Delphi Complete Works of Arthur Morrison

by Arthur Morrison

  “A coloured crystal! Nonsense! Why—”

  “If it’s nonsense, it’s Wetherby’s nonsense, Mr. Crook, not mine. But Wetherby’s the first man in the trade, and I think you’ll allow him to know. He says it’s no more a diamond than that window-glass!”

  Here was surprise on surprise. Could it mean that Hahn had stolen a mere counterfeit, after all? That all this trouble — these midnight murders, everything — all had been done for a valueless imitation of the real stone? A counterfeit, he knew, had been left behind when first the stone had been taken from the rajah’s tent. But this — how to account for this?

  There could be no doubt about it, Wickes insisted. Information of any sort was always worth having in the service, and it struck him that no harm could be done by showing the stone to Wetherby; and Wetherby had declared the thing false at once. More, he put it among other gems of all sorts of colours, sizes, and qualities, and then the fact was made plain to any eye. It was the dullest thing in all Wetherby’s shop.

  “That’s all, Mr. Crook,” Wickes concluded, rising briskly. “Of course, all you hear is in strict confidence. And you won’t forget about leaving a message in the office when you go out, will you?”

  III.

  IT was on the morning of the next day that another visitor called on Crook at his hotel; a visitor whom he had very little reason to expect. Crook had finished his breakfast, and had risen from the table, when a waiter approached and said:

  “There’s a gentleman asking to see you, sir. Name of Hahn.”

  “What name?” Crook demanded, astonished and incredulous.

  “Hahn, sir. Leastways, that’s what it seemed to me.”

  “Show him up!” Crook replied, as the shortest way of ending the doubt.

  Hahn it was, though Hahn vastly altered; a great change from the Hahn who had visited him so short a time ago on his first arrival from Southampton. The man stood a picture of broken nerves and of absolutely gray funk; twenty years older to the view than he had seemed before. He stood silent till the waiter had gone, and then, plainly with an effort, he spoke.

  “I’ve come,” he said, “to make an — an arrangement. Let us settle this matter between us.”

  “What matter is this?”

  Hahn made a faint gesture of impatience.

  “We needn’t waste time,” he said. “You know what I mean. The green diamond — the Eye. We’ve both been after it, and I’ve got it. But I’m going to share with you — fairly.”

  “Have you got it here?”

  “No; but I know where it can be got. You can get it. I’ll trust your honour, if you’ll give me your word. And we’ll share.”

  “Why are you willing to share?”

  “Simple enough reason. I’m in trouble, and I want a partner. And so I’ll share.”

  “In trouble with the police?”

  “The police? No, of course not. Not the police.”

  “Then you will be presently. They are after you. They are after you and Mehta Singh, and Jatterji. For murder!”

  Hahn made another faint sweep of the hand, and sat down.

  “That’s nothing,” he said. “I’ve made provision for all that — I can’t be touched. So far from it, indeed, that I half thought of going straight to the police myself to get out of my trouble; but I prefer to give you a share, and you shall have it; half of what we can make of the Green Eye. Come, again I say we mustn’t waste time, and to show I mean what I say, I’ll put every card I have on the table, openly. The diamond came over — you know how, in the Tokay. The wine was dispersed — never mind about details now. The magnum with the stone in it went to the old man Clifton, and he found the diamond when he opened the bottle. He must have shown it to Pritchard — probably talked about it — and the result was that Pritchard killed him to get it. That you know about. Mehta Singh was with me in the business — that you must have guessed before this. He got the diamond, though the contrivance was mine — that and the plan for getting it to England without risk to ourselves. Mehta Singh came over with me; but, if I could have got the diamond for myself, of course, I would have left him in the lurch. You remember, don’t you, that I offered to divide with you before — when you told me you had sold the bottles, and I thought you had the stone?”

  “I do remember, quite well. A very pleasant scoundrel you are, too, my respectable Hahn, even by your own showing.”

  Hahn shook his head and his hand again impatiently.

