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  CHAPTER VII

  THE DIAMOND QUEEN

  "Meet _Sylvania_ Quarantine midnight. Strange death Rawaruska. Retainyou in interest steamship company. Thompson, Purser."

  Kennedy had torn open the envelope of a wireless message that had comefrom somewhere out in the Atlantic and had just been delivered to him atdinner one evening. He read it quickly and tossed it over to me.

  "Rawaruska," I repeated. "Do you suppose that means the clever littleRussian dancer who was in the 'Revue' last year?"

  "There could hardly be two of that unusual name who would be referred toso familiarly," returned Craig. "Curious that we've had nothing in thewireless news about it."

  "Perhaps it has been delayed," I suggested. "Let me ring up the _Star_.They may have something now."

  A few minutes later I rejoined Craig at the table. A report had justbeen received that Rawaruska had been discovered, late the night before,unconscious in her room on the _Sylvania_. The ship's surgeon had beensummoned, but before he was able to do anything for her she died. Thatwas all the report said. It was meager, but it served to excite ourinterest.

  Renee Rawaruska, I knew, was a popular little Russian dancer abroad whohad come to America the season previous and had made a big hit onBroadway. Beautiful, strange, fiery, she incarnated the mysterious Slav.I knew her to be one of those Russian dancers before whose performancesParisian audiences had gone wild with admiration, one who had carriedher art beyond anything known in other countries, fascinating, subtle.

  Hastily over the telephone Kennedy made arrangements to go down toQuarantine on a revenue tug that was leaving to meet the _Sylvania_.

  It was a weird trip through the choppy winter seas of the upper bay andthe Narrows, in the dark, with the wind cold and bleak.

  The tug had scarcely cast off from the Battery, where we met it, when aman, who had been watching us from a crevice of his turned-up ulstercollar, quietly edged over.

  "You are Professor Kennedy, the detective?" he began, more as ifasserting it than asking the question.

  Craig eyed him a moment, but said nothing.

  "I understand," he went on, not waiting for a reply, "that you areinterested in the case of that little Russian actress, Rawaruska?"

  Still Kennedy said nothing.

  "My name is Wade--of the Customs Service," pursued the man, nothingabashed. Sticking his head forward between the corners of his highcollar he added, in a lowered voice, "You have heard, I suppose, of thegreat amber diamond, 'The Invincible'?"

  Kennedy nodded and I thought hurriedly of all the big stones I had everheard--the Pitt, the Orloff, the Koh-i-noor, the Star of the South, theCullinan, and others.

  "The Invincible, you know," he added, "is the largest amber diamond inthe world, almost the size of the famous Cullinan, over three hundredcarats. It was found in the dry diggings of the Vaal River, a few milesfrom Kimberley. The dry diggings are independent of the De Beerscombine, of course. Well, its owner has always been in the position ofMark Twain's man with the million-dollar bank-note who found it toolarge to cash. No one knows just what an amber diamond of that size isreally worth. This one is almost perfect, resembles the huge top of adecanter stopper. It's a beautiful orange color and has been estimatedat--well, as high as close to a quarter of a million, though, as I said,that is all guesswork."

  "Yes?" remarked Kennedy, more for politeness than anything else.

  Wade leaned over closer.

  "The Invincible," he whispered, shielding his lips from the keen, bitinggale, "was last known to belong to the De Guerres, of Antwerp. One of myspecial agents abroad has cabled me to look out for it. He thinks thereis reason to believe it will be smuggled into America for safe keepingduring the troubles in Belgium."

  It seemed to make no difference to the customs man that Kennedy did notexactly welcome him with open arms. "The De Guerres are well-knowndealers in diamonds, one of the leading houses in the 'city ofdiamonds,' as Antwerp has been called. One of the De Guerres is on the_Sylvania_, the junior partner--" he paused, then added,--"the husband,I believe, of Rawaruska. I thought perhaps you might be willing to tryto help me."

  "I should be glad to," replied Kennedy tersely, pondering what theofficer had told us.

  Nothing more was said on the trip and at last we came to the _Sylvania_,lying grim and dark of hull off the little cluster of Quarantinebuildings, with myriads of twinkling lights on her, far above butscarcely relieving the blackness of the leviathan form.

  Thompson, the purser, a quiet, unexcitable Englishman, met us as we cameover the side, and for the moment we lost sight of our new-found friend,Wade.

