The Orange-Yellow Diamond by J. S. Fletcher (best novels of all time .TXT) 📗

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!"

She laid a cheque before Melky and Mr. Penniket and stood by while they looked at it. There was nothing remarkable about the cheque—made out to Mr. Daniel Multenius on order for £36—except the two odd looking names at its foot—Chang Li: Chen Li. Otherwise, it was just like all other cheques—and it was on a local bank, in Edgware Road, and duly crossed. But Melky instantly observed the date, and put one of his long fingers to it.

"November 18th," he remarked. "The day he died. Did you notice that,
Zillah?"

"Yes," answered Zillah. "It must have come in by post and he's thrown it, as he often did throw things, into that desk. Well—that's explained! That'll be the quarter's rent, then, for this furnished house, Mr. Penniket?"

"Evidently!" agreed the solicitor. "Of course, there's no need to give notice to these two foreigners—yet. It'll take a little time to settle the estate, and you can let them stay on awhile. I know who they are—your grandfather mentioned them—two medical students, of University College. They're all right. Well, now, that completes the schedule. As regards administering the estate—"

A sudden gentle but firm knock at the side-door brought Zillah to her feet again.

"I know that knock," she remarked. "It's Ayscough, the detective. I suppose he may come in, now?"

A moment later Ayscough, looking very grave and full of news, had joined the circle round the table. He shook his head as he glanced at Mr. Penniket.

"I came on here to give you a bit of information," he said. "There's been an important development this afternoon. You know the name of this Stephen Purvis that's been mentioned as having been about here? Well, this afternoon his brother turned up from Devonshire. He wanted to see us—to tell us something. He thinks Stephen's been murdered!"

"On what grounds?" asked the solicitor.

"It turns out Stephen had sent Mr. Multenius a rare fine diamond—uncut—from South Africa," answered Ayscough. "Worth every penny of eighty thousand pounds!"

He was closely watching Zillah and Melky as he gave this piece of news, and he was quick to see their utter astonishment. Zillah turned to the solicitor; Melky slapped the table.

"That's been what the old man fetched from his bank that day!" he exclaimed. "S'elp me if I ain't beginning to see light! Robbery—before murder!"

"That's about it," agreed Ayscough. "But I'll tell you all that's come out."

He went on to narrate the events of the afternoon, from the arrival of
Mr. Killick and his companions at the police station to the coming of
John Purvis, and his three listeners drank in every word with rising
interest. Mr. Penniket became graver and graver.

"Where's Mr. Killick now—and the rest of them?" he asked in the end.

"Gone to find that American chap—Guyler," answered Ayscough. "They did think he might be likely—having experience of these South African matters—to know something how Stephen Purvis may have been followed. You see—you're bound to have some theory! It looks as if Stephen Purvis had been tracked—for the sake of that diamond. The thieves probably tracked it to this shop—most likely attacked Mr. Multenius for it. They'd most likely been in here just before young Lauriston came in."