The King of Diamonds: A Tale of Mystery and Adventure

by Louis Tracy

  CHAPTER VIII.

  _The Transition._

  It was four o'clock in the afternoon of a fine, but chilly March daywhen Philip regained Holborn with fifty pounds making a lump in hispocket, and Isaacstein's letter safely lodged in his coat. The mereweight of the gold suggested an unpleasant possibility. His clothes wereso worn that the frail calico might give way and every golden coinrattle forth to the pavement.

  So with one of Mr. Abingdon's shillings he made his first purchase, acapacious tobacco pouch with a snap mouth, for which he paid ninepence.Then he adjourned to an aerated bread shop and ordered somerefreshments. While the waitress was bringing his cup of tea and pieceof cake he contrived to slip all the sovereigns but one into the tobaccopouch.

  He did this with his hand in the pocket itself, and more than once therewas a pleasant clink as the coins fell into their novel receptacle.

  A man sitting near caught the sound, and looked up suspiciously. Philip,whose senses were very much on the alert to-day, realized that hisaction was somewhat careless. Without even glancing at his neighbor, hetook out his remaining couple of shillings and the three pennies, andaffected to count them with a certain degree of astonishment, as if somewere missing. The ruse was satisfactory. The man gave him no furtherheed, and soon quitted the restaurant.

  Philip tendered the odd sovereign in payment of his bill. The girlcashier seemed to be surprised that such a ragged youth should own solarge a sum.

  "All silver, please," said Philip, when she began to count his change.

  He would take no more risks if he could avoid them. Not a singlepoliceman in London would have failed to arrest him at that moment werehis store of gold revealed by any chance. Yet Philip was rich honestly,and there were men driving away from the city at that hour whose bankingaccounts were plethoric with stolen money. For their carriages thepolicemen would stop the traffic. In neither instance could theguardians of the peace be held blameworthy; such is the importance ofmere appearances.

  The boy, during his short and terribly sharp tussle with London life,had already grasped this essential fact, and with great skill and methodhe set about the task of altering his own shabby exterior.

  In a side street leading out of Gray's Inn Road, he found a secondhandclothes shop. Here he purchased a worn, but decent, blue serge suit foreight shillings six pence, a pair of boots for five shillings, a cap forninepence, a woolen shirt for two shillings, and a linen collar forthreepence.

  He haggled sufficiently over the bargain to suit the needs of a scantypurse.

  "I've cut 'em dahn low enough," said the shopkeeper, mournfully. "Thingsisn't wot they was in the ole clo' line, let me tell yer. Not but whatyou do want a new rig-aht."

  "Yes," said Philip. "I've got a job, and can't keep it unless I lookdecent."

  For the life of him he could not burlesque the Cockney accent, andalthough he used the simplest phraseology, the man glanced at himsharply.

  "Where are yer workin'?" he said.

  "At Isaacstein's in Hatton Garden." The words had not left his lips erehe regretted them.

  "Wot is 'e?"

  "A Jew," and Philip laughed. This quip atoned for the error of theadmission.

  "Bli-me, you won't get a lot aht of 'im."

  "No. It cost me some trouble to get an advance, I can assure you."

  Philip rattled all his silver and coppers onto the counter. He countedout sixteen shillings sixpence.

  "Not much left, is there?" he said.

  "Well, look 'ere," said the man. "Gimme fifteen bob. You're a sharp lad.You'll myke yer w'y all right. Nex' time you want some duds come to mean' I'll treat you fair."

  "Thank you very much," said Philip, considerably surprised by thisgenerous act. "I certainly will not forget you."

  "You can change in my little back room if you like. That lot you've goton ain't worth tykin' 'ome."

  "I am obliged for your kindness, but I must be off now. It is late, andI have a long way to go."

  "Where to? Holloway?"

  "No, cityward."

  The clothes and boots were made up in a parcel by this time. Philiphurried away, glad to escape further questioning.

  "Queer sort o' kid, that," mused the shopkeeper. "My, but 'e must ha'bin 'ard up afore 'e took on wiv' a Jew. Wot did 'e s'y 'is nyme was?Isaacstein? I've seen that somewhere or other. Now where was it?"

  He knew two hours later, for he, too, read the evening paper.

  Philip sprang into a 'bus for the Bank. At the Royal Exchange he wouldcatch a green 'bus for the Mile End Road.

  It was almost dark when he reached the Bank. Thus far the omnibusesgoing east were not crowded. Now the situation had changed.

