a purchaser for that Koh-i-Noor of yours.” John looks at the ceiling. He has changed his mind about parting with the jewel, now sanctified and forming a connecting link between himself and his divinity. “ I am not sure that I want to part with it now,” he said awkwardly. “ Don’t you? You’ll get its full value, • and I thought you wished to realise as soon as possible. Anyway, do you mind letting me see it?” “ Oh, no! not at all.” returns John. He produces the pin, still enfolded, perhaps by her hands, in the soft pink paper, and passes it to Vyner, who seems a trifle annoyed at his change of mind. “Eh—ah! yes, very good,” he says, after eyeing the pin closely ; “ but I want to see the ‘ real Mackay.’ I am a judge of diamonds, you know.” “ I don’t understand you,” declared Mr Lamer rather impatiently. “ Why, I want to see the stone itself. Do you" think I will run away with it if once I get hold of it?” “ That is the stone itself,” says John “Oh! is it, indeed?” says Mr Vyner, closing one eye. “ Then I don’t think my friend will want to buy it any more than you want to sell it. I’d give you ten-and-six for it myself, but I never wear paste.”

“ Paste! What the mischief do you mean? That is the diamond valued, at more thousands than you are likely to give for anything under the sun!” “ Oh, come. Jack! I wasn’t born yesterday. t> I know a diamond when I see one. This may have been one at an early stage of its career, but the sea voyage has transformed it into unmitigated paste. Ask fe’treeter if you don’t believe me. Ask any jeweller else that'you like.” John Lamer takes back his pin with an unsteady hand. Has his own sight grown dim, or is there really only a pale and tawdry brilliance from the gem? He turns so white that Air Vyner is a little, scared. _ . “ I say, old fellow, what is up? Have you been diddled?” Lamer rests his head upon his hands with a groan. “I don’tj know,” he says. “I can’t think so. It is very queer certainly. The diamond bars never been out of my hands till, the other day.” i “And then who had it?” “Mies Maitland, of Castle Tranby.” ! “ Oh ! And who is she when all is told? Come, trust in this bosom, my own stricken dear. Tell me all about it, and let us see if we can’t see daylight. What did your new friend want with your diamond?” John reluctantly tells his tale. Mr Vyner is too good-natured to laugh outright, hut, in the language of Sam Weller, “ swells wisibly ” with suppressed mirth. It is some time before he can speak, and he gasps a good deal and wipes his eyes several times in the course of his speech. “ Your Miss Maitland is a genteel Mr® Harris, my poor Jack,” he says. “ T don’t believe there’s no sich person.’ You have been done—twice sold by some very clever hands. Between the diamond and the earrings they have got a nice little haul, and by this time will be safely out of the country.” “That’s a lie!” cries John furiously. “I will find Miss Maitland and her brother ” “ I hope with all my heart and soul that you will,” interrupts Vyner, earnestly; “but I am afraid the birds have flown. Suppose wo go to the Bedford together and make some inquiry ?” Lamer agrees to this, and they arrive at the hotel in company, only to find that the Maitlands have gone. They left two days ago, according to the manager, ■ for Castle Tranby, he understands; but

Mr Maitland is to return in a few days, having left some of his luggage, and not having given up his room. " It's all right," says Lamer to his friend when they are outside again, "Whoever has robbed me they have not! I have wronged them by my suspicions— I am not fit to enter their house !" "Aren't you? My dear boy, it's all ado. I'm surer of it than ever. They have gone, and probably left an unpaid bill and some boxes of rubbish to lull suspicion in the hotel people's mind, and to keep their memory green at the Bedford. In your place, I would ask that the boxes be broken open." "I will do nothing of the kind. I will go down to Lynn, to Castle Tranby, to convince myself. This is quite intolerable !"

" I should like to see the end of it, too," says Vyner .reflectively, " and if you don't object I'll see you safe at Tranby, and if you find the people what they have professed I will make you every apology, and seek some other solution of the mystery." Lynn is one of those stations at which the train stops on a previous intimation being given to the guard, and the town is of the size and importance one would expect from such a circumstance. It seems to consist .of one street, two churches, and a police station, but the Maitlands are not known within its cincts. and as for the castle, though it may be in the air, it •certainly has no foundation upon earth.

The base-minded official of Scotland Yard has the satisfaction of saying " I told you so " to Mi Lamer at a later hour .the same day. Mr Vyner uses a similar phrase when the " left luggage" is opened, and a fine collection of old boots, stone, and miscellaenous rubbish is exposed. John may congratulate himself on having played beautifully into t?ie hands of a pair of skilful adventurers, on having enabled them to get clear away with their booty, and on having himself kept the police off the track. It is one of the tonics Old Experience at times hands us ; but if you want to see a man in a rage—a real, downright, unmistakable rage—ask John Larner when he is going to stay at Castle Tranby again.