Between the Dark and the Daylight

by Richard Marsh

  "No man shall part me from my wife, nor anything—but death." Mr. Burgoyne turned a little aside. "I believe I love her better because of this. God knows I loved her well enough before."

  "I can understand that easily. Because of this she is dearer to us, too."

  There was silence. Moving to the table, Mr. Burgoyne began to replace the things in the bag.

  "I will go and see this man Muir."

  Dr. Muir was at home. His appearance impressed Mr. Burgoyne favourably, and Mr. Burgoyne had a keen eye for the charlatan in medicine.

  "Dr. Muir, I have come from Mr. Staunton. My name is Burgoyne. You are probably aware that I have married Mr. Staunton's daughter, Minnie. It is about my wife I wish to consult you." Dr. Muir simply nodded. "During our honeymoon in Brittany she has stolen all these things."

  Mr. Burgoyne opened the bag sufficiently to disclose its contents. Dr. Muir scarcely glanced at them. He kept his eyes fixed on Mr. Burgoyne's face. There was a pause before he spoke.

  "You were not informed of her—peculiarity?"

  "I was not. I don't understand it now. It is because I wish to understand it that I have come to you."

  "I don't understand it either."

  "But I am told that you have always given the matter your attention."

  "That is so, but I don't understand it any the more for that. I am not a specialist."

  "Do you mean that she is mad?"

  "I don't say that I mean anything at all; very shortly you will be quite as capable of judging of the case as I am. I've no doubt that if you wished to place her in an asylum, you would have no difficulty in doing so. So much I don't hesitate to say."

  "Thank you. I have no intention of doing anything of the kind. Can you not suggest a cure?"

  "I can suggest ten thousand, but they would all be experiments. In fact, I have tried several of them already, and the experiments have failed. For instance, I thought marriage might effect a cure. It is perhaps yet too early to judge, but it would appear that, so far, the thing has been a failure. Frankly, Mr. Burgoyne, I don't think you will find a man in Europe who, in this particular case, can give you help. You must trust to time. I have always thought myself that a shock might do it, though what sort of shock it will have to be is more than I can tell you. I thought the marriage shock might serve. Possibly the birth shock might prove of some avail. But we cannot experiment in shocks, you know. You must trust to time."

  On that basis—trust in time—Mr. Burgoyne arranged his household. The bag with its contents was handed to his solicitor. The stolen property was restored to its several owners. It cost Mr. Burgoyne a pretty penny before the restoration was complete. A certain Mrs. Deal formed part of his establishment. She acted as companion and keeper to Mr. Burgoyne's wife. They never knew whether that lady realised what Mrs. Deal's presence really meant. And, in spite of their utmost vigilance, things were taken—from shops, from people's houses, from guests under her own roof. It was Mrs. Deal's business to discover where these things were, and to see that they were instantly restored. Her life was spent in a continual game of hide and seek.

  It was a strange life they lived in that Brompton house, and yet—odd though it may sound—it was a happy one. He loved her, she loved him—there is a good deal in just that simple fact. There was one good thing—and that in spite of Dr. Muir's suggestion that a birth shock might effect a cure—there were no children.

  Chapter II - The Cure

  They had been married five years. There came an invitation from one Arthur Watson, a friend of Mr. Burgoyne's boyhood. After long separation they had encountered each other by accident, and Mr. Watson had insisted upon Mr. Burgoyne's bringing his wife to spend the "week-end" with him in that Mecca of a certain section of modern Londoners—up the river. So the married couple went to see the single man.

  After dinner conversation rather languished. But their host stirred it up again.

  "I have something here to show you." Producing a leather case from the inner pocket of his coat, he addressed a question to Mr. Burgoyne "Do much in mines?"

  "How do you mean?"

  "Because, if you do, here's a tip for you, and tips are things in which I don't deal as a rule—buy Mitwaterstraand. There is a boom coming along, and the foreshadowings of the boom are in this case. Mrs. Burgoyne, shut your eyes and you shall see."