  The human eddy in that throbbing center of life was sending off itsswirls to all points of the compass, and the eastbound vehicles wereboarded by an eager crowd almost before the passengers arriving at theterminus could descend.

  A poor woman, greatly hampered by a baby, was struggling with others toobtain a seat in the Mile End Road 'bus. Philip, coming late on thescene, saw her swept ruthlessly aside by a number of men and boys. Theconductor jerked the bell-rope several times. There was no more room.

  The woman, white-faced and disappointed, looked around with a woe-begoneexpression. Philip, who would have gladly paid for a cab to take her toher destination, dared do nothing of the sort. But he said:

  "Keep close to me. I will get you a seat in the next 'bus."

  "Oh, I wish you would," she said, with a wan smile. "I am so tired. Ihave walked here from Shepherd's Bush."

  "That's a long way to carry a baby."

  "What could I do? People won't take care of children without payment. Iheard I could get work in a laundry there, so I went to look after it.There's nothing to be had down our way, is there?"

  "Things turn up suddenly," said Philip.

  "Not for the poor, my lad. I fear you know that without my telling you.But you are young, and will soon be a man."

  Her wistful tone went to his heart.

  "Didn't you succeed at the laundry?" he inquired.

  "Yes; I ought to be thankful. I can earn nine shillings a week there. Istart on Monday."

  "Isn't your husband at work?"

  "He is dead. Poor fellow, he caught cold last Christmas, and was buriedin January. God only knows how I have lived since. If it wasn't for thekindness of neighbors, baby and I would have starved. I can ill affordthis tuppence, but I can't walk any further."

  "Well, look out now," he said, cheerily. "Here's our 'bus."

  As the vehicle drew up he caught the brass rail with his left hand, andwarded off assailants with the bundle under his right arm.

  "Quick," he said to the woman, as soon as the people inside haddescended. "Jump in."

  She essayed to do so, but was rudely thrust aside by a young man who hadpaused on the roof to light a cigarette. Philip sprang onto the step andbutted the young gentleman in the stomach with his parcel, causing theother to sit down heavily on the stairs. The boy caught the woman's armwith his disengaged hand and pulled her up. He dived in after her.

  "You young----" roared the discomfited smoker.

  "'Ere! Come orf of it," said the conductor. "Why didn't ye git dahnbefore? D'ye want a lift?"

  Others hustled the protesting one out of the way.

  "Confound the East End, I say," he growled, as he crossed to the MansionHouse. "What the deuce Lady Louisa Morland wants to keep on sending meto that wretched mews for I can't imagine. Anyway, I can tell her thistime that the place is empty, and will be pulled down next week."

  And thus it was that Philip collided with Messrs. Sharpe & Smith'sclerk, detailed by the anxious Lady Morland to discover his whereabouts.They met and bumped into each other in the whirlpool of London just astwo ships might crash together by night in mid-Atlantic, and draw apartwith ruffled feelings, or scraped paint, which is the same thing,without the slightest knowledge of each other's identity.

  Within the omnibus the woman was volubly grateful. She h
ad a kindlyheart, and timidly essayed questions as to Philip's relatives, hopingthat she might make their acquaintance.

  "I'll be bound, now," she said, "that you have a good mother. You canalways tell what the parents are like when you see the children."

  "My mother was, indeed, dear to me," he replied sadly, again driven outof himself by the mournful recollections thus suddenly induced, "but sheis dead, lost to me forever."

  Some people in the 'bus ceased talking. They were attracted by thestrong, clear voice of this unkempt boy, whose diction and choice ofwords were so outrageously opposed to his garments. Luckily, thesilence warned him, or his new friend's sympathy might have broughtabout an embarrassing position.

  "Poor thing! And is your father dead, too?"

  "Yes. He died long ago."

  "Where do you live now?"

  "Oh," he said, "I have been staying in North London, but will leavethere soon, and I have not settled anything definitely at present. Whereis the laundry you spoke of? I will call some day, if I may, and learnhow you are getting on."

  "I will be so pleased. It is a little place in James Street--the onlyone there. Ask for Mrs. Wrigley."

  "It is lucky you understand laundry work, or things might go hard withyou."

  She laughed pitifully.

  "I don't! They asked me if I was a washer or an ironer. I thoughtwashing required least experience, so I said I was a washer. I am quickto learn, and will watch the other women. If they find me out I may bedischarged."

  "Oh, cheer up," he said, pleasantly. "I don't suppose you'll find itvery hard."

