THE DIAMONDS
At seven o'clock that same evening Allen and his American friend were
walking to Mrs. Palmer's to dine. As yet, Allen knew nothing of what
had transpired at Misery Castle, for Eva was keeping the story till
they met. But as the two men passed the little inn they saw Giles
Merry descend from a holiday-making _char-à-banc_. Two or three men
had just passed into the inn, no doubt to seek liquid refreshment.
Allen knew Merry's face, as Mrs. Merry had shown him a photograph of
Signor Antonio in stage dress, which she had obtained from Cain. The
man was a handsome and noticeable blackguard, and moreover his good
looks were reproduced in Cain. Therefore young Hill knew him at once,
and stepped forward.
"Good evening, Mr. Merry," he said; "I have long wished to meet you."
Giles looked surly. "My name is Signor Antonio, monsieur," he said.
"Oh," mocked Allen, "and being Italian you speak English and French
badly?"
"What do you want?" demanded Giles savagely, and becoming the English
gipsy at once. "I've no time to waste?"
"Why did you send that cross to Mr. Hill?"
Giles grinned. "Just to give him a fright," he said. "I knew he
was a milk-and-water fool, as I saw a lot of him in the old
days, when I did Strode's dirty work."
"You dug up the wooden hand?"
"No, I didn't. Butsey, who was on the watch, saw Hill plant it,
and dug it up. He brought it to me, and I gave it to Father Don.
Then Butsey stole it back, and passed it along to that young
woman you're going to marry."
"I guess," said Horace at this point, "you'd best speak civil of
Miss Strode. I'm not taking any insolence this day."
Allen nodded approval, and Giles cast a look over the big limbs of
the American. Apparently, strong man as he was, he thought it
would be best not to try conclusions with such a giant. "I wish
I'd met you in Father Don's den," he said. "I'd have smashed that
handsome face of yours."
"Two can play at that game," said Allen quietly; "and now, Mr.
Merry, or Signor Antonio, or whatever you choose to call
yourself, why shouldn't I hand you over to Wasp?"
"You can't bring any charge against me."
"Oh, can't I? You know something about this murder----"
"I was playing my turn at the circus in Westhaven when the shot
was fired," said Giles coolly.
"I didn't say you shot the man yourself; but you know who did."
"No, I don't," said Merry, his face growing dark; "if I did know
the man, I'd make him a present. I'd like to have killed Strode
myself. He played me many a dirty trick, and I said I'd be even
with him. But some one else got in before me. As to arrest," he
went on sneeringly, "don't you think I'd be such a fool as to come
down here, unless I was sure of my ground. Arrest me indeed!"
"I can on suspicion. You're in with the Perry Street gang."
Giles cast a look towards the inn and laughed. "Well, you've got to
prove that I and the rest have done wrong, before you can run us all
in."
"The wooden hand----"
"Oh, we know all about that, and who stole it," said Giles meaningly.
Allen started. He saw well enough that he could not bring Giles to
book without mentioning the name of his father. Therefore he changed
his mind about calling on Wasp to interfere, and contented himself
with a warning. "You'd best clear out of this by to-morrow," said he
angrily. "I shan't have you, troubling your wife."
"My wife! Ha--ha!" Merry seemed to find much enjoyment in the remark.
"Or Miss Strode either."
"Oh," sneered the man insolently, "you'd best see Miss Strode. She may
have something interesting to tell you. But I can't stay talking here
for ever. I'm going back to Shanton to-night. Come round at eleven,"
he said to the driver of the _char-à-banc_. "We'll drive back in the
moonlight."
"I think you'd better," said Allen grimly; "you stop here to-morrow,
and whatever you may know about a person, whose name need not be
mentioned, I'll have you run in."
"Oh, I'll be gone by to-morrow," sneered Merry again, and took his cap
off with such insolence that Horace longed to kick him, "don't you
fret yourself. I'm a gentleman of property now, and intend to cut the
sawdust and go to South Africa--where the diamonds come from," he
added with an insolent laugh, and then swung into the inn, leaving
Allen fuming with anger. But there was no use in making a disturbance,
as the man could make things unpleasant for Mr. Hill, so Allen
walked away with Horace to Mrs. Palmer's.
It would have been wiser had he entered the inn, for in the
coffee-room were three men, whom he might have liked to meet.
