When Kilsip undertook to educate Naball in the business of a detective, he gave him an epigrammatical piece of advice: "Cultivate curiosity." This golden rule Naball constantly followed, and found it of infinite service to him in his difficult profession. He was always on the lookout for queer cases, and when he discovered one that piqued his curiosity, he never rested until he found out all about it. The Red Indian follows the trail of his enemy by noting the most trivial signs, which to others with a less highly cultivated instinct would appear worthless. And Naball was a social Red Indian, following up the trail of a mystery by a constant attention to surrounding events. A casual observation, a fleeting expression, a scrap of paper--these were the sign-posts which led him to a satisfactory conclusion, and he never neglected any opportunity of exercising his faculties. By this constant practice he sharpened his senses in a wonderful degree, and cultivated to the highest extent the unerring instinct which he possessed in discovering crimes.
Consequently, when he found there was no legal authority to be given him in unravelling the mystery of the diamond robbery, he determined to investigate it on his own account, in order to satisfy his curiosity. To a casual spectator, it appeared to be a mere vulgar burglary, in which the thieves had got off with their plunder, and until his interview with Caprice the detective had supposed it to be so. But when he went over in his own mind the peculiar circumstances of that interview, he saw there was a complicated criminal case to be investigated, so he set himself to work to unravel the mystery, and gratify his inquiring mind.
In the first place, he drew up a statement of the case pure and simple, and then, deducing different theories from the circumstances, he tried to get a point from whence to start. He placed his ideas in the form of questions and answers, as follows:--
Q. Was Villiers outside on the verandah when Caprice mentioned where her diamonds were kept?
A. To all appearances he was.
Q. Had he any inducement to steal the diamonds?
A. Undoubtedly. He was poor, and wanted money, proved by his calling on Caprice and asking for some. He said he would be revenged because she did not give him more than a sovereign, and there would be no sweeter revenge than to steal her diamonds, as it would punish her, and benefit himself.
Q. Did he know the room where the diamonds were kept?
A. Yes. Caprice said her bedroom, and as Villiers had been several times to the house before, he knew where it was.
Q. Did Caprice know Villiers had stolen her jewels?
A. Extremely probably, hence her refusal to prosecute, as he was the husband of Madame Midas, whom she had treated so basely. The refusal to prosecute Villiers might be, in Caprice's opinion, an act of expiation.
When he had got thus far, Naball paused. After all, this was pure theory. He had not a single well authenticated fact to go on, but all the circumstances of the case seemed to point to Villiers, so he determined to go on the trail of Villiers, and find out what he was doing.
Mr. Villiers had of late been under the espionage of the police, owing to some shady transactions with which he was connected, so Naball knew exactly where to find him, and, putting on an overcoat, he sallied forth in the direction of the slums in Little Bourke Street, with the intention of calling on a Chinaman named Ah Goon, who kept an opium den in that unsavoury locality.
To his drinking habits Villiers now added that of being a confirmed opium smoker, and was on terms of intimacy with Ah Goon, in whose den he was accustomed to pass his evenings. Naball therefore intended to watch for Villiers, and find out, if possible, when, owing to drink and opium combined, he was not master of himself, what he had done on the night of the robbery after leaving Caprice.
He soon entered Little Bourke Street, and plunged into the labyrinth of slums, which he knew thoroughly. It was a clear, starry night, but the cool, fresh air was tainted in this locality by the foul miasma which pervaded the neighbourhood, and even the detective, accustomed as he was to the place, felt disgusted with the sickly odours that permeated the atmosphere.
Ah Goon's house was in a narrow right-of-way off one of the larger alleys, and there was a faint candle burning in the window to attract customers. Pausing at the door a moment, Naball listened to hear if there was any European within. The monotonous chant of a Chinese beggar could be heard coming down the alley, and every now and then the screams of two women fighting, while occasionally a number of noisy larrikins would come tramping heavily along, forming a strong contrast to the silent, soft-footed Orientals.
Pushing open the door, Naball entered the den, a small, low-ceilinged room, which was filled with a dull, smoky atmosphere. At the end was a gaudy-looking shrine, all yellow, red, and green, with tinsel flowers, and long red bills with fantastic Chinese letters on them in long rows. Candles were burning in front of this, and cast a feeble light around--on a pile of bamboo canes and baskets heaped up against the wall; on strange-looking Chinese stools of cane-work; onbizarreivory carvings set on shelves; and on a low raised platform at the end of the room, whereon the opium-smokers reclined. Above this ground-floor were two or three other broad, shallow shelves, in each of which a Chinaman was lying, sunk deep in an opium slumber; there was also a kerosene lamp on the lower floor, beside which Ah Goon was reclining, and deftly preparing a pipe of opium for a fat, stolid-looking Chinaman, who watched the process with silent apathy.
Ah Goon looked up as the detective entered, and a bland smile spread over his face as he nodded to him, and went on preparing his pipe, while Naball stood watching the queer operation. There was an oil lamp with a clear flame in front of Ah Goon, who was holding a kind of darning-needle. Dipping this into a thick, brown, sticky-looking substance, contained in a small pot, he twirled the needle rapidly, spinning round the glutinous mass like treacle. Then he placed it in the flame of the lamp, and turned it slowly round and round for a short time until it was ready; then, having placed it in the small hole of the opium pipe, which he held ready in his other hand, he gave it to his countryman, who received it with a grunt of satisfaction, and, lying back, took the long stem between his lips and inhaled the smoke with long, steady breaths. When his pipe was done, which was accomplished in three or four whiffs, he devoted himself to preparing another, while Ah Goon arose to his feet to speak to Naball.