  Her voice sank almost to a whisper.

  "It is not the work I dread, but the surroundings. I was a schoolteacher before my marriage. My husband was an electrical engineer. Weput all our savings into a little business, and then--the end came."

  "Not quite the end. I am only a boy, but I've had ups and downs enoughto know that the beginning of next week may be a very different affairto the end of this. Good-by."

  They were passing the London Hospital, and he thought it prudent toalight at some distance from Johnson's Mews.

  "Well, God bless you, anyhow," she said, earnestly.

  "'E's got 'is 'ead screwed on tight, that lad," commented a man sittingnext to her.

  "Better than that, he has a good heart," said Mrs. Wrigley. Mostfortunate Mrs. Wrigley--to have encountered Philip in that hour, whichshe deemed the blackest in her life.

  He hastened through the familiar bustle of the busy thoroughfare withheightened expectancy, it is true, but devoid of the least fear that hismeteor had been discovered. His mother would take good care of it. Why,the mere chance remark of the woman he had befriended showed that hergentle spirit watched over him wherever he went. Here was a stranger, asad toiler among the millions, who went out of her way to praise thegoodness of one she had never seen. He laughed joyously. Mrs. Wrigleyshould have further cause to bless his mother's memory.

  He passed O'Brien's shop. He saw the old man seated behind the counter.Should he go in? No. Better keep wholly to himself at present. Yet hehesitated. Which was the more judicious course--to remain hidden,unknown, or to drop quietly into the groove where he was recognized?With rare perspicacity for one so young, he reflected that only fivedays had elapsed since he last saw the old pensioner. The period bulkedlargely in Philip's life; in O'Brien's it would be as naught.

  Yielding to the second thought, he entered the shop.

  "Glory be to God, Phil, but it's miself is glad to see ye," cried hisold friend. "Where have ye bin to, at all at all? Have yez heard whatthe murtherin' War Office is afther doin' to me? I haven't had a sowl tosphake to about the throuble they've put on me in me owld age."

  This was not strictly accurate. O'Brien had pestered the wholeneighborhood with the story of his withheld pension and the preposterousclaim made on him by some red-tape enthusiast in Pall Mall. But hisplaint effectually stopped all further reference to Philip'sdisappearance. As to the "bit o' shtone," that was "naythur alum norlime," he hadn't a word to say.

  Philip borrowed a spade, a small sweeping brush and a strong sackwithout evoking the slightest comment from the pensioner, who discoursedincessantly on the iniquity of the "Govermint," and whose farewellremark dealt with the attempt to rob him of "a hundred gowldensov'rins."

  Decidedly the boy was in luck's way. He had secured some necessaryimplements without attracting any attention. Watching a favorableopportunity, he slipped unseen into the gloom of Johnson's Mews. Hetried the door of No. 3. It was locked. He inserted the key and entered.The darkness within was that of utter blindness, but he dumped hisimpedimenta on the floor and locked the door behind him.

  Then he groped his doubtful path to the mantelpiece where he had left acandle and a box of matches. His boots crunched, as he went, on what heknew to be mostly diamonds, and he stumbled over the mattress in frontof the fireplace. Yes, the candle was there. Soon he had a light. Thetiny gleam lifted the black curtain, and he surveyed his domain. Asingle glance showed him that all things remained exactly as he leftthem on Saturday morning. The packet of letters rested on the brokenchair, the old sack was stuffed into the window, and the rope--thatnever-to-be-forgotten rope--dangled from the hook to which he hadfastened it.

  The sight brought a lump into his throat. He sank to his knees, presseddown, he felt, by some superior power.

  "Mother!" he said, humbly, "forgive me, and ask God to forgive me, forwhat I would have done were you not watching over me."

  In the spiritual exaltation of the moment he almost expected to findthat sweet face peering at him benignantly from out the dim background.But he could not see her, and he rose, revivified by this spokencommunion with her. He had no shadow of doubt as to her presence. God tohim was the universe, and his mother the unquestionable means ofcommunication with the Providence that governed his life. He would dierather than abandon that belief. Were it dispelled from his mind he wasquite certain that his wealth would vanish with it. It was no haphazardaccident which had sent the diamond-laden meteor headlong from the sky.He was despairing, dying; his mother appealed for him; and, behold! thevery elements that control the world obeyed a mighty behest.

