The Datchet Diamonds Page 5

  CHAPTER V

  IN THE BODEGA

  As Mr. Paxton walked away from the house in which the two ladiesresided, it was with the consciousness strong upon him that hisposition had not been made any easier by what he had said to the ladyof his love, not to speak of that lady's friend. Before he had metMiss Strong he had been, comparatively, free--free, that is, to returnthe diamonds to their rightful owner. Now, it seemed to him, his handswere tied--he himself had tied them. He had practically committedhimself to a course of action which could only point in one direction,and that an ugly one.

  "What a fool I've been!"

  One is apt to tell oneself that sort of thing when the fact is alreadywell established, and also, not only without intending to undo one'sfolly, but even when one actually proposes to make it more! As Mr.Paxton did then. He told himself, frankly, and with cutting scorn,what a fool he had been, and then proceeded to take what, undersimilar circumstances, seems to be a commonly accepted view of thesituation--assuring, or endeavouring to assure himself, that to pilefolly on to folly, until the height of it reached the mountain-tops,and then to undo it, would be easier than to take steps to undo it atonce, while it was still comparatively a little thing.

  It was perhaps this line of reasoning which induced Mr. Paxton tofancy himself in want of a drink. He turned into the Bodega. Hetreated himself to a whisky and soda. While he was consuming thefluid and abusing Fate, some one touched him on the shoulder. Lookinground he found himself confronted by Mr. Lawrence and his friend theGerman-American. Not only was their appearance wholly unexpected, butobviously the surprise was not a pleasant one. Mr. Paxton clutched atthe edge of the bar, glaring at the two men as if they had beenghosts.

  "Good evening, Mr. Paxton."

  It was Mr. Lawrence who spoke, in those quiet, level tones with whichMiss Strong was familiar. To Mr. Paxton's lively imagination theirvery quietude seemed to convey a threat. And Mr. Lawrence kept thosebeautiful blue eyes of his fixed on Mr. Paxton's visage with asustained persistence which, for some cause or other, that gentlemanfound himself incapable of bearing. He nodded, turned his face away,and picked up his glass.

  But to do Mr. Paxton justice, he was very far from being a coward;nor, when it came to the sticking-point, was his nerve at all likelyto fail him. He realised instantly that he was in a very delicatesituation, and one on which, curiously enough, he had not reckoned.But if Mr. Lawrence and his friend supposed that Mr. Paxton, even iftaken by surprise, was a man who could, in the long run, be taken atan advantage, they were wrong. Mr. Paxton emptied his glass, andreplied to Mr. Lawrence--

  "It's not a pleasant evening, is it? I think that up at the stationyou asked me to have a drink with you. Now, perhaps, you'll have onewith me?"

  As he spoke Mr. Paxton was conscious that the German-American wasregarding him, if possible, even more intently than his friend. Thiswas the man to whom he had taken an instinctive dislike. There wasabout the fellow a suggestion of something animal--of something almosteerie. He did not strike one as being a person with whom it would bewise to quarrel, but rather as an individual who would stick atnothing to gain his ends, and who would be moved by no appeals foreither sympathy or mercy.

  "Would you mind stepping outside for a moment, Mr. Paxton?"

  "Outside? Why?"

  Mr. Paxton's air of innocence was admirably feigned. It might be thathe was a better actor with a man than with a woman.

  "There is something which I rather wish to say to you."

  "To me? What is it?"

  "I would rather, if you don't mind, speak to you outside."

  Mr. Paxton turned his back against the bar facing Mr. Lawrence with asmile.

  "Aren't we private enough in here? What is it you can have to say tome?"

  "You know very well what it is I have to say to you. If you take myadvice, you'll come outside."

  Mr. Lawrence still spoke softly, but with a softness which, if onemight put it so, had in it the suggestion of a scratch. A gleam cameinto his eyes which was scarcely a friendly gleam. The smile on Mr.Paxton's countenance broadened.

  "I know! You are mistaken. I do not know. You are the merestacquaintance; I have never exchanged half a dozen words with you. Whatcommunication of a private nature you may have to make to me, I havenot the faintest notion, but, whatever it is, I would rather you saidit here."

  Mr. Paxton's tones were, perhaps purposely, as loud as Mr. Lawrence'swere soft. What he said must have been distinctly audible, notonly to those who were close to him but also to those who were at alittle distance. Especially did the high words seem audible to ashabby-looking fellow who was seated at a little table just in frontof them, and wore his hat a good deal over his eyes, but who, in spiteof that fact, seemed to keep a very keen eye on Mr. Paxton.

