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THE
ORANGE-YELLOW
DIAMOND
BY
J. S. FLETCHER
1921
CONTENTS
I THE PRETTY PAWNBROKER
II MRS. GOLDMARK'S EATING-HOUSE
III THE DEAD MAN
IV THE PLATINUM SOLITAIRE
V THE TWO LETTERS
VI THE SPANISH MANUSCRIPT
VII THE MEMBER OF PARLIAMENT
VIII THE INQUEST
IX WHOSE WERE THOSE RINGS?
X MELKY INTERVENES
XI THE BACK DOOR
XII THE FRIEND FROM PEEBLES
XIII THE CALL FOR HELP
XIV THE PRIVATE LABORATORY
XV CONFERENCE
XVI THE DETECTIVE CALLS
XVII WHAT THE LAMPS SHONE ON
XVIII MR. STUYVESANT GUYLER
XIX PURDIE STANDS FIRM
XX THE PARSLETT AFFAIR
XXI WHAT MANNER OF DEATH?
XXII MR. KILLICK GOES BACK
XXIII MR. KILLICK'S OPINION
XXIV THE ORANGE-YELLOW DIAMOND
XXV THE DEAD MAN'S PROPERTY
XXVI THE RAT
XXVII THE EMPTY HOUSE
XXVIII THE L500 BANK NOTE
XXIX MR. MORI YADA
XXX THE MORTUARY
XXXI THE MIRANDOLET THEORY
XXXII ONE O'CLOCK MIDNIGHT
XXXIII SECRET WORK
XXXIV BAFFLED
XXXV YADA TAKES CHARGE
XXXVI PILMANSEY'S TEA ROOMS
XXXVII CHANG LI
XXXVIII THE JEW AND THE JAP
XXXIX THE DIAMOND NECKLACE
THE ORANGE-YELLOW DIAMOND
CHAPTER ONE
THE PRETTY PAWNBROKER
On the southern edge of the populous parish of Paddington, in aparallelogram bounded by Oxford and Cambridge Terrace on the south,Praed Street on the north, and by Edgware Road on the east and SpringStreet on the west, lies an assemblage of mean streets, the drabdulness of which forms a remarkable contrast to the pretentiousarchitectural grandeurs of Sussex Square and Lancaster Gate, close by.In these streets the observant will always find all those evidences ofdepressing semi-poverty which are more evident in London than in anyother English city. The houses look as if laughter was never heardwithin them. Where the window blinds are not torn, they are dirty; thefolk who come out of the doors wear anxious and depressed faces. Suchshops as are there are mainly kept for the sale of food of poorquality: the taverns at the corners are destitute of attraction orpretension. Whoever wanders into these streets finds their sordidshabbiness communicating itself: he escapes, cast down, wondering whothe folk are who live in those grey, lifeless cages; what they do, whatthey think; how life strikes them. Even the very sparrows which fightin the gutters for garbage are less lively than London sparrows usuallyare; as for the children who sit about the doorsteps, they look as ifthe grass, the trees, the flowers, and the sunlight of the adjacentKensington Gardens were as far away as the Desert of Gobi. Within thisslice of the town, indeed, life is lived, as it were, in a stagnantbackwash, which nothing and nobody can stir.
In an upper room of one of the more respectable houses in one of thesomewhat superior streets of this neighbourhood, a young man stoodlooking out of the window one November afternoon. It was then fiveo'clock, and the darkness was coming: all day a gentle, never-ceasingrain had been bringing the soot down from the dark skies upon thealready dingy roofs. It was a dismal and miserable prospect upon whichthe watcher looked out, but not so miserable nor so dismal as thesituation in which he just then found himself. The mean street beneathhim was not more empty of cheerfulness than his pockets were empty ofmoney and his stomach of food. He had spent his last penny on theprevious day: it, and two other coppers, had gone on a mere mouthful offood and drink: since their disappearance he had eaten nothing. And hewas now growing faint with hunger--and to add to his pains, some one,downstairs, was cooking herrings. The smell of the frying-pan nearlydrove him ravenous.