  He began to work methodically. In the first place, he lit a fire, forthe evening was chilly. Then he shook his mattress and swept the floor,gathering into a heap all the tiny particles with which it was littered.These he collected in a piece of newspaper, and folded them into aparcel, which again he inclosed in a stouter sheet of brown paper,finally tying the whole with a yard of string he carried in his pocket.

  There were hundreds of tiny diamonds in that insignificant package, andnot a few the size of small peas. As a matter of fact, he discoveredsubsequently that the net result of his sweeping brought him in over athousand pounds.

  Having examined every nook and crevice of the apartment by the aid ofthe candle, he satisfied himself that naught remained which wouldindicate to the most curious eye any event out of the common havingoccurred in that humble dwelling.

  It was typical of Philip's implicit faith that he did not unlock theback door until his interior task was ended. He knew that his meteor wasuntouched.

  There was no wind without. The candle, feeble as its rays were,illuminated the small yard sufficiently to reveal its debris of whitestones and darker lumps of metal. Beginning at the doorway, he sweptvigorously but with minutest care, until he had formed four good-sizedpiles on the flagstones.

  He could not afford to differentiate between the debris of the damagedpavement and the fragments of the meteor. It was easy to distinguish thelarger pieces of broken glass from the window inside the house--in theyard he had neither the time nor the light to select the bits ofshattered stone. All must go together, to be sorted with leisured caresubsequently.

  He scrutinized the external window sills, the door posts, the chinks ofthe small coal-house door at the further end of the yard, even the roughsurfaces of the walls, and removed every speck of loose material. Morenewspaper was requisitione
d, but, after utilizing the twine on hisparcel of clothing, he ran short of string.

  He coolly went up the stairs, unfastened the rope with which he hadintended to hang himself and loosened its stiff strands. Soon he had anabundance of strong cord, and four bulky packages were added to thefirst small one.

  They were heavy, too, weighing several pounds each. In placing them sideby side close to the wall beneath the front window, he suddenly realizedan unforeseen difficulty.

  If these shreds of matter--the mere husk, as it were, of themeteor--were so ponderous, what would be the weight of the meteoritself? How could he hope to lift it from the hole in which it lay--howconvey it from Johnson's Mews to a new and safer habitation? He might aswell endeavor to move an unwilling elephant.

  The thought chilled him. For the first time since his parting interviewwith Mr. Abingdon, Philip experienced a dread of failure. With somethingof panic in his blood, he snatched the candle and ran hastily into theyard. He knelt and held the light low in the excavation. Then he criedaloud:

  "What! Am I so ready to lose faith in mother?"

  For the huge metallic mass--so big that it would not enter the bore ofthe largest cannon known to modern gunnery--was split asunder in alldirections. Its fissures gaped widely as if to mock at him. The rain andsteam had done their work well. It was even possible that he would notneed the spade, but would be able to pick out each separate chunk withhis hand.

  Instantly he put the thought into execution, and succeeded in liftingseveral pieces to the yard level. He noted that they were gorged withthe dull white pebbles, some being the size of pigeon's eggs. He couldnot help comparing them in his mind's eye with the collection now lodgedin Isaacstein's safe. If those were worth fifty thousand pounds, thesemust be of fabulous value.

  Any other person in the wide world might have been excused if he pinchedhimself, or winked furiously, or took out the gold-filled tobacco pouchfor careful inspection, to assure himself that he was not dreaming. Notso, Philip. The only dominant feeling in his brain was one of annoyancethat he should have doubted, for one single instant, that means would begiven him to secure absolute and undisputed control of his treasure.

  But there remained the problem of weight. His original idea was to wrapthe actual body of the meteor in the stout sack he obtained fromO'Brien, and then inclose all his valuables in a tin trunk which hewould purchase next morning. Any ordinary trunk would certainly bespacious enough, but its phenomenal weight would unquestionably evokemore comment than he desired, and it would need two strong men to liftit.

  This portion of his plan needed to be entirely remodeled, and he was nowmore than ever thankful that the Jew's fifty pounds, save one expended,reposed in his pocket. With money, all things, or nearly all things,were possible.

  Owing to the cramped space in which the meteor lay it was no small taskto bring it to the surface in sections. But he persevered. By strenuousendeavor he accumulated an astonishing pile of iron ore studded withdiamonds, looking not unlike almonds in a brown cake, and the gutteringcandle held low down failed to reveal anything else in the hole. Therewas a good deal of debris at the bottom, and the depth was now over fourfeet. To reach to its full extent he was compelled to jam his head andshoulders into the excavation and feel blindly with one hand, so herightly concluded that a final examination might be left until daylight.

