The Datchet Diamonds Read online

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  _THE DATCHET DIAMONDS_

  "Shall I shoot all three of you?" Page 265._Frontispiece_.]

  THE

  DATCHET DIAMONDS

  BY

  RICHARD MARSH

  AUTHOR OF "THE CRIME AND THE CRIMINAL," "PHILIP BENNION'S DEATH," "THE BEETLE," ETC., ETC.

  _ILLUSTRATED BY STANLEY L. WOOD_

  LONDON WARD, LOCK & CO., Limited WARWICK HOUSE, SALISBURY SQUARE, E.C. NEW YORK AND MELBOURNE

  UNWIN BROTHERS, THE GRESHAM PRESS, WOKING AND LONDON.

  CONTENTS

  CHAPTER I. TWO MEN AND A MAID.

  CHAPTER II. OVERHEARD IN THE TRAIN.

  CHAPTER III. THE DIAMONDS.

  CHAPTER IV. MISS WENTWORTH'S RUDENESS.

  CHAPTER V. IN THE BODEGA.

  CHAPTER VI. THE ADVENTURES OF A NIGHT.

  CHAPTER VII. THE DATCHET DIAMONDS ARE PLACED IN SAFE CUSTODY.

  CHAPTER VIII. IN THE MOMENT OF HIS SUCCESS.

  CHAPTER IX. A PROPOSAL OF MARRIAGE.

  CHAPTER X. CYRIL'S FRIEND.

  CHAPTER XI. JOHN IRELAND'S WARRANT.

  CHAPTER XII. A WOMAN ROUSED.

  CHAPTER XIII. THE DETECTIVE AND THE LADY.

  CHAPTER XIV. AMONG THIEVES.

  CHAPTER XV. PUT TO THE QUESTION.

  CHAPTER XVI. A MODERN INSTANCE OF AN ANCIENT PRACTICE.

  CHAPTER XVII. THE MOST DANGEROUS FOE OF ALL.

  CHAPTER XVIII. THE LAST OF THE DATCHET DIAMONDS.

  CHAPTER XIX. A WOMAN'S LOGIC.

  CHAPTER I

  TWO MEN AND A MAID

  The band struck up a waltz. It chanced to be the one which they hadlast danced together at the Dome. How well he had danced, and howguilty she had felt! Conscious of what almost amounted to a sense ofimpropriety! Charlie had taken her; it was Charlie who had made hergo--but then, in some eyes, Miss Wentworth might not have beenregarded as the most unimpeachable of chaperons. That Cyril, forinstance, would have had strong opinions of his own upon that point,Miss Strong was well aware.

  While Miss Strong listened, thinking of the last time she had heardthat waltz, the man with whom she had danced it stood, all at once, infront of her. She had half expected that it would be so--half hadfeared it. It was not the first time they had encountered each otheron the pier; Miss Strong had already begun to more than suspect thatthe chance of encountering her was the magnet which drew Mr. Lawrencethrough the turnstiles. She did not wish to meet him; she assuredherself that she did not wish to meet him. But, on the other hand, shedid not wish to go out of her way so as to seem to run away from him.

  The acquaintance had begun on the top of the Devil's Dyke in themiddle of a shower of rain. Miss Strong, feeling in want ofoccupation, and, to speak the truth, a little in the blues, had gone,on an unpromising afternoon in April, on the spur of the moment, andin something like a temper, on a solitary excursion to the Devil'sDyke. On the Downs the wind blew great guns. She could hardly standagainst it. Yet it did her good, for it suited her mood. She struggledon over the slopes, past Poynings, when, suddenly--she, in herabstraction, having paid no heed to the weather, and expecting nothingof the kind--it came down a perfect deluge of rain. She had awalking-stick, but neither mackintosh nor umbrella. There seemed everylikelihood of her having to return like a drowned rat to Brighton,when, with the appropriateness of a fairy tale, some one came rushingto her with an umbrella in his hand. She could hardly refuse theproffered shelter, and the consequence was that the owner of theumbrella escorted her first to the hotel, then to the station, andafterwards to Brighton. Nor, after such services had been rendered,when they parted at the station did she think it necessary to informhim that, not under any circumstances, was he to notice her again;besides, from what she had seen of him, she rather liked the man. So,when, two days afterwards, he stopped her on the pier to ask if shehad suffered any ill-effects from her exposure, it took her somefive-and-twenty minutes to explain that she had not. There were othermeetings, mostly on the pier; and then, as a climax, that Masonic Ballat the Dome. She danced with him five times! She felt all the timethat she ought not; she knew that she would not have done it if Cyrilhad been there. Miss Wentworth, introduced by Miss Strong, danced withhim twice, and when asked by Miss Strong if she thought that she--MissStrong--ought to have three dances with him Miss Wentworth declaredthat she did not see why, if she liked, she should not have thirty. SoMiss Strong had five--which shows that Miss Wentworth's notions of theduties of a chaperon were vague.

