THE DOVERFIELD DIAMONDS.

Timaru Herald, Volume XC, Issue 13290, 20 May 1907, Page 2

THE DOVERFIELD DIAMONDS.

"Landis, is this a confidence? Or may I be permitted to make use of . . .of yonr dhcorery' if . . . if it seems to me wedful . . .in the service of another?" The answer came, straight and manly : *' In the service of another, Jasper, I can trust you to use my story as it seems good to you," he said.' " Listen to me, Hal," I said. " You aiv the friend of Captain Wrayland and the Derereauxs ?" "The sincere friend." He reddened as he answered. "You must know thai." " And 'could you do something- a bit unpl-casaut to serve them ?" " Try me! Why, good heavens, man, what are you driving at? I have fancied of late -' I lifted my hand. "One moment, Hal. fJ his is serious. The captain is, I believe, in real danger, and his sister and niece are in much anxiety because of this. They need all their friends." His eye-; brightened and his face became eager as he said : " Next to my mother, • they are my dearest friends. If they were not in the question. I would still do my utmost for Captain Wrayland. Why. man, he was my mother's sweetheart—years ago!" And then I told him all the story of Ralph Merrick and Captain Wrayland, and of the present status of our inquiry into the whereabouts and intentions of Merrick. When at htrt he left me, ifc was with the promise of his hearty, eager cooperation. That evening I talked with Josephine Bryce in Enid Derereaux's little sittingroom. I questioned' her closely, and when we were about to separate. I said to her: " Remember, Josephine, if you succeed in this undertaking you will earn our lifelong thanks, and a substantial reward besides; but you must be careful. Once excite suspicion in any of the three, and ycur opportunity is lost. I hare locoked orer the spot, and I can sea your back window from the road. Remember, you are to strike a match, if you succeed, at ten-minute intervals, or until you see my return flash at the corner of the garden. This is to guard against possible interruption—juch as a passer-by at the moment when I would return your flash. When you do see it, put out your light, open your window, and lower the package, ilfocn leave the string hanging, and watch at the window—<the north window this time. It will not be longer than half aa hour—probably much sooner —when you will see a light lifted and lowered twice at the corner window of the third storey of the house I .have told you of; go to ,your open window then, and wait for a pull on the string. Do you understand?" She nodded with a quick intelligence, and I felt, when I left the house, that things were really moving. Several days passed after I had laid my plans, with the help of Enid and Josephine, and nothing occurred by way of news or development. And yet—l knew that Enid Derereaux was ignoring her own finer feelings by seeking the socity of Madam Barthelme, ready to drop the " word in season" that should soon bring results; and that Josephine, aiso ready to act, simply waited an opportunity. As for myself, erery night I was at the readezvous, but for three successive nights Josephine's east or rear window remained dark, while from the one facing the north and the side street a lamp .showed its beams, signalling, as prearranged,, the information that Madam had not gone* out that night, and would not go. Her reason was easily guessed. Startled by her encounter with Hal Landis, my lady was in doubt- as to the effect of •tie discovery, as she supposed it to be, and was on her guard until she had assured herself of the effect of the—to her-—unlucky encounter in the gamblingrooms. But