An African Millionaire: Episodes in the Life of the Illustrious Colonel Clay

by Grant Allen

  II

  THE EPISODE OF THE DIAMOND LINKS

  "Let us take a trip to Switzerland," said Lady Vandrift. And any onewho knows Amelia will not be surprised to learn that we _did_ take atrip to Switzerland accordingly. Nobody can drive Sir Charles, excepthis wife. And nobody at all can drive Amelia.

  There were difficulties at the outset, because we had not orderedrooms at the hotels beforehand, and it was well on in the season;but they were overcome at last by the usual application of a goldenkey; and we found ourselves in due time pleasantly quartered inLucerne, at that most comfortable of European hostelries, theSchweitzerhof.

  We were a square party of four--Sir Charles and Amelia, myself andIsabel. We had nice big rooms, on the first floor, overlooking thelake; and as none of us was possessed with the faintest symptom ofthat incipient mania which shows itself in the form of an insanedesire to climb mountain heights of disagreeable steepness andunnecessary snowiness, I will venture to assert we all enjoyedourselves. We spent most of our time sensibly in lounging about thelake on the jolly little steamers; and when we did a mountain climb,it was on the Rigi or Pilatus--where an engine undertook all themuscular work for us.

  As usual, at the hotel, a great many miscellaneous people showed aburning desire to be specially nice to us. If you wish to see howfriendly and charming humanity is, just try being a well-knownmillionaire for a week, and you'll learn a thing or two. WhereverSir Charles goes he is surrounded by charming and disinterestedpeople, all eager to make his distinguished acquaintance, and allfamiliar with several excellent investments, or several deservingobjects of Christian charity. It is my business in life, as hisbrother-in-law and secretary, to decline with thanks the excellentinvestments, and to throw judicious cold water on the objects ofcharity. Even I myself, as the great man's almoner, am very muchsought after. People casually allude before me to artless storiesof "poor curates in Cumberland, you know, Mr. Wentworth," or widowsin Cornwall, penniless poets with epics in their desks, and youngpainters who need but the breath of a patron to open to them thedoors of an admiring Academy. I smile and look wise, while Iadminister cold water in minute doses; but I never report one ofthese cases to Sir Charles, except in the rare or almost unheard-ofevent where I think there is really something in them.

  Ever since our little adventure with the Seer at Nice, Sir Charles,who is constitutionally cautious, had been even more careful thanusual about possible sharpers. And, as chance would have it, theresat just opposite us at table d'hote at the Schweitzerhof--'tisa fad of Amelia's to dine at table d'hote; she says she can't bearto be boxed up all day in private rooms with "too much family"--asinister-looking man with dark hair and eyes, conspicuous by hisbushy overhanging eyebrows. My attention was first called to theeyebrows in question by a nice little parson who sat at our side,and who observed that they were made up of certain large and bristlyhairs, which (he told us) had been traced by Darwin to our monkeyancestors. Very pleasant little fellow, this fresh-faced youngparson, on his honeymoon tour with a nice wee wife, a bonnie Scotchlassie with a charming accent.

  I looked at the eyebrows close. Then a sudden thought struck me. "Doyou believe they're his own?" I asked of the curate; "or are theyonly stuck on--a make-up disguise? They really almost look like it."

  "You don't suppose--" Charles began, and checked himself suddenly.

  "Yes, I do," I answered; "the Seer!" Then I recollected my blunder,and looked down sheepishly. For, to say the truth, Vandrift hadstraightly enjoined on me long before to say nothing of our painfullittle episode at Nice to Amelia; he was afraid if _she_ once heardof it, _he_ would hear of it for ever after.

  "What Seer?" the little parson inquired, with parsonical curiosity.

  I noticed the man with the overhanging eyebrows give a queer sortof start. Charles's glance was fixed upon me. I hardly knew whatto answer.

  "Oh, a man who was at Nice with us last year," I stammered out,trying hard to look unconcerned. "A fellow they talked about,that's all." And I turned the subject.

