THE DOVERFIEID DIAMONDS.

Timaru Herald, Volume XC, Issue 13297, 28 May 1907, Page 2

THE DOVERFIEID DIAMONDS.

It was small wonder ti.at the man with the diamond clenched in his- muddy h.t had suspected, in everyone a pcs.*ib.'e puriuer, and had dropped, his limp ax 0011 as it teemed to him safe, in s«k his lair by the roundabout route he had led me, and to drop his boards at last and vanish. I had not fully my partner's belief in a' romance, possibly a tragedy, behind the man's present squalor; and, knowing him safe in Craig's hands, I had let him drop out of my thoughts. "ihere was one man, however, who now more than ever was in my mini, and who, among all my helper.*, was causing mi; wonder, and ivome anxiety, because of his long silence. After the going of Austin Doverfield, my thoughts turne.t again to this man Parchments, who war still pursuing heaven only knew what line of leisurely enquiry among the early home;; anil scenes of the Wet Indian Doveifieici.v of a pabt generation. Since his report at the beginning of his enquiries into the whereabouts of the cousin of my client he had made no sign, except the letter to say that be must follow up a clue through several counties and it might be across the Channel, and to give me a peimanent address from whence messages would reach him. I determined that a message should reach him now, ao once if possible, and I wrote out the following tele gram: '" If there i 3 anything of use in the case of which you know ready .to hand, send or bring at once. Crisis is on us." 'I his message I sent promptly". I had little hope of help from this quarter now, for Austin Doverfield's history, ancient and modern, loomed small and distant, and I felt now that- I had my finger upon the "where," if not the "why," of this elusive case. . I had just despatched my me:sage to "Parchments" when my door flew open and Craig bounded in with, foi ; him, unusual haste and lack of ceremony. "Ken," he exejaimedi as tha aqor swung shut. ''"l've heard the Ltory —and—l was right'; it is a tragedy." •If my face did not promptly reflect the enthusiasm in Craig's, and if it did reflect ihe vacancy I momentarily felt, it must be remembered that my mind was full 01 tne Doverfield's problem, and had for the moment no room for either Madam Barthelmc or the man of the sandwich boards. "What the tragedy, old man?" at the same time nodding towards the very comfortable- chair at the corner of mytable. He seated himself, and began to talk ■while he fumbled for his cit»;jr-case. '"lt's your sandwich-man.- . He got a feeling that -ifs was short, and—he told me his story to-night." "And he's my sandwich man.still, or is it again?' I questioned. " Um—not unless you choose to hold a share in him." And I saw a gleam of amusement cross his face.

"Hold on, RoTj what's the joke? There i:; one, I ste. Hang it all, what's the game?" Craig's face sobered instantly. "Lis.en." he said. "You see, the doctor wr.rned rne that my man; must be allowed out, iso we.took the case in hand. The chap's a bundle of nerves, and impressionable. So wm?n the doctor found him e bit feveiish- he soberly advised him to put his trust in some one, if there was anything he would wish known, in case—:tc, etc., and fmuhed by assuring him that it woulc do him more good in mind and body to talk freely than to take medicine. The doctor went away, leaving the patient alone for a couple of hours." ✓ ■■ Craig drew himself erect, and in a curt way began the story of the sandwich man. And as I listened, while I could dtteet neither break nor omission, I knew that for me this story was to bo little more and no kss than a conundrum. And yet when later I reviewed the little history I could see no flaw, while 'still to my mind would; come the question, "What has he left out?":