He was a tall man, with a thin, yellow-skinned, emaciated face, cunning, oblong eyes, and flattish nose. His pigtail, of course--black hair craftily lengthened by thick twisted silk--was coiled on top of his head; and his dress, consisting of a dull blue blouse, wide trousers of the same colour, and thick, white-soled Chinese slippers, by no means added to his personal beauty. Standing before Naball, with an unctuous smile on his face, and his long, slender hands clasped in front of him, Ah Goon waited for the detective to speak.
Naball glanced rapidly round the apartment, and not seeing Villiers, addressed himself to the stolid Celestial, who was looking slyly at him.
"Ah Goon, where is the white man who comes here every night?"
"Plenty he come allee muchee night--me no have seen," replied Ah Goon, blinking his black eyes.
"Yes, I know that," retorted Naball quickly; "but this one is short--black hair and whiskers--smokes opium--drinks a lot--is called Villiers."
Whether Ah Goon recognised the gentleman thus elegantly described was doubtful; at all events, he put on a stolid air.
"Me no sabee," he answered.
Naball held out a half-a crown, upon which Ah Goon fixed his eyes lovingly.
"Where is he?"
The money was too much for Ah Goon's cupidity, so he gave in.
"Him playee fan-tan-ayah!" he answered, in a sing-song voice, "allee same."
"Oh!"
Mr. Naball did not waste any words, but threw the half-crown to the expectant Ah Goon, and turned towards the door. Just as he reached it there was a noise of hurried footsteps outside, and Villiers' voice, husky and savage, was heard,--
"Ah Goon, you yellow devil, where are you?" and there came a heavy kick at the door.
In a moment Naball drew back into a shadowy corner, and placed his finger on his lips to ensure silence, a pantomime which the intelligent Ah Goon understood at once.
Villiers opened the door and lurched noisily into the room, stopping for a minute on the threshold, dazed by the yellow, smoky glare.
"Here, you, Ah Goon," he cried, catching sight of the Chinaman, "I want some money--more money."
"Ah Goon no have," murmured that individual, clutching his half-crown.
"I've lost all I had on that infernal fan-tan of yours," shrieked Villiers, not heeding him; "but my luck must change--give me another fiver."
"Ah Goon no have," reiterated the Chinaman, edging away from the excited Villiers.
"Curse your no have," he said fiercely; "why, I've only had twenty pounds from you, and those diamonds were worth fifty."
Diamonds! Naball pricked up his ears at this. He was winning after all. Kitty did not steal her jewels, but this was the thief, or perhaps an accomplice.
"Give me more money," cried Villiers, lurching forward, and would have laid his hand on the shoulder of the shrinking Chinaman, when Naball stepped out of his corner.
"What's the matter?" he asked, in his silky voice.
Villiers turned on the new-comer with a sudden start, and stared suspiciously at him; but the detective being muffled up in a heavy ulster, with his hat pulled over his eyes, he did not recognise him.
"What do you want?" he said ungraciously.
"Nothing," replied Naball quickly. "I'm only strolling round the Chinese quarter out of curiosity, and heard you rowing this poor devil."
"Poor devil!" sneered Villiers, with a glance of fury at Ah Goon, who had complacently resumed his occupation of preparing an opium pipe; "he's rich enough."
"Indeed," said the detective, carelessly--"to lend money?"
"What's that to you?" growled Villiers, with a snarl. "I s'pose I can borrow money if I like."
"Certainly, if you've got good security to give."
Villiers glared angrily at the young man.
"Don't know what you're talking about," he said sulkily.
"Security," explained Naball smoothly; means "borrowing money on land, clothes, or--or diamonds."
Villiers gave a sudden start, and was about to reply, when the door opened violently, and a bold, handsome woman, dressed in a bright green silk, dashed into the room and swooped down on Ah Goon.
"Well, my dear," she said effusively, "'ere I am; bin to the theatre, and 'ere you are preparing that pisin of yours. Oh, I must 'ave one pipe to-night, just one, and--Who the blazes are you?" catching sight of the two strangers.
"Shut up," said Villiers, and made a step towards her, for just on the bosom of her dress sparkled a small crescent of diamonds set in silver. The woman's eyes caught his covetous glance, and she put her hand over the ornament.
"No, you don't," she said scowling. "Lay a finger on me and I'll--ah!"
She ended with a stifled cry, for without warning, Villiers had sprung on her, and his hands were round her throat. Ah Goon and another Chinaman jumped up and threw themselves on the two, trying to separate them. The woman got Villiers' hands off her, and started to sing out freely, so Naball began to think of retreating, as the noise would bring all the undesirable bullies of the neighbourhood into the unsavoury den.
While thus hesitating, the woman flung the diamond ornament away from her with an oath, and it fell at Naball's feet. In a moment the detective had picked it up and slipped in into his pocket.