  Perceiving that his friend appeared to be slightly nonplussed by Mr.Paxton's manner, the German-American came a little forward, as if tohis assistance. This was a really curious individual. As has beenalready mentioned, he was tall and thin, and, in spite of his stoop,his height was accentuated by the fashion of his attire. He wore along, straight black overcoat, so long that it reached almost to hisankles. It was wide enough to have admitted two of him. He kept itbuttoned high up to his chin. His head was surmounted by a top hat,which could scarcely have been of English manufacture, for not onlywas it a size or two too large for him, but, relatively, it was almostas long as his overcoat. Thus, since his hat came over his forehead,and his overcoat came up to his chin, not much of his physiognomy wasvisible, and what was visible was not of a kind to make one long formore. His complexion was of a dirty red. His cheekbones were high, andhis cheeks were hollow. They were covered with tiny bristles, whichgleamed in the light as he moved his head. His eyes were small, andblack, and beady, and he had a trick of opening and shutting them, asif they were constantly being focussed. His nose was long, and thin,and aquiline--that aquiline which suggests a vulture. His voluminousmoustache was black; one wondered if it owed that shade to nature.But, considerable though it was, it altogether failed to conceal hismouth, which, as the Irishman said, "rolled right round his jaws."Indeed, it was of such astonishing dimensions that the surprise whichone felt on first encountering it, caused one, momentarily, to neglectto notice the practically entire absence of a chin.

  This pleasing-looking person, coming to Mr. Paxton, raised a long,lean forefinger, capped by what rather resembled a talon than a humanfingernail, and crooked it in Mr. Paxton's face. And he said, speakingwith that pronounced German-American accent--

  "Permit me, my dear friend, to ask of Mr. Paxton just onequestion--just one little question. Mr. Paxton, what was the colour ofyour Gladstone bag, eh?"

  Mr. Paxton felt, as he regarded the speaker, that he was looking atwhat bore a stronger resemblance to some legendary evil creature thanto a being of our common humanity.

  "I fail to understand you, sir."

  "And yet my question is a very simple one--a very simple one indeed. Iask you, what was the colour of your Gladstone bag, eh?"

  "My Gladstone bag!--which Gladstone bag?"

  "The Gladstone bag which you brought with you in the train from town,eh?"

  Mr. Paxton gazed at his questioner with, on his countenance, an entireabsence of any sort of comprehension. He turned to Mr. Lawrence--

  "Is this a friend of yours?"

  "What was the colour of your Gladstone bag, eh?" _TheDatchet Diamonds_. _Page_ 82.]

  The pair looked at Mr. Paxton, then at each other, then back at Mr.Paxton, then again at each other. The German-American waggled his leanforefinger.

  "He is very difficult, Mr. Paxton--very difficult indeed, eh? Heunderstand nothing. It is strange. But it is like that sometimes, eh?"

  Mr. Lawrence interposed.

  "Look here, I'll be plain enough, even for you, Mr. Paxton. Have yougot my Gladstone bag?"

  Mr. Lawrence still spoke softly, but as he put his question Mr. Paxtonwas conscious t
hat his eyes were fixed on him with a singularintentness, and his friend's eyes, and the eyes of the man who halfconcealed them with his hat, and, unless he was mistaken, the eyes ofanother shabby individual who was seated at a second table, betweenhimself and the door. Indeed, he had a dim perception that sharp eyeswere watching him from all over the spacious room, and that theywaited for his words. Still, he managed to retain very fair controlover his presence of mind.

  "Your Gladstone bag! I! What the deuce do you mean?"

  "What I say--have you got my Gladstone bag?"

  Mr. Paxton drew himself up. Something of menace came on to his faceand into his eyes. His tone became hard and dry.

  "Either I still altogether fail to understand you, Mr. Lawrence, orelse I understand too much. Your question is such a singular one thatI must ask you to explain what construction I am intended to placeupon it."

  The two men regarded each other steadily, eye to eye. It is possiblethat Mr. Paxton read more in Mr. Lawrence's glance than Mr. Lawrenceread in his, for Mr. Paxton perceived quite clearly that, in spite ofthe man's seeming gentleness, on the little voyage on which he wassetting forth he would have to look out, at the very least, forsqualls. The German-American broke the silence.

  "It is that Mr. Paxton has not yet opened the Gladstone bag, and seenthat a little exchange has taken place--is that so, eh?"

  Mr. Paxton understood that the question was as a loophole throughwhich he might escape. He might still rid himself of what already hedimly saw might turn out to be something worse than an Old Man of theSea upon his shoulders. But he deliberately declined to avail himselfof the proffered chance. On the contrary, by his reply he burnt hisboats, and so finally cut off his escape--at any rate in thatdirection.

