THE DOVERFIELD DIAMONDS.

Timaru Herald, Volume XC, Issue 13294, 24 May 1907, Page 2

THE DOVERFIELD DIAMONDS.

"And Tonto?" I questiomd, '"does he become friendly?" •'Not him'." And Monseer kti-ps away from him, too. But, sir, 1 nearly forgot. I'm keeping back the strangest things. jjomeboay's tried to Unit dog two nights running; an' the strangest, part is that both 'em nights, Mr Valet was with his master until very late."

•'And—the dog? Is he safe?" "' Well, ye see when Monseer began to lie troubled by Tonto's barkin', 1 promised to tif him in the stable yard if lie did it any more, but- " here she smiled broadly—"he hasn't balked a night since. He mak<-s up for it though whin let- him out in the morning. It's lucky the lawn's so shuhby and slopin', so they can't sie the two men early in the 'morning carryin' off the dummy dog." "And what do you make of this, Xancv?" I asked.

"I "don't-know what these people have got to do with that Ralph Merrick,' but they're there for no good. How d'ye s'pose they got the poison right in front of the dummy's nose?" -• I shook mv head.

" 'Twasn't that valet. 'Twas Munseer ! He's a. good thrower. He throwed both them pi. ces of poison moat out of that sou' west window o' his. Ye see, sir, we never put the dummy out till they'd done their - nightly prowliV, and not knowiif th>\ they dare not move round kennel way after hours, as you may .say. ] almost jumped out of my shoe's, when I see the lirst piece of meat come flyin' past the. window, and fall in front of dummy's nose. 'Twas last night he throwed the last one. Xow, T don't know what you think of this, Mr Ken., but it's gettin'" on my nerves. If that. Meyrick's in it—well—l want somebody else clown there that's cleverer than I am ; an' that's what I come to say to you, sir."

" And you were right, as uiuul, Nancy. Now let "us see if we read these things hi the same light. Monsieur from the first has remained secluded, and is seldom .seen by the household?" Nancy bobbed her.head. "And—takes his exercise, after—sunset '!" "After daik—better say. I'll tell ye how it looks to" me—that is, if " • "Bv all nivalis, Nancy."

"Of course, he may be ill. But he don't seem to he afraid a little bit of the night air. Then I think he hoped 'first to make friends with 'l'onto, but when he found he could'nt, he*s been tryin to put him out of the way. , T's my opinion 'twas him. or that valet, that was han gin' round tryin' to poison or shoot the dog before they wm; down here; an' I'm sure, if he" was tryin' to keep everybody at a di. >::ince, he couldn't do more than lie does. And there's that changin' of liie. room. First I thought t'was only for a chance to kill off Tonto, but—l'm not so sure now. Oh, an' he's been tryin' to SH-: th? men to move the kennel to another place : that it was so ' unsightly,' and. spoiled his landscape. Of, course the nv'n e-'nie to me an' I—l says ' No.' " "And —about Josephine?" " Oh, the' girl's all right. Her and ny understand each other, and yet sh-s don't talk much. .She's told me tilings." "Good: And Madam? Do you fay he i- lest.iefs?"

" Yes. sir. An' Josephine told me, thk very morn.'n', >liat she heard my lady say" fihi' meant to go to London for a couple of days before the week's out." "Good," I exclaimed, and with my exclamation Enid's little cuckoo clock chi.ned the hour, and Nancy sprang up in alarm.

••Gracious me, it's awful late; I can't stop another minute." Nor would she, so I s-i:t for a cab. "I'm going to the station with, you,"' I said. "I want to ask a question or two." "And joined us. • . . " Come along,'', I said laughing ; and the three of us Mere soon heading for Paddington. " What you have told me Nancy," 1 said, " convinces me that we may be able to force their hands. I think 1 see how we mav do it."

"Oh". Kenneth," breathed Enid, "may I know?"

"You may, and even help—a little. What Xancy lias said lends ma to think that Madam's brother is waiting impatiently for the right moment. 1 think that, for some reasons, he wants a free hand at Wraylands, and the minimum danger of interruption, or observation; andi we will try and give him what he wants." "But.how?" urged Enid.

