[All Rights Reserved.] The Chase of the Ruby.

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XXX, Issue X, 7 March 1903, Page 632

[All Rights Reserved.] The Chase of the Ruby.

By

RICHARD MARSH.

Author of “The Beetle: A Mystery,” “In Full Cry," “Frivolities,” Etc.

SYNOPSIS of INSTALMENTS I. to V.--On returning home from South Africa,where he had had a vision of his uncle beaten by a stranger on a flight of steps. Guy Holland finds a letter awaiting him from his uncle’s solicitor requesting an interview. The uncle has died and left a singular will behind, making Guy fits heir on condition that he regains a ruby ring which his relative had parted with to Miss May Bewicke, an actress. Failing this the estate goes to his other nephew, Horace Burton. In Regent** Park. Guy meets his sweetheart, Miss Betty Broad, who files into a passion of jealousy against Miss Bewicke. to whom Guy had formerly been engaged, and counsels him to go and demand the ring. He goes to Miss Bewlcke’s flat for this purpose. Over supper, Guy makes his request and is met with a refusal. Coming away he encounters first his cousin Horace Burton, and then Miss Bewlcke’s maid, Casata, who has a deep personal spite against his cousin. She is eager to avenge herself by aiding Guy. The plan unfolded by Casata to enable Guy to possess himself of the ring, is nothing short of burglary. He recoils from the idea, but Miss Broad again commands and he therefore pays a midnight visit to the actress’ rooms. He has just discovered the ring in the drawer indicated by the maid, when Miss Bewicke unexpectedly appears, her plans being changed. She insists on his keeping his booty and he leaves, carrying the ring with him. In the street he is knocked down from behind with a blow which appears to cause fata! result, and the mysterious assailant rifles his pockets.

CHAPTER IX. THE FLYMAN’S FIND. All the while he had never eeased to finger the silent man, submitting his garments to the minutest possible examination whieh the position permitted. Constantly he glanced behind and in front, well knowing that the risk of intrusion grew greater every moment. With what looked very like impertinence, he turned the object of his curiosity over on his face. As he did so his eye was eaught by something whieh was lying on the pavement, and which apparently had hitherto been covered by the body of the silent man. It was a ring. He snatched at it. “Got it, by the living jingo! The whole time the fool was right on top of it. If I hadn’t overed him I might have gone away and thought he’d never had it after all. That’d been a pretty how-d’ye-do. I suppose he dropped it when I downed him, and covered it when he fell. He might have done it on purpose, just to spite me.” He was standing up. turning the ring over and over between his fingers. “It’s all right, there’s no mistake about that much. This is fair jam. this is. A thousand quids

into my pocket.” Something attracted his attention. “Hollo!—sounded like

a footstep—a copper’s, unless I’m wrong! ” Without pausing to look behind he crossed the street, keeping well within the shadow of the houses, and walking fast, yet not too quickly, in the direction of Victoria. As he went he disposed of what had proved so efficient a weapon. It was a narrow bag, about a couple of inches in diameter, and a little over a foot in length. It was stuffed with sand. Untying one end, he allowed the contents to dribble out into the areas of the houses as he passed. Nothing remained but a strip of canvas. He was cramming this into his pocked as he reached the corner of a street into which he turned. A constable was standing on the kerb as if waiting for him to come. His wholly unexpected appearance might have startled a less skilful practitioner into doing something rash. But this gentleman had had too many curious experiences to permit himself to readily lose his wits.

“Good-night, policeman. Fine night!” he sang out, moving quickly on. as if he were hastening on.

“Good-night,” returned the policeman. He eyed the other as he passed, as if he wondered who he was, yet was conscious of no legitimate reason why he should stop him to inquire. The man drew in the morning air between his teeth, as if he desired to inflate his lungs to the full. “That was a squeak. It wasn’t him I nosed. Who’d have thought that he was there? If he’d come round the corner a minute or two ago there’d have probably been fun. Lucky I emptied the bag before I came on him. Hollo! He’s

going into Victoria-street. If he uses his eyes he’ll spot my bloke in half a minute from now. I’d better put the steam on.”

He quickened his pace, not breaking into a run, tor he was aware that nothing arouses attention more than the sight of a man running at that hour in a London street. But for the next ten minutes he moved at a good five miles an hour, going fair toe-and-heel. Then he slackened, judging that for the present he was safe; and, moreover, he was blown.

By what at least seemed devious ways, he steered for Chelsea, to find himself, at last, in the King’s Road. Thence he made for the river side, pausing before a house which faced the Thames. The house was an old one. In front was a piece of ground which was half yard, half garden. The approach to this was guarded by an iron railing and a gate. The gate was locked. By it was a rusty bell handle. At this he tugged. Almost immediately a window on the first floor was opened about three inches. A voice was heard. “Who’s there?” “It’s me, the Flyman.” “You’ve been a devil of a time.”