  And now the band was striking up that identical waltz; and there wasMr. Lawrence standing in front of the lady with whom he had danced it.

  "I believe that that was ours, Miss Strong," he said.

  "I think it was."

  He was holding her hand in his, and looking at her with something inhis eyes which there and then she told herself would never do. Theythreaded their way through the crowd of people towards the head of thepier, saying little, which was worse than saying much. AlthoughCharlie had been working, Miss Strong wished she had stayed at homewith her; it would have been better than this. A sense of pendingperil made her positively nervous; she wanted to get away from hercompanion, and yet for the moment she did not see her way to do it.

  Beyond doubt Mr. Lawrence was not a man in whose favour nothing couldbe said. He was of medium height, had a good figure, and held himselfwell. He was very fair, with a slight moustache, and a mouth which wasfirm and resolute. His eyes were blue--a light, bright blue--beautifuleyes they were, but scarcely of the kind which could correctly bedescribed as sympathetic. His complexion was almost like a girl's, itwas so pink and white; he seemed the picture of health. His mannerswere peculiarly gentle. He moved noiselessly, without any appearanceof exertion. His voice, though soft, was of so penetrating a qualityand so completely under control that, without betraying by anymovement of his lips the fact that he was speaking, he could make hisfaintest whisper audible in a way which was quite uncanny. Whateverhis dress might be, on him it always seemed unobtrusive; indeed, thestrangest thing about the man was that, while he always seemed to bethe most retiring of human beings, in reality he was one of the mostdifficult to be rid of, as Miss Strong was finding now. More thanonce, just as she was about to give him his dismissal, he managed toprevent her doing so in a manner which, while she found it impossibleto resent it, was not by any means to her taste. Finally, finding itdifficult to be rid of him in any other way, and being, for somereason which she would herself have found it difficult to put intowords, unusually anxious to be freed from his companionship, sheresolved, in desperation, to leave the pier. She acquainted him withher determination to be off, and then, immediately afterwards, not alittle to her surprise and a good deal
to her disgust, she foundherself walking towards the pier-gates with him at her side. MissStrong's wish had been to part from him there and then; but again hehad managed to prevent the actual expression of her wish, and itseemed plain that she was still to be saddled with his society, at anyrate, as far as the gates.

  Before they had gone half-way down the pier Miss Strong had cause toregret that she had not shown a trifle more firmness, for she sawadvancing towards her a figure which, at the instant, she almost feltthat she knew too well. It was Cyril Paxton. The worst of it was thatshe was not clear in her own mind as to what it would be best for herto do--the relations between herself and Mr. Paxton were of so curiousa character. She saw that Mr. Paxton's recognition of her had not beenso rapid as hers had been of him; at first she thought that she wasgoing to pass him unperceived. In that case she would go a few stepsfarther with Mr. Lawrence, dismiss him, return, and discover herselfto Cyril at her leisure. But it was not to be. Mr. Paxton, glancingabout him from side to side of the pier, observed her on a sudden--andhe observed Mr. Lawrence too; on which trivial accident hinges thewhole of this strange history.

  Miss Strong knew that she was seen. She saw that Mr. Paxton was comingto her. Her heart began to beat. In another second or two he wasstanding in front of her with uplifted hat, wearing a not verypromising expression of countenance.