  But the curate, like a donkey, wouldn't let me turn it.

  "Had he eyebrows like that?" he inquired, in an undertone. I wasreally angry. If this _was_ Colonel Clay, the curate was obviouslygiving him the cue, and making it much more difficult for us tocatch him, now we might possibly have lighted on the chance ofdoing so.

  "No, he hadn't," I answered testily; "it was a passing expression.But this is not the man. I was mistaken, no doubt." And I nudgedhim gently.

  The little curate was too innocent for anything. "Oh, I see," hereplied, nodding hard and looking wise. Then he turned to his wifeand made an obvious face, which the man with the eyebrows couldn'tfail to notice.

  Fortunately, a political discussion going on a few places fartherdown the table spread up to us and diverted attention for a moment.The magical name of Gladstone saved us. Sir Charles flared up. Iwas truly pleased, for I could see Amelia was boiling over withcuriosity by this time.

  After dinner, in the billiard-room, however, the man with the bigeyebrows sidled up and began to talk to me. If he _was_ ColonelClay, it was evident he bore us no grudge at all for the fivethousand pounds he had done us out of. On the contrary, he seemedquite prepared to do us out of five thousand more when opportunityoffered; for he introduced himself at once as Dr. Hector Macpherson,the exclusive grantee of extensive concessions from the BrazilianGovernment on the Upper Amazons. He dived into conversation withme at once as to the splendid mineral resources of his Brazilianestate--the silver, the platinum, the actual rubies, the possiblediamonds. I listened and smiled; I knew what was coming. All heneeded to develop this magnificent concession was a little morecapital. It was sad to see thousands of pounds' worth of platinumand car-loads of rubies just crumbling in the soil or carried awayby the river, for want of a few hundreds to work them with properly.If he knew of anybody, now, with money to invest, he could recommendhim--nay, offer him--a unique opportunity of earning, say, 40 percent on his capital, on unimpeachable security.

  "I wouldn't do it for every man," Dr. Hector Macpherson remarked,drawing himself up; "but if I took a fancy to a fellow who hadcommand of ready cash, I might choose to put him in the way offeathering his nest with unexampled rapidity."

  "Exceedingly disinterested of you," I answered drily, fixing myeyes on his eyebrows.

  The little curate, meanwhile, was playing billiards with SirCharles. His glance followed mine as it rested for a moment onthe monkey-like hairs.

  "False, obviously false," he remarked with his lips; and I'm boundto confess I never saw any man speak so well by movement alone;you could follow every word though not a sound escaped him.

  During the rest of that evening Dr. Hector Macpherson stuck to meas close as a mustard-plaster. And he was almost as irritating. Igot heartily sick of the Upper Amazons. I have positively waded inmy time through ruby mines (in prospectuses, I mean) till the meresight of a ruby absolutely sickens me. When Charles, in an unwontedfit of generosity, once gave his sister Isabel (whom I had thehonour to marry) a ruby necklet (inferior stones), I made Isabelchange it for sapphires and amethysts, on the judicious plea thatthey suited her complexion better. (I scored one, incidentally, forhaving considered Isabel's complexion.) By the time I went to bedI was prepared to sink the Upper Amazons in the sea, and to stab,shoot, poison, or otherwise seriously damage the man with theconcession and the false eyebrows.

  For the next three days, at intervals, he returned to the charge. Hebored me to death with his platinum and his rubies. He didn't want acapitalist who would personally exploit the thing; he would preferto do it all on his own account, giving the capitalist preferencedebentures of his bogus company, and a lien on the concession. Ilistened and smiled; I listened and yawned; I listened and was rude;I ceased to listen at all; but still he droned on with it. I fellasleep on the steamer one day, and woke up in ten minutes to hearhim droning yet, "And the yield of platinum per ton was certifiedto be--" I forget how many pounds, or ounces, or pennyweights.These details of a
ssays have ceased to interest me: like the manwho "didn't believe in ghosts," I have seen too many of them.