  “Never mind about all that,” he said. “Scoundrel, rascal, anything you please. This is business I’m talking, and, to put my cards on the table, as I said I would, I must tell you it all. If I could have got the diamond, as I have said, I would have made it my own. But Pritchard got it, and I couldn’t find Pritchard. I was following the bottles just as you were, and, when I heard of that murder, I saw the meaning of it — guessed it, if you like; at any rate, I knew that Pritchard had got the stone. But it was Mehta Singh who found Pritchard — through Jatterji, almost by chance, I believe. He managed to set artful inquiries going in the Indian colony — it’s a small one, all in touch together — and he found that this fellow Jatterji was actually lodging in the same house as Pritchard. Well, he told me, and he made his own plans. But just about that time I discovered the whereabouts of another magnum — the one your friend Merrick has — and, as even Mehta Singh had no occasion to waste a murder, he arranged with Jatterji to test the off-chance thus offered as well, before making the definite plunge on what I felt to be the moral certainty of Pritchard. What happened you know well enough. Mehta Singh got the diamond. But I tell you I had nothing to do with Mehta Singh’s crime — I was many miles away at the time — I arranged to be — and I can prove it. I had nothing to do with it — planning or execution.”

  “Nothing except to take the profits?”

  “That, of course, if I could get them,” replied the unabashed Hahn. “Why not? Moreover, I have another card with the police. Not only was I far away when the crime was committed, not only did I have nothing to do with it, but I took steps to have the murderers arrested; gave the police information, which again I can prove.”

  “How prove it? By describing your letter of information?”

  “Quite right.”

  “A note built out of capital letters cut from a newspaper? In an envelope addressed in the same way?”

  Hahn started slightly.

  “Oh, you know it, do you?” he said.

  “Well, yes — that was it.”

  “Hahn, you grow a bigger scoundrel with every sentence.”

  “Tut, tut! what does it matter? Mehta Singh had done his work, and he could be dispensed with; safer out of the way. I am putting my cards on the table, I tell you. There is nobody here but you, and that doesn’t matter. You are my partner, or will be — for you’ll accept my offer, of course. I arranged for an empty house in which Mehta Singh and Jatterji could hide, and in which they could be taken by the police — after I had got the diamond from Mehta Singh, of course.”

  “Oh! you did that before you sent your precious printed and pasted letter, then?”

  “Of course. That was the proper way, you see.”

  “And how did you get the diamond?”

  “Simple stratagem. You remember that when it originally vanished from the rajah’s tent, a neat imitation took its place? Well, I had had that prepared beforehand. But I had another made also. Mehta Singh didn’t know that, but I thought it might prove useful on some later occasion, as it has done. I had a telegram from him while I was away — a telegram can be dropped into a letter-box, you know, at the cost of a little delay, and nobody can identify the sender. Well, I came up and went to the old house at Lambeth, in the evening, and there, in the dark, the simplest possible bit of sleight-of-hand did the trick. Mehta Singh produced the diamond, and he thought he got it back; but what he got was the other thing. I left him and sent to the police the little note that you know of. It might have turned out inconvenient, after all, if things had
gone well, to have my writing recognized, so I used the printed letters.

  “But things didn’t go quite as well as they might have done. Mehta Singh must have discovered what had happened very early the next morning. For when I went that morning to Liverpool Street to get my ticket for Holland and to see when my train would start, there were Mehta Singh and Jatterji waiting for me in the booking-office! It must have been Jatterji who advised that move. He would know that Holland would be the place anybody in Europe would make for with a stolen diamond to deal with. He knows European ways thoroughly, and though I believe he’s been acting in mere terror of Mehta Singh all along, he wasn’t so frightened as to forget that.

  “Well, that was three days ago, Crook — three days ago exactly, now; and from that moment they have never left me, day or night. They are watching for me now, somewhere outside. Will you send for a drop of brandy, Crook? I am nearly breaking down.”

  Crook sent for the brandy and watched Hahn take it at a gulp. Then the tale went on.

