The King of Diamonds: A Tale of Mystery and Adventure

by Louis Tracy

  CHAPTER IX.

  _A Decisive Battle._

  It would be idle to deny that Philip was startled by the sight. Nobraver or more resolute boy breathed; but the silence, the mystery--thegloomy aloofness of Johnson's Mews--lent a sinister aspect to anapparition formidable enough under any circumstances, but absolutelythreatening and full of danger to one situated as he at that moment.

  He never remembered seeing the man before. Not that this repellentphysiognomy was of a type to be soon forgotten. A bullet head withprominent, blood-shot eyes, a strong, cruel mouth, a huge nose badlybroken--a certain strength of character in features debased by drink andcriminality--these were the tokens writ legibly on the countenanceglaring intently at the boy from without.

  The two gazed at each other for an appreciable time. The man's facewandered from Philip's face to his costume, and then rested on the openportmanteau at the boy's feet. There was in his expression an air ofastonishment--a certain gloating bewilderment--as of one who hadstumbled unawares upon some object of such potential value that thefinder could hardly believe it to be true. He was thinking, wondering,debating with himself. The goggle eyes seemed to see more than the brainwas inclined to credit.

  Philip, despite his alarm, felt that the right course was to resent thisimpertinent prying into his affairs.

  "Hello, you!" he shouted. "What do you want?"

  The man grinned. He seemed to be about to answer when he suddenly turnedhis head and looked down the yard toward the entry.

  Instantly he swung round and vanished noiselessly, with the silentalertness of a cat, for the boy heard no sound. He simply disappeared inthe darkness, and Philip, who knew every inch of the ground, realizedthat his most unpleasant-visaged spy had not only dived into the furtherobscurity of the mews--which formed a _cul-de-sac_--but also was eitherin his stocking feet or wore something over his boots to deaden anypossible clatter on the paving stones.

  Here was a nice thing--his habitat discovered by some tramp or criminalskulking in the untenanted building marked out for the housebreakerswithin a few days. It was too bad. He was sorely annoyed that he had notthought sooner of the potentialities of the window when the interior ofthe house was illumined by a candle and a ruddy fire. How long had theman stood there watching him? He had certainly seen some portion of thecontents of the last portmanteau. Had he also witnessed the removal ofthe others to the pantry?

  Philip's experience as a newspaper vender told him that all London wasnow familiar with his own personal appearance, as well as with thesemblance and value of his meteoric diamonds. The white stones, theclumps of iron ore, had been described minutely by clever journalists,who supplemented Isaacstein's clear statement by facts gleaned fromencyclopediae and interviews with geologists.

  Most probably this man had read long articles about him, for the storywas such as to bring watery curses to the lips of every pennilessvagrant in the kingdom. Indeed, the careful scrutiny bestowed on hisface and clothes bore out this suspicion. Had he not changed hisgarments the stranger would have known his identity beyond all question.As it was, the man was puzzled, and disturbed at the very moment he wasabout to say something. What had happened to cause him to run away? Whathad he seen or heard? Above all, how much did he know of Philip and hisaffairs?

  Well, the door was locked, and it would be folly to go out again thatnight. The house was absolutely unapproachable save by the front. Philipresolved to remain awake until daybreak. O'Brien's spade stood againstthe fireplace. It was a formidable weapon, and he would not hesitate touse it if forcible entry was attempted. He must sit quietly in the dark,listening for each sound, and threatening boldly when he heard anyoneendeavoring to open door or window.

  He sighed, for he was very tired, but the vigil was imperative.

  He dropped the drugget and scissors and bent again over the portmanteau.The packing operations might as well be finished now, and, indeed, whenthe light was extinguished, it would be better to keep away from thewindow, through which a sudden thrust with an implement might do him aninjury.

  He took his discarded clothes and arranged them on top of the lastparcels of ore and diamonds. Then he reached out for the small bundle ofdocuments resting on the chair behind him, intending to place them in alittle pocket in the flap which already covered one-half of the bag.

  At that instant he again heard footsteps. Of course, a very few secondshad elapsed since he first caught sight of the living specter without.The ideas recorded at such length whirled through his active brain withlightning speed, just as the knowledge now came that the footstepsproceeded from the entrance to the mews and not from its extremity,while their firm regularity betokened the advent of some person who hadno special reason to conceal his movements.

  The boy listened breathlessly. The oncomer reached his door, passed it,stopped opposite the window, and then another face peered over thecurtain.

  This time it was a policeman.

  For an instant their eyes met in mutual astonishment. Then the policemancame so close that his helmet rested against a pane of glass. He grinnedaffably, and cried:

  "Here! I want to speak to you."

  Intuitively grasping the essential fact that his best policy was one ofready acquiescence, Philip sprang toward the door and unlocked it. Hestood on the step. The constable approached.