  The fresh-faced little curate and his wife, however, were quitedifferent people. He was a cricketing Oxford man; she was a breezyScotch lass, with a wholesome breath of the Highlands about her. Icalled her "White Heather." Their name was Brabazon. Millionairesare so accustomed to being beset by harpies of every description,that when they come across a young couple who are simple andnatural, they delight in the purely human relation. We picnickedand went excursions a great deal with the honeymooners. They wereso frank in their young love, and so proof against chaff, that weall really liked them. But whenever I called the pretty girl "WhiteHeather," she looked so shocked, and cried: "Oh, Mr. Wentworth!"Still, we were the best of friends. The curate offered to row us ina boat on the lake one day, while the Scotch lassie assured us shecould take an oar almost as well as he did. However, we did notaccept their offer, as row-boats exert an unfavourable influenceupon Amelia's digestive organs.

  "Nice young fellow, that man Brabazon," Sir Charles said to me oneday, as we lounged together along the quay; "never talks aboutadvowsons or next presentations. Doesn't seem to me to care two pinsabout promotion. Says he's quite content in his country curacy;enough to live upon, and needs no more; and his wife has a little, avery little, money. I asked him about his poor to-day, on purpose totest him: these parsons are always trying to screw something out ofone for their poor; men in my position know the truth of the sayingthat we have that class of the population always with us. Wouldyou believe it, he says he hasn't any poor at all in his parish!They're all well-to-do farmers or else able-bodied labourers, andhis one terror is that somebody will come and try to pauperise them.'If a philanthropist were to give me fifty pounds to-day for use atEmpingham,' he said, 'I assure you, Sir Charles, I shouldn't knowwhat to do with it. I think I should buy new dresses for Jessie, whowants them about as much as anybody else in the village--that is tosay, not at all.' There's a parson for you, Sey, my boy. Only wishwe had one of his sort at Seldon."

  "He certainly doesn't want to get anything out of you," I answered.

  That evening at dinner a queer little episode happened. The manwith the eyebrows began talking to me across the table in his usualfashion, full of his wearisome concession on the Upper Amazons. Iwas trying to squash him as politely as possible, when I caughtAmelia's eye. Her look amused me. She was engaged in making signalsto Charles at her side to observe the little curate's curioussleeve-links. I glanced at them, and saw at once they were asingular possession for so unobtrusive a person. They consistedeach of a short gold bar for one arm of the link, fastened by atiny chain of the same material to what seemed to my tolerablyexperienced eye--a first-rate diamond. Pretty big diamonds, too,and of remarkable shape, brilliancy, and cutting. In a moment Iknew what Amelia meant. She owned a diamond riviere, said to beof Indian origin, but short by two stones for the circumferenceof her tolerably ample neck. Now, she had long been wanting twodiamonds like these to match her set; but owing to the unusualshape and antiquated cutting of her own gems, she had neverbeen able to complete the necklet, at least without removing anextravagant amount from a much larger stone of the first water.

  The Scotch lassie's eyes caught Amelia's at the same time, and shebroke into a pretty smile of good-humoured amusement. "Taken inanother person, Dick, dear!" she exclaimed, in her breezy way,turning to her husband. "Lady Vandrift is observing your diamondsleeve-links."

  "They're very fine gems," Amelia observed incautiously. (A mostunwise admission if she desired to buy them.)

  But the pleasant little curate was too transparently simple a soulto take advantage of her slip of judgment. "They _are_ good stones,"he replied; "very good stones--considering. They're not diamondsat all, to tell you the truth. They're best old-fashioned Orientalpaste. My great-grandfather bought them, after the siege ofSeringapatam, for a few rupees, from a Sepoy who had looted themfrom Tippoo Sultan's palace. He thought, like you, he had got a goodthing. But it turned out, when they came to be examined by experts,they were only paste--very wonderful paste; it is supposed they hadeven imposed upon Tippoo himself, so fine is the imitation. But theyare worth--well, say, fifty shillings at the utmost."

