laid a card on the desk by which he had been given a chair. "I was very
well known in the City police-courts, you know, until I retired three
years ago. Now, these young gentlemen have just told me all the facts
of this very strange case, and I think I can throw some light on it--on
part of it, anyway. First of all, let me see those two rings about
which there has been so much enquiry."
Ayscough produced the rings from a locked drawer; the rest of those
present looked on curiously as they were examined and handled by Mr.
Killick. It was immediately evident that he had no doubt about his
recognition and identification of them--after a moment's inspection of
each he pushed them back towards the detective.
"Certainly!" he said with a confidence that carried conviction. "Those
are the rings which I gave to Mrs. Lauriston, this young man's mother.
I knew them at once. If it's necessary, I can show you the receipt
which I got with them from the seller. The particulars are specified in
that receipt--and I know that I still have it. Does my testimony
satisfy you?"
The chief official present glanced at the man from New Scotland Yard,
and receiving a nod from him, smiled at the old solicitor.
"I think we can rely on your evidence, Mr. Killick," he said. "We had
to make certain, you know. But these marks--isn't that a curious
coincidence, now, when you come to think of it?"
"Not a bit of it!" replied Mr. Killick. "And I'll tell you why--that's
precisely what I've come all the way from my own comfortable fireside
at Stanmore to do! There's no coincidence at all. I've heard the whole
story of this Praed Street affair now from these two lads. And I've no
more doubt than I have that I see you, that the old pawnbroker whom you
knew hereabouts as Daniel Multenius was the same man Daniel
Molteno--from whom I bought those rings, years ago! Not the slightest
doubt!"
None of those present made any remark on this surprising announcement,
and Mr. Killick went on.
"I was, as some of you may know, in practice in the City--in Moorgate
Street, as a matter of fact," he said. "Daniel Molteno was a jeweller
in Houndsditch. I occasionally acted for him--professionally. And
occasionally when I wanted anything in the way of jewellery, I went to
his shop. He was then a man of about fifty, a tall, characteristically
Hebraic sort of man, already patriarchal in appearance, though he
hadn't a grey hair in his big black beard. He was an interesting man,
profoundly learned in the history of precious stones. I remember buying
those rings from him very well indeed--I remember, too, what I gave him
for them--seventy-five pounds for the two. Those private marks inside
them are, of course, his--and so they're just the same as his private
marks inside those other rings in the tray. But that's not what I came
here to tell you--that's merely preliminary."
"Deeply interesting, anyway, sir," observed Ayscough. "And, maybe, very
valuable."
"Not half so valuable as what I'm going to tell you," replied Mr.
Killick, with a dry chuckle, "Now, as I understand it, from young Mr.
Purdie's account, you're all greatly excited at present over the
undoubted connection with this Praed Street mystery of one Mr. Spencer
Levendale, who is, I believe, a very rich man, a resident in one of the
best parts of this district, and a Member of Parliament. It would
appear from all you've discovered, amongst you, up to now, that Spencer
Levendale has been privately mixed up with old Daniel Multenius in some
business which seems to be connected with South Africa. Now, attend to
what I say:--About the time that I knew Daniel Molteno in Houndsditch,
Daniel Molteno had a partner--a junior partner, whose name, however,
didn't appear over the shop. He was a much younger man than Daniel--in
fact, he was quite a young man--I should say he was then about
twenty-three or four--not more. He was of medium height, dark,
typically Jewish, large dark eyes, olive skin, good-looking, smart,
full of go. And his name--the name I knew him by--was Sam Levin." The
other men in the room glanced at each other--and one of them softly
murmured what all was thinking.
"The same initials!"
"Just so!" agreed Mr. Killick. "That's what struck me--Sam Levin:
Spencer Levendale. Very well!--I continue. One day I went to Daniel
Molteno's shop to get something repaired, and it struck me that I
hadn't seen Sam Levin the last two or three times I had been in.
'Where's your partner?' I asked of Daniel Molteno. 'I haven't seen him
lately.' 'Partner no longer, Mr. Killick,' said he. 'We've dissolved.
He's gone to South Africa.' 'What to do there?' I asked. 'Oh,' answered
Daniel Molteno, 'he's touched with this fever to get at close quarters
with the diamond fields! He's gone out there to make a fortune, and
come back a millionaire.' 'Well!' I said. 'He's a likely candidate.'