  "Opened it? Of course I opened it! I opened it directly I got in. I'veno more idea of what you two men are talking about than the man in themoon."

  Once more the friends exchanged glances, and again Mr. Lawrence askeda question.

  "Mr. Paxton, I've a particular reason for asking, and I shouldtherefore feel obliged if you will tell me what your bag was like?"

  Mr. Paxton never hesitated--he took his second fence in his stride.

  "Mine? It's a black bag--rather old--with my initials on oneside--stuck pretty well all over with luggage labels. But why do youask?"

  Again the two men's eyes met, Mr. Lawrence regarding the other with aglance which seemed as if it would have penetrated to his inmost soul.This time, however, Mr. Paxton's own eyes never wavered. He returnedthe other's look with every appearance of _sang froid_. Mr. Lawrence'svoice continued to be soft and gentle.

  "You are sure that yours was not a new brown bag?"

  "Sure! Of course I'm sure! It was black; and, as for being new--well,it was seven or eight years old at least."

  "Would you mind my having a look at it?"

  "What do you want to have a look at it for?"

  "I should esteem it a favour if you would permit me."

  "Why should I?"

  Again the two men's glances met. The German-American spoke.

  "Where are you stopping, Mr. Paxton, eh?"

  Wheeling round, Mr. Paxton treated the inquirer to anything but anenlightening answer.

  "What has that to do with you? Although a perfect stranger to me--andone to whom I would rather remain a stranger--you appear to take adegree of interest in my affairs which I can only characterizeas--impertinent."

  "It is not meant to be impertinent, oh, dear no; oh, no, Mr Paxton,eh?"

  Putting up his clawlike hand, the fellow began to rub it against hisapology for a chin. Mr. Paxton turned his attention to Mr. Lawrence;it was a peculiarity of that gentleman's bearing that since hisappearance on the scene he had never for a single instant removed hisbeautiful blue eyes from Mr. Paxton's countenance.

  "You have asked me one or two curious questions, without giving me anysort of explanation; now perhaps you won't mind answering one or twofor me. Have you lost a bag?"

  "I can scarcely say that I have lost it. I am parted from it--for atime."

  Mr. Paxton stared, as if not comprehending.

  "I trust that the parting may not be longer than you appear toanticipate. Was there anything in it of value?"

  "A few trifles, which I should not care to lose."

  "Where, as you phrase it, did the parting take place?"

  "In the refreshment-room at the Central Station--when you went out ofit."

  Mr. Paxton flushed--it might have been a smart bit of acting, but itwas a genuine flush. He looked at the soft-toned but sufficientlyincisive speaker as if he would have liked to have knocked him down;possibly, too, came very near to trying to do it. Then seemed toremember himself, confining himself instead to language which was asharsh and as haughty as he could conveniently make it.

  "That is not the first time you have dropped a similar insinuation.But it shall be the last. I do not wish to have a scene in a publicplace, but if you address me again I will call the attention of theattendants to you, and I will have you removed."

  So saying, Mr. Paxton, wheeling round on his heels, favoured theoffender with a capital view of his back. To be frank, he hardlyexpected that his Bombastes Furioso air would prove of much effect. Hehad reason to think that Mr. Lawrence was not the sort of person toallow himself to be cowed by such a very unsubstantial weapon astall-talk. His surprise was, therefore, the greater when, the wordsbeing scarcely out of his mouth, the German-American, touching hisassociate on the arm, made to him some sort of a sign, and withoutanother word the two marched off together. Somewhat oddly, as itseemed, when they went out two or three other persons went out also;but Mr. Paxton particularly noticed that the man with the hat over hiseyes who was seated at the little table remained behind, suddenlyappearing, however, to have all his faculties absorbed in a newspaperwhich had been lying hitherto neglected just in front of him.

  Mr. Paxton congratulated himself on the apparent effect which hiswords had had.

  "That's a good riddance, anyhow. I don't think that I'm of the sortthat's easily bluffed, but the odds were against me, and--well--thestakes are high--very high!"

  As Mr. Paxton took off his hat to wipe his forehead it almost seemedthat his temperature was high as well as the stakes. He called foranother whisky and soda, As he sipped it, he inquired of himself howlong it would be advisable for him to stop before taking hisdeparture; he had no desire to find the enterprising associateswaiting for him in the street. While he meditated some one addressedhim from behind, in precisely the same words which Mr. Lawrence hadoriginally used. Commonplace though they were, as they reached hisears they seemed to give him a sort of thrill.

  "Good evening, Mr. Paxton."