" Our friend of the sandwich boards, began Craig, '" who has never given his true name and fully admits it, lias had a chequered career, "which has been about like this : As the acknowledged heir of wealthy parents and grandparents, h:i ran for a tii&e'a rather tame and not very dangerous course, and up to his twenty-seventh year he had seen only the soft and pleasant side of existence. It is evident from his story that his natural tendency was toward the easy things of life, and that because of an inborn indolence, u pretty taste for the romantic, a liking for women's society, and a strain of hereditary weakness and vanity. " When he came into his large property he was surrounded by cousins, aunts, neighbours, all feminine, all more or less pretty. His mother, I infer from things lie did not say, was a weak-willed lady, who, after her husband's death, had let an old quadroon woman, obtain complete ascendancy over her. This quadroon's grandparents, and their parents in turn, had slaves through succecssire generations- of the family; and though freedom had come before the. birth of, this woman her parents, and aftenrards herself, were still closely attached to the family. The woman had a daughter, and she prevailed on her mistress to give this girl a, brilliant education in Paris. The girl came back to Jamaica amazing in beauty, a brunette no darker than, and not- to be distinguished from, those magnificent Creole ladies, of pure Spanish and French descent, who nold up such haughty heads In the" West Indes; but'she was absolutely barred socially. ..Well,, the and her mother .seem, to have had. but one aim, and they gained it; the young master fell-in love : with the girl. When his mother died, he wished to mam- her—and accept the ostracism implied;" but that ; did not'suit my lady. She suggested, that she should return to Paris; that he should follow her, after realising on all hin properties, and that thev should marry there, where no social disabilities would result. She went away, carrying every penny of money she could squeeze out of him, and established herself in luxurious apartments in Paris—not with her mother, who had come to Europe with her, but' with a duenna. " Our sandwich-man turns up in due course, and flies to his lady" love. She is coy—ho- new things that she had formed a serious attachment for somebody else, and had determined to get all his money, without the encumbrance of himself, and on one pretext and another postpones the marriage. His infatuation grows; he follows lier to tba. Kiviera, to Rome, to Algiers all very decorous, very proper; he adoring her' and worshiping the hem of her garments; she greedy, remorse!:ss, wheedling money at eveiy opportunity. Then comes the second act- of the .drama. " The octoroon wns suddenly called to Paris to see the quadroon mama die. The octoroon was disconsolate, -the lover full of sympathy—not unmixed with relief, I must suppose, for mama was se% r eral shades darker than her daughter. Largeeyed, ghastly pal?, the lady led him into the dim. drug-laden atmosphere, and then the blow fell. Now, Ken, you are {:o keep in mind that this poor fool was not what we like to call a strong man interlectually. The quadroon had been his nurse in childhood, and he had always trusted her, and an innocent belief in all who were outwardly kind to him. has alwavs been a dominant trait, I fancy. And" his faith in the girl, his absolute trust—remember that, Ken. And so he swallowed the story that came from the death-bed. Imagine the scent-; in the light, dim, religious, the dark woman , lies, with eyes turned" towards the ceiling, gasping for breath. She stares at the girl:, the girl understands, looks about, and nods her head, meaning that none but the three is in hearing. Then the quavering voice reels out this fairy-tale that

her late master, father of the innocent man who bends over so fondly, had been direfully disappointed that his infant was not. a boy; that he had taken her dayold son o"nd exchanged -it for his daughter; how the unconscious mother had never known. In short, Ken, the ■■ paralysed, listener drags himself away from the bedside with the conviction that he is nobodv; that he has black blood in his veins;" that he has been robbing.the girl he adores of her inheritance; that —fact, Ken—that ho is unworthy to demand her hand in marriage. "It must have been worth something to hear the woman as she turned with cringing, fawning respect, with simulated remorse and tears, and begged the forgiveness of die girl! standing petrified by the bedside. But best of all it must have been to fee Cindarella »suddenly become a fairy princess—first shocked, and then indignant, until, meeting his miserable look, she melted with love and pity, forgave the quadroon/and declared that she would never humble him by depriving him of cither name cr fortune. "Well, Kenneth, old man," said Craig, "you can anticipate the rest. My lady plaved the game well. She protested vowed," that her faithful admirer should never give up the name ho' bore—that all he need give up was—sr—er — > " " His propertv, of coursr." "Of course;' and, bit by bit, it was handed over by deed or gift; and the poor fool worshipped her, as it were, from a distance. He had the fatal stigma, from the West Indian's point of view -. he had a,', drop of black blood in his veins./ Ao thought of marriage now—he was unworthy of her, was unworthy to do anything "save to make restitution, save to bow the head in worship of this. divinity who was accepting his beneficence witii fuch splendid dignity. The quandroon mother—well, of course, as you have foreseen, she made a surprising recovery.; was in fact, declared out of danger on the day that her " poor unhappy son" signed the last deed of gift .transferring the last available fragment of his property to the queen of his heart."