  Mrs. Burgoyne did not shut her eyes, but Mr. Watson opened the case, and she saw! More than a score of cut diamonds of the purest water, and of unusual size—lumps of light! With them, side by side, were about the same number of uncut stones, in curious contrast to their more radiant brethren.

  "You see those?" He took out about a dozen of the cut stones, and held them loosely in his hand. "Are you a judge of diamonds? Well, I am. Hitherto there have been one or two defects about African diamonds—they cut badly, and the colour's wrong. But we have changed all that. I stake my reputation that you will find no finer diamonds than those in the world. Here is the stone in the rough. Here is exactly, the same thing after it has been cut; judge for yourself, my boy! And those come from the district of Mitwaterstraand, Griqualand West. Take my tip, Burgoyne, and look out for Mitwaterstraand."

  Mr. Burgoyne did take his tip, and looked out for Mitwaterstraand, though not in the sense he meant. He looked out for Mitwaterstraand all night, lying in bed with his eyes wide open, his thoughts fixed on his wife. Suppose they were stolen, those shining bits of crystal?

  In the morning he was up while she still slept. He dressed himself and went downstairs. He felt that he must have just one whiff of tobacco, and then return—to watch. A little doze in which he had caught himself had frightened him. Suppose he fell into slumber as profound as hers, what might not happen in his dreams?

  Early as was the hour, he was not the first downstairs. As he entered the room in which the diamonds had been exhibited, he found Mr. Watson standing at the table.

  "Hullo, Watson! At this hour of the morning who'd have thought of seeing you?"

  "I—I've had a shock." There was a perceptible tremor in Mr. Watson's voice, as though even yet he had not recovered from the shock of which he spoke.

  "A shock? What kind of a shock?"

  "When I woke this morning I found that I had left the case with the diamonds in downstairs. I can't think how I came to do it."

  "It was a careless thing." Mr. Burgoyne's tones were even stern. He shuddered as he thought of the risk which had been run.

  "It was. When I found that it was missing, I was out of bed like a flash. I put my things on anyhow, and when I found it was all right"—he at that moment was holding the case in his hands—"I felt like singing a Te Deum." He did not look like singing a Te Deum, by any means. "Let's have a look at you, my beauties." He pressed a spring and the case flew open. "My God!"

  "What's the matter?"

  "They're gone!"

  "Gone!"

  They were, sure enough. The case was empty. The shock was too much for Mr. Burgoyne.

  "She's taken them after all," he gasped.

  "Who?"

  "My wife!"

  "Your wife!—Burgoyne!—What do you mean?"

  "Watson, my wife has stolen them."

  "Burgoyne!"

  The empty case fell to the ground with a crash. It almost seemed as though Mr. Watson would have fallen after it. He seemed even more distressed than his friend. His face was clammy, his hands were trembling.

  "Burgoyne, what—whatever do you mean?"

  "My wife's a kleptomaniac, that's what I mean."

  "A kleptomaniac! You—you don't mean that she has taken the stones?"

  "I do. Sounds like a joke doesn't it?"

  "A joke! I don't know what you call a joke! It'll be no joke for me. There's to be a meeting, and those stones will have to be produced for experts to examine. If they are not forthcoming, I shall have to explain what has become of them, and those are not the men to listen to any talk of kleptomania. And it isn't the money they will want, it's the stones. A
t this crisis those stones are worth a hundred thousand pounds to us, and more! It'll be your ruin, and mine, if they are not found."

  "They will be found. It is only a little game she plays. She hides, we seek and find. I think I may undertake to produce them for you in half-an-hour."

  "I hope you will," said Mr. Watson, still with clammy face and trembling hands. "My God, I hope you will."

  Mr. Burgoyne went upstairs. His wife was still asleep; and a prettier picture than she presented when asleep it would be hard to find. He put his hand upon her shoulder.

  "Minnie!" No reply. "Minnie!" Still she slept.

  When she did awake it was in the most natural and charming way conceivable. She stretched out her arms to her husband leaning over her.

  "Charlie! Whatever is the time?"

  "Where are those stones?"

  "What?" With the back of her hands she began to rub her eyes. "Where are what?"

  "Where are those stones?"