  "Where's Charlie?" was his greeting.

  The lady was aware that the question in itself conveyed a reproach,though she endeavoured to feign innocence.

  "Charlie's at home; I couldn't induce her to come out. Her 'copy' for_Fashion_ has to be ready by the morning; she says she's behind, soshe stayed at home to finish it."

  "Oh!"

  That was all that Mr. Paxton said, but the look with which he favouredMr. Lawrence conveyed a very vivid note of interrogation.

  "Cyril," explained Miss Strong, "this is Mr. Lawrence. Mr. Lawrence,this is Mr. Paxton; and I am afraid you must excuse me."

  Mr. Lawrence did excuse her. She and Mr Paxton returned together upthe pier; he, directly Mr. Lawrence was out of hearing, putting to herthe question which, though she dreaded, she knew was inevitable.

  "Who's that?"

  "That is Mr. Lawrence."

  "Yes, you told me so much already; who is Mr. Lawrence?"

  As she walked Miss Strong, looking down, tapped with the ferrule ofher umbrella on the boards.

  "Oh! he's a sort of acquaintance."

  "You have not been long in Brighton, then, without makingacquaintance?"

  "Cyril! I have been here more than a month. Surely a girl can make anacquaintance in that time?"

  "It depends, I fancy, on the girl, and on the circumstances in whichshe is placed. What is Mr. Lawrence?"

  "I have not the faintest notion. I have a sort of general idea that,like yourself, he is something in the City. It seems to me thatnowadays most men are."

  "Who introduced him?"

  "A shower of rain."

  "An excellent guarantor of the man's eligibility, though, even for theaverage girl, one would scarcely have supposed that that would havebeen a sufficient introduction."

  Miss Strong flushed.

  "You have no right to talk to me like that. I did not know that youwere coming to Brighton, or I would have met you at the station."

  "I knew that I should meet you on the pier."

  The lady stood still.

  "What do you mean by that?"

  The gentleman, confronting her, returned her glance for glance.

  "I mean what I say. I knew that I should meet you on the pier--and Ihave."

  The lady walked on again; whatever she might think of Mr. Paxton'sinference, his actual statement was undeniable.

  "You don't seem in the best of tempera, Cyril. How is Mr. Franklyn?"

  "He was all right when I saw him last--a good deal better than I wasor than I am."

  "What is the matter with you? Are you ill?"

  "Matter!" Mr. Paxton's tone was bitter. "What is likely to be thematter with the man who, after having had the luck which I have beenhaving lately, to crown it all finds the woman he loves philanderingwith a stranger--the acquaintance of a shower of rain--on Brightonpier."

  "You have no right to speak to me like that--not the slightest! I amperfectly free to do as I please, as you are. And, withoutcondescending to dispute your inferences--though, as you very wellknow, they are quite unjust!--any attempt at criticism on your partwill be resented by me in a manner which you may find unpleasant."

  A pause followed the lady's words, which the gentleman did not seemaltogether to relish.

  "Still the fact remains that I do love you better than anything elsein the world."

  "Surely if that were so, Cyril, at this time of day you and I wouldnot be situated as we are."

  "By which you mean?"

  "If you felt for me what you are always protesting that you feel,surely sometimes you would have done as I wished."

  "Which being interpreted is equivalent to saying that I should haveput my money into Goschens, and entered an office at a salary of apound a week."

  "If you had done so you would at any rate still have your money, andalso, possibly, the prospect of a career."

  They had reached the end of the pier, and were leaning over the side,looking towards the Worthing lights. Miss Strong's words were followedby an interval of silence. When the gentleman spoke again, in hisvoice there was the suspicion of a tremor.

  "Daisy, don't be hard on me."

  "I don't wish to be hard. It was you who began by being hard on me."

  He seemed to pay no heed to her speech, continuing on a line of hisown--

  "Especially just now!"

  She glanced at him.

  "Why especially just now?"

  "Well----" He stopped. The tremor in his voice became more pronounced."Because I'm going for the gloves."

  If the light had been clearer he might have seen that her face assumeda sudden tinge of pallor.