These were Father Don smartly dressed as a clergyman, Red Jerry as a
sailor, and Foxy in a neat suit of what are known as hand-me-downs.
The trio looked most respectable, and if Jerry's face was somewhat
villainous, and Foxy's somewhat sly, the benevolent looks of Father
Don were above suspicion. Giles sat down beside these at a small
table, and partook of the drinks which had been ordered. The landlord
was under the impression that the three men were over on a jaunt
from Shanton, and intended to return in the moonlight. Merry had
met them at the door, and now came in to tell them his plans.
"I've arranged matters," he said in a low voice to Father Don, "the
groom Jacobs is courting some young woman he's keeping company with,
and the women servants have gone to a penny reading the vicar is
giving."
"What of young Hill and his friend?"
"They are dining with Mrs. Palmer. The house is quite empty, and
contains only Mr. and Mrs. Hill. I have been in the house before,
and know every inch of it. I'll tell you how to get in."
"You'll come also?" said Foxy suspiciously.
"No," replied Giles. "I'll stop here. I've done enough for the money.
If you're fools enough to be caught, I shan't be mixed up in the
matter."
"We won't be caught," said Father Don with a low laugh; "Jerry will
keep guard at the window, and Foxy and I will enter."
"How?" asked the sharp-faced man.
"By the window," said Giles. "I explained to Father Don here, in
London. Hill has taken up his quarters in a Japanese room on the
west side of the house, just over the wall. There are French
windows opening on to the lawn. You can steal up and the grass
will deaden the sound of footsteps. It goes right up to the
window. That may be open. If not, Jerry can burst it, and then you
and Don can enter."
"But if Hill isn't alone?"
"Well then, act as you think best. Mrs. Hill's twice the man her
husband is. She might give the alarm. But there's no one in the
house, and she'll have to sing out pretty loudly before the alarm
can be given to the village."
"There won't be any alarm," said Father Don calmly. "I intend to make
use of that paper I got from you. Where did you get it, Merry?"
"From Butsey. I found him with Strode's blue pocket-book, and made
a grab at it. I saw notes. But Butsey caught those and bolted. I
got the book and some papers. The one I gave you, Don, will make
Hill give up the diamonds, if he has them."
"He must have them," said Don decidedly, "we know from the letter
sent to Mask, and which was left at his office by Butsey, that the
hand could be opened. I did open it and found nothing. I believe
that Strode stored the diamonds therein. If Hill stole the hand,
and took it home, he must have found the diamonds, and they are
now in his possession. I expect he looked for them."
"No," said Merry grimly, "he was looking for that paper you intend
to show him. He'll give up the diamonds smart enough, when he
sees that. Then you can make for Westhaven----"
"What of the charry-bang?" asked Jerry in heavy tones.
"That's a blind. It will come round at eleven, but by that time we
will all be on our way to Westhaven. If there is pursuit, Wasp and
his friend will follow in the wrong direction. Then Father Don can
make for Antwerp, and later we can sell the diamonds. But no
larks," said Merry, showing his teeth, "or there will be trouble."
"Suppose young Hill and his friend tell the police?"
"Oh," said Giles, grinning, "they will do so at the risk of the
contents of that paper being made public. Don't be a fool, Don,
you've got the whole business in your own hands. I don't want a
row, as I have to meet a lady in a few days," Giles grinned again,
when he thought of Lady Ipsen, "and we have to do business."
So the plan was arranged, and after another drink Father Don and
stroll in the village to "see the venerable church in the
moonlight," as the pseudo clergyman told the landlord. But when out
of sight, the trio changed the direction of their walk, and made
for "The Arabian Nights" at the end of the village. Departing from
the high-road they stole across a large meadow, and, in a dark
corner, climbed the wall. Father Don was as active as any of them,
in spite of his age. When the three rascals were over the wall and
standing on a smoothly-shaven lawn, they saw the range of the Roman
pillars, but no light in the windows. "It's on the west side," said
Don in a whisper; "come along, pals."
The three crept round the black bulk of the house and across the
drive. All was silent and peaceful within the boundary of the wall.