  “I wouldn’t go back to where I was staying,” Hahn said, “because the stone is there — hidden. I had no luggage with me when I went to Liverpool Street, and I believe that is why I haven’t been murdered yet. Mehta Singh wants to get me with all my movables together, so as to be sure of getting the stone. I know where the diamond is, but it’s death for me to get it. Crook, it has been awful! Three days and nights I have been dogged and watched everywhere, and I don’t believe they’ve slept once — I haven’t, though I’ve taken beds at lodging-houses, just as I stand. I’ve tried all sorts of dodges — hansoms, offices with doors at the back, everything — but they’ve stuck to me through it all, and now I feel about run down; and, besides, the money I had about me is nearly gone. So I’ve made up my mind to sacrifice half, and to take you for partner; so my misfortune’s your luck. As I said, I half thought of going to the police, seeing how safe I’ve made myself, but I don’t want to risk their turning over everything where I’m staying, and, perhaps, coming on the diamond. That would need a deal of explanation, you see. So on the whole, I’m going to let you have half, and we’ll do it like this, and put Mehta Singh safely into the hands of the police at the same time. First of all, I’ll remain here while you go off to where I’ve been staying, and get the diamond. See?”

  “Look here, Mr. Hahn,” said Crook, standing before him with his hands in his pockets; “I think I’ve heard about enough of your confidences, and I don’t want any more. I’ll make no such arrangement as you seem to expect.”

  “What? Won’t you? What? Not take half? How much do you want, then?”

  “I want none at all, incomprehensible as it may seem to you. You may—”

  “But it’s straight, I tell you! Really, it’s straight! You shall hold the stone yourself all the time — I’ll trust you, if you don’t trust me. We’ll go to Holland together, and—”

  “No, no, we won’t,” Crook interrupted.

  “I’ll have nothing to do with the business, I tell you; not if you give me the whole diamond twice over. Now, see here. You’ve come here and made yourself my guest, though you weren’t asked, and you’ve made me your confidant, though I didn’t want that either. But as it stands, you’ve taken me into your confidence, and, though you are a repulsively foul rascal, I sha’n’t betray that confidence of my own motion. Understand, I’ll have nothing whatever to do with you or the diamond you have stolen, and I recommend you strongly to go to the police before they come to you. Now, here’s your choice. Come voluntarily to the nearest police-station with me, in which case I will pledge myself to do nothing but see you safely there, and leave you to tell your own tale; or sit where you are, and I will send for the police and have you arrested — you and your Indian friends together. Now which will you do?”

  Hahn was astonished, wholly lacking comprehension of any man who would refuse such an offer as he had made. But he understood well enough that Crook meant what he said, and presently, after a sullen pause, he rose, heavily.

  “Very well,” he said. “If that’s how you put it, I’ll come. I’m safe enough, anyway, and I simply go with information of those two fellows.”

  They went down-stairs together, and at the door Crook hailed a distant cab. But now Hahn, standing moodily and suspiciously by his side, changed his mind.

  “I won’t go with you,” he said. “Why should I? I’ll go my own way; you go yours.”

  He turned away, but instantly Crook sprang after him and seized his arm.

  “No,” Crook said, “that’s not so easily done. You know my conditions. Porter, bring that policeman!”

  Hahn made the beginnings of a feeble struggle; but the policeman from the corner reached the spot in a few strides, and Hahn struggled no more.

  “This man is Hahn,” said Crook, “wanted in connection with the Redway Street murder. You know the name, don’t you?”

  The constable had read the name in the Police Gazette only that morning, and he scented credit for an important arrest.

  “You’d best come quiet,” he said, “and remember anything you say will—”

  The man never finished the sentence. Crook felt a violent drive at his side, and, as he recovered, he turned and saw Hahn fall forward groaning in the policeman’s arms; and, even as he fell, Mehta Singh stabbed again twice, with lightning strokes, under the left arm.

  Then Mehta Singh, hatless, eyes and nostrils wide with rage, flung down his long knife and stepped back. Crook ran at him and seized him with both hands. At the clasp the Indian gave one angry wrench and then stood still.

  “All right,” he said, “all right!” with the short, clipped accent of a foreigner who has learned a phrase or two by ear alone. And, as he spoke, his disengaged hand passed across his lips twice, forward and back. But he made no other sign.

  People came running, and more policemen. Hahn was stretched, pale and dripping, on the pavement, and a doctor was dragged hurriedly from within the hotel. The doctor ripped open the prostrate man’s waistcoat, and called for wet cloths; but he looked up at the policeman and shook his head. For lung and heart were pierced, and Hahn lay dying.