Villiers, seeing the ornament was gone, flung the woman from him with a howl of fury, and turned to look for it, when the door was burst violently open, and a crowd of Chinese, all chattering in their high shrill voices like magpies, surged into the room. Ah Goon, with many gesticulations, began to explain, Villiers to swear, and the woman to shriek, so in the midst of this pandemonium Naball slipped away, and was soon walking swiftly down Little Bourke Street, with the diamond ornament safe in his pocket.
"I believe this is one of the stolen jewels," he muttered exultingly, "and Villiers was the thief after all. Humph! I'm not so sure of that. Well, I'll find out the truth when I see how she looks on being shown this little bit of evidence."
It is said that "Counsel comes in the silence of the night," so next morning Mr. Naball, having been thinking deeply about his curious discovery, decided upon his plan of action. It was evidently no good to go straight to Caprice and show her the diamond crescent, as, judging from her general conduct with regard to the robbery, she would deny that the jewel belonged to her.
The detective therefore determined to ascertain from some independent person whether the jewel was really the property of Caprice, and after some consideration came to the conclusion that Fenton would be the most likely individual to supply the necessary information.
"He's her lover," argued Naball to himself as he walked along the street, "so he ought to know what jewellery she's got. I dare say he gave her a lot himself; but, hang it," he went on disconsolately, "I don't know why I'm bothering about this affair; nothing will come of it; for some reason best known to herself, Caprice won't let me follow up the case. I can't make it out; either she stole the jewels herself, or Villiers did, and she won't prosecute him. Ah! women are rum things," concluded the detective with a regretful sigh.
He had by this time arrived at The Never-say-die Insurance Office, and on entering the door found himself in a large, lofty apartment, with a long shiny counter at one end, and a long shiny clerk behind it. This individual, who looked as if he were rubbed all over with fresh butter, so glistening was his skin, received him with a stereotyped smile, and asked, in a soft oily voice, what he was pleased to want?
"Take my card up to Mr. Fenton," said Naball, producing his pasteboard from an elegant card-case, "and tell him I want to see him for a few minutes."
The oleaginous clerk disappeared, and several other clerks looked up from their writing at the detective with idle curiosity. Naball glanced sharply at their faces, and smiled blandly to himself as he recognised several whom he had seen in very equivocal places. Little did the clerks know that this apparently indolent young man knew a good deal about their private lives, and was anticipating coming into contact with several of them in a professional manner.
Presently the oily clerk returned with a request to Mr. Naball to walk into the manager's office, which that gentleman did in a leisurely manner; and the shiny clerk, closing the door softly, returned to his position behind the shiny counter.
Mr. Fenton sat at a handsome writing-table, which was piled up with disorderly papers, and looked sharply at the detective as he took a seat.
"Well, Naball," he said, in his strident voice, "what is the matter? Can't give you more than five minutes--time's money here. Yes, sir."
"Five minutes will do," replied the detective, tapping his varnished boots with his cane. "It's about that robbery."
"Oh, indeed!" Mr. Fenton laid down his pen, and, leaning back in his chair, prepared to listen.
"Yes! I've been looking after Villiers."
"Quite right," said the American. "That's the man I suspect--fixed up anything, eh?"
"Not yet, but I was down Little Bourke Street last night in an opium den, to which Villiers goes, and I found this."
Fenton took the diamond crescent, which Naball held out to him, and looked at it closely.
"Humph!--set in silver--rather toney," he said; "well, is this part of the swag?"
"That's what I want to find out," said Naball quickly. "You know the peculiar way in which Caprice has treated this robbery."
"I know she's a fool," retorted Fenton politely. "She ought to go right along in this matter; but for some silly reason, she won't."
"No; and that's why I've come to you. I'm going down to see her when I leave here, and it's likely she'll deny that this belongs to her. Now, I want your evidence to put against her denial. Is this the property of Caprice?"
Fenton examined the jewel again and nodded.
"Yes, sir," he replied, with a nasal drawl, "guess I gave her this."
"I thought you'd recognise it," said Naball, replacing the jewel in his pocket; "so now I'll go and see her, in order to find out how Villiers got hold of it."
"Stole it, I reckon?"
"I'm not so sure of that," replied the detective coolly. "I don't believe Caprice cares two straws about Villiers being the husband of Madame Midas. If he stole the diamonds, she'd lag him as sure as fate; no, as I told you before, she's got a finger in this pie herself, and Villiers is helping her."
"But the diamonds were stolen on that night," objected the American.
"I know that--don't you remember you told me that Caprice had an interview in the supper room with Villiers? Well, I believe she went upstairs, took the diamonds, and gave them to Villiers to dispose of."
"For what reason?"
"That's what I'd like to find out," retorted Naball. "She evidently wanted a sum of money for something; now, are you aware that she wanted money?"
"Why, she's always wanting money."
"No doubt--but this must have been a specially large sum?"
Fenton glanced keenly at Naball's impassive face, drummed impatiently with his fingers on the table, then evidently made up his mind.
"Tell you what," he said rapidly, "she did want a large sum of money--fact is, a friend of hers got into a fix, and his wife went howling to her, so she said she would replace the money, and I've no doubt sold her diamonds to do so."
"I thought it was something like that," said Naball coolly; "but why the deuce couldn't she sell her diamonds openly without all this row?"
"Guess you'd better ask her," said Fenton, rising to his feet; "she won't let me meddle with the affair, so I can't do anything--if she's fool enough to lose or sell five thousand pounds' worth of diamonds, I can't help it: and now, sir, the five minutes--" glancing at his watch.