Landis was now enlisted, and ready to meet Madam with her own weapons, and when, on the third day after their encounter, that lady received a brief but friendly note, followed later in the day by Landis in his motor, she felt that he was a more liberal and worldly-wise young man than she had dared to hope; and I was assured that JcseiJiine's opportunity, and mine, would soon come. For every night now Madam's leather bag was entrusted to Josephine's watchful care, and the lady slept the sleep of one who has nothing to conceal, hence nothing to fear. And still we watched, and found no trace of Merrick. The nights passed quietly at Wraylands, and Tonto, in tiie flesh," chafed in the confinement of the comfortable loft, while Tonto, in effigy, kept guard undisturbed. The guardians, who, since the coming of the New York steamship, had kept alternatire- watch orer the Devereaux home and the comings and goings of the captain had found their rigils monotonous and without results. So far as we could guers, Captain Wrayland had been neither watched—save by his friends—followed, nor threatened. And yet I believed that the danger was there, lurking somewhere in the shadow. And still no trace- of Meyrick..-. The situation was galling to my nerres. On the last day of the week of waiting, shortly after breakfast, a messenger brought me a note from Kenyon. . .. "I'm stopping- at home 'three days,", he wrote. "Reason, our new,, boarder.. If. I, i hadn't had one eye. on hini'SO constantly. I might not hare suspected him, for we don't meet each other at close quarters here, and its a gpod, respectable, middleaged make-up. Name, James L.. Daley. All the same, its Monsieur's valet, who has taken the south-west corner room, close to the side staircase, second floor, and paid a month in adrance. What he's up to is the thing I!in stopping in—with a slight cold —to find out. • "Kenyon." I dropped the letter, and "said something" softly. What was he up to? I gare up the puzzle, and. went to look for Dr. Bird. : I knew where to look for him at about *l:e noon hour, and I dropped in on brn to ask after Mrs. Doverfield. The doctor turned a beaming foce towards me. " She's better!" he declared. " Weak yet, frightfully weak . . . looks like a white wraith, but rational, and able to talk, a little. In spite of me she has managed to get two of three short .talks with her husband. And, after the first one, I told the nurse to permit it, for I saw that, somehow, these brief little chats do seem to cheer her up—put heart into her." He paused and frowned. ' I'm sorry to say, he then added, "that they hare the opposite effect on. Doverfield; he comes out of his wife's room, nurse tells me, looking perplexed, harassed, and uncertain. She sees no one else, and I don't want her to, not for another week, at least. It has been touch and go with Ara Doverfield, I tell you !" And lie went his way, leaving ine plunged in gloom and perplexity. Back to my office, where I reviewed the situation. When Mrs. Doverfield defied me, and fell fainting at my feet, I left her presence vowing to myself that, when she again found strength to face me, I would be- master of the situation, and of the secret of the Dorertield diamonds. And then I would give it—the secret —back to her, to keep or ti> confess, as she would. I thought, dnlt that I was. that in Keen Johnny -Deecran T had the clue, if not the kev. to the situation. And now 1 had sucked that orange dry. Keen Johnny had failed me and all T had to show for my efforts was a single white diamond, found by mr friend. " Tt must be done!" I muttered, half aloud. "If I am to p]«V the game now, it must b°-