  While he spoke Charles looked at Amelia, and Amelia looked atCharles. Their eyes spoke volumes. The riviere was also supposed tohave come from Tippoo's collection. Both drew at once an identicalconclusion. These were two of the same stones, very likely tornapart and disengaged from the rest in the melee at the capture ofthe Indian palace.

  "Can you take them off?" Sir Charles asked blandly. He spoke inthe tone that indicates business.

  "Certainly," the little curate answered, smiling. "I'm accustomed totaking them off. They're always noticed. They've been kept in thefamily ever since the siege, as a sort of valueless heirloom, forthe sake of the picturesqueness of the story, you know; and nobodyever sees them without asking, as you do, to examine them closely.They deceive even experts at first. But they're paste, all the same;unmitigated Oriental paste, for all that."

  He took them both off, and handed them to Charles. No man in Englandis a finer judge of gems than my brother-in-law. I watched himnarrowly. He examined them close, first with the naked eye, thenwith the little pocket-lens which he always carries. "Admirableimitation," he muttered, passing them on to Amelia. "I'm notsurprised they should impose upon inexperienced observers."

  But from the tone in which he said it, I could see at once he hadsatisfied himself they were real gems of unusual value. I knowCharles's way of doing business so well. His glance to Amelia meant,"These are the very stones you have so long been in search of."

  The Scotch lassie laughed a merry laugh. "He sees through themnow, Dick," she cried. "I felt sure Sir Charles would be a judgeof diamonds."

  Amelia turned them over. I know Amelia, too; and I knew from theway Amelia looked at them that she meant to have them. And whenAmelia means to have anything, people who stand in the way may justas well spare themselves the trouble of opposing her.

  They were beautiful diamonds. We found out afterwards the littlecurate's account was quite correct: these stones _had_ come fromthe same necklet as Amelia's riviere, made for a favourite wife ofTippoo's, who had presumably as expansive personal charms as ourbeloved sister-in-law's. More perfect diamonds have seldom beenseen. They have excited the universal admiration of thieves andconnoisseurs. Amelia told me afterwards that, according to legend,a Sepoy stole the necklet at the sack of the palace, and then foughtwith another for it. It was believed that two stones got spiltin the scuffle, and were picked up and sold by a third person--alooker-on--who had no idea of the value of his booty. Amelia hadbeen hunting for them for several years to complete her necklet.

  "They are excellent paste," Sir Charles observed, handing them back."It takes a first-rate judge to detect them from the reality. LadyVandrift has a necklet much the same in character, but composedof genuine stones; and as these are so much like them, and wouldcomplete her set, to all outer appearance, I wouldn't mind givingyou, say, 10 pounds for the pair of them."

  Mrs. Brabazon looked delighted. "Oh, sell them to him, Dick," shecried, "and buy me a brooch with the money! A pair of commonlinks would do for you just as well. Ten pounds for two pastestones! It's quite a lot of money."

  She said it so sweetly, with her pretty Scotch accent, that Icouldn't imagine how Dick had the heart to refuse her. But hedid, all the same.

  "No, Jess, darling," he answered. "They're worthless, I know; butthey have for me a certain sentimental value, as I've often toldyou. My dear mother wore them, while she lived, as ear-rings; andas soon as she died I had them set as links in order that I mightalways keep them about me. Besides, they have historical and familyinterest. Even a worthless heirloom, after all, _is_ an heirloom."

  Dr. Hector Macpherson looked across and intervened. "There is apart of my concession," he said, "where we have reason to believe aperfect new Kimberley will soon be discovered. If at any time youw
ould care, Sir Charles, to look at my diamonds--when I get them--itwould afford me the greatest pleasure in life to submit them to yourconsideration."