I turned to Xancy, sitting opposite grim and silent. "Xancy, do you think Madam really wants to come to London?"

" I'm sure" of it. She's restless there : and I don't believe she an' him are none too confidential. Josephine says as how she's sure Madam is not actin' when she vows she's no patience with his evenin's prowlin." " " Well, let us say that Madam does come to town. By the way, Xancy, tell Josephine she must- try hard' to com* with her mist re.- k; her 'uncle' may need her. That will get two out of the way. Then, I think, one of the men had better take to drink about that time . . . and if you. Xancy, could manage to be laid up '. . . .* . let. us see, what is your favourite complaint? . . - for that same occasion. Monsieur might think his way clear. It must be carefully managed."

"Huh! There's the dog!" '•I have thought of that. The night before Madam leaves for town put Tonto in the dummy's place, and see that one of the men gives him occasion to bark as much as he will; then,'when the remonstrance comes, as it doubtless will " "It will, and no mistake/' declared Xancv.

" (food. Then you can be amiable, and remove Tonto, keeping the dummy hidden. Meanwhile a letter from Miss 3)evereaux must announce to .Madam and Monsieur that her party, all three, had planned to drop down on Wraylands at almost any hour after the day when all is arranged, and Monsieur finds himself alone with, or without, his valet. Miss Devereaux"--heie I tui; .d and looked at Knid—" will perhaps add a. careless word or two to the effect that I am hoping to return from the Xorth in time to join the paity afterwards." Xancy smiled grimly ; she quite understood me. But Knid leaned anxiously towards me. "And you, Kenneth? You and Hal? Where shall you be?" '* Xot far from Wraylands, you may be sure."

" And " —almost breathlessly—'" what will happen—that night?" "Upon my honour, Knid. I don't know," I replied. "And can only hazard a guess, too wild almost >to put into words." " What I'm wonderin'," said Xancy, eargerly, " is where does that there Meyrick—the beast—turn up?"

"Xancy." T said solemnly, "if Monsieur Vietore doe:-, not show us the way to M.yrick. or at least to the secret of his invisible pres-nce in London, I shall look to vou."

"To me!" Xancy started aghast. "Ah, you're jokin', Mr Ken. But I was no longer in a chaffing mood. " Xancy." - I leaned towards her and lowered my voice, " do you think you would recognise Meyrick if you met him—in disguise ?" "Of course!" contemptuously "Why, Mr Ken. that man couldn't cover up all his ways an' manners. My good gracious, vou don't think he's—Mounseer?"

"Might it not be possible?" " Xow vou are tryin' to muddle me'. Look heie. Meyrick ' was not thin, like Mounseer. an' he wasn't so tall, an' he had a round face, and the whitish teeth. An' the shapes of 'em. The complexion—the

hair. The Mounseer is almost grizzly; an' Josephine says lie's nearly bald—in front, with a. peaked forehead." " That's' true—all of it. And the valet, then?"

Nancy laughed in derision. " He's shorter, he's got round shoulders, his hair is le.l. Don't you think, sir, perhaps he's Madam Barthelme ?" Enid chuckled at the withering sarcasm with which these words were uttered; and, indeed, Nancy was almost angry with me. "She could not bear to hear it suggested that her sharp old eyes would not recognise the man, who had done to death the ' young mistress' whom she had loved so "fondly. 1 truly believe that if Nancy had recognised anywhere, at- any time, fit any place,, the man whom she hated with ;i!l the strength of "her strong character, she would have attacked him with her firm, honey, old! hands. All, Nancy was a good hater. I took no note of her gibe, for I was talking with .a purpose. " Nancy," I said, " this ' Mounseer,' as vou call him. .... . ."

"It's what he calls himself," she interrupted contemptuously. " All right; well, he keeps out of your sight, you say; and he avoids the men about the place; and he does not make any acquaintances, nor encourage callers." "'That he doe n't, sir."

"Whv. Nancy?" "I'm' not in his confidence." snapped Nancy.

