The Diamond “ Accident”

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XXVI, Issue VI, 9 February 1901, Page 248

The Diamond “ Accident”

By

NORMAN HURST.

“I’ve got a lovely scheme, dear boy. It only wants a little careful watching; a master stroke at the exact moment, and we net a fortune.” The speaker, Heetor Quanbrough. a good looking fellow of some five-and-thirty years of age, sat baek in a comfortable lounge chair in his rooms near Piccadilly and placidly smoked his cigar after giving ufferntice to this fascinating assertion. His companion, a man of strong and wiry build, clean shaven, and some five or six years his junior, poured himself out a whisky and soda and prewired to listen to the plan that was to enrich them both. The elder man blew a cloud of smoke and continued: “Seen the paper to-day, Walter?” "Yes, just glanced at it. Nothing in it except war news.” “Oh. I found a very interesting little paragraph.” "What about?” “Diamonds.” Walter Brenton’s eyes sparkled at the word, and he leant forward interestedly as the other continued: “Here it is.” said Heetor, and picking up a newspaper he turned to the city article and read the following pa ragra ph: “THE BLOEMKOPJE DIAMOND MINE.—The long-expected pareel of rough stones, the first result of washing from this mine, has at last reached London after considerable delay, occasioned by the state of affairs in the Transvaal. The diamonds are estimated to be worth £30,000, several of them being of exceptional size, it has been decided to send the whole consignment to Amsterdam and have the stones cut, instead of following the usual practice of selling them in the rough state. They are now on view at the offices of the company in Hatton Garden. and will continue upon exhibition to shareholders until the end of the week, when they will be despatched to the Continent. • A further issue of capital in order to carry on operations at the mine on a much larger scale, with the cessation of the war, is contemplated.

“Very nice thing for the shareholders,” the listener observed as his companion finished readfug. “Very,” dryly sesponded his friend. “They ought to get a dividend out of that little lot Tf no accident happens.” “Accidents frequently happen to diamonds, don't they?” said Walter Brenton, and he laughed a hilarious laugh as he finished his whisky and lighted a cigar. “What little accident is going to happen this time?” “I don’t exactly know. It depends on the way they’re going to send the stones- 1 think, as we may possibly acquire them later, it wouldn’t be a bad idea if I strolled round io the company’s office and had a peep at them.” “But you're not a shareholder.” “Not at the moment, but I'm an intending shareholder, dear boy. Can I drive you cityward, or are yon going to lounge away your time in the park till I return?” “Hang the city! It's a beastly hole! I'll wait here till you come baek.” “Right. I shan't be an hour, and when 1 see you again I may possibly be able to tell you the. kind of accident that is likely to happen to those stones. So long! ”

Twenty minutes’ later a hansom drew up in Hatton Garden and a gentleman of irreproachable appearance, from his shiny silk hat to his grey suedes and patent leathers, passed through the mahogany swing doors into the outer office of the Bloe.mkopje Diamond Mines Company, Ltd., and sent in a card bearing the name of Mr Heetor Quanbrough to the sccre-

greatest courtesy in his private office, where, in a neat glass case, the diamonds were exposed to view, and very excellent specimens they were, and gave good augury for the future of the company.

Mr. Heetor Quanbrough explained that he was already a large holder of shares in various diamond mining enterprises, and, having learned through the financial press of the phenomenal results achieved by the Blocmkopje mine, and that a further issue of capital was in contemplation at an early date, he was nnxions to secure as large an allotment na possible. say £5OOO worth of shares.

Mr. Charles Ormiston, the secretary, was urbanity itaelf.

In the past he had been associated with companies which unfortunately had not been successes, and the visits of infuriated shareholders had been far from pleasant, and he realised with considerable satisfaction what an excellent position he now occupied in the new diamond mining company, the prosperity of which looked assured. Still, he was not sure that Mr. Hector Quanbrough would lie able to obtain an allotment. He did not, he said, know what steps the directors intended to take in regard to the issue of the balance of authorised capital; possibly tiny would offer it to existing shareholders at a premium; still, he would certainly lay lie fort: the next Hoard meeting the desires of the visitor.