  Mr. Paxton turned round so quickly that some of the liquor which wasin the glass that he was holding was thrown out upon the floor. Thespeaker proved to be a rather short and thick-set man, with a stubblygrey beard and whiskers, and a pair of shrewd, brown eyes. Mr. Paxtonbeheld him with as few signs of satisfaction as he had evinced onfirst beholding Mr. Lawrence. He tried to pass off his evidentdiscomposure with a laugh.

  "You! You're a pretty sort of fellow to startle a man like that!"

  "Did I startle you?"

  "When a man's dreaming of angels, he's easily startled. What's yourliquid?"

  "Scotch, cold. Who was that you were talking to just now?"

  Mr. Paxton shot at the stranger a keen, inquisitorial glance.

  "What do you mean?"

  "Weren't you talking to somebody as I came in?--two men, weren'tthere?"

  "Oh yes! One of them I never met in my life before, and I never wantto meet again. The other, the younger, I was introduced to yesterday."

  "The younger--what's his name?"

  "Lawrence. Do you know him?"

  The stranger appeared not to notice the second hurried, almost anxiouslook which Mr. Paxton cast in his direction.

  "I fancied I did. But I don't know any one of the name of Lawrence. Imust have been wrong."

/>   Mr. Paxton applied himself to his glass. It appeared, he told himself,that he was in bad luck's way. Only one person could have been moreunwelcome just at the moment than Mr. Lawrence had been, and thatperson had actually followed hard on Mr. Lawrence's heels. As is theway with men of his class, who frequent the highways and the byways ofgreat cities, Mr. Paxton had a very miscellaneous acquaintance. Amongthem were not a few officers of police. He had rather prided himselfon this fact--as men of his sort are apt to do. But now he almostwished that he had never been conscious that such a thing as apoliceman existed in the world; for there--at the moment when he wasleast wanted--standing at his side, was one of the most famous ofLondon detectives; a man who was high in the confidence of thedignitaries at the "Yard"; a man, too, with whom he had had one or twofamiliar passages, and whom he could certainly not treat with the samestand-off air with which he had treated Mr. Lawrence.

  He understood now why the associates had stood not on the order oftheir going; it was not fear of him, as in his conceit he hadsupposed, which had sped their heels; it was fear of John Ireland.Gentlemen of Mr. Lawrence's kidney were pretty sure to know a man ofMr. Ireland's reputation, at any rate by sight. The "office" had beengiven him that a "tec." was in the neighbourhood, and Mr. Lawrence hadtaken himself away just in time, as he hoped, to escape recognition.That that hope was vain was obvious from what John Ireland had said.In spite of his disclaiming any knowledge of a man named Lawrence, Mr.Paxton had little doubt that both men had been "spotted."

  A wild impulse came to him. He seemed to be drifting, each second,into deeper and deeper waters. Why not take advantage of what might,after all, be another rope thrown out to him by chance? Why not make aclean breast of everything to Ireland? Why not go right before it was,indeed, too late--return her diamonds to the sorrowing Duchess, andmake an end of his wild dreams of fortune? No; that he would--he couldnot do. At least not yet. He had committed himself to Daisy, to MissWentworth. There was plenty of time. He could, if he chose, play thepart of harlequin, and with a touch of his magic wand at any timechange the scene. He even tried to flatter himself that he mightplay the part of an amateur detective, and track the criminals onoriginal--and Fabian!--lines of his own; but self-flattery of thatsort was too gross even for his digestion.

  "Nice affair that of the Duchess of Datchet's diamonds."

  The glass almost dropped from Mr. Paxton's hand. The utterance of thewords at that identical instant was of course but a coincidence; butit was a coincidence of a kind which made it extremely difficult forhim to retain even a vestige of self-control. Fortunately, perhaps,Mr. Ireland appeared to be unconscious of his agitation. Putting hisglass down on the bar-counter, he twisted it round and round by thestem. He tried to modulate his voice into a tone of completeindifference.

  "The Duchess of Datchet's diamonds? What do you mean?"

  "Haven't you heard?"

  Mr. Paxton hesitated. He felt that it might be just as well not tofeign too much innocence in dealing with John Ireland.

  "Saw something about it as I came down in the train."

  "I thought you had. Came down from town?"

  "Yes--just for the run."

  "Came in the same train with Mr. Lawrence?"

  "I rather fancy I did."

  "He was in the next compartment to yours, wasn't he?"

  Mr. Ireland's manner was almost ostentatiously careless, and he seemedto be entirely occupied in the contents of his glass, but for somereason Mr. Paxton was beginning to feel more and more uncomfortable.