" ISo, Nancy," I said, '' no one would >uspact vou of baing too friendly-disposed towards "him. But vou must have some idea about all this." You say he struts about in the darkness: and he doesn't mind the dew on the ---grass; that he lounges in his hammock—the nights are chillv. Nancy. Now, he says he's an invalid. His .sister talks of her ' poor delicate brother'; but all this, that you've been telling me, doesn't seem to fit in, does it? How ,do you account for it? Why should he, a 'stranger, shun you, and everybody about?" ."That's easy answered," said Nancy; "• if it be so as he's got anything to: do with Ralph Meyrick, in any manner or shape whatsoever, -well, sir, he's be afraid of daylight and honest people, wouldn't iie, in a manner of speakin', on general principles ? If he and Meyrick .is. hand xud glove, they'd be two' rags off the same bundle, wouldn't they, sir? And rags of a kind as hids theirselves in dark corners, for very shame- of bein' seen bein' sofilthv hearted. 'I "

" Quite right, Nancy," I interrupted. '' The point's here; yon .are in the best position to know of any change, or absence, and from this time I beg that you md Josephine will redouble your vigilance. Among the four of you who are now on guard, it ought to be impossible for anyone, stranger of friend, to meet ljese people—either of them —without the knowledge of some one of you. And you L wo who are inside the house, must watch for the least sign of disguise, or attempt !"0 disguise—you're sure you understand 'ully ; about the telephone and telegraph?" "Yes, sir.*' " And you'll never iise the telephone when'anyone is on the ground floor." " We've got our signs all arranged; >ve.'ll do what you want—all you want. Oh, I've got but two minutes, sir." And Nancy bustled out of the cab, and curried into tli2 station : while Enid and r drove back towards Mavfair.

"Ken," said Enid, turning a, face of bright enquiry towards me, "miiy I ask i. few questions?" "I.will answer every one, Enid, if I Kan. If I cannot, or do not, . remember '<■.■ will not be because I do not trust vou fully.".

"Thank you. Ken. I see. in speaking of these people, that your interest seems <n centre in the two m?n, rather than in Madam. Is she not in—the plot—or whatever it is that the others are manoeuvring *o strangely?" "My-dear child. I do not know. I 'inly wish I did." "Ken, I wish you would tell me frankly your opinion of this lady. I know you have strong reasons for doubting her." "First, then, she is associated with the ":wo, who arc, in turn, connected with the man I believe to be your uncle's enemv " " "Meyrick?" "Yes." "You say .'first'; there are other reasons, then?"

"Listen! We have gone so far now, hat I need not hesitate to- tell you somehing which, so far, is only an added lgure to the puzzle." And", here I reminded her of the dinner ait the Landis home, and of the table talk started by Craig, and taken up by Garston, about a certain. French scandal—the Massonni iffair—briefly sketching this, and telling her of our aflertalk while driving home with Craig. " You see," I ended, " Craig may have seen, or fancied,, a resemblance, and thus far his letters, the ones upon which he might have counted for identification, have not appeared, although long overdue. The history of the affair he ha,s received; but until his doubt is settled, for or against "

"I see; Mr Craig will not utter her name, or allow a doubt to cross his lips.' She mused for a moment; then, " I—see," die said again, slowly. "It is her prepuce at Waterloo, her connection . with these two men, and the possibility suggested by Mr Craig; these, taken together, have been strong enough to place her under suspicion." " Enid, if this man is a doubtful character—and his actions all point to this conclusion —why does Madam allow herself to go about in his company?" "Is she not his sister?" "So it—appears." . " And—he is an invalid. Ken, let us be fail-. Tell m<\ do you believe her to be in the Meyrick secret—if there is such a secret?" " Candidly, at first it seemed—possible : but, since hearing all that Nancy and Josephine have been able to tell, I begin to doubt."