“1 should be quite prepared to offer a substantial premium if I eould be assured an allotment,” that gentleman observed.

“1 will acquaint the Board upon the point, with great pleasure,” said Mr. Ormiston.

And then Mr. Quanbrough devoted a little Time to an inspection of the diamonds, and was loud in bis expressions of admiration at the size and quality of the stones. In the result, he found Mr. Charles Ormiston so courteous and obliging, and that gentleman found him so very chatty and amiable, that he could not refuse the pressing invitation to lunch with him; and the diamonds being securely locked up in the company's safe during luncheon hour, the two gentlemen sallied forth, and under the soothing influence of a well-served meal and a bottle of the best, grew quite friendly; and, indeed, verged on to the borderland of mutual confidences.

Mr Ormiston assured Mr Quanbrough that anything he eould possibly do to secure him a substantial allotment of shares would be to him a personal pleasure, and Mr Quanbrough. having incidentally ascertained the particular brand of cigars suited to the secretary’s palate, insisted on that, gentleman accepting a couple of hundred of the 1897 crop which he kept for his own particular cronies.

Over eoffee and a benedictine half the afternoon was idled away, and Mr Quanbrough seemed all-forgetful of the promise he had made to his friend, Brenton, to be back in an hour; but then, it took a long while to ascertain, without evincing the slightest symptom of curiosity, the method which was to be employed for transmitting the stones to the diamond cutters in Holland, and it was not until late in the afternoon that he returned to his chambers off Piccadilly. “You’ve been a devil of a time,” was the salutation of his friend.

“Hum. yes!” he lazily rejoined, as he dropped into an easy chair. “I’ve been arranging the accident.” “You’ve seen the diamonds, then?” “Bather.” “What do you think of them?” “Glorious!” "They’re worth ?” “About what they say—£3o,ooo.” “Did yon decide to take any shares'?” “Yes. I’m going to apply for £5OOO worth.” "Why. are they worth having?” “Yes, they’re certainly worth having. and, in addition, if I prove my bona tides, it will prevent any possibility of suspicion when the accident happens.” "Ah! What's the accident going to be?” "They'll get lost in the post.” The younger man sat up and whistled. “Are they going to post ’em?” .he asked. "Yes, they're going off by Monday’s mail. 1 got very' chummy with the Secretary, nice, chatty fellow, took him out to lunch, fizz and all the rest of it. and I found out, quite casually, of course, that they’re going to be sent by registered post fully insured to Van der Hertz and Co., Amsterdam, on Monday afternoon.” “And what’s dur little plan?” The elder man leaned over and asked. seemingly apropos of nothing: “Can you run as fast as ever, Walter?” “Yes. I think so,” he answered, expanding his chest. "I guess I’m pretty fit.” "Well, this is the plan: T’ve done the thinking out. and yonr part is a sharp hit of watching, a couple of minutes’ active service, and the spoil is ours;”

and he told his friend the details.

“It’s smart, but it’s dangeVous;” the Other remarked when he had finished,

“Smart things generally have a spice of danger to season them.” The younger man lighted a cigarette and leaned back in his chair. “It’s worth it,” he observed, after a few moments’ cogitation, “but it’s a bit audacious.”

“Audacity in these accidents is the guarantee of success.” "Ami you say the haul is calculated to be worth £30.000?” “Ye*s; that’s fifteen thousand apiece, and not particularly bail pay for a little strategy, some careful watching, a smart sprint, and:—a rapid disappearance.”

“Hum! Yes, I’ll do it.” “Good.’’ , ’ ■ “Shake!” The soda sizzled into the spirit tumblers. and they raised them aloft.

“Here's luck!” and their glasses clinked together. ‘ •

There is a narrow court. little more than an alley, in Hatton Garden, nearly opposite the post office, leading down to one of the quaintest hostelries in London, Ye Okie Mitre, which puts forth the proud boast that it was established in the year 1546. It looks to-day much the same as it must have done a hundred years ago, with its bulging triangular windows, low-pitched veilings and curi-ously-shaped rooms, with old-fash-ioned ornaments and prints of bygone times decorating the walls. The alley cut's through Hatton Garden, past the famous inn out into Ely Place, and thus Holborn can be gained.