“Couldn’t be no quicker.” The window was shut again. Presently the front door was opened instead. A man came out. It was Horace Burton. He sauntered to the gate. “Have you got it?” “You let me in and then I’ll tell you.” “Don’t be an idiot! Tell me, have you got it?” “I sha’n’t tell you nothing till I’m inside.”

“You’re an ass! Do you think I want to keep you out?” He fumbled with the lock. “Confound this key; it’s rusty.”

“Your hand ain’t steady; that what’s wrong with it.” “Hang the thing!” The key dropped with a clatter to the ground. ■ “You let me have a try at it; perhaps my hand ain’t so shaky as yours.” The man outside picked up the fallen key, thrusting his hand through the railings to enable him to do so. Soon the gate was open. When he had entered he locked it again behind him. The two men went into the house. When they were in the hall Mr Burton repeated his assertion. ‘•"You’ve been a devil of a time. Do you think I want to stop up all night waiting for you?” “That’s all right. I’ll tell you all about it when we get upstairs. Who’s there?”

“Old Cox is there, that’s who’s there; and he looks to me as if he were going to stop there the rest of his life—hanged if he doesn’t.”

Possibly Mr Burton had been quenching his thirst too frequently with the idea of speeding the heavy hours of his vigil. The result was obvious in his speech and his appearance. At the foot of the staircase he stumbled against the bottom stair. The newcomer proffered his assistance.

“Steadv. governor. Let me lend vou a hand.”

Mr Burton was at once upon his dignity. “Don’t you touch me. I don’t want your hand. Do you think I don’t know my way up my own staircase?”

He. ascended it as if in doubt. The Flyman kept close behind in ease, of accident. Which fact Mr Burton, when he was half-way up, discovered. Steadying himself against the banister he addressed his too-assiduous attendant.

“Might I ask yon not to tread upon my heels? Might I also ask you to go down to the bottom of the stairs and wait there till I’m at the top. There’s too much of it.”

"All right, governor. Onlv don’t keep mo here too long, that’s all.” “You haven’t kept me long! Oh, no! Not more than thirteen hours.”

When he had reached the top Mr. Burton threw open the door of n room in which the gas was lighted. Tn an armchair a gentleman was smoking a cigar. “This <orfounded Flyman thinks that he’s the devil knows who. Seems to think he owns the place. I think I’ll have a drink.’’

The gentleman in the arm-chair ventured on remonstrance.

“I wouldn’t if T were you; at least, not till we’ve got this business over.” “Wouldn’t you? Then I would. There's something the matter with this beastly siphon.” ’

The matter was that while he directed the nozzle of the siphon in one direction he held his glass in another. The result was that the liquor did not go where he intended. So he drank his whisky neat. (

While Mr. Burton was having his little discussion with the siphon, the man who had described himself as “the Flyman” came into the room. He was rather over the average height, slightly built, with fair hair and moustache, and very pale blue eyes. The eyes were his most peculiar feature. He was not bad-looking, with an agreeable personality; at first sight, a likeable man, until you caught his eyes, then you wondered. They were set oddly in his head, so that they seldom seemed to move. He had a trick of regarding you with a curiously immobile stare, which, even when he smiled—which was but rarely—seemed to convey a latent threat. He was dressed like a respectable artisan, and had such a lowpitehed, clear, musical voice that it was with surprise one observed how peculiar were his notions of his mother tone. As soon as he was inside the room Mr. Burton repeated his former inquiry. “Now, then, have you got it?” “I have.” " ‘ • “Then hand it over.” Mr. Burton held out a tremulous hand. “Half a mo. I’ve got a word or two to say before we come to that. I should like you to understand how I did get it. It wasn't for the asking, I’d have vou know.” J The gentleman in the armchair interposed. He waved his cigar. “One moment.” •• ! j. “Two, if you like, Mr. Cox.” He was a little, paunchy man, with “Jew” written so large all over him that one asked oneself why he had been so ungrateful to his forefathers as to associate himself with such a name as Cox —Thomas Cox. He got out of his chair, which was much too large for him, so that he could see the Flyman, who still kept himself modestly in the background. He punctuated his words by making little dabs in the air with his cigar.

“What we want is the ruby; that’s all we want. We don’t want the schedule of your adventures. We’re not interested. You understand?”

“Yes, I understand you, Mr. Cox, but it don’t go.”