Again that earnest, questioning ]ook came into the girl's fine, clear eyes. "Ken," she began, "please help me to understand. I want 'to be , just. Thei woman has been differently reared from—from us. Her ideas about things—about many things—are different from ours. Her views about what license she may allow herself are not ours" she was thinking, I knew, of the gambling episode—" and I do not wish—l must not let myself become uncharitable. If Madam Barthelme is simply standing by a. brother, and endeavouring to shield him. I must not accuse—l ought to pity her. Change your plans; at least delay them a. little, •md' let me go down to Wraylands. If she is unaware of their scheme-s. if she is unhappy—and—alone ; she is a woman. Ken. and—"' It ini.:; beautiful, gracious, womanly, swoet; but—l could not let it go on ; after all, what was Madam Devinne Bartliebne. or even Mrs. Doverfielrl, as against this fair, pure-souled girl? She should know the truth—as I knew it — where il cent ■in:'.l Madam Barthelme. I began with the scene in front of the theatre, and told of any first meeting with Madam,, and of Hal kandis, and his chivalrous proffer of aid ; and—l did not forget the sandwich mna. Step by step I traced the story of Madam as I knew it. omitting nothing. The scene at the railway station, the story of the gambling-house, as told by Landis, and of the house as narrated by Kenyon and Josephine I'iyce. Monsieur's search for Madam's '" key's." and, last, the finding of the Dovei field jewels in Madam's possession : ;ifti-r which :

'•My dear friend,'' I said, "you have now the full Mnry of Madam, as it is known tome. Of* the Dovei fields' share in. the matter we will not speak now; but—you must see that, until I can learn how those jewels, the real ones, came into Madam's possession, and how the shams took their place in the vaults of

the Safe Deposit Company, I cannot report the discovery—for —for the sake of all concerned. It—would—it might bean injustice to vour friend." Enid caught' her breath, and nodded assent, '

"As for Madam, you understand now win- I have grown more and more reluctant to see vou mother and yourself her guests —at VVravlands ; you understand?" "Yes." The* girl shivered slightly. "What a terrible tangle. Ken, let's not speak of it any more now; I want to go home, to be' alone, iand to think. I must not tell mama?" "No," I answered, " not yet."

" Nor uncle, of course. You must trust me, Ken, and please come to-morrow."

Under all the circumstances, it would not have been strange if I had forgotten the letter of Josephine Bryce. lying unread in my waistcoat for several hours. As a point of fact, it 'had been clearly registered at the back of my mind from the moment it came in* omy hand. But it bore upon its face no sign of urgency, at sight of which I should have opened and read it, in any presence and at anytime; and I w r as about to do so now, when, my man-appeared, saying: " A trunk call, sir, several times; and wouldn't give no name, \but I was to ask you to wait in, if you please, sir, for another call."

"How long since the last call ?" I asked. " Half an hour, sir." " Thank you . ■ . ' . you may have the afternoon and evening, if you wish." "Thank you, sir," and I was left alone in mv chambers.

Settled comfortable in an easy chair, I opened Josephine's letter. It was not. long, and I began to read : "Mr Jasper, ".l'leass- uont laugh at me, and please believe that I'm not mistaken in what I say. I've, believed it some time now, but didn't dare say so till I'd watched and studied it more.

" First, though,. I'd better tell you what you asked about Madam. No, sir, I'm "sure of ib; she don't know what Mr Victore is doing, and she can't hardly hold herself in when he tells her they must stop at least a couple', of weeks longer, and he keeps telling- her she must not go to London for more than a couple of day's* at, a .time. ;That it isn't safe? and she^—— ' -

"Whr—r —r !"■ spoke the telephone,, and I sprang across, and* dropped down in my chair, with the receiver at my ear. *I had < fancied the calls reported by the man to have been either from Lane, from Wiayland-s, or from Ke'nyon, and wacs rather glad to recognise the clear-cut accents of Lane as I hailed.

"Yes, sir, it is Lane. Yes, I am in the house telephone. It's all right.. JJoth men are out with their fishing rods, and Josephine is on guard; otherwise should have been obliged to go to town .to tell you the latest. All right, sir. Here it is: about an,hour after Nancy left here a telegra mcam.e for the valet, Debree. Of course, there was a consultation, and' Debree took care to let the telegram drop; as he went through the hall. > Yes, of course! —it was from Monsieur's tailor,; and read thus: ' Fear Monsieur may not like new ; cut of coat. Think would suit best double front. Answec, by twelve noon latest.' " I heard Lane as he rattled off thje words of the telegram. ThenV"Eh ! Oh, yes! I saw him presently look'ng about, the verandah, and restored his lost yellow message. Of, course, he explained all about the, new coat, aiid about an hour later the two set off across the south meadow—to fish ; first time ; for master, second or third for man. (To be Continued.) ""