"Are up long ago," replied Naball, rising to his feet. "Well, I'm curious about this case, and I'm going to get at it somehow, so at present I'm off down to see Caprice about this," and he tapped his breast-pocket, where the jewel was placed.
"You won't get anything out of her," said Fenton yawning, "if all you surmise is true."
"I don't care what she says," observed Naball, going to the door. "I can discover all I want from the expression of her face when she knows what I've got, and where I got it."
With this Naball disappeared, and Fenton, returning to his desk, flung himself back in his chair.
"Why the devil won't she prosecute?" he muttered savagely to himself. "Guess she knows more about this robbery than she says, but even then--confound it, I'm mixed."
Having come to this unsatisfactory conclusion, Mr. Fenton went on with his work, and dismissed all thoughts of the diamond robbery from his mind.
Meanwhile, Naball was on his way down to Toorak, meditating over the revelation made to him by Fenton about Caprice's sudden fit of generosity.
"I didn't think she was so tender-hearted," murmured Naball, full of perplexity; "she must have had some strong reason for selling her diamonds. I wonder who the man is?--and the wife called. Humph! this is quite a new game for Caprice."
When he left the station, and walked to the house, instead of ringing the front-door bell, he strolled round the corner to the verandah, on which the drawing-room windows looked out. He did this because--wondering if Villiers was concerned in the robbery--he wanted to see the window by which he entered the dining-room on the night of the robbery. Soft-footed and stealthy in his motions, the detective made no noise, and was just pausing on the edge of the verandah, wondering whether he would go forward or return to the front door, when he heard Kitty's voice in the drawing-room raised in a tone of surprise.
"Mrs. Malton!"
"Hullo!" said Naball to himself, "that's the name of Fenton's assistant manager. Now, I wonder what his wife is calling here about? I'll wait and hear."
So the detective, filled with curiosity, took up his position close to one of the windows, so that he could hear every word that was said, but, of course, was unable to see anything going on inside. He commenced to listen, out of mere curiosity, but soon the conversation took a turn which interested him greatly, and, to his mind, threw a great deal of light on the diamond robbery.
"Why have you called to see me again?" asked Kitty, in a cold tone.
"Because I want to thank you for saving my husband," replied Mrs. Malton. "They told me you were busy, but I have waited in the next room for half-an-hour to see you. My husband is safe."
"I congratulate you--and him," answered Caprice, in an ironical tone. "It is to be hoped Mr. Evan Malton won't embezzle any more money."
Naball, outside, could hardly refrain from giving a low whistle. So this was the man mentioned by Fenton--his own familiar friend--and Kitty Marchurst had helped him. In Heaven's name, why?
"It is due to your kindness that he is safe," said Mrs. Malton, in a faltering tone; "you replaced the money."
"Not at all," said Caprice; "I never replaced a sixpence."
"But you did, you did!" said Mrs. Malton vehemently, falling on her knees before Kitty; "every penny of the money has been paid back, and only you could have done it."
"I did not pay a penny, I tell you," said Caprice; "still, I have had something to do with it."
"I knew it! I knew it!" cried the poor wife, kissing the hand of the actress. "May God bless you for doing this good action."
"I wouldn't have done it had it not been for the sake of your child," said Kitty coldly.
"Wonderful," thought the listener; "Kitty Marchurst has a heart."
"Good-bye, good-bye!" said Mrs. Malton, rising to her feet. "I may never see you again."
"I've no doubt of that," replied Caprice, with a cynical laugh; "you've got all you wanted, so now you leave me."
"No, no!" cried the other woman vehemently. "I am not ungrateful. I will visit you if you will let me. I am sorry for you. I pity you."
"Keep your pity and your visits for some one else--I want neither."
"But your heart?"
"My heart is stone; it was hardened long, long ago. Leave me--I have done all I can for you--now go."
Mrs. Malton made a step forward, and, catching Kitty in her arms, kissed her.
"God bless you!" she cried, in a low voice, and as she kissed her she felt a hot tear fall on her hand. It was Caprice who wept, but, with a stifled sigh, she pushed Mrs. Malton away.
"You are a good woman," she said hoarsely. "Go! go! and if you ever think of me, let it be as one who, however bad her life, did at least one good action."
She sank back into a chair, covering her face with her hands, while Mrs. Malton, with a look of pity on her face, and a low "God bless you," left the room.
Meanwhile, the detective outside was smitten with a kind of remorse at having overheard this pathetic scene.
"I've found out what Caprice wanted the money for," he muttered; "but I'm sorry for her--very sorry. I never knew before she was a woman--I thought she was a fiend."
Kitty, drying her eyes, arose from her seat and dragged herself slowly across the room to the window near which the detective was standing. He heard her coming and tried to escape, and in another moment Kitty had opened the window, and they were face to face.
"Mr. Naball," she cried, with a sudden, angry light in her eyes, "you have heard--"
"Every word," said Naball, looking straight at her wrathful face.
Kitty looked at him in silence with flashing eyes, and then laughed bitterly.
"And how long is it since you added the spy business to your usual work?" she asked, with a sneer on her colourless face.
"Since a few moments ago," replied Naball coolly. "I came to see you on business, and, hearing you in conversation with a lady, did not like to interrupt till you were disengaged."