  "Was he? I wasn't aware of it. I noticed him on the platform when thetrain got in."

  "With his friend?"

  "Yes--the other man was with him."

  "Went into the refreshment-room with them, didn't you, and had adrink?"

  Mr. Paxton turned and looked at the speaker; Mr. Ireland seemed, as itwere, to studiously refrain from looking at him.

  "Upon my word, Ireland, you seem to have kept a keen eye upon mymovements."

  "I came down by that train too; you didn't appear to notice me."

  Mr. Paxton wished--he scarcely knew why, but he did wish--that he had.He admitted that the detective had gone unrecognised, and there was apause, broken by Mr. Ireland.

  "I am inclined to think that I know where those diamonds are."

  Odd how conscience--or is it the want of experience?--plays havoc withthe nervous system of the amateur in crime. Ordinarily, Mr. Paxton wasscarcely conscious that he had such things as nerves; he was about ascool an individual as you would be likely to meet. But since lightingon those sparkling pebbles in somebody else's Gladstone bag, he hadbeen one mass of nerves, and of exposed nerves, too. Like somesubstance which is in the heart of a thunderstorm, and which ispeculiarly sensitive to the propinquity of electricity, he had beenreceiving a continual succession of shocks. When Mr. Ireland said inthat unexpected and, as Mr. Paxton felt, uncalled-for fashion that hethought that he knew where those diamonds were, Mr. Paxton was therecipient of another shock upon the spot. Half a dozen times it hadbeen with an effort that he had just succeeded in not betrayinghimself; he had to make another and a similar effort then.

  "You think that you know where those diamonds are?"

  "I do!"

  There was silence; then the officer of the law went on. Mr. Paxtonwished within himself that he would not.

  "You're a sporting man, Mr. Paxton. I wouldn't mind making a bet thatthey're not far off! There's a chance for you!"

  "Oh!" It was not at all a sort of bet which Mr. Paxton was disposed totake, nor a kind of chance he relished. "Thanks; but it's a thingabout which you're likely to know more than I do; I'm not betting. Areyou on the job?"

  "Half the Yard is on the job already."

  Silence once more; then again Mr. Ireland. He stood holding his glassin his hand, twiddling it between his finger and thumb, and all hisfaculties seemed to be engaged in making an exhaustive examination ofthe liquor it contained; but Mr. Paxton almost felt as if his voicehad been the voice of fate.

  "The man who has those diamonds will find that they won't be of theslightest use to him. He'll find that they'll be as difficult to getrid of as the Koh-i-Nor. Like the chap who stole the Gainsborough,he'll find himself in possession of a white elephant. Every dealer ofreputation, in every part of the world, who is likely to deal in suchthings knows the Datchet diamonds as well as, if not better than, theDuke himself. The chap who has them will have to sell them to a fence.That fence will give him no more for them than if they were thecommonest trumpery. And for this very good reason--the fence willeither have to lock them up, and bequeath them to his great-grandson,on the offchance of his having face enough to put them on the market;or else he will have to break them up and offer them to the trade asif they were the ordinary stones of commerce, just turned up by theshovel. If I were on the cross, Mr. Paxton, I wouldn't have thosesparklers if they were offered me for nothing. I should be able to getvery little for them; the odds are they would quod me; and you maytake this from me, that for the man--I don't care who he is, firstoffender or not--who is found with the Duchess of Datchet's diamondsin his possession, it's a lifer!"

  Mr. Paxton was silent for a moment or two after the detective hadceased. He took another drink; it might have been that his lips stoodin need of being moistened.

  "You think it would be a lifer, do you?"

  "I'm certain. After all the jewel thieves who have got clean off, if ajudge does get this gentleman in front of him--which I think hewill!--he'll make it as hot for him as ever he can. I shouldn't liketo see you in such a position, Mr. Paxton, I assure you."

  Again Mr. Paxton raised his glass to his lips.

  "I hope that you won't, Mr. Ireland, with all my heart."

  "I hope I sha'n't, Mr. Paxton. You know, perhaps as well as I do, it'san awful position for a man to stand in. What did you say yourfriend's name was--Lawrence? It's queer that I should have thoughtthat I knew his face, and yet I don't think that I ever knew any oneof that name. By the w
ay, I fancy that you once told me that youdidn't mind having a try at anything in which there was money to bemade. Now, if you could give me a hint as to the whereabouts of theDuchess's diamonds, you might find that there was money in that."

  As he emptied his glass Mr. Paxton looked the detective in the face.

  "I wish I could, John--I'd be on for the deal! Only, I'm sorry that Ican't."