'Oh, yes!' said Daniel. 'He'll do well.' No more was said--and, as far
as I can remember, I never saw Daniel Molteno again. It was some time
before I had occasion to go that way--when I did, I was surprised to
see a new name over the shop. I went in and asked where its former
proprietor was. The new shopkeeper told me that Mr. Molteno had sold
his business to him. And he didn't know where Mr. Molteno had gone, or
whether he'd retired from business altogether; he knew nothing--and
evidently didn't care, either, so--that part of my memories comes to an
end!"
"Mr. Spencer Levendale is a man of just under fifty," remarked
Ayscough, after a thoughtful pause, "and I should say that twenty-five
years ago, he'd be just such a man as Mr. Killick has described."
"You can take it from me--considering all that I've been told this
afternoon--" said the old solicitor, "that Spencer Levendale is Sam
Levin--come back from South Africa, a millionaire. I'm convinced of it!
And now then, gentlemen, what does all this mean? There's no doubt that
old Multenius and Levendale were secretly mixed up. What in? What's the
extraordinary mystery about that book--left in Multenius's back parlour
and advertised for immediately by Levendale as if it were simply
invaluable? Why has Levendale utterly disappeared? And who is this man
Purvis--and what's he to do with it? You've got the hardest nuts to
crack--a whole basketful of 'em!--that ever I heard of. And I've had
some little experience of crime!"
"I've had some information on Levendale and Purvis this very
afternoon," said Ayscough. He turned to the other officials. "I hadn't
a chance of telling you of it before," he continued. "I was at
Levendale's house at three o'clock, making some further enquiries. I
got two pieces of news. To start with--that bottle out of which
Levendale filled a small phial, which he put in his waistcoat pocket
when he went out for the last time--you remember, Mr. Purdie, that his
butler told you of that incident--well, that bottle contains
chloroform--I took a chemist there to examine it and some other things.
That's item one. The other's a bit of information volunteered by
Levendale's chauffeur. The morning after Mr. Multenius's death, and
after you, Mr. Lauriston, Mr. Rubinstein, and myself called on
Levendale, Levendale went off to the City in his car. He ordered the
chauffeur to go through Hyde Park, by the Victoria Gate, and to stop by
the Powder Magazine. At the Powder Magazine he got out of the car and
walked down towards the bridge on the Serpentine. The chauffeur had him
in view all the way, and saw him join a tall man, clean-shaven, much
browned, who was evidently waiting for him. They remained in
conversation, at the entrance to the bridge, some five minutes or
so--then the stranger went across the bridge in the direction of
Kensington, and Levendale returned to his car. Now, in my opinion, that
strange man was this Purvis we've heard of. And that seems to have been
the last time any one we've come across saw him. That night, after his
visit to his house, and his taking the phial of chloroform away with
him, Levendale utterly disappeared, too--and yet sent a wire to his
butler, from close by, next morning, saying he would be away for a few
days! Why didn't he call with that message himself!"
Mr. Killick, who had listened to Ayscough with close attention,
laughed, and turned to the officials with a sharp look.
"Shall I give you people a bit of my opinion after hearing all this?"
he said. "Very well, then--Levendale never did send that wire! It was
sent in Levendale's name--to keep things quiet. I believe that
Levendale's been trapped--and Purvis with him!"
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
THE ORANGE-YELLOW DIAMOND
His various listeners had heard all that the old solicitor had said,
with evident interest and attention--now, one of them voiced what all
the rest was thinking.
"What makes you think that, Mr. Killick?" asked the man from New
Scotland Yard. "Why should Levendale and Purvis have been trapped?"
Mr. Killick--who was obviously enjoying this return to the arena in
which, as some of those present well knew, he had once played a
distinguished part, as a solicitor with an extensive police-court
practice--twisted round on his questioner with a sly, knowing glance.
"You're a man of experience!" he answered. "Now come!--hasn't it struck
you that something went before the death of old Daniel
Multenius--whether that death arose from premeditated murder, or from
sudden assault? Eh?--hasn't it?"
"What, then?" asked the detective dubiously. "For I can't say that it
has--definitely. What do you conjecture did go before that?"
Mr. Killick thumped his stout stick on the floor.