He turned from the window presently and looked round at the small roombehind him. It was a poor, ill-furnished place--cleanliness, though ofa dingy sort, its only recommendation. There was a bed, and awashstand, and a chest of drawers, and a couple of chairs--a fewshillings would have purchased the lot at any second-hand dealer's. Ina corner stood the occupant's trunk--all the property he had in theworld was in it, save a few books which were carefully ranged on thechimney-piece, and certain writing materials that lay on a small table.A sharp eye, glancing at the books and the writing materials, and at afew sheets of manuscript scattered on the blotting-pad, would have beenquick to see that here was the old tale, once more being lived out, ofthe literary aspirant who, at the very beginning of his career, wasfinding, by bitter experience, that, of all callings, that ofliterature is the most precarious.
A half-hesitating tap at the door prefaced the entrance of a woman--thesort of woman who is seen in those streets by the score--a tallish,thinnish woman, old before her time, perpetually harassed, alwaysanxious, always looking as if she expected misfortune. Her face wasfull of anxiety now as she glanced at her lodger--who, on his part,flushed all over his handsome young face with conscious embarrassment.He knew very well what the woman wanted--and he was powerless torespond to her appeal.
"Mr. Lauriston," she said in a half whisper, "when do you think you'llbe able to let me have a bit of money? It's going on for six weeks now,you know, and I'm that put to it, what with the rent, and the rates--"
Andrew Lauriston shook his head--not in denial, but in sheer perplexity.
"Mrs. Flitwick," he answered, "I'll give you your money the very minuteI get hold of it! I told you the other day I'd sold two stories--well,I've asked to be paid for them at once, and the cheque might be here byany post. And I'm expecting another cheque, too--I'm surprised theyaren't both here by this time. The minute they arrive, I'll settle withyou. I'm wanting money myself--as badly as you are!"
"I know that, Mr. Lauriston," assented Mrs. Flitwick, "and I wouldn'tbother you if I wasn't right pressed, myself. But there's the landlordat me--he wants money tonight. And--you'll excuse me for mentioningit--but, till you get your cheques, Mr. Lauriston, why don't you raisea bit of ready money?"
Lauriston looked round at his landlady with an air of surprised enquiry.
"And how would I do that?" he asked.
"You've a right good gold watch, Mr. Lauriston," she answered. "Anypawnbroker--and there's plenty of 'em, I'm sure!--'ud lend you a fewpounds on that. Perhaps you've never had occasion to go to a pawnbrokerbefore? No?--well, and I hadn't once upon a time, but I've had to,whether or no, since I came to letting lodgings, and if I'd as good awatch as yours is, I wouldn't go without money in my pocket! If you'vemoney coming in, you can always get your goods back--and I should bethankful for something, Mr. Lauriston, if it was but a couple o'pounds. My landlord's that hard--"
Lauriston turned and picked up his hat.
"All right, Mrs. Flitwick," he said quietly. "I'll see what I can do.I--I'd never even thought of it."
When the woman had gone away, closing the door behind her, he pulledthe watch out of his pocket and looked at it--an old-fashioned, good,gold watch, which had been his father's. No doubt a pawnbroker wouldlend money on it. But until then he had never had occasion to think ofpawnbrokers. He had come to London nearly t
wo years before, intendingto make name, fame, and fortune by his pen. He had a little money to begoing on with--when he came. It had dwindled steadily, and it had beenharder to replace it than he had calculated for. And at last there hewas, in that cheap lodging, and at the end of his resources, and thecheque for his first two accepted stories had not arrived. Neither hada loan which, sorely against his will, he had been driven to requestfrom the only man he could think of--an old schoolmate, far away inScotland. He had listened for the postman's knock, hoping it wouldbring relief, for four long days--and not one letter had come, and hewas despairing and heartsick. But--there was the watch!