  Mehta Singh, pushed to and fro between two policemen, swung unresistingly, and slowly grew pale and sweaty. His legs failed, and, before a four-wheeled cab could come, he, too, was laid on the paving-stones. And then Crook, at first puzzled, remembered how the Indian’s hand had passed across his lips twice, forward and back. And at once it struck Crook that he should have known that a man of his race would almost certainly have made preparation to forestall the ignominy of death by hanging. Which, in fact, Mehta Singh had done most effectually; for both he and his victim were carried away dead.

  Jatterji was not to be seen, either then or later. He had fled, doubtless, at the first sign of Mehta Singh’s attack. That attack was not difficult to understand. He had dogged Hahn for three days, and now he saw his prey, diamond and all, on the point of being snatched from his grasp by arrest. He had lost the diamond, but he could still take his revenge; and he took it.

  It cost Sergeant Wickes some little trouble, and it took some little time, to discover Hahn’s late lodgings. They were found at last, however — in a quiet turning out of Baker Street. He had called himself Turner there also, it appeared. But at that point Wickes’s success came to a singularly complete stop; for not one trace of the Green Eye of Goona was he able to discover.

  Where Hahn had actually hidden that extraordinary gem: whether or not it still lies there: or, if not, who has it: are mysteries as yet wholly unpenetrated. Certainly not for lack of search in the house near Baker Street, for indeed that respectable structure was almost pulled to pieces by Wickes’s energetic assistants. But hidden or lost, found or not, nobody knows where now lies the Green Eye, and the Rajah of Goona still lacks the pride of his treasure-house.

  Mr. Merrick was among those who were most energetic in the search for the lost jewel, and I believe he still harbours designs of buying up the entire street in which Hahn’s lo
dgings stood, pulling it down, and analyzing every brick.

  Be that as it may, it is certain that his immediate excitement at the time was interrupted by a serious interview with Harvey Crook on a matter wholly unconnected with the Green Eye of Goona; and that the interview ended in a perfectly satisfactory manner, and earned Lyman W. Merrick several kisses from his daughter Daisy.

  After which Mr. Merrick turned to Harvey Crook, and said:

  “Well, my boy, there’s that last magnum of Tokay lying in the middle of my biggest trunk, and it seems to me that this is about the right occasion to open it!”

  THE END

  DIVERS VANITIES

  CONTENTS

  CHANCE OF THE GAME

  SPOTTO’S RECLAMATION

  A “DEAD ‘UN”

  THE DISORDER OF THE BATH

  HIS TALE OF BRICKS

  TEACHER AND TAUGHT

  HEADS AND TAILS

  ONE MORE UNFORTUNATE

  INGRATES AT BAGSHAW’S

  RHYMER THE SECOND

  CHARLWOOD WITH A NUMBER

  A POOR BARGAIN

  STATEMENT OF EDWARD CHALONER

  LOST TOMMY JEPPS

  OLD ESSEX. THE LEGEND OF LAPWATER HALL

  THE BLACK BADGER

  THE TORN HEART

  TO MY WIFE

  CROSS-COVES

  Frères humains qui après nous vivez,. N’ayez les coeurs contre nous endurcis,. Car, si pitié de nous pauvres avez,. Dieu en aura plus tôt de vous mercis.

  — Villon.

  CHANCE OF THE GAME

  THE truly great man of business has no business hours. To lose an opportunity is no less than a crime, and an opportunity which displays itself in a time and place of relaxation is none the less an opportunity. It was for this reason that Spotto Bird found himself running his best in Bow Road.

  Spotto Bird was not at all the sort of practitioner to use the Bow Road in the ordinary way of business; even as he ran in the dark streets, with more pressing matters to occupy his mind, he was conscious of some added shade of apprehension from the possibility, not merely of being caught, but of being caught working in the East End. But the clock was a red ‘un, and the opportunity undoubted; to be pinched in the Bow Road merely might well imply loss of caste in the mob, but nobody need be ashamed to be pinched anywhere for a gold watch, after all. Not that Spotto had the smallest intention of being pinched at all if his legs could save him.