"Robbery!" he exclaimed, triumphantly. "Robbery! The old man was robbed
of something! Probably--and there's nothing in these cases like
considering possibilities--he caught the thief in the act of robbing
him, and lost his life in defending his property. Now, supposing
Levendale and Purvis were interested--financially--in that property,
and set their wits to work to recover it, and in their efforts got into
the hands of--shall we suppose a gang?--and got trapped? Or," concluded
Mr. Killick with great emphasis and meaning, "for anything we
know--murdered? What about that theory?"
"Possible!" muttered Ayscough. "Quite possible!"
"Consider this," continued the old solicitor. "Levendale is a
well-known man--a Member of Parliament--a familiar figure in the City,
where he's director of more than one company--the sort of man whom, in
ordinary circumstances, you'd be able to trace in a few hours. Now, you
tell me that half-a-dozen of your best men have been trying to track
Levendale for two days and nights, and can't get a trace of him! What's
the inference? A well-known man can't disappear in that way unless for
some very grave reason! For anything we know, Levendale--and Purvis
with him--may be safely trapped within half-a-mile of Praed Street--or,
as I say, they may have been quietly murdered. Of one thing I'm dead
certain, anyway--if you want to get at the bottom of this affair,
you've got to find those two men!"
"It would make a big difference if we had any idea of what it was that
Daniel Multenius had in that packet which he fetched from his bank on
the day of the murder," remarked Ayscough. "If there's been robbery,
that may have been the thief's object."
"That pre-supposes that the thief knew what was in the packet," said
Purdie. "Who is there that could know? We may take it that Levendale
and Purvis knew--but who else would?"
"Aye!--and how are we to find that out?" asked the New Scotland Yard
man. "If I only knew that much--"
But even at that moment--and not from any coincidence, but from the law
of probability to which Mr. Killick had appealed--information on that
very point was close at hand. A constable tapped at the door, and
entering, whispered a few words to the chief official, who having
whispered back, turned to the rest as the man went out of the room.
"Here's something likely!" he said. "There's a Mr. John Purvis, from
Devonshire, outside. Says he's the brother of the Stephen Purvis who's
name's been in the papers as having mysteriously disappeared, and wants
to tell the police something. He's coming in."
The men in the room turned with undisguised interest as the door opened
again, and a big, fresh-coloured countryman, well wrapped up in a stout
travelling coat, stepped into the room and took a sharp glance at its
occupants. He was evidently a well-to-do farmer, this, and quite at his
ease--but there was a certain natural anxiety in his manner as he
turned to the official, who sat at the desk in the centre of the group.
"You're aware of my business, sir?" he asked quietly.
"I understand you're the brother of the Stephen Purvis we're wanting to
find in connection with this Praed Street mystery," answered the
official. "You've read of that in the newspaper, no doubt, Mr. Purvis?
Take a seat--you want to tell us something? As a matter of fact, we're
all discussing the affair!"
The caller took the chair which Ayscough drew forward and sat down,
throwing open his heavy overcoat, and revealing a whipcord riding-suit
of light fawn beneath it.
"You'll see I came here in a hurry, gentlemen," he said, with a smile.
"I'd no thoughts of coming to London when I left my farm this morning,
or I'd have put London clothes on! The fact is--I farm at a very
out-of-the-way place between Moretonhampstead and Exeter, and I never
see the daily papers except when I drive into Exeter twice a week. Now
when I got in there this morning, I saw one or two London papers--last
night's they were--and read about this affair. And I read enough to
know that I'd best get here as quick as possible!--so I left all my
business there and then, and caught the very next express to
Paddington. And here I am! And now--have you heard anything of my
brother Stephen more than what's in the papers? I've seen today's, on
the way up."
"Nothing!" answered the chief official. "Nothing at all! We've
purposely kept the newspapers informed, and what there is in the
morning's papers is the very latest. So--can you tell us anything?"
"I can tell you all I know myself," replied John Purvis, with a solemn
shake of his head. "And I should say it's a good deal to do with
Stephen's disappearance--in which, of course, there's some foul play!
My opinion, gentlemen, is that my brother's been murdered! That's about
it!"
No one made any remark--but Mr. Killick uttered a little murmur of
comprehension, and nodded his head two or three times.