  Sir Charles could stand it no longer. "Sir," he said, gazing acrossat him with his sternest air, "if your concession were as full ofdiamonds as Sindbad the Sailor's valley, I would not care to turn myhead to look at them. I am acquainted with the nature and practiceof salting." And he glared at the man with the overhanging eyebrowsas if he would devour him raw. Poor Dr. Hector Macpherson subsidedinstantly. We learnt a little later that he was a harmless lunatic,who went about the world with successive concessions for ruby minesand platinum reefs, because he had been ruined and driven mad byspeculations in the two, and now recouped himself by imaginarygrants in Burmah and Brazil, or anywhere else that turned up handy.And his eyebrows, after all, were of Nature's handicraft. We weresorry for the incident; but a man in Sir Charles's position is sucha mark for rogues that, if he did not take means to protect himselfpromptly, he would be for ever overrun by them.

  When we went up to our salon that evening, Amelia flung herself onthe sofa. "Charles," she broke out in the voice of a tragedy queen,"those are real diamonds, and I shall never be happy again till Iget them."

  "They are real diamonds," Charles echoed. "And you shall have them,Amelia. They're worth not less than three thousand pounds. But Ishall bid them up gently."

  So, next day, Charles set to work to higgle with the curate.Brabazon, however, didn't care to part with them. He was nomoney-grubber, he said. He cared more for his mother's gift and afamily tradition than for a hundred pounds, if Sir Charles were tooffer it. Charles's eye gleamed. "But if I give you _two_ hundred!"he said insinuatingly. "What opportunities for good! You couldbuild a new wing to your village school-house!"

  "We have ample accommodation," the curate answered. "No, I don'tthink I'll sell them."

  Still, his voice faltered somewhat, and he looked down at theminquiringly.

  Charles was too precipitate.

  "A hundred pounds more or less matters little to me," he said; "andmy wife has set her heart on them. It's every man's duty to pleasehis wife--isn't it, Mrs. Brabazon?--I offer you three hundred."

  The little Scotch girl clasped her hands.

  "Three hundred pounds! Oh, Dick, just think what fun we could have,and what good we could do with it! Do let him have them."

  Her accent was irresistible. But the curate shook his head.

  "Impossible," he answered. "My dear mother's ear-rings! UncleAubrey would be so angry if he knew I'd sold them. I daren't faceUncle Aubrey."

  "Has he expectations from Uncle Aubrey?" Sir Charles asked ofWhite Heather.

  Mrs. Brabazon laughed. "Uncle Aubrey! Oh, dear, no. Poor dear oldUncle Aubrey! Why, the darling old soul hasn't a penny to blesshimself with, except his pension. He's a retired post captain."And she laughed melodiously. She was a charming woman.

  "Then I should disregard Uncle Aubrey's feelings," Sir Charlessaid decisively.

  "No, no," the curate answered. "Poor dear old Uncle Aubrey! Iwouldn't do anything for the world to annoy him. And he'd be sureto notice it."

  We went back to Amelia. "Well, have you got them?" she asked.

  "No," Sir Charles answered. "Not yet. But he's coming round, Ithink. He's hesitating now. Would rather like to sell them himself,but is afraid what 'Uncle Aubrey' would say about the matter. Hiswife will talk him out of his needless consideration for UncleAubrey's feelings; and to-morrow we'll finally clench the bargain."

  Next morning we stayed late in our salon, where we alwaysbreakfasted, and did not come down to the public rooms till justbefore dejeuner, Sir Charles being busy with me over arrears ofcorrespondence. When we _did_ come down the concierge steppedforward with a twisted little feminine note for Amelia. She tookit and read it. Her countenance fell. "There, Charles," she cried,handing it to him, "you've let the chance slip. I shall _never_ behappy now! They've gone off with the diamonds."

  Charles seized the note and read it. Then he passed it on to me.It was short, but final:--

  "Thursday, 6 a.m.

  "DEAR LADY VANDRIFT--_Will_ you kindly excuse our having gone offhurriedly without bidding you good-bye? We have just had a horridtelegram to say that Dick's favourite sister is _dangerously_ ill offever in Paris. I wanted to shake hands with you before we left--youhave all been so sweet to us--but we go by the morning train,absurdly early, and I wouldn't for worlds disturb you. Perhaps someday we may meet again--though, buried as we are in a North-countryvillage, it isn't likely; but in any case, you have secured thegrateful recollection of Yours very cordially, JESSIE BRABAZON.