The moonlight silvered the lawns and flower-beds and made beautiful
the grotesque architecture of the house. A few steps taken in a
cat-like fashion brought the thieves to the west side. They here saw
a light glimmering through three French windows which opened on to a
narrow stone terrace. From this, the lawn rolled smoothly to the
flower-beds, under the encircling red brick wall. Father Don pointed
to the three windows.
"The middle one," he said quietly; "see if it's open, Foxy. If not,
we'll have to make a certain noise. And look inside if you can."
Foxy stole across the lawn and terrace and peered in. After a time,
he delicately tried the window and shook his head. He then stole back
to report, "Hill is lying on the sofa," he said, "and his wife is
seated beside him. He's crying about something."
"We'll give him something to cry about soon," said Father Don, feeling
for the paper which he had received from Giles. "Smash the middle
window in, Jerry."
Without the least concealment the huge man rushed up the slope
and hurled his bulk against the window. The frail glass gave way and
he fairly fell into the centre of the room. With a shrill cry of
terror, Hill sprang from the sofa, convulsively clutching the hand
of his wife, while Mrs. Hill, after the first shock of alarm, faced
the intruders boldly. By this time Father Don with Foxy behind him
was bowing to the disturbed couple. Jerry took himself out of the
room, and guarded the broken window.
"Who are you? what do you want?" demanded Mrs. Hill. "If you don't
go I'll ring for the servants."
"I am afraid you will give yourself unnecessary trouble," said Don
suavely. "We know the servants are out."
"What do you want?"
"We'll come to that presently. Our business has to do with your
husband, Mr. Hill"--Father Don looked at the shivering wretch.
"I never harmed you--I don't know you," mumbled Hill. "Go away--leave
me alone--what do you want?"
"We'll never get on in this way.--No, you don't," added Don, as Mrs.
Hill tried to steal to the door, "Go and sit down by your good
husband," and he enforced this request by pointing a revolver.
"I am not to be frightened by melodrama," said Mrs. Hill scornfully.
"Sit down, Sarah--sit down," said Hill, his teeth chattering.
The woman could not help casting a contemptuous look on the coward,
even though she fancied, she owed so much to him. But, as she was a
most sensible woman, she saw that it would be as well to obey. "I am
ready to hear," she said, sitting by Hill, and putting her strong arm
round the shivering, miserable creature.
"I'll come to the point at once," said Don, speaking to Hill, "as
we have not much time to lose. Mr. Hill, you have forty thousand
pounds' worth of diamonds here. Give them up!"
Hill turned even paler than he was. "How do you know that?" he asked.
"It can't be true," put in Mrs. Hill spiritedly. "If you are talking
of Mr. Strode's diamonds, my husband hasn't got them."
"Your husband stole the wooden hand from the dead," said Foxy, with
his usual snarl. "He took it home and opened it."
"I did not know it contained the diamonds," babbled Hill.
"No. You thought it contained a certain document," said Don, and
produced a paper from his pocket, "a blue paper document, not very
large--of such a size as might go into a wooden hand, provided the
hand was hollow as it was. Is this it?"
Hill gave a scream and springing up bounded forward. "Give it to
me--give it!' he cried.
"For the diamonds," said Father Don, putting the paper behind him.
"You shall have them. I hid them in this room--I don't want them, but
that paper--it is mine."
"I know that--signed with your name, isn't it? Well, bring out the
diamonds, and, when you hand them over----"
"You'll give me the paper?"
Foxy shook his head as Father Don looked inquiringly at him. "No,
we must keep that paper, so as to get away--otherwise you'll be
setting the police on our track."
"I swear I won't--I swear----" Hill dropped on his knees, "I swear----"
His wife pulled him to his feet. "Try and be a man, Lawrence," she
said. "What is this document?"
"Nothing--nothing--but I must have it," cried Hill jerking himself
away. He ran across the room, and fumbled at the lock of a cabinet.
"See--see--I have the diamonds! I found them in the hand--I put them
into a canvas bag--here--here--" his fingers shook so that he could
hardly open the drawer. Foxy came forward and kindly helped him.
Between the two, the drawer was opened. Hill flung out a mass of
papers, which strewed the floor. Then from beneath these, he hauled a
small canvas bag tied at the mouth and sealed. "All the diamonds are
here," he said, bringing this to Don and trying to open it.
"Forty thousand pounds--forty--for God's sake--" he broke off
hysterically--"the paper, the paper I signed!"