  "I don't know what—" yawn—"you mean."

  "Minnie!—Don't trifle with me!—Where have you put those diamonds?"

  "Charlie! Whatever do you mean?"

  Her eyes were wide open now. She lay looking at him in innocent surprise.

  "What a consummate actress you are!"

  The words came from his lips almost unawares. They seemed to startle her. "Charlie!"

  He—loving her with all his heart—was unable to meet her glance, and began moving uneasily about the room, talking as he moved.

  "Come, Minnie, tell me where they are?"

  "Where what are?"

  "The diamonds!"

  "The diamonds! What diamonds? Whatever do you mean?"

  "You know what I mean very well. I mean the Mitwaterstraand diamonds which Watson showed us last night, and which you have taken from the case."

  "Which I have taken from the case!" She rose from the bed, and stood on the floor in her night-dress, the embodiment of surprise. "If you will leave the room I shall be able to dress."

  "Minnie! Do you really think I am a fool? I can make every allowance—God knows I have done so often enough before—but you must tell me where those stones are before I leave this room."

  "Do you mean to suggest that I—I have stolen them?"

  "Call it what you please! I am only asking you to tell me where you have put them. That is all."

  "On what evidence do you suspect me of this monstrous crime?"

  "Evidence? What do I need with evidence? Minnie, for God's sake, don't let us argue. You know that you are dearer to me than life, but this time—even at the sacrifice of life!—I cannot save you from the consequence of your own act."

  "The consequence of my own act. What do you mean?"

  "I mean this, that unless those diamonds are immediately forthcoming, this night you will sleep in jail."

  "In jail! I sleep in jail! Is this some hideous dream?"

  "Oh, my darling, for both our sakes tell me where the diamonds are."

  "Charlie, I know no more where they are than the man in the moon."

  "Then God help us, for we are lost!"

  He ransacked every article of furniture the room contained. Tore open the mattresses, ripped up the boards, looked up the chimney. But there were no diamonds. And that night she slept in jail. Mr. Watson started off to tell his story to the meeting as best he might. Mr. and Mrs. Burgoyne remained behind, searching for the missing stones. About one o'clock, Mr. Watson still being absent, a telegram was received at the local police station containing instructions to detain Mrs. Burgoyne on a charge of felony, "warrant coming down by train." Mr. Watson had evidently told his story to an unsympathetic audience. Mrs. Burgoyne was arrested and taken off to the local lock-up—all idea of bail being peremptorily pooh-poohed. Mr. Burgoyne tore up to town in a state of semi-madness. When Mr. Staunton heard the story, his affliction was at least, equal to his son-in-law's. Dr. Muir was telegraphed for, and a hurried conference was held in the office of a famous criminal lawyer. That gentleman told them plainly that at present nothing could be done.

  "Even suppose the diamonds are immediately forthcoming, the case will have to go before a magistrate. You don't suppose the police will allow you to compound a felony. That is what it amounts to, you know."

  As for the medical point of view, it must be urged, of course; but the lawyer made no secret of his belief that if the medical point of view was all they had to depend on, the case would, of a certainty, be sent to trial.

  "But it seems to me that at present there is not a tittle of evidence. Your wife, Mr. Burgoyne, has been arrested, I won't say upon your information, but on the strength of words which you allowed to escape your lips. But they can't put you in the box; you could prove nothing if they did. When the case comes on they'll ask for a remand. Probably they'll get it, one remand at any rate. I shall offer bail, which they'll accept. When the case comes on again, unless they have something to go on, which they haven't now, it will be dismissed. Mrs. Burgoyne will leave the court without a stain upon her character. We shan't even have to hint at kleptomania, or klepto anything."

  More than once that night Mr. Burgoyne meditated suicide. All was over. She—his beloved!—through his folly—slept in jail. And if, by the skin of her teeth, she escaped this time, how would it be the next? She was guilty now—they might prove it then! And when he thought of the numerous precautions he had hedged her round with heretofore, it seemed marvellous that she had gone scot free so long. And suppose she had been taken at the outset of her career—in the affair of the jewels at the Grand Hotel—what would have availed any plea he might have urged before a French tribunal? He shuddered as he thought of it.