"I'm very much obliged to you for your courtesy," said Caprice scornfully; "but now you have satisfied your curiosity. M. le Mouchard, I'll trouble you to take yourself off."
"Certainly, after I've had a few moments' conversation with you."
"I decline to listen," said Kitty haughtily.
"I think you had better," observed Naball significantly, "as it's about the robbery of your jewels."
"I forbade you to go on any further with that matter."
"You did; but I disobeyed your injunction."
"So I understand," replied Kitty indignantly; "and may I ask if you have discovered anything?"
"Yes--this!" and he showed the diamond crescent to Caprice. She started violently, and her pale face flushed a deep red.
"Where did you get it?" she asked.
"From Randolph Villiers."
"Villiers!" she echoed in surprise. "How did it come into his possession?"
"That is what I want to discover."
"Then you may save yourself the trouble, for you will never know."
"I understand that," said Naball quietly; "nothing can be done unless you permit me to go on."
"I forbid you to go on," she retorted angrily.
Naball bowed.
"Very well," he said quietly, "then there is nothing for me but to leave."
"No, I don't think there is," assented Kitty coldly, turning to re-enter the house.
"But, before I go," went on the detective, playing his great card, "I will leave your jewel with you."
"That," said Kitty, glancing over her shoulder at the crescent--"that is not mine."
"Mr. Fenton says it is."
"Mr. Fenton!" echoed Caprice jeeringly; "and how does Mr. Fenton know?"
"I should think he was the best person to know," retorted Naball, nettled at her mockery.
"A good many people think the same way," said Kitty disdainfully, "but in this case Mr. Fenton is wrong--I never saw those diamonds before."
"Then how did it come into Mr. Villiers' possession?"
"I don't know, not being in Mr. Villiers' confidence."
"Oh!" said Naball significantly, "you are quite certain you are not?"
"I don't understand you," replied Kitty coldly; "explain yourself."
"Certainly, if you wish it," said the detective smoothly. "I will tell it in the form of a little story--have I your permission to be seated?"
She nodded carelessly, whereupon Naball sat down on one of the lounging chairs, and, crossing his legs, settled himself composedly, while Kitty, standing near him with loosely-clasped hands, looked idly at the green lawn, with its brilliant border of many-coloured flowers.
"There was once a woman called Folly, who lived--let us say--in Cloudland--" began Naball airily.
"Rubbish!" said Kitty angrily.
"Nothing of the sort," retorted Naball coolly, "it is truth in disguise. I have been to school--I have read Spenser's 'Faery Queen'--if you please, we will consider this story, though not in verse, as one of the lost cantos of the poem."
Kitty shrugged her shoulders with contempt. "I think you're mad," she said coldly. "Perhaps I am," retorted Naball sharply, "but there's method in my madness, as you will soon find out--so, to go on with the lost canto of the 'Faery Queen.' This woman, Folly, was reputed to have a hard heart--no doubt she had, but there was one soft spot in it--love for her child. Many men loved this charming Folly, and paid dearly for the privilege. One man, misnamed Strength, loved her madly, and gave her many jewels. Strength had a friend, called Weakness, and though they were so dissimilar in character, they worked together. Weakness also loved Folly, though he had a wife, and, to gain Folly's love, he stole a lot of money. His wife discovered this, and going to Folly, implored her to help Weakness, but in vain, till at last she gained her point by appealing to the one soft spot in Folly's heart--love for her child. She was successful, and Folly promised to save the husband by replacing the money, which she could do through the agency of Strength, who was her lover.
"Folly, however, did not know where to get the money, so, in despair, determined to part with her jewels. She dared not do so openly, lest the inhabitants of Cloudland should find out what Weakness had done, so she enlisted the services of a man called Vice. Here," said Naball gaily, "we will leave the narrative style, and finish the story dramatically."
Kitty, who had grown pale, made no sign, so Naball resumed.
"Scene, a supper-room, with a window open--time, night--supper ended--guests away--enter Vice through open window--helps himself to champagne. Folly, informed of presence of Vice, enters the room and orders him out--he refuses to leave till he gets money--she refuses to give it to him. Suddenly an idea strikes her, and she tells Vice she will give him money if he sells her jewels for her secretly--Vice consents. Folly goes up to her room, gets jewels, gives them to Vice, who goes away and breaks down shrubs under window, which is opened by Folly to show every one that a burglar has stolen the jewels. Rumours of the theft get about--Bloodhound goes on the track--traces Vice to his den--finds one jewel--comes to show it to Folly--overhears wife of Weakness thanking Folly for replacing money stolen by her husband--exit wife of Weakness--enter Bloodhound to Folly, who denies having ever seen jewel before. Bloodhound tells a story to Folly, which Folly--"
"Denies, yes, denies!" broke in Kitty angrily; "your story is wrong."
"Pardon me," said Naball, rising, "allegorical."
"I can understand what you mean," said Kitty, after a pause; "but it's all wrong. I never paid this money for Malton."
"Pardon me,--Weakness," said Naball politely.
"Bah! why keep up this transparent deception? Your story is excellent, and I understand all about Folly, Vice, and Strength, but you are wrong--that jewel is not mine. I never paid the money, and I don't know anything about Malton's business, so you can leave me at once, and never show your face again."
"But the jewel?" said the detective, holding it out.