  By this time he was hot and covered with dirt. He stripped, washedhimself in front of the fire, and changed into his new clothes.

  He did not possess a looking-glass, but he felt sure that he presented aremarkably different appearance when attired in a neat serge suit, aclean shirt and reputable boots. His first impulse was to thrust hisdiscarded garments into the fire, but sentiment prevailed, and he foldedthem into a parcel.

  Then he extinguished his candle and went out. To his exceeding surprisehe discovered that it was nearly nine o'clock--time had indeed flown.

  The shops in the Mile End Road open early and close late. He entered arestaurant where he was unknown, passing, as a matter of policy, thecoffee stall of his kindly helper of those former days now so remote inhis crowded memories. After eating a hearty meal, for which he wasthoroughly prepared, he tendered a sovereign in payment.

  The proprietor barely glanced at him. Philip was now well dressed,according to local ideas, and his strong, erect figure, his resoluteface, added two or three years to his age when contrasted with the punystandard of fifteen as set by the poverty-stricken East End.

  He had forgotten to buy a necktie and a new pair of stockings. Theseomissions he now rectified, and he also purchased a warm, dark-graytraveling rug, several yards of drugget, a ball of twine and a pair ofscissors. A couple of stout but worn leather portmanteaux caught hiseye.

  "Those are cheap," said the salesman, quickly, "only fifteen shillingseach."

  "I'm not sure I can afford so much," said Philip, hesitatingly, for therug alone cost one pound six shillings.

  "They're a rare bargain--real leather--they were never made under threepounds each."

  "Oh, very well. I will take them."

  He produced three pounds, got his change, and walked away with his goodswithout causing any wonderment. The shopman was only too glad to havesuch a customer at that late hour.

  Philip now knew that he was fairly safe, but he decided that abilly-cock hat gave him a more mature appearance than a cap. Thisalteration being effected, he hurried off to Johnson's Mews andre-entered his domicile without incident worthy of note.

  Very quickly, with the help of drugget, scissors and twine, the twosmall portmanteaux were packed with pieces of the meteor, and thepaper-covered parcels already prepared. When each bag weighed aboutforty pounds he stuffed the remaining space with rolled-up newspapers,closed and locked them. He estimated that three larger leatherbags--these being less noisy than tin--would hold the remainder of themeteor.

  As the next morning would find him occupation enough, he decided to doas much as possible that night. Three times he sallied forth andreturned with a good-sized valise. He paid prices varying from twopounds ten shillings to three pounds fifteen shillings, and alwaysbought secondhand goods.

  He had locked and strapped the fourth of his goodly array of travelingbags when he fancied he heard a footstep in the mews. Such an occurrencewould have troubled him not a jot a week ago. To-night it was extremelydisconcerting.

  Notwithstanding the weight of the packed portmanteaux, especially thelarger one, he lifted each bodily in his arms and ran with it into thetiny scullery. On the front window there was no blind, only a small,much-worn curtain covering the lower panes, and he did not want anystray loafer to gaze in at him and discover a large quantity of luggagein such a disreputable hovel.

  When the fourth bag was disposed of in the dark recess of the sculleryhe paused for an instant to listen. There was not a sound. Through thewindow he could dimly discern the roof of the deserted stables opposite.

  He bent again to the task of packing the fifth portmanteau, and wasplacing in it the last parcel of ore and diamonds when some of the heavycontents fell through one end where the drugget wrapping had beenhastily folded.

  Shaking the package on the floor as a grocer beats down the contents ofa sugar bag, he picked up the fallen specimens and put them in, one byone. A large lump of ore had fallen apart when it dropped. Inside therewas a huge kernel, a rough diamond quite as large as a hen's egg.

  Philip smiled as he recalled his boast to Isaacstein. He examined thestone critically, and realized that if it were flawless it must be oneof the marvels of creation. Without experiencing any positive motive heslipped this unique specimen into his pocket, and went on with thereconstruction of the damaged parcel.

  At last he finished. The portmanteau was lying open on the floor, whenthe thought occurred to him that he might have avoided the flurry andtrouble of carrying these heavy articles into the scullery if he hadnailed a couple of yards of his drugget across the window.

  It was not too late even now to rectify th
is defect. He glanced at thewindow to ascertain how much material he should cut off, and saw aface--an evil, brutal, suspicious face--peering at him over the top ofthe curtain.