a forced hand." "Whose?" said a roice at my shoulder. "I tapped," Enid declared, with a laugh in her eyes ; " but you seemed quite deaf. Your office boy tofd me you were here, and—l was so full of my news. Pray excuse me, Ken, you are disturbed." "I'm. relieved—now," .I declared. "Sit down and let's have the news. I want news—lots of it." ( She began, speaking rapidly. " Our plot is working, I am quite sure. And uncle, the innocent dear, is abetting it noblv. Monsieur, so Madam, says, is I delighted at the possibility of getting Wravlands. And Madam is desolate. 1 truly think that she goe;<—if she doe--, go —' against the grain,' as you say. And I don't believe, she knows 'why Monsieur is so anxious to leave town. Of couise. it is all in the air as yet, but—l th,-nk the leawn will work." "It can't work too soon." I grumbled. "I will do my best. I. suppose one might, invent a rival applicant. Meanwhile, what do you make of. this? TJucie received it bv this morning's post. He ran his eve over it, then glanced at mother and me," then put it in his, waistcoat pocket, I watched. He went straight from the table to the library. I saw him, by peeping between the curtains, as he read again- the nice little purfumed note, sniffed, swore, and then tore it in two. tossed it into the grate, and, without is much as a glance to see if it w< going to burn, went- out and banged the door behind him. Luckily, as you see, the bottom half did not even ignite. The" upper half was ' only partly destroyed. It's—understandable —vet."... (_ "Yes it is," I said" as I read it; and then I looked at Enid. The note was written in a pretty llowing hand, fine and dainty, and utterly without character. Part of the opening sentence had been burned! away, but the meaning was clear enough. The letter was an appeal. It pictured the writer as alone- in London. She stated that ; she had seen Captain Wrayland ths previous summer at Bournemouth, where she had witnessed his great kindness to a girl who was evidently in his care. She said that she had seen the captain "last week" while he was lunching at the Trocadero, and had recognised him —she had never forgotten him. She had! secured his name from his waiter, she said, and had found his address in the " Court Directory." She much needed soma advice, she pleaded, on a matter connected with her property, which she feared was being secertly taken from her.Would Captain Wrayland pardon her for addressing him thus: . " but desperation, eneliness, made her bold. Would he coins 'to see her that night at . . ." ! I laughed my delight and my derision. I Ihe address was that of the mansions on the north-west corner, from one window of which Kenyon was watching Madam's house; the mansions wherein Monsieur's disguised valet had so lately taken up his quarters. ■ "Do you think,"l began, but she interrupted. "He won't go," she said. "He went straight to mamma and arranged with her to attend the opera to-night." " Good," I cried. "Ho is not to be caught napping. Thank you, Enid." " You think ? . . . she asked. " That this confirms our fears . of course. Yo uare his guardian, Enid; be vigilant." " Never fear," she laughed; and she went away ■■leaving me with' the conviction that no crowned head, guarded by a whole secret service, was better protected than was dear old unsuspecting Captain Wrayland. At nine o'clock tnat evening my phone bell tinkled and a'voice saluted me. " Is that you, Uncle John ?" "How's your rheumatism?" "Good! if you lira better I won't come down to-morrow. I'm making a new dress—— good-bye." This was the message' which; being interpreted, meant, "I'm ready, come." And r went straightway. Half an hour later I left Kenyon on guard, midway be.ween his corner and Madam's house, and walked briskly past the latter, along the road by the side. Ihe house seemed utterly dark, but, as I came opposite the back, I saw a flickering light in tha window nearest the street. It flared up and went out suddenly. 1 stopped and struck a match, making as careful a of lighting a reluctant, cigar as if I knew there was a watcher in Madam's shrubbery. Then I went very quietly, but not with an air of stealth; to the side entrance. I found the gate ajar—ihoughtfull Joephini ! —and' the path to her window was almost direct- and free trom obstruction. There was neither sight nor sound as I halted, screened from neighbouring and street lights by bushes. I stretched out a- hand into the darkness. It touched something—yes,' leather. I caught -the handle and beat a stealthy retreat. " Coast clear, I think," declared Kenyon, ■ a moment later. " Just gave the constable on this beat cigar. He's very attentive to this vicinity.- Almost seems as if he suspected something. He-'s gone on round the corner.". "Yes, very likely," I said', chaffing, and 1 smiled as we went, up hi the lift Kenyon's i flat . When the door had been locked and the curtains close drawn I placed the leather bag on the table. "I don't know what it contains, Kenyon;" I. said, with my. hand on it. "But I had .to know. . If the! contents concern us I will tell you why. If. not, well, in any. case I can rely oh your silence, and ....-.'.".. forgetfulness." : " I should hope so," said Kenyon, as I began to work on the lock. "It must be handled with care," I commented, irhila trying: my first of many handy keys, "and it,is to be returned intact." . "What . . . intact?" exclaimed my aide-de-camp.; "Intact," I repeated, and smiled.