Kitty snatched it out of his hand, and flung it across the lawn. It flashed brilliantly in the sunlight, and fell just on the verge of the flower-bed.
"You can follow it,--Bloodhound," she said disdainfully, and, entering the house, closed the window after her.
Naball stood for a moment smiling in a gratified manner to himself, then, sauntering slowly across the lawn, picked up the jewel and replaced it in his pocket.
"I knew I was right," he murmured quietly, as he strolled to the gate; "she stole the diamonds to pay Malton's debt, and Villiers got this for payment as an accomplice. I wish I could get on with the case, but she won't let me--what a pity; dear, dear, what a pity!"
He had by this time reached the gate, and was passing through it, when a hansom drove up, from out which Fenton jumped.
"Well?" he asked, when he saw Naball.
"Well," said Naball, dusting his varnished boots with a silk handkerchief.
"What does she say?" asked Fenton inquiringly
"What a woman generally does say--everything but the truth. Going to see her?"
"Yes," said Fenton, paying his cab fare; "can I do anything?"
"Two things," observed Naball quietly: "in the first place, let me have your cab; and in the second, give this to Caprice with my compliments," and he handed the crescent of diamonds to Fenton.
"Why didn't you give it to her yourself?" asked Fenton, taking it.
"Because she said it wasn't hers," replied Naball, getting into the cab. "I can't do anything more in the matter; it's a beautiful case spoiled."
"Why spoiled?" asked Fenton, pausing at the gate.
"Because there's a woman in it," replied Naball; "good-bye!" and the cab drove off in a cloud of dust, leaving Fenton at the gate looking in a puzzled manner at the diamond crescent.
"Why the deuce did she deny this being hers?" he asked himself as he opened the gate. "I know it well--I ought to, considering I paid for it--there's some game in this."
He rang the bell, which was answered by Bliggings, who, in reply to his question as to whether Kitty was at home, burst out into a volley of language.
"Oh, gracious an' good 'eavens, missus 'ave bin talkin' to a lady this mornin', and is that upset as never was--chalk is black to her complexing, and penny hices 'ot to the chill of her feets."
"Humph!" said Fenton, entering the house and leisurely taking off his hat, "just tell your mistress I want to see her."
"Oh, gracious an' good 'eavens!" cried Bliggings, "she's a-lyin' down in company with a linseed poultase an' a cup of tea, both bein' good for removin' 'eadaches."
"Great Scot!" said Fenton impatiently, pushing the voluble Bliggings aside, "I'll go and see her straight off myself."
He went upstairs and knocked at the sitting-room door. Hearing a faint voice telling him to come in, he entered the room, which he found in semi-darkness, with the pungent aroma ofeau de colognepervading the atmosphere.
"What do you want?" asked Kitty fretfully, thinking it was the servant.
"To see you," replied Fenton gruffly.
"Oh, it's you!" cried Caprice, sitting up on the sofa, looking pale and wan in her white dress. "I'm glad of that--I've just seen that Naball, and he's been accusing me of stealing my own jewels."
"Well, did you?" asked Fenton complacently.
"Of course I didn't," she retorted angrily; "why should I? Naball thinks I did it to replace the money Malton stole."
"How did he find out that?" asked Fenton, who knew quite well he had told him about it himself.
"He overheard Mrs. Malton thanking me," retorted Kitty impatiently; "the money has been replaced, so I suppose, you did it."
"Yes, I did," said Fenton boldly, "for your sake."
"You're a good fellow, Fenton," said Kitty, in a softened tone. "I'm glad you did what I asked you--now, go away, for I must get a sleep, or I'll never be able to act to-night."
"But what about this jewel?" asked Fenton, taking the crescent out of his pocket. "Naball said you denied it being yours."
"So I did," replied Caprice pettishly.
"But why? I gave it to you."
"Well, you can give it to me again," she said coolly. "Put it on the table, and go away."
Fenton thought a moment, then, going over to the table, placed the jewel thereon, and turned once more to Caprice.
"Look here, Kitty," he said slowly, "did you do anything with those diamonds?"
"Perhaps I did, and perhaps I didn't," replied Caprice enigmatically; "at all events, I'm not going to have any more fuss made over them."
"Well, good-bye at present," said Fenton carelessly. "I say, you might give me a kiss, after fixing up Malton's affair."
"So I will--at the theatre to-night. Do leave me, my head is so bad."
"Not so bad as you are, you little devil," murmured Fenton, closing the sitting-room door softly after him. "Well, I guess there'll be no more trouble about those diamonds, at all events."
It was called "The Skylarks' Club," because, like those tuneful birds, the members were up very early in the morning. Not that the aforesaid members were early risers by any means--but because they never went to bed till three or four o'clock. To put it plainly, they stayed up nearly all night, and it seemed to be a point of honour with them that, as long as a quorum were on the premises, the club should be kept open.
Most of the members were dissipated and led fast lives, drank a good deal, gambled away large sums, betted freely, and, to all appearances, were going to the dogs as fast as they possibly could. The code of morality was not very strict, and the "Skylarks" generally viewed each other's good or bad luck in a cynical manner. Occasionally a member disappeared from his accustomed place, and it was generally understood he had "gone under," or, in other words, was vegetating on some up-country station, doubtless cursing the "Skylarks" freely as the cause of his ruin.