Don took possession of the bag and was about to hand over the
document, when Foxy snatched it. "We'll send this from the
Continent," he said, "while we have this, you won't be able to set
the peelers on us."
Hill began to cry and again fell on his knees, but Father Don took no
notice of him. He emptied the contents of the bag on the table and
there the jewels flashed in the lamp-light, a small pile of very fine
stones. While he gloated over them, Mrs. Hill laid her hand on Foxy's
arm: "What is in that paper?" she asked sternly.
"Don't tell her--don't tell her!" cried Hill.
"Lawrence!"
But he put his hands to his ears and still cried and grovelled. "I
shall go mad if you tell her! I shall--ah--oh--ugh--!" he suddenly
clutched at his throat and reeled to the sofa.
Mrs. Hill took little notice of him. "Read me the document," she said.
"I can almost repeat it from memory," said Foxy, putting the paper
into his pocket; "it's simply a confession by your husband that he
stole a certain necklace belonging to----"
"The Delham heirloom!" cried Mrs. Hill, turning grey, and recoiling.
"Yes, and also a promise to withdraw from seeking to marry Lady Jane
Delham, and to marry you."
"Oh!" Mrs. Hill turned such a withering look on her miserable husband,
that he shrank back and covered his eyes. "So this is the real reason
of your chivalry?"
"Yes," said Father Don, who had placed the diamonds again in his bag,
and stood up, "I heard some of the story from Giles Merry, and read
the rest in the signed document. It was Hill who stole the necklace.
He took the key from the school-room, where it had been left by Lady
Ipsen. He opened the safe, and collared the necklace. Near the door,
he left a handkerchief of yours, Mrs. Hill, so that, if there was
danger, you might be accused. Strode found the handkerchief, and
knowing Hill had possessed it, made him confess. Then he made Hill
sign the confession that he had stolen the necklace, and also made him
promise to marry you."
Mrs. Hill sank down with a stern, shamed look, "So this was your
chivalry," she said, looking again at her husband, "you stole the
necklace--you let me bear the shame--you tried to incriminate me--you
pretended to wed me to save me from starvation, and--oh, you--you
shameless-creature!" she leaped, and made as though she would have
struck Hill; the man cowered with a cry of alarm like a trapped
rabbit.
"What became of the necklace?" she asked Don sharply.
"Strode made Hill sell it, and they divided the profits."
"Eva's father also," moaned Mrs. Hill, covering her face, "oh,
shame--shame--shall I ever be able to look on this man's face again!"
Hill attempted to excuse himself, "I didn't get much money," he
wailed. "I let Strode take the lot. He carried the confession in his
wooden hand--that's why I took it. I stole the hand and opened
it--but the confession wasn't in it--I found the diamonds, and I
have given them to you--let me have the paper!" he bounded to his
feet, and snatching a dagger from a trophy of arms on the wall made
for Foxy, "I'll kill you if you don't give it to me!"
Father Don dodged behind a chair, while Foxy, who was right in the
centre of the room, ran for the window, and, bursting past Jerry,
raced down the lawn with Hill after him, the dagger upraised. Round
and round they went, while Mrs. Hill stood on the terrace, looking on
with a deadly smile. Had Hill been struck down, she would have
rejoiced. Don twitched the arm of Jerry.
"Let's cut," he said; "I've got the swag, Foxy can look after
himself," and these two gentlemen left the house hurriedly.
Mrs. Hill saw them disappear without anxiety. The blow she had
received seemed to have benumbed her faculties. To think that she had
been so deceived and tricked. With a stony face she watched Foxy
flying round the lawn, with the insane man--for Hill appeared to be
mad--after him. Foxy, in deadly terror of his life, seeing his pals
disappear, tore the document from his pocket, threw it down, and ran
panting towards the wall. While he scaled it, Hill picked up the
paper and tore it, with teeth and hands, into a thousand shreds. The
three scoundrels had disappeared, and Mrs. Hill looked down coldly on
her frantic husband. Hill danced up to the terrace, and held out his
hands. "Happiness--happiness, I am safe."
"Coward," she said in a terrible voice. Her husband looked at her,
and then began to laugh weirdly. Then with a cry, he dropped.
"I hope he is dead," said Mrs. Hill, looking down on him with scorn.