"Murdered, poor fellow, in my opinion," continued John Purvis. "And
I'll tell you why I think so. About November 8th or 9th--I can't be
sure to a day--I got a telegram from Stephen, sent off from Las Palmas,
in the Canary Islands, saying he'd be at Plymouth on the 15th, and
asking me to meet him there. So I went to Plymouth on the morning of
the 15th. His boat, the _Golconda_, came in at night, and we went to an
hotel together and stopped the night there. We hadn't met for some
years, and of course he'd a great deal to tell--but he'd one thing in
particular--he'd struck such a piece of luck as he'd never had in his
life before!--and he hadn't been one of the unlucky ones, either!"
"What was this particular piece of luck?" asked Mr. Killick.
John Purvis looked round as if to make sure of general attention.
"He'd come into possession, through a fortunate bit of trading, up
country in South Africa, of one of the finest diamonds ever
discovered!" he answered. "I know nothing about such things, but he
said it was an orange-yellow diamond that would weigh at least a
hundred and twenty carats when cut, and was worth, as far as he could
reckon, some eighty to ninety thousand pounds. Anyway, that was what
he'd calculated he was going to get for it here in London--and what he
wanted to see me about, in addition to telling me of his luck, was that
he wanted to buy a real nice bit of property in Devonshire, and settle
down in the old country. But--I'm afraid his luck's turned to a poor
end! Gentlemen!--I'm certain my brother's been murdered for that
diamond!"
The police officials, as with one consent, glanced at Mr. Killick, and
by their looks seemed to invite his assistance. The old gentleman
nodded and turned to the caller.
"Now, Mr. Purvis," he said, "just let me ask you a few questions. Did
your brother tell you that this diamond was his own, sole property?"
"He did, sir!" answered the farmer. "He said it was all his own."
"Did he tell you where it was--what he had done with it?"
"Yes! He said that for some years he'd traded in small parcels of such
things with two men here in London--Multenius and Levendale--he knew
both of them. He'd sent the diamond on in advance to Multenius, by
ordinary registered post, rather than run the risk of carrying it
himself."
"I gather from that last remark that your brother had let some other
person or persons know that he possessed this stone?" said Mr. Killick.
"Did he mention that? It's of importance."
"He mentioned no names--but he did say that one or two knew of his
luck, and he'd an idea that he'd been watched in Cape Town, and
followed on the _Golconda_," replied John Purvis. "He laughed about
that, and said he wasn't such a fool as to carry a thing like that on
him."
"Did he say if he knew for a fact that the diamond was delivered to
Multenius?" asked Mr. Killick.
"Yes, he did. He found a telegram from Multenius at Las Palmas,
acknowledging the receipt. He mentioned to me that Multenius would put
the diamond in his bank, till he got to London himself."
Mr. Killick glanced at the detective--the detectives nodded.
"Very good," continued Mr. Killick. "Now then--: you'd doubtless talk a
good deal about this matter--did your brother tell you what was to be
done with the diamond? Had he a purchaser in view?"
"Yes, he said something about that," replied John Purvis. "He said that
Multenius and Levendale would make--or were making--what he called a
syndicate to buy it from him. They'd have it cut--over in Amsterdam, I
think it was. He reckoned he'd get quite eighty thousand from the
syndicate."
"He didn't mention any other names than those of Multenius and
Levendale?"
"No--none!"
"Now, one more question. Where did your brother leave you--at Plymouth?"
"First thing next morning," said John Purvis. "We travelled together as
far as Exeter. He came on to Paddington--I went home to my farm. And
I've never heard of him since--till I read all this in the papers."
Mr. Killick got up and began to button his overcoat. He turned to the
police.
"Now you know what we wanted to know!" he said. "That diamond is at the
bottom of everything! Daniel Multenius was throttled for that
diamond--Parslett's death arose out of that diamond--everything's
arisen from that diamond! And, now that you police folks know all
this--you know what to do. You want the man, or men, who were in Daniel
Multenius's shop about five o'clock on that particular day, and who
carried off that diamond. Mr. Purvis!--are you staying in town?"
The farmer shook his head--but not in the negative.
"I'm not going out of London, till I know what's become of my brother!"
he said.