Other clubs in Melbourne were fast--not a doubt about that--but every one declared that the "Skylarks" overstepped all bounds of decency. Whatever devilment was to be done, they would do it, and, as they had no characters to lose, they generally amused themselves by trying to destroy other people's good name, and generally succeeded.
It was a Bohemian club, and among its members were stock-brokers, musicians, journalists, and actors, so that, whatever the moral tone of the place, the conversation was generally brilliant, albeit rather malicious. One way and another, there was a good deal of money floating about, for if the members worked hard at business during the day, they also worked hard at pleasure during the night, so, systematically, burned the candle at both ends. "Fay ce que vouldras" was their motto, and they certainly carried it out to the very last letter.
Keith Stewart was a member of this delectable fraternity, having been introduced by Ezra Lazarus, and, thanks to his mysterious five hundred pounds, was able to cut a very decent figure among the members. He was still in the pawnbroker's office, although he very much wanted to leave it, but, having passed his word to old Lazarus to stay six months, he was determined to do so.
It was now about three months since the diamond robbery, and, after being a nine days' wonder, it had passed out of the minds of every one. Nothing more was heard of the theft, and, after a great number of surmises, more or less wrong, the matter was allowed to drop, as a new divorce case of a novel character now engrossed the public mind.
"Prince Carnival" had been withdrawn after a very successful run, and Kitty Marchurst was now appearing in "Eblis," which, as she expected, had turned out a failure. Under these circumstances, "Prince Carnival" was revived, pending the production of "Faust Upset," a new burlesque by Messrs. Stewart and Lazarus.
Both these young men had worked hard at the piece, and Mortimer, having approved of the first act, had determined to put the play on the stage: first, because he saw it was by no means a bad piece, and secondly, he had nothing else handy to bring forward. If he could have obtained a new and successful opera-bouffe from London, "Faust Upset" would have been ignominiously shelved, but, luckily for Keith and his friends, all the late opera-bouffes had been failures, so Mortimer made a virtue of necessity, and gave them a chance.
It was about eleven o'clock at night, and the smoking-room of the "Skylarks" was full. Some of the members had been there for some hours, others had dropped in after the theatres were closed, and here and there could be seen a reporter scribbling his notes for publication next day.
A luxurious apartment it was, with lounging chairs covered with crimson plush, plenty of mirrors, and a number of marble-topped tables, which were now covered with various beverages. Every one was talking loudly, and the waiters were flitting about actively employed in ministering to the creature comforts of the patrons of the club. What with the dusky atmosphere caused by the smoking, the babel of voices, the jingle of glasses, and the constant moving about of the restless crowd, it looked like some fantastic nightmare.
Keith was seated in a corner smoking a cigarette and waiting for Ezra, who had promised to meet him there, and in the meantime was idly watching the crowd of his friends, and listening to their gossip. Malton was also lounging about the room, chatting to his friends on current topics.
"Anything going on in the House?" asked Pelk, a theatrical critic, of Slingsby, who had just entered.
That gentleman shrugged his shoulders.
"A slanging match, as usual," he replied, taking a seat and ringing the bell. "Some members have got an idea that abuse is wit. I don't think much of the Victorian Parliament."
"It's better than the New South Wales one, at all events," said Keith, smiling.
"That's not saying much," retorted Slingsby, lighting a cigar. "The Sydney men are more like fractious children than anything else, though to be sure that's only proper, seeing our Parliaments are nurseries for sucking politicians."
"That's severe."
"But true--the truth is always disagreeable."
"Perhaps that's the reason so few people speak it."
"Exactly--truth is a sour old maid whom nobody wants."
"Not you, at all events, Slingsby"
"No--it's a matter of choice--Video meliora proboque deteriora sequor."
"Don't be classical--it's out of place here."
"Not a bit," retorted Slingsby smoothly, looking round at the circle of grinning faces, "it's out of the dictionary, you know, foreign words and affixes."
Every one roared at this candid confession.
"No wonderThe Penny Whistleflourishes when there's such men as you on the staff," said Toltby, with a sneer.
"You've no cause to complain," replied Slingsby; "they've been kind enough to you."
"Yes; they recognise good acting."
Slingsby looked at him queerly.
"Dear boy, I prefer the stage of the House to that of the theatre--the actors are much more amusing."
At this moment Felix Rolleston, now looking much older since the Hansom Cab murder case, but as lively as ever, entered the room and danced up to the coterie.
"Well, gentlemen," he said gaily, "what is the news?"
"Good news, bad news, and such news as you've never heard of," quoted Keith lazily.
"Thank you, my local Gratiano," replied Felix, quickly recognising the quotation as from the "Merchant of Venice." "By the way, there's a letter for you outside."
"Oh, thanks," said Stewart rising, "I'll go and get it," and he sauntered out lazily.
"Humph!" ejaculated Felix, looking after him, "our friend is the author of 'Faust Upset,' I understand?"
"Yes," replied Toltby; "deuced good piece."
"That means you've got an excellent part," struck in Slingsby mercilessly.
"Quite right," retorted Toltby complacently; "all the parts are good--especially Caprice's."
"Oh, that goes without saying," said Pelk, with a grin; "our friend is rather sweet there."
"So is she," said Felix significantly; "case of reciprocity, dear boy!"
"She's given Fenton the go-by."
"Yes, and Meddlechip is elevated to the vacancy. Wonder how long it will be before she breaks him?"