  "P.S.--Kindest regards to Sir Charles and those _dear_ Wentworths,and a kiss for yourself, if I may venture to send you one."

  "She doesn't even mention where they've gone," Amelia exclaimed,in a very bad humour.

  "The concierge may know," Isabel suggested, looking over myshoulder.

  We asked at his office.

  Yes, the gentleman's address was the Rev. Richard Peploe Brabazon,Holme Bush Cottage, Empingham, Northumberland.

  Any address where letters might be sent at once, in Paris?

  For the next ten days, or till further notice, Hotel des DeuxMondes, Avenue de l'Opera.

  Amelia's mind was made up at once.

  "Strike while the iron's hot," she cried. "This sudden illness,coming at the end of their honeymoon, and involving ten days' morestay at an expensive hotel, will probably upset the curate's budget.He'll be glad to sell now. You'll get them for three hundred. Itwas absurd of Charles to offer so much at first; but offered once,of course we must stick to it."

  "What do you propose to do?" Charles asked. "Write, or telegraph?"

  "Oh, how silly men are!" Amelia cried. "Is this the sort of businessto be arranged by letter, still less by telegram? No. Seymour muststart off at once, taking the night train to Paris; and the momenthe gets there, he must interview the curate or Mrs. Brabazon. Mrs.Brabazon's the best. She has none of this stupid, sentimentalnonsense about Uncle Aubrey."

  It is no part of a secretary's duties to act as a diamond broker.But when Amelia puts her foot down, she puts her foot down--a factwhich she is unnecessarily fond of emphasising in that identicalproposition. So the self-same evening saw me safe in the train onmy way to Paris; and next morning I turned out of my comfortablesleeping-car at the Gare de Strasbourg. My orders were to bring backthose diamonds, alive or dead, so to speak, in my pocket to Lucerne;and to offer any needful sum, up to two thousand five hundredpounds, for their immediate purchase.

  When I arrived at the Deux Mondes I found the poor little curateand his wife both greatly agitated. They had sat up all night, theysaid, with their invalid sister; and the sleeplessness and suspensehad certainly told upon them after their long railway journey. Theywere pale and tired, Mrs. Brabazon, in particular, looking ill andworried--too much like White Heather. I was more than half ashamedof bothering them about the diamonds at such a moment, but itoccurred to me that Amelia was probably right--they would now havereached the end of the sum set apart for their Continental trip,and a little ready cash might be far from unwelcome.

  I broached the subject delicately. It was a fad of Lady Vandrift's,I said. She had set her heart upon those useless trinkets. And shewouldn't go without them. She must and would have them. But thecurate was obdurate. He threw Uncle Aubrey still in my teeth. Threehundred?--no, never! A mother's present; impossible, dear Jessie!Jessie begged and prayed; she had grown really attached to LadyVandrift, she said; but the curate wouldn't hear of it. I went uptentatively to four hundred. He shook his head gloomily. It wasn'ta question of money, he said. It was a question of affection. I sawit was no use trying that tack any longer. I struck out a new line."These stones," I said, "I think I ought to inform you, are reallydiamonds. Sir Charles is certain of it. Now, is it right for a manof your profession and position to be wearing a pair of big gemslike those, worth several hundred pounds, as ordinary sleeve-links?A woman?--yes, I grant you.
But for a man, is it manly? And you acricketer!"

  He looked at me and laughed. "Will nothing convince you?" he cried."They have been examined and tested by half a dozen jewellers, andwe know them to be paste. It wouldn't be right of me to sell themto you under false pretences, however unwilling on my side. I_couldn't_ do it."

  "Well, then," I said, going up a bit in my bids to meet him,"I'll put it like this. These gems are paste. But Lady Vandrifthas an unconquerable and unaccountable desire to possess them.Money doesn't matter to her. She is a friend of your wife's. As apersonal favour, won't you sell them to her for a thousand?"