“What do you mean, ‘it don’t go?”’ “I’m not all alone in this. There’s three of us in this game.” “Listen to me. You say you’ve got the ruby. Very well, hand it over. I will see you have what Mr. Burton promised you. We’ll say no more about it, and there’ll be an end of the matter.” The Flyman’s manner became a trifle dogged. “I don’t hand over nothing till you’ve heard what I’ve got to say.” Something in the speaker’s manner struck the observant Mr. Cox. He showed signs of perturbation. “Flyman, you haven’t killed him?” “I don't know whether I have or haven’t. I hit, perhaps, a bit harder than I meant. He was as good as dead when I saw him last; anyhow, he’ll lie still for the rest of his days, or else I’m wrong. I know what a good downer with a sandbag means. I’m a hit afraid I gave him an extra good one. I didn’t like the looks of him at all.” “You’re a fool! Why did you do it?” “Because you told me!” “I told you! What the devil do you mean?” “You set me on the job—you and Mr Burton together. You said to me there’s a bloke coming out of a certain house at a certain time. lie’s got something on him which you’re to got. You know very well I wasn’t going to get it out of him by asking.’ “Did anyone see you?” “Not while I was at it. so far as I know. But a copper did directly afterwards. For all I can tell, he’s seen me before, and’ll know me again.” Mr Cox's perturbation visibly increased. “Did he —did he try to arrest you?” “He didn’t know what had happened then; but he was going straight to where I left the bloke tying. Then, of course, he’d put two and two together and think of me.” Flyman, you’re a fool! Did anybody see you come in here?”

“That's more than I can say. But somebody’ll soon know I did come in here if anything happens to me. I’m not going on this lay all on my own."

Mr Cox threw his unfinished cigar into the fireplace. It had gone out. His attention was occupied by matters which rendered smoking difficult. He stood gnawing the finger nails of his left hand. The Flyman watched him. Mr Burton seemed to be endeavouring to obtain sufficient control of his faculties to understand what the conversation was about. Presently Mr Cox delivered himself of the result of his cogitation. “I tell you what, I shouldn’t be surprised if a little trip abroad would do you good.” “I’m willing.” “Then I’ll see that you have a berth on board a boat I know of. which leaves the London docks to-morrow for America.” “I’m game.” “Now, let’s have the ruby.” “Against the quids?” “Against the quids. You don’t suppose that Mr Burton and I carry a thousand pounds about with us loose in our pockets?” “No quids, no ruby.” “The money shall be handed to you when you're on board the ship.” “I’ll see that the ruby isn’t handed to you till it is.” “Do you think I want to do you?” “I’m dead sure you do if you only get a chance. I’ve done a little business with you before to-day, Mr Cox. You must 'think I’m soft. Why, nothing would suit your book better than to do me out of the pieces and get me lagged. But if you try that game I’ll see that you get a bit of it. Thank you; I don’t trust vou, not as far as I can see you, Mr Cox.” The gentleman thus flatteringly alluded to laughed a little mechanically. “I’m sorry to hear you talk like that, Flyman. There’s no time now to try to induce you to form a better opinion of me; but you’ll discover that you have done me an injustice before very long. Anyhow, let’s see that you have the ruby.” Mr Burton chose this moment to awake to the fact that he had a very definite interest in the discussion which was being carried on. He banged his glass against the table. “I’m going to have that ruby! I’m going to have it now!”

“So you shall when you give me the thousand pounds.”

“I don’t care about the thousand pounds. I’m going to have the ruby." “Then, I’m damned if you are!" I say I am. Now, then! So you'd better give it to me—before I take it.” The speaker staggered towards the Fftyman. “Don’t you be silly, Mr Burtou, or you might find me nasty, and I don't W * n *'. * laTe to k” nasty to you.” , S’j' e , nie ruby; it’s mine.” , That ’ B '* he , re you’re wrong. Just now it nappens to be mine.” pair V ' C ° X I,aicd himse,f between the “Pretend to be sober, Burton, even if you’re drunk.” i • 1 don’t care that for liim. lie tried to snap his fingers, but the attempt was a disastrous failure “I say I’m going to have that rubv now, and so I am •‘Shut it Mr. Cox’s treatment of the intoxicated gentleman was vigorous and to the point. He gave him a push which propelled him backwards with such unexpected force that, before he was able to recover himself, he was lying on the ground. There for a time he stayed. The others paid no attention to him whatever. Mr. Cox continued the discussion on his own account. “Let me see the ruby.” “Let me see the quids.” ‘ “Look here, Flyman; you say you know me. Well, I know you; I know vou for a windbag and a liar. It’s quite likely that all you’ve been telling us is huniand that you’ve not been within miles of what we want. If you’ve got the ruby, you let me look at it: there’ll be no harm done. I’m not. going to buy a pig in a poke, and I’m not going to steal it.” “I lay you are not going to steal it; I lay that. There it is. Now, you can take and look at it.” ' , Taking a ring from his waistcoat pocket, slipping it on to his little finger, ha held it out for the other’s inspection, eyeing Mr. Cox in a very singular manner as that gentleman bent over to examine it. “Did you get that from—the person we’ve been talking about?” “I did. ’ “To-night?” “To-night. Not an hour ago—as he came out of the house.”

Mr. Cox turned to Mr. Burton, who was sitting upon the floor. “Get up, you jackass! Come here a«d see if this is what we’re after.”