"Then come with me," said Mr. Killick. He said a word or two to the
police, and then, beckoning Lauriston and Purdie to follow with Purvis,
led the way out into the street. There he drew Purdie towards him. "Get
a taxi-cab," he whispered, "and we'll all go to see that American man
you've told me of--Guyler. And when we've seen him, you can take me to
see Daniel Multenius's granddaughter."
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
THE DEAD MAN'S PROPERTY
Old Daniel Multenius had been quietly laid to rest that afternoon, and
at the very moment in which Mr. Killick and his companions were driving
away from the police station to seek Stuyvesant Guyler at his hotel,
Mr. Penniket was closeted with Zillah and her cousin Melky Rubinstein
in the back-parlour of the shop in Praed Street--behind closed and
locked doors which they had no intention of opening to anybody. Now
that the old man was dead and buried, it was necessary to know how
things stood with respect to his will and his property, and, as Mr.
Penniket had remarked as they drove back from the cemetery, there was
no reason why they should not go into matters there and then. Zillah
and Melky were the only relations--and the only people concerned, said
Mr. Penniket. Five minutes would put them in possession of the really
pertinent facts as regards the provisions of the will--but there would
be details to go into. And now they were all three sitting round the
table, and Mr. Penniket had drawn two papers from his inner pocket--and
Zillah regarding him almost listlessly, and Melky with one of his
quietly solemn expression. Each had a pretty good idea of what was
coming and each regarded the present occasion as no more than a
formality.
"This is the will," said Mr. Penniket, selecting and unfolding one of
the documents. "It was made about a year ago--by me. That is, I drafted
it. It's a short, a very short and practical will, drafted from precise
instructions given to me by my late client, your grandfather. I may as
well tell you in a few words what it amounts to. Everything that he
left is to be sold--this business as a going concern; all his shares;
all his house property. The whole estate is to be realized by the
executors--your two selves. And when that's done, you're to divide the
lot--equally. One half is yours, Miss Wildrose; Mr. Rubinstein, the
other half is yours. And," concluded Mr. Penniket, rubbing his hands,
"you'll find you're very fortunate--not to say wealthy--young people,
and I congratulate you on your good fortune! Now, perhaps, you'd like
to read the will?"
Mr. Penniket laid the will on the table before the two cousins, and
they bent forward and read its legal phraseology. Zillah was the first
to look up and to speak.
"I never knew my grandfather had any house property," she said. "Did
you, Melky?"
"S'elp me, Zillah, if I ever knew what he had in that way!" answered
Melky. "He had his secrets and he could be close. No--I never knew of
his having anything but his business. But then, I might have known that
he'd invest his profits in some way or other."
The solicitor unfolded the other document.
"Here's a schedule, prepared by Mr. Multenius himself, and handed by
him to me not many weeks ago, of his property outside this business,"
he remarked. "I'll go through the items. Shares in the Great Western
Railway. Shares in the London, Brighton, and South Coast Railway.
Government Stock. Certain American Railway Stock. It's all
particularized--and all gilt-edged security. Now then, about his house
property. There's a block of flats at Hampstead. There are six houses
at Highgate. There are three villas in the Finchley Road. The rents of
all these have been collected by Messrs. Holder and Keeper, estate
agents, and evidently paid by them direct to your esteemed relative's
account at his bank. And then--to wind up--there is a small villa in
Maida Vale, which he let furnished--you never heard of that?"
"Never!" exclaimed Zillah, while Melky shook his head.
"There's a special note about that at the end of this schedule," said
Mr. Penniket. "In his own hand--like all the rest. This is what he
says. 'N. B. Molteno Lodge, Maida Vale--all the furniture, pictures,
belongings in this are mine--I have let it as a furnished residence at
£12 a month, all clear, for some years past. Let at present, on same
terms, rent paid quarterly, in advance, to two Chinese gentlemen, Mr.
Chang Li and Mr. Chen Li--good tenants."
Zillah uttered another sharp exclamation and sprang to her feet. She
walked across to an old-fashioned standup desk which stood in a corner
of the parlour, drew a bunch of keys from her pocket, and raised the
lid.
"That explains something!" she said. "I looked into this desk the other
day--grandfather used to throw letters and papers in there sometimes,
during the day, and then put them away at night. Here's a cheque here
that puzzled me--I don't know anything about it. But--it'll be a
quarter's rent for that house. Look at the signatures!"