  He shook his head. "It would be wrong," he said,--"I might even add,criminal."

  "But we take all risk," I cried.

  He was absolute adamant. "As a clergyman," he answered, "I feelI cannot do it."

  "Will _you_ try, Mrs. Brabazon?" I asked.

  The pretty little Scotchwoman leant over and whispered. She coaxedand cajoled him. Her ways were winsome. I couldn't hear what shesaid, but he seemed to give way at last. "I should love LadyVandrift to have them," she murmured, turning to me. "She _is_ sucha dear!" And she took out the links from her husband's cuffs andhanded them across to me.

  "How much?" I asked.

  "Two thousand?" she answered, interrogatively. It was a big rise,all at once; but such are the ways of women.

  "Done!" I replied. "Do you consent?"

  The curate looked up as if ashamed of himself.

  "I consent," he said slowly, "since Jessie wishes it. But as aclergyman, and to prevent any future misunderstanding, I shouldlike you to give me a statement in writing that you buy them on mydistinct and positive declaration that they are made of paste--oldOriental paste--not genuine stones, and that I do not claim anyother qualities for them."

  I popped the gems into my purse, well pleased.

  "Certainly," I said, pulling out a paper. Charles, with hisunerring business instinct, had anticipated the request, and givenme a signed agreement to that effect.

  "You will take a cheque?" I inquired.

  He hesitated.

  "Notes of the Bank of France would suit me better," he answered.

  "Very well," I replied. "I will go out and get them."

  How very unsuspicious some people are! He allowed me to go off--withthe stones in my pocket!

  Sir Charles had given me a blank cheque, not exceeding two thousandfive hundred pounds. I took it to our agents and cashed it for notesof the Bank of France. The curate clasped them with pleasure. Andright glad I was to go back to Lucerne that night, feeling that Ihad got those diamonds into my hands for about a thousand poundsunder their real value!

  At Lucerne railway station Amelia met me. She was positivelyagitated.

  "Have you bought them, Seymour?" she asked.

  "Yes," I answered, producing my spoils in triumph.

  "Oh, how dreadful!" she cried, drawing back. "Do you think they'rereal? Are you sure he hasn't cheated you?"

  "Certain of it," I replied, examining them. "No one can take me in,in the matter of diamonds. Why on earth should you doubt them?"

  "Because I've been talking to Mrs. O'Hagan, at the hotel, and shesays there's a well-known trick just like that--she's read of it ina book. A swindler has two sets--one real, one false; and he makesyou buy the false ones by showing you the real, and pretending hesells them as a special favour."

  "You needn't be alarmed," I answered. "I am a judge of diamonds."

  "I shan't be satisfied," Amelia murmured, "till Charles has seenthem."

  We went up to the hotel. For the first time in her life I saw Ameliareally nervous as I handed the stones to Charles to examine. Herdoubt was contagious. I half feared, myself, he might break out intoa deep monosyllabic interjection, losing his temper in haste, as heoften does when things go wrong. But he looked at them with a smile,while I told him the price.

  "Eight hundred pounds less than their value," he answered, wellsatisfied.

  "You have no doubt of their reality?" I asked.

  "Not the slightest," he replied, gazing at them. "They are genuinestones, precisely the same in quality and type as Amelia's necklet."

  Amelia drew a sigh of relief. "I'll go upstairs," she said slowly,"and bring down my own for you both to compare with them."

  One minute later she rushed down again, breathless. Amelia is farfrom slim, and I never before knew her exert herself so actively.

  "Charles, Charles!" she cried, "do you know what dreadful thinghas happened? Two of my own stones are gone. He's stolen a coupleof diamonds from my necklet, and sold them back to me."

  She held out the riviere. It was all too true. Two gems weremissing--and these two just fitted the empty places!

  A light broke in upon me. I clapped my hand to my head. "By Jove,"I exclaimed, "the little curate is--Colonel Clay!"