  "What do you mean by you're going for the gloves?"

  "I mean that probably by this time tomorrow I shall have either wonyou or lost you for ever."

  "Cyril!" There was a catching in her breath. "I hope you are going todo nothing--wild."

  "It depends upon the point of view." He turned to her with suddenpassion. "I'm sick of things as they are--sick to death! I've made upmy mind to know either the best or the worst."

  "How do you propose to arrive at that state of knowledge?"

  "I've gone a bull on Eries--a big bull. So big a bull that if theyfall one I'm done."

  "How done?"

  "I shall be done, because it will be for reasons, good, strong, solidreasons, the last deal I shall ever make on the London StockExchange."

  There was silence. Then she spoke again--

  "You will lose. You always do lose!"

  "Thanks."

  "It will be almost better for you that you should lose. I am beginningto believe, Cyril, that you never will do any good till you havetouched bottom, till you have lost all that you possibly can lose."

  "Thank you, again."

  She drew herself up, drawing herself away from the railing againstwhich she had been leaning. She gave a gesture which was suggestive ofweariness.

  "I too am tired. This uncertainty is more than I can stand; you are sounstable, Cyril. Your ideas and mine on some points are wide apart. Itseems to me that if a girl is worth winning, she is worth working for.As a profession for a man, I don't think that what you call 'punting'on the Stock Exchange is much better than pitch-and-toss."

  "Well?"

  The word was an interrogation. She had paused.

  "It appears to me that the girl who marries a man who does nothingelse but 'punt' is preparing for herself a long line ofdisappointments. Think how many times you have disappointed me. Thinkof the fortunes you were to have made. Think, Cyril, of the TrumpitGold Mine--what great things were to come of that!"

  "I am quite aware that I did invest every penny I c
ould beg, borrow,or steal in the Trumpit Gold Mine, and that at present I am thefortunate possessor of a trunkful of shares which are not worth ashilling a-piece. The reminder is a pleasant one. Proceed--you seemwound up to go."

  Her voice assumed a new touch of sharpness.

  "The long and the short of it is, Cyril--it is better that we shouldunderstand each other!--if your present speculation turns out asdisastrously as all your others have done, and it leaves you worse offthan ever, the relations, such as they are, which exist between usmust cease. We must be as strangers!"

  "Which means that you don't care for me the value of a brass-headedpin."

  "It means nothing of the kind, as you are well aware. It simply meansthat I decline to link my life with a man who appears incapable ofkeeping his own head above water. Because he insists on drowninghimself, why should I allow him to drown me too?"

  "I observe that you take the commercial, up-to-date view of marriage."

  "What view do you take? Are you nearer to being able to marry methan ever you were? Are you not farther off? You have no regularincome--and how many entanglements? What do you propose that we shouldlive on--on the hundred and twenty pounds a year which mother leftme?"

  There came a considerable silence. He had not moved from the positionhe had taken up against the railing, and still looked across thewaveless sea towards the glimmering lights of Worthing. When he didspeak his tones were cold, and clear, and measured--perhaps thecoldness was assumed to hide a warmer something underneath.

  "Your methods are a little rough, but perhaps they are none the worseon that account. As you say so shall it be. Win or lose, to-morrowevening I will meet you again upon the pier--that is, if you willcome."

  "You know I'll come!"

  "If I lose it will be to say goodbye. Next week I emigrate."

  She was still, so he went on--

  "Now, if you don't mind, I'll see you to the end of the pier, and saygoodbye until tomorrow. I'll get something to eat and hurry back totown."

  "Won't you come and see Charlie?"

  "Thank you, I don't think I will. Miss Wentworth has not asufficiently good opinion of me to care if I do or don't. Make her myexcuses."

  Another pause. Then she said, in a tone which was hardly above awhisper--

  "Cyril, I do hope you'll win."

  He stood, and turned, and faced her.

  "Do you really mean that, Daisy?"

  "You know that I do."

  "Then, if you really hope that I shall win--the double event!--as anearnest of your hopes--there is no one looking!--kiss me."

  She did as he bade her.