  "Perhaps you didn't know it," informed Thompson as we made our waythrough the ship, "but Rawaruska was married--had been for some time."

  "Who was her husband?" queried Kennedy, seeking confirmation of what wehad already heard.

  "Armand De Guerre, a Belgian, of Antwerp," was the reply, "one of thepartners in a famous old diamond-cutting firm of that city."

  Kennedy looked at the purser keenly for a moment, then asked, "Were theytraveling together?"

  "Oh, yes,--that is, he had engaged a room, but you know how crowded theboats are with refugees fleeing to America from the war. He gave up hisroom, or rather his share of it, to a woman, a professional saleswoman,well known, I believe, in Antwerp as well as the Rue de la Paix in Parisand Maiden Lane and Fifth Avenue of your city, a Miss Hoffman--ElsaHoffman. She shared the room with Rawaruska, while De Guerre took hischances in the steerage."

  As we walked down one of the main corridors we noticed ahead of us aseemingly very nervous and excited gentleman engaged apparently in aheated conversation with another.

  "Monsieur De Guerre," whispered Thompson as we approached.

  The two seemed to be just on the point of parting, as we neared them,and, I think, our approach hastened them. I could not hear what one ofthem said, but I heard De Guerre almost hiss, as he turned on his heel,"Well, sir, you were the last one seen with her alive."

  A moment later the purser introduced us to De Guerre. There wassomething about him which I can hardly express on paper, a sort ofhypnotic fascination. I felt instinctively that such a man would wield apowerful influence over some women. Was it in his eyes, or was it merelyhis ardent foreign grace?

  "You _must_ find out the truth," he cried eagerly. "Already they aresaying that it was suicide. But I cannot believe it. It cannot be.No,--she was murdered!"

  Kennedy ventured no opinion, but now, more than ever, hastened tosignify to the purser that he wanted to look over the ground as quicklyas possible before the ship docked.

  Rawaruska, we found, had occupied Room 186, on the port side of one ofthe lower decks. Kennedy seemed to be keenly interested, as weapproached the room in which the body still lay, awaiting arrival at thepier a few hours later.

  The stateroom, apparently, ran to the very skin of the vessel and theports opened directly on the water, not upon an outside deck, as withthe rooms above it. It was an outside room at the end of a sort ofcross alleyway, and it was impossible that anyone could have reached itexcept through the corridors.

  Attached to it was a little bath and directly across from the bath, onthe other side, was another small room which was occupied by her maid,Cecilie, a French girl.

  In the main bedroom was a double bed, a couch, a wardrobe, and a small,thin-legged writing or dressing table.

  On the white bed lay the now cold and marble figure of the oncevivacious little dancer who had enchanted thousands in life--petite,brunette, voluptuous. Rawaruska was beautiful, even in death.

  Her finely chiseled features, lacking that heaviness which oftencharacterizes European women, were, however, terribly drawn and herperfect complexion on which she had prided herself was now all mottledand bluish.

  As Kennedy examined the body, I could not help observing that thereseemed to be every evidence that the girl had been asphyxiated in somestrange manner.

  Had it been by a deft touch on a nerve of her bea
utiful, soft neck thathad constricted the throat and cut off her breath? I had heard of suchthings. Or had it been asphyxiation due to a poison that had paralyzedthe chest muscles?

  The purser, as soon as we came aboard, had summoned the ship's surgeon,and we had scarcely arrived at Rawaruska's room when he joined us. Hewas one of those solid, reliable doctors, not brilliant, but one in whomyou might place great confidence, a Dr. Sanderson, educated inEdinburgh, and long a follower of the sea.

  "Was there any evidence of a struggle?" asked Kennedy.

  "No, none whatever," replied the doctor.

  "No peculiar odor, no receptacle of any kind near her that might haveheld poison?"

  "No, nothing that could have been used to hold poison or a drug."

  Kennedy was regarding the face of the little dancer attentively. "Mostextraordinary," he remarked slowly, "that congested look she has."

  "Yes," agreed Dr. Sanderson, "her face was flushed and blue when I gotto her--cyanotic, I should say. There seemed to be a great dryness ofher throat and the muscles of her throat were paretic. Her pupils weredilated, too, and her pulse was rapid, as if from a greatly increasedblood pressure."

  "Was she conscious?" asked Kennedy, almost reverently turning over herrigid body and looking at the back of her neck and the upper spine. "Didshe recognize anything, say anything?"