  Charles clapped his own hand to his brow in turn. "And Jessie," hecried, "White Heather--that innocent little Scotchwoman! I oftendetected a familiar ring in her voice, in spite of the charmingHighland accent. Jessie is--Madame Picardet!"

  We had absolutely no evidence; but, like the Commissary at Nice,we felt instinctively sure of it.

  Sir Charles was determined to catch the rogue. This second deceptionput him on his mettle. "The worst of the man is," he said, "he has amethod. He doesn't go out of his way to cheat us; he makes us go outof ours to be cheated. He lays a trap, and we tumble headlong intoit. To-morrow, Sey, we must follow him on to Paris."

  Amelia explained to him what Mrs. O'Hagan had said. Charles took itall in at once, with his usual sagacity. "That explains," he said,"why the rascal used this particular trick to draw us on by. If wehad suspected him he could have shown the diamonds were real, andso escaped detection. It was a blind to draw us off from the factof the robbery. He went to Paris to be out of the way when thediscovery was made, and to get a clear day's start of us. What aconsummate rogue! And to do me twice running!"

  "How did he get at my jewel-case, though?" Amelia exclaimed.

  "That's the question," Charles answered. "You _do_ leave it about so!"

  "And why didn't he steal the whole riviere at once, and sell thegems?" I inquired.

  "Too cunning," Charles replied. "This was much better business. Itisn't easy to dispose of a big thing like that. In the first place,the stones are large and valuable; in the second place, they'rewell known--every dealer has heard of the Vandrift riviere, and seenpictures of the shape of them. They're marked gems, so to speak. No,he played a better game--took a couple of them off, and offered themto the only one person on earth who was likely to buy them withoutsuspicion. He came here, meaning to work this very trick; he hadthe links made right to the shape beforehand, and then he stole thestones and slipped them into their places. It's a wonderfully clevertrick. Upon my soul, I almost admire the fellow."

  For Charles is a business man himself, and can appreciate businesscapacity in others.

  How Colonel Clay came to know about that necklet, and to appropriatetwo of the stones, we only discovered much later. I will not hereanticipate that disclosure. One thing at a time is a good rule inlife. For the moment he succeeded in baffling us altogether.

  However, we followed him on to Paris, telegraphing beforehand to theBank of France to stop the notes. It was all in vain. They had beencashed within half an hour of my paying them. The curate and hiswife, we found, quitted the Hotel des Deux Mondes for parts unknownthat same afternoon. And, as usual with Colonel Clay, they vanishedinto space, leaving no clue behind them. In other words, theychanged their disguise, no doubt, and reappeared somewhere else thatnight in altered characters. At any rate, no such person as theReverend Richard Peploe Brabazon was ever afterwards heard of--and,for the matter of that, no such village exists as Empingham,Northumberland.

  We communicated the matter to the Parisian police. They were _most_unsympathetic. "It is no doubt Colonel Clay," said the officialwhom we saw; "but you seem to have little just ground of complaintagainst him. As far as I can see
, messieurs, there is not much tochoose between you. You, Monsieur le Chevalier, desired to buydiamonds at the price of paste. You, madame, feared you had boughtpaste at the price of diamonds. You, monsieur the secretary, triedto get the stones from an unsuspecting person for half their value.He took you all in, that brave Colonel Caoutchouc--it was diamondcut diamond."

  Which was true, no doubt, but by no means consoling.

  We returned to the Grand Hotel. Charles was fuming with indignation."This is really too much," he exclaimed. "What an audacious rascal!But he will never again take me in, my dear Sey. I only hope he'lltry it on. I should love to catch him. I'd know him another time,I'm sure, in spite of his disguises. It's absurd my being trickedtwice running like this. But never again while I live! Never again,I declare to you!"

  "Jamais de la vie!" a courier in the hall close by murmuredresponsive. We stood under the verandah of the Grand Hotel, in thebig glass courtyard. And I verily believe that courier was reallyColonel Clay himself in one of his disguises.

  But perhaps we were beginning to suspect him everywhere.