I will not declare that the seconds before the satciiel yielded to my efforts were not seconds of suspense; but they were few. At last it lay open before me. I was as calm as if I had expected what I saw there, and nothing less. " Well, upon my soul," ejaculated Kenyou. " What's that?" and then, as I lifted .something out and laid it on the table between-us; :"Well, I'm hanged . . ." he chuckled. "If it isn't a lady's bustle. Why, that kind of thing has not been worn for 3 r ears."

The thing before us .was oblong in shape, concave at onu side, convex at the other, and at either end was a strap of whhe ■ribbon, folded and ttitched, presumably for strength. "No," I said, searing, " this has never been worn, it is put to a different purpose." As I took it in my hands I could feel a thin layer of something soft, and within that, ah! I. felt my face flush, and my fingers groped ; for the opening, which proved to be made, with a running or " draw string," on tltij upper or concave, side. I took, them out, one by one, each folded in its bit of toft silk, opened them, and spread them out on one side of the table, whil-3 my companion ejaculated under his breath, and then ,;:tiU in silence, I took out from my inner waistcoat pocket an oblong parcel, opened it, and laid out its contents opposite the others, while Kenyon" relapsed into speechless wonder. Then, with a wave of (ho hand T s;;kl, " Examine them carefully," and, under my breath I added again and again . " Eureka ! Eureka !" Slowly he moved round the table, gazing, wondering, touching gingerly, now and then lifting something up to the light, cle-

lighting in its gleam and glow; and presently, " For Heaven's sake," he questioned, "What is it? What's your game, -sir?".

"It's a game that's nearly up for somebody!" I answered, "for these are the Doverfield Diamonds." The Doverfield diamonds . . . the real ones on one side of the table, the false ones on the other. But while the paste copies 'of my friend Gensenberg -were intact, each clever fraud in its well-shaped setting, the real jewels lacked one atone, a large white solitaire, which had been set as an eardrop. Its mate glowed and gleam-id in conspicuous, splendour alone in the velvet lined case, wilh its one empty nook where the twin jewel had once rested, and where I assured myself, it should rest again, and' soon. "I told'Kenyon as much a.s was medful; and presently I had carefully put the sham jewels—the larger ornaments in their soft silk wrappings, and the lesser piecesin their dainty boxes of velvet and leather —in place of the real. I repeated my Feeret journey through the side entrance, tied the leather bag to the rope, which still hung down, and gave the rope a gentle pull. Always faithful Josephine; the bagbegan to slowly ascend, freighted with its load of brilliant par-te. I then hurried back to my chambers, where Craig was awaiting me; and then we talked and talked' about this sudden puzzle. We had found the Doverfield diamonds . . . but the mystery of their disappearance was only increased by their discovery. What a situation! The real gems' stolen, or otherwise mysteriously obtained by Madam ! , Ihe diams burglarised by Keen Johnny Deegan! - And—Mrs Doverfield? What part had she played in these mysteries,? More than ever, it became clearer to us that the mystery of the diamonds had only deepened with the finding of the gems ; and that to. announce their discovery now would hurt, rather, than help, our chances of a full and final clearing up of the strange complications. As we were about to separate I ■ said to my friend, "Old man, I don't see my way far—as yet. But I .see, at present, just one role for you—no, two. First, you must become the custodian of these jewels, for the present. Pub them alongside the solitaire ' found' by the sandwich man. Mrs Doverfield's solitaire it is, beyond a doubt! And shade of my ancestors'—found, I'll lay a hundred to one, on the day when Madam lost her heirloom near the theatre—eh?" " Right; my boy!" Craig smiled. "You'll take them then? Thanks, Eoy. And, second yeu'll use all your finesse to k-arn the .story of this 'find.'! Can the man, too, be somehow in it Craig shook his head. " I only know —or believe, that our sandwich man is the enemy of Monsieur, Madam, or both. Come Ken, I'll do my part in this affair; only command me." I had just returned from an early breakfast next morning when by special delivery' came a note from Madam Devinne Barthelme. "My dear Mr Jasper," so it ran'; "I wonder if you know that I am about to take my invalid brother out of town for a month or two, thanks to' the kindness of the good Captain Wrayland, who will open his country home for our occupation. I shall be pleased, and I know my brother will, too, if you can manage a weekend with us. It will'be dull for you perhaps; but I know from Captain Wrayland that you have associations with the. neighbourhood. Do come and'cheer us up: a day's notice will ba sufficient. " Yours cordially, "Helen Devinne Barthelme." (To be continued.)