  "She seemed to be in a state of amnesia," replied Sanderson slowly."Evidently if she had seen anything she had forgotten or wouldn't tell,"he added cautiously.

  "Who found her?" asked Craig. "How was she discovered?"

  "Why, Miss Hoffman found her," replied the purser quickly. "She calledone of the stewards. She had been sitting in the library reading untilquite late and Rawaruska had retired early, for she was not a goodsailor, they tell me. It must have been nearly midnight when De Guerreand a friend, pausing at the library door on their way from the smokingroom, saw Miss Hoffman, and all three stopped in the Ritz restaurant fora bite to eat.

  "De Guerre walked down the corridor with Miss Hoffman afterwards," hecontinued, "and left her as she went into the room with his wife.Perhaps a minute later--long enough anyway so that he had reached theother end of the corridor--she screamed. She had turned on the light andhad found Rawaruska lying half across the bed, unconscious. Miss Hoffmancalled to the steward to summon Dr. Preston, but he came to me first,instead."

  "Dr. Preston?" repeated Kennedy.

  "Yes, a young American physician, the friend who had been with De Guerrein the smoking room part of the evening, and later made up the party inthe restaurant," vouchsafed Sanderson.

  "The man De Guerre was talking to as we came down the hall," put inThompson.

  "H'm," mused Kennedy, evidently thinking of the remark we had overheard.

  "I've talked with him now and then myself," admitted Sanderson; "abright fellow who has been studying abroad and after many adventuressucceeded in getting across the border into Holland and thence toEngland. He managed to squeeze into the steerage of the _Sylvania_,though, of course, like De Guerre, he was classed as a first-cabinpassenger. He had become very friendly with Rawaruska and her partywhile they were waiting for bookings in London."

  Thompson leaned over. "The steward in the corridor tells me," he said ina low tone, "that early in the evening Dr. Preston and Rawaruska wereon the promenade deck together."

  I tried vaguely to piece together the scraps of information which we hadgleaned. Kennedy, however, said nothing, but was now leaning over thebody of the little dancer, looking at the upper region of her spineattentively. Quietly, from a group of three or four little red marks onher back he squeezed out several drops of liquid, absorbing them on apiece of sterile gauze.

  A moment later, De Guerre, who had quietly slipped away during theexamination, as if unable to bear the sight of the tragedy, returned,and with him was a young woman.

  "Miss Elsa Hoffman," he introduced.

  Elsa Hoffman was of a fascinating type, tall, finely gowned, of superbpoise, physically perfect. One could not help admiring her deep blueeyes and blonde radiance. Indeed, I felt that one must rely much on herattractions in pursuit of her business of selling gems to wealthy menand women. Still, in spite of her evident poise, the tragedy seemed tohave oppressed and unnerved her.

  She did not seem to be able to add much to the scanty stock of facts wehad, even after repeating the story of her discovery of Rawaruska, whichwas substantially as the purser had already told it.

  "I--I think perhaps Mr. Kennedy ought to question Cecilie," shesuggested finally, turning toward De Guerre, who nodded his assent.

  A sudden movement in the passageway followed, and the door openedquietly. A man entered, a youngish fellow of fine physique andattractive face. I recognized him immediately as Dr. Preston. Hisapparently usually debonair manner was visibly subdued by the presenceof death.

  Evidently he had just heard that someone was investigating the tragedyand had hastened to be present. Both De Guerre and Elsa nodded to him, atrifle coldly. Only a moment did he pause to look at the drawn face onthe pillow, then stood apart, ill at ease until Kennedy had finished hisminute examination.

  As Kennedy moved away from the bed, Dr. Preston contrived to placehimself near him and apart from the rest.

  "Mr. Kennedy," he began in a husky undertone, "they tell me you havebeen engaged to investigate this--this awful affair."

  Kennedy assented.

  "If there is anything I can do to help you," Preston added anxiously, "Ihope you will command me. In fact," he added as Kennedy nodded whilePreston glanced covertly at De Guerre and Miss Hoffman, "I hope you'llget at the truth."

  "Thank you," responded Kennedy, meeting his eye squarely this time; "Ishall be glad to call on you if occasion arises."

  I watched Preston closely, not quite making out just what he was drivingat, nor the reason for the strained relations that now seemed to existamong the former friends. Still following Kennedy's every motion,Preston retired to the position of a more than interested spectator.