  He never attempted to go to bed. He paced to and fro in his study like a caged wild animal. If he might only have shared her cell! The study was on the ground floor. It opened on to the garden. Between two and three in the morning he thought he heard a tapping at the pane. With a trembling hand he unlatched the window. A man stood without.

  "Watson!"

  As the name broke from him Mr. Watson staggered, rather than walked, into the room.

  "I—I saw the light outside. I thought I had better knock at the window than disturb the house."

  He sank into a chair, putting his arms upon the table, pillowing his face upon his hands. There was silence. Mr. Burgoyne, in his surprise, was momentarily struck dumb. At last, finding his voice, and eyeing his friend, he said—

  "This is a bad job for both of us."

  Mr. Watson looked up. Mr. Burgoyne, in spite of his own burden which he had to bear, was startled by something which he saw written on his face.

  "As you say, it is a bad job for both of us." Mr. Watson rose as he was speaking. "But it is worst for me. Why did you tell me all that stuff about your wife?"

  "God knows I am not in the mood to talk of anything, but rather than that, talk of what you please."

  "Why the devil did you put that thought into my head?"

  "What thought? I do not understand. I don't think you understand much either."

  "Why did you tell me she had taken the stones? Why, you damned fool, I had them in my pocket all the time."

  Mr. Watson took his hand out of his pocket. It was full of what seemed little crystals. He dashed these down upon the table with such force that they were scattered all over the room. They were some of the Mitwaterstraand diamonds.

  "Watson! Good God! What do you mean?"

  "I was the thief! Not she!"

  "You—hound!"

  "Don't look as though you'd like to murder me! I tell you I feel like murdering you! I am a ruined man. The thought came into my head that if I could get off with those Mitwaterstraand diamonds, I should have something with which to start afresh. Like an idiot, I took them from the case last night, meaning to hatch some cock-and-bull story about having forgotten to bring the case upstairs, and their having been stolen from it in the night. But on reflection I perceived how extremely thin the tale would be. I went downstairs to put
them back again. I was in the very act of doing it when you came in. I showed you the empty box. You immediately cried out that your wife had stolen them. It was a temptation straight from hell! I was too astounded at first to understand your meaning. When I did, I let you remain in possession of your belief. Now, Burgoyne, don't you be a fool."

  But Mr. Burgoyne was a fool. He fell on to the floor in a fit; this last straw was one too many. When he recovered, Mr. Watson was gone, but the diamonds were there, piled in a neat little heap upon the table. He had been guilty of a really curious lapse into the paths of honesty, for, as he truly said, he was a ruined man. It was one of those resonant smashes which are the sensation of an hour.

  Mrs. Burgoyne was released—without a stain upon her character. She never stole again! She had been guilty so many times, and never been accused of crime,—and the first time she was innocent they said she was a thief! Dr. Muir said the shock had done it,—he had said that a shock would do it, all along.

  Exchange is Robbery

  *

  Chapter I

  "Impossible!"

  "Really, Mr. Ruby, I wish you wouldn't say a thing was impossible when I say that it is actually a fact."

  Mr. Ruby looked at the Countess of Grinstead, and the Countess of Grinstead looked at him.

  "But, Countess, if you will just consider for one moment. You are actually accusing us of selling to you diamonds which we know to be false."

  "Whether you knew them to be false or not is more than I can say. All I know is that I bought a set of diamond ornaments from you, for which you charged me eight hundred pounds, and which Mr. Ahrens says are not worth eight hundred pence."

  "Mr. Ahrens must be dreaming."

  "Oh no, he's not. I don't believe that Mr. Ahrens ever dreams."

  Mr. Golden, who was standing observantly by, addressed an inquiry to the excited lady. "Where are the diamonds now?"

  "The diamonds, as you call them, and which I don't believe are diamonds, since Mr. Ahrens says they're not, and I'm sure he ought to know, are in this case."

  The Countess of Grinstead produced from her muff one of those flat leather cases in which jewellers love to enshrine their wares.