  "I hope I didn't startle you," he began, "but I just looked in on theoff chance----"

  "I am very glad indeed, to see you," interrupted the boy. "I am leavinghere to-morrow. Just now, while I was packing some of my belongings, avery nasty-looking man came and peeped in at me in the same way as youdid."

  He backed into the house. The policeman half followed him, his quickglance noting the open portmanteau and its array of old clothes.

  "Just now?" he questioned. "Do you mean some time since?"

  "No, no. Not half a minute--a few seconds ago."

  "But where can he be? He hasn't left the mews, or I must have seen him.I crossed the road, and no one came out in so short a time."

  "Well, he is somewhere in the place--he had a horrid appearance--a manwith a broken nose. He made me jump, I can assure you."

  "A man with a broken nose! By Jove, I'm looking for a party of thatdescription. A rank wrong 'un. Robbery with violence and a few otherlittle things. What sort of man was he? You saw his face only, Isuppose?"

  The constable stepped back into the paved court. A rapid twist of hishand sent a vivid beam of light dancing over ruined tenements,disheveled doorways and shattered windows.

  "A tall man," said Philip, "taller than you, for I could see his chinover the string of the curtain. He had a big face, with eyes that stuckout boldly----"

  "By the Lord, it's Jocky right enough!" cried the constable. "Now, wherecan he have got to? He's an ugly customer to tackle single-handed," headded, beneath his breath.

  "Won't you wait a bit, until I get some help?" said Philip, anxiously.

  The man appeared to debate the point. The nearest comrade was an actingsergeant, newly promoted. If he were summoned, the kudos of a smartcapture would be his by right of seniority.

  "No," announced the constable, stubbornly. "If he is here, I will handlehim myself."

  Again his lamp swept the small area of the mews and revealed no livingobject. He quickly unfastened his belt, took off his greatcoat, andreadjusted belt and lamp again.

  "Now I'm ready for him," he grinned. "Put my coat inside, boy, and standat the door yourself with the candle in your hand. If you see anything,yell out to me."

  Philip obeyed. These preparations for a deadly struggle appealed to hisvery soul, for your healthy-minded boy of fifteen has generally ceasedto be a highwayman or a pirate in imagination, and aims rather atplanting the Union Jack on a glacis bristling with hostile cannon.

  The policeman, feeling for the loose strap of his truncheon, commenced acareful survey of the mews. He had not gone five yards when there was aloud crash of broken glass. The building at the other end of the yardpossessed a coup
le of windows facing into another inclosure at the back.Obviously, the broken-nosed "Jocky," unseen himself, had observed theconstable's movements.

  Realizing that discovery was imminent, he was effecting a strategicmovement to the rear.

  The policeman instantly abandoned his cautious tactics. He ran towardthe door of the house whence the sound came. It resisted somewhat, butyielded to his shoulder. He disappeared inside. Philip, after closinghis own door, also ran to the new center of interest, shielding thecandle with one hand lest it should blow out.

  Quick as he was, he missed the first phase of a Homeric combat. Theviolent "Jocky," foiled by an unnoticed iron bar in his attempt toescape, turned like a madman on the policeman. There was no sort ofparley between them. Cursing the luck that had revealed his hidingplace, the man, an ex-convict, with the frame of a giant, sprang at hispursuer suddenly from an inner room.

  The policeman had a second's warning. It was something, but not enoughto give him an advantage. He got his truncheon out, but simultaneouslyhis assailant was on him with the ferocity of a catamount. They closedin bone-breaking endeavor, and before they were locked together for tenfearful seconds the officer of the law bitterly regretted theprofessional pride which sent him single-handed into this unequalstrife.

  For he was physically outclassed, and he knew it, and there is no moreunnerving knowledge can come to a man in such a supreme moment.Nevertheless, he was a brave man, and he fought with all the resolutionthat is born of the consciousness of justice and moral right. ButProvidence is on the side of big battalions, and "Jocky" was taller,heavier, very much more active. Moreover, liberty is as potent anincentive as law any day, and law was being steadily throttled when thepale gleam of Philip's candle lit up the confines of the ruinous hovelabout which the two men stamped and lurched and wrestled.

  At the precise moment of the boy's entrance the policeman's kneesyielded and he fell, with his remorseless antagonist uppermost. Philip,gazing at them wide-eyed, almost fell too, for his left foot rolled onthe constable's staff.

  Being fashioned of the stuff which founds empires--on the principlethat instant action is worth a century of diplomacy--he picked up thetruncheon and brought it down on "Jocky's" hard skull with such emphasisthat the convict emitted a queer sort of cough, and collapsed limply ontop of his conquered adversary.

  Then the boy was horrified. The two lay so still that he imagined bothwere dead. It is one thing to help the law, but quite another to kill aman. He did not want to be a murderer as well as a millionaire, notknowing then the qualities which go to form these varieties of the_genus homo_ are strangely alike.