" Amazing!" I exclaimed. "The folly of man," paid sententious Craig, raising both'hands high above his head, "is not to be plumbed." "If appears that the family lawyer at Kingston, Jamaica, was a staunch old Scotchman, and one day our friend wrote asking him to investigate some stock long out of the market, and which was promising to revive and become of value once more. It was old\ mining stock, it appears ; and assays of some new vedn products had re vied* interest in it. T will not take up the details of these, business matters ; that can come later if you care to hear further. But no man is quite without friends, more or less disinterested, as the case may be—and the mysterious doings of this son of a well-known family were noted, of course, not only by this shrewd /old family lawyer, but. by the neighbours and by friends of the parents. When the dsmands for money began to be followed by Orders to sell this and that piece of property, the lawyer quietly began to investigate, and'the truth was soon unearthed, but not all -the- truth. The affair of the. changed children was known only to the three- most , interested-—and to one other; for the plot coidd not be quite carried out alone.

"Well,, the lady after a time disappeared. She no longer took the trouble to throw a smile at her humble adorer, half mad, no doubt, by this time. He was. taken..ill,'-'was laid" up for a. long time; and when'he was about again he could not find her. The half-Crazy search which followed resulted in her discovery;' he saw her in a victoria in Paris* feated by the side of a little old mat:—Massonni, in fact. / "Now, while he was searching' for my lady, the Kingston lawyer was scouring Paris in search of him, and at this very critical moment they found each other. And here the interest, the romance ends. ■My-lady was t eitablished ,in a fine hotel, and she" closed her doors to him. This—and the solicitor, at last Opened his eyes. But he would not leave'the vicinity, to go far from the haunts of that woman. :'Sd % the lawyer aranged -.to supply him with a; very modest income, and went back to Jamaica-, to attempt to straighten tilings out for his half-demented client. "Nearly another year went - by. and .suddenly''M. Massonni was found murdered. There ,wa.s a nine-days' scandal, many accusations, and little proof. My lady was examined, of course—and her prestige such as it had been, fell' from her—and she semed to disappear from eyes- polite. But not from the eyes ;of the one-time lover. She found other friends, and went over to the United States, the man following always, unknown to her. Finally, she came to London! She did not see him, but the man was always ,near. "I doubt if he knows, really, why he is shadowing her now, but"—here Craig leaned suddenly towards, me— "seems to me, Kenneth, your interest in this narrative is jncreasnig. You're ' sitting up and taking notice.'" There was the same tantalising glint in his eye, but I fancied that I knew its meaning, now, and I laughed back at hlri.