He went out presently, and on the stair, feebly lighted by a jet ofgas, he ran up against a fellow-lodger--a young Jew, whom he knew bythe name of Mr. Melchior Rubinstein, who occupied the rooms immediatelybeneath his own. He was a quiet, affable little person, with whomLauriston sometimes exchanged a word or two--and the fact that hesported rings on his fingers, a large pin in his tie, and a heavywatch-chain, which was either real gold or a very good imitation, madeLauriston think that he would give him some advice. He stoppedhim--with a shy look, and an awkward blush.
"I say!" he said. "I--the fact is, I'm a bit hard up--temporarily, youknow--and I want to borrow some money on my watch. Could you tell mewhere there's a respectable pawnbroker's?"
Melky--known to every one in the house by that familiar substitute forhis more pretentious name--turned up the gas-jet and then held out aslender, long-fingered hand. "Let's look at the watch," he said curtly,in a soft, lisping voice. "I know more than a bit about watches,mister."
Lauriston handed the watch over and watched Melky inquisitively as helooked at it, inside and out, in a very knowing and professional way.Melky suddenly glanced at him. "Now, you wouldn't like to sell thishere bit of property, would you, Mr. Lauriston?" he enquired, almostwheedlingly. "I'll give you three quid for it--cash down."
"Thank you--but I wouldn't sell it for worlds," replied Lauriston.
"Say four quid, then," urged Melky. "Here!--between friends, I'll giveyou four-ten! Spot cash, mind you!"
"No!" said Lauriston. "It belonged to my father. I don't want tosell--I want to borrow."
Melky pushed the watch back into its owner's hand.
"You go round into Praed Street, mister," he said, in business-likefashion. "You'll see a shop there with Daniel Multenius over it. He's arelation o' mine--he'll do what you want. Mention my name, if you like.He'll deal fair with you. And if you ever want to sell, don't forgetme."
Lauriston laughed, and went down the stairs, and out into the dismalevening. It was only a step round to Praed Street, and within fiveminutes of leaving Melky he was looking into Daniel Multenius's window.He remembered now that he had often looked into it, without noticingthe odd name above it. It was a window in which there were all sorts ofcurious things, behind a grille of iron bars, from diamonds and pearlsto old ivory and odds and ends of bric-a-brac. A collector ofcuriosities would have found material in that window to delay him forhalf-an-hour--but Lauriston only gave one glance at it before hasteningdown a dark side-passage to a door, over which was afaintly-illuminated sign, showing the words: PLEDGE OFFICE.
He pushed open that door and found himself before several small,boxed-off compartments, each just big enough to contain one person.They were all empty at that moment; he entered one, and seeing nobodyabout, tapped gently on the counter. He expected to see some ancientand Hebraic figure present itself--instead, light steps came from somerecess of the shop, and Lauriston found himself gazing in surprise at ayoung and eminently pretty girl, who carried some fancy needle-work inher hand, and looked over it at him out of a pair of large, black eyes.For a moment the two gazed at each other, in silence.
"Yes?" said the girl at last. "What can I do for you?"
Lauriston found his tongue.
"Er--is Mr. Multenius in?" he asked. "I--the fact is, I want to seehim."
"Mr. Multenius is out," answered the girl. "But I'm in charge--if it'sbusiness."
She was quietly eyeing Lauriston over, and she saw hisfresh-complexioned face colour vividly.
"I do my grandfather's business when he's out," she continued. "Do youwant to borrow some money?"
Lauriston pulled out the watch, with more blushes, and pushed ittowards her.
"That's just it," he answered. "I want to borrow money on that. Afriend of mine--fellow-lodger--Mr. Melky Rubinstein--said I couldborrow something here. That's a real good watch, you know."
The girl glanced at her customer with a swift and almost whimsicalrecognition of his innocence, and almost carelessly picked up the watch.
"Oh, Melky sent you here, did he?" she said, with a smile. "I see!" Shelooked the watch over, and snapped open the case. Then she glanced atLauriston. "How much do you want on this?" she asked.