"Oh, even with her talents for squandering, Caprice can't burst up the richest man in Victoria," said Slingsby vulgarly; "when she does give him up, I suppose Stewart will succeed him."
"Not enough cash."
"Pooh! what is cash compared to love?"
"Eh! a good deal in this case, as Fenton found out."
"Speak of the devil," said Felix quickly; "here comes the gentleman in question."
Fenton, looking harassed and worn, entered the room, and glanced round. Seeing Rolleston, he came over to him and began to talk.
"Guess you look happy, boys," he said, in his nasal voice.
"It's more than you do," replied Rolleston, scanning him keenly.
"No; I've overworked myself," said Fenton coolly, "I need pulling up a bit."
"Go and see a doctor--try tonics."
"Ah, bah! glass of champagne will fix me straight. Here, waiter, bring in a bottle of Heidsieck. Any of you boys join?"
All the boys assenting to the hospitable proposition, Fenton ordered two bottles, and lighted a huge cigar. When the waiter came back with the wine, Keith also entered, with a soft look on his face which puzzled Rolleston. He had put on his overcoat.
"Ah!" said that astute gentleman, "you look pleased--your letter was pleasant?"
"Yes, very," replied Keith laconically.
"Then it was from a woman," said Fenton.
"Humph! that's generally anything but pleasant," grunted Slingsby.
"No doubt, to such a Don Juan as you," said Pelk, amid a general laugh.
The waiter was opening the wine so slowly that Fenton lost patience, and snatched one bottle up from the table.
"Guess we had better fix those two up at once," he said. "Any one got a knife?"
Keith put his hand in his pocket, and produced therefrom Meg's present.
"Great Cæsar, what a pig-sticker," said Fenton, holding it up.
"What made you buy such a thing, Stewart?" asked Felix, laughing.
"I didn't buy it," replied Keith; "it's a present from a lady."
"A very young lady, I should say," said Slingsby drily; "not much idea of taste."
"Matter of opinion," said Keith serenely; "I like the knife for the sake of the donor--her name's on the handle."
Fenton by this time had opened the bottle, and laid the knife down on the table, from whence Felix picked it up and examined it.
"'From Meg,'" he read, in an amused tone; "gad, Stewart, I thought it was the mother, not the daughter."
Fenton shot a fiery glance at Keith, who laughed in rather an embarrassed manner.
"It was just the child's whim," he said, laughing. "I saved her from the tram-car, so she gave me this as a souvenir;" and, taking up the knife, he shut it with a sharp click, and slipped it into his overcoat pocket.
When they had all finished the wine, Fenton said he had to see Mortimer about some business.
"Half-past ten," he said, looking at his watch; "they'll just be about through."
"I've got to see Mortimer to-night," observed Keith, "and I'm waiting here for Lazarus."
"About the new play, I reckon," said Fenton; "well, you'd better walk up with me."
Keith shook his head.
"No, thanks; I must wait for Lazarus."
"Then come and have a game of billiards in the meantime," said Felix, rising; "take off your coat, you'll find it hot."
"All right," assented Keith readily "Here, Alfred," and, slipping off his coat, handed it to a waiter, who was just passing, "hang this up for me."
The waiter took the coat, threw it over his arm, and vanished; while Keith and Felix strolled leisurely away in the direction of the billiard-room.
"How the deuce does Stewart run it?" asked Fenton, looking after them; "he can't get much salary at old Lazarus' place."
"Case of God tempering the wind to the shorn lamb," said Slingsby ironically.
"Hang it, I don't think he ought to be a member of the Club, a confounded pawnbroker's clerk."
"It is rather a topsy-turvy business, ain't it; but you see, in the colonies Jack's as good as his master."
"And in some cases a deal better," said Pelk, referring to the relative positions of Malton and Fenton.
"Particularly when Jack's got a pretty wife," finished Toltby significantly.
Fenton knew this was a hint at hispenchantfor Mrs. Malton, but he did not very well see how he could take it to himself, particularly when he saw every one smiling, so he smiled back saturninely at the circle.
"You're devilish witty, boys," he said coldly; "guess the wine has sharpened your brains."
As he strolled away in his usual cool manner, Slingsby looked after him.
"Our friend's hard hit over Mrs. Malton," he said at length.
"Every one knows that," grinned Toltby, "except the husband."
"Yes, the husband is generally the last to find out these things," remarked Pelk drily; and the conversation ended.
Meanwhile Rolleston and Keith were playing their game of billiards, a pastime in which the former was an adept, and soon defeated Keith, who threw down his cue in half anger.
"You always win," he said pettishly; "it's no use playing with you."
"Oh, yes, it is," said Felix cheerfully. "I know I'm a good player, so if you play with me it will improve you very much--that remark sounds conceited, but it's true--come and have another game."
"Not to-night," replied Keith; "I've got to keep my appointment with Mortimer--it's no use waiting for Lazarus."
"Oh, yes, it is," cried a new voice, and Lazarus made his appearance at the door of the billiard-room. "I'm sorry for having kept you waiting, but it was unavoidable. I'll tell you all about it as we walk up."
"All right," replied Keith, and turned to go, followed by Ezra, who nodded to Rolleston.
"Good-night," cried that gentleman, making a cannon. "Good luck be with you."
"Amen," responded Keith laughing, and disappeared with Ezra.