On the eventful Monday afternoon, when the Bloemkopje diamonds were to be despatched to the Continent, Mr Hector Quanbrough. in a Norfolk suit, hung about the entrance to the inn. his bicycle leaning against the wall by the big bulging windows. He had spent some time, there, admiring the old building, had naturally taken sundry refreshers, and now’ strolled up the narrow court as though he expected someone to meet, him, and glanced across at the clock of the post office.

It was half-past four before he was satisfied, and then lie caught sight of Mr. Charles Ormiston, the secretary of the Blocmkopje Diamond Mining Company, entering the post office wit Company, entering the post office with a small packet in his hands. A few minutes later that gentleman emerged, jumped into a cab, and was driven westward, and Mr Quanbrough stood just within the. entrance of the alley, ami still waited. A few hundred yards further down Holborn, towards the city, just at the top of the steps that lead from the Viaduct down to Farringdon-street, his friend was doing his share of waiting also. No one, however, would have recognised in the individual lounging there in a postman’s uniform, with the double-peaked cap upon his head, and mail hag over his shoulder, the dapper Mi- Walter Brenton.

He lounged there, idly watching the passers by; the November afternoon had grown dark quicker than usual, for a thick mist was creeping down, and the street lamps, which had just been lighted, showed yellow in the murky atmosphere. The man waited, straining his eyes, for the mist was thickening into a fog, and congratulating himself upon the fact that the very elements them-

wives were propitious, and were combining to assist the little accident.

At the court near the Mitre Inn, Hector Quanbrough watched and waited, too, and presently a red mail cart drew swiftly up outside the post office, and a postman came out with several bags and handed them to the driver, one or two parcels post packages, the ordinary mail, and the registered letter bag—the hag containing the Bloemkopje rough diamonds. The bags were tossed into the curt, the flap slammed to. and the mair gathered up the reins, and, as he did so, the watcher slid down the court, and, wheeling his bicycle out into Ely Place, sprang on it. and dashed along. Holborn, pest the entrance to the Viaduet steps, where the other watcher stood, with eyes alert, and, as he passed, Heetor Quanbrough rang his bell three times, and then three times again, and, disappearing in the gathering gloom, cut through Snow Hill, and so made his way to the foot of A’iaduet steps below, and rested there. ,

The mail cart turned out into Holborn, and clattered along towards the General Post Office. It passed along the Viaduct, and, as it did so, from the shadows of the entrance, the lounging figure of the postman sprang to life. He allowed the cart to get some little start, and then raced after it, calling loudly upon the driver to stop. At Inst, jnst as it reached Ncw-gate-streef, and passed by the grim walls of the prison, the sight of which sent an uncomfortable thrill through’ Mr Brenton’s mind as to what might happen if he bungled, the driver, whose attention had been called by pedestrians to a man running swiftly after him, pulled up. and the pursuer,' hot and out of breath, came level with the horse and panted out in gasps: “You’ve— taken—the—wrong— bag —the registered—” and he held out the one he carried. The driver leaned down and took' the bag from him, opened the flap of the cart, and threw it in, returning to the postman the one he had brought from Hatton Garden. The man, still panting from his exertions, shouldered it and walked leisurely back, while the driver whipped up his horse and drove on into the courtyard of St. Martin-le-Grand. The very audacity of the thing had, as was expected, secured its success. Back at the Viaduct steps again, the . postman lost his lethargy, ami darted down them to where Hector Quanbrough, with his bicycle, awaited him. ’ “Got them?” he laconically asked. “Yes!” “Jump on, then;” and in an instant Walter Brenton was pedalling away through the now densely gathering fog, while Hector Quanbrough took a hansom back to Piccadilly. The clever mail bag robbery proved a sensation for a day or so, and then faded into the oblivion of forgotten things. The Bloemkopje Diamond Mine Company received its insurance money, and continued to prosper, and Mr Hector Quanbrough, considering the concern a perfectly safe investment, took up in due course his allotment Of £5OOO worth of the new capital, which his friend the secretary was able to obtain for him, and appropriately paid for the shares with a portion of the proceeds of the little accident to the Bloemkopje diamonds.