"Oh, go on, old man. Finish, finish. Of course, I see—several things. Your resrve, for instance, in handling the names of.tlrs pair. It has been masterly. Do you.intend to keep it up?" "My boy, from first to laH the Sand-wich-man has never once' spoken his own name, or that of the lady." "And she is in reality—madam?" He nodded gravely." " So it would seem." • ■ " My soul. That stately, self-contained handsome, fine lady an octoroon, the child of:: a" quadroon, and a adventuress too. : By Jove!" I looked quick-ly,-struck by a sudden thought, "I say old man, do.you feel as much interest in those expected Paris letters as you did?" And I chuckled. "More!" he declared. "And I hope they will be quite complete—as to the Massonni case. I wonder if she guards the quadroon's confesion as carefully as she does the—jewels.'" "Explain." "Why, didn't I say that the quadroon had prepard a regularly; witnessed confession as an ' atonement, 1 and a protection at need, to the lady?" " M—a—confession !" I began to muse, when the whirr of the telephone caused us both to start. Nancy was at the other end of the wire, and she gave me my second shock. " Is that you, sir—Mr Jasper?" "Yes, it's me, Nancy." " Oh, I'm all alonfe. Madam and Josephine started for London an hour ago, and ine;7:- : eur\s man went with them. They're takin' the midnight train, and Josephine asked me to call you up and tell you she wanted m sc> you soon as possible, and 'would you p]c:!*e wait in, till she could get to you in tin- morning. Says fhe thinks it's very important!" "Thank you, Nancy, I will wait in." " That's fill. ?ir,'" And tln> connection with Wray!r:rls was cut off before I emud a.-k ano-.hyr qutstion. Jt was long past midnight when we stpai.iU'd. Craig and j, and, although we ha'l t'jscusfH tne strange new aspect of Madam, and her affairs, he left me with a sense of something unsaid that vexed me somewhat and perplexed me. The subject even haunted my slumber, such as it was. and I got up early, quite as much because of this as because I knew that Josephine's idea of an early call was quite different 'from mine. Before I had breakfast, she appeared, fresh and rosy, but looking hurried and a. bit anxio'i. 1 --. "Oh, Mr Jasp?r," she.panted. "I'm so glad to find you in. Nancy told you -"' I nodded, and she rushed on : " Of course fhe would. But I've been in a. fever ever sinee yesterday afternoon, when Madam sent me to post this." "This" was a dajntv wnite w?elop<\ i

which she took from her bodice and laid upon my table. "What is'it, Josephine?" She flushed hotly, but her eyes never left my face. " You see," she ran on. "it was like this: when Madam told me I must come to her, when she was in Monsieur's room, and ask permission to go to the village on some errand of my own, I j-uspectid she had an errand, too, and didn't want him to know, and when she. made believe she was provoked, because I wanted to go, I.was sure of it. She gave me the letter while Monsieur was upstairs, and told me to post it first- thing I did." " And—did you think this was the Post Office?" She caught up the letter and held.it before my face. "Look at it." Her manner was almost an imperative command. As she. turned it in her hand, my glance took in two facts. It was open, and it was addressed to Mrs Austin Doverfiekl. "Josephine," I said, "I'm disappointed. Don't you know that if Madam gave you an unsealed letter it is either a mere formality, of no moment to yon or to me, or—it is a trap?" "It was sealed right enough," she replied sturdily. "I opened it." "Where?" " I went straight to the Lodge." "Ah, to 'Aunt Jem'?" "Yes, sir; an' I told her I left something out of my letter, an' asked her if I nvght steam it open by her tea kettle. Mr Jasper—l don't know what's in that letter, an' I thought 'twas my duty to bring it to you betore I posted it —it you want it pos'ted, at all, that is. If I've made a. mistake; ——" "Sit down, Josephine."Either my tone or my look, as I took up the letter and deliberately opened it, caused her to drop into the nearest chair with a sigh, .almost as of relief. This is what I read:—-—.

-My dear Mrs. Doverfield,-r "I need not say how much I regret that because of recent events; of . -which you know, I have not as yet ventured to make use of that which I had relied upon—too much—it would seem. lam coming to London to-night, and for two days shall be busy :•.'.' "Unless in the meantime I find myself able to do certain tilings by my .very cautious efforts, I must- ask you to receive me, on the .third day, Friday, of my stay, and to be prepared to relieve me somewhat of what is proving to be a burden, rather than, a benefit. That the present conditions are neither your fault nor mine, I feel sure; but when I consider how much I have sacrificed, and still...am sacrificing, for you and yours, and because of a solemn promise, I feel, as you surely must, that I am asking little. " Faithfullv, yours, "H.M.D.8." (To be continued.)