  He gazed at them as in a trance, but relief came when he heard thembreathing stertorously. At last, after a pause that apparently enduredunnumbered minutes, the constable weakly rolled himself free from thebulky form of his would-be slayer, and sat up.

  He inflated his lungs vigorously. Then he managed to gasp:

  "Thank you! You've saved my life!"

  He pressed his ribs with both hands and gingerly felt his throat. Hestood up. His lamp was still alight, but a quantity of oil had run overhis tunic and trousers.

  "By Jove, boy, you are a brick," he said, and his voice was undercontrol again.

  Philip answered not a word; his eyes were glued on the prostrate form ofJocky. The policeman understood his fear, and laughed.

  "Don't you worry about him. He'll do a stretch all right. I would havegiven him a harder one than that if I got a swing at him."

  His words were quickly justified. The fallen man yowled unintelligiblyand moved. With a rapidity born of much practice the officer handcuffedhim. There must have been some sense of familiarity in the touch of thesteel bracelets, for the recipient of this delicate attention stirreduneasily.

  "You knocked him silly," grinned the policeman, "but he will get hiswits back in a minute or two. Can you bring him a drink of water? Itwon't do me any harm, either."

  Philip hurried away to comply with this request. His mind was relievednow, and with the backward swing of the mental pendulum came thereflection that the least said of his connection with the case thebetter.

  He filled a small tin at the scullery tap and ran with it to the sceneof the capture. The constable was gently shaking his prize andaddressing him by name.

  "Jocky! Jocky Mason! Pull yourself together. This way for the OldBailey!"

  "If you please," said Philip, "I would be very greatly obliged were myname not mentioned at all with reference to this affair."

  The policeman, whose senses were normal again, was instantly impressedby the boy's grand manner. His accent was that of the men of theUniversity Mission. And how many boys of his age would have struck sostraight and truly at a critical moment?

  "Well, don't you see, that will be rather difficult," was the answer."It was you who told me where he was, and the man himself knows thatwithout somebody's help I could not have arrested him. There is no needto mince matters. I have you to thank for not being laid here stiff."

  Philip said no more. To press his request implied a powerful motive.The stars in their courses must have conspired that day to supply himwith excitement.

  Mason eagerly gulped the water held to his lips. Then he tried to raisehis right hand to his head. Ah! He understood. A flood of oaths began tomeander thickly from his mouth.

  "That's better," said the constable, encouragingly. "Now, up you get!It's no use, Jocky. I won't let you kick me. You must either go quietlyor I will drag you to the street over the stones, and that will hurt."

  The man glared dully at his captor. With the apathy of his class he knewwhen he was beaten, and became submissive in demeanor. Philip, holdinghis candle aloft, marveled at his own temerity in hitting this giant,oxlike in size and strength.

  Mason wobbled his head and craned his neck awkwardly.

  "Oo gev me that crack on the nut?" he asked.

  "The roof dropped," was the jocular reply.

  "Not it. I 'ad yer dahn, Sailor. I was on yer afore ye could use yerstick. Ye was fairly bested until somebody ahted me wiv a welt on theskylight."

  "Never mind, Jocky. It'll hurt you to think just now. Come on."

  But the ex-convict became sensible of the unwonted light in the desertedhouse, and slowly turned his head until his glance rested on Philip.

  "Why!" he roared, with an imprecation, "that's the bloomin' kid 'oofound the di-monds. I seed 'im a-countin' of 'em. White stones, thepaper said, an' bits of iron, too. A trunk full of 'em. 'E 'as one in'is pocket as big as an egg."

  The policeman laughed. So did Philip, shrilly, with ready acceptance ofthe cue.

  "Come along, Jocky, you're wool-gathering. I'll get you a pint of coffeeat the station just to show there's no malice," said the constable.

  "The water was too strong for him," put in Philip.

  The ex-convict began to protest, but he wasted words in swearing. The"Sailor" grasped him by the arm and marched him down the yard, sayingover his shoulder:

  "Pull that door to. I'll come back for my coat in half an hour."

  Philip followed, but in a sea of perplexity. He heard Mason's franticexpostulations to the policeman--what was an extra stripe to the loss ofuntold wealth--that youngster was richer than Rothschild, the paperssaid--the small lot he showed in the police court were worth fiftythousand pounds--and he had tons more.

  It was all of no avail. Certainly the constable had never heard suchqueer reasons advanced for stopping an arrest, but Mason was obviouslydazed for the time--maundering about the story which everybody talkedof. He would change his tune when he learned to whom he was indebted forhis capture.

  The boy walked behind them mechanically, shading the candle with hishand. He was so absorbed with his tumultuous thoughts that the firstindication he received of anything bizarre in his appearance was thegiggling of a girl who saw him standing in the arch of the mewscarefully shielding the flickering wick.

  He blew it out. A clock in the small jeweler's shop opposite showed thetime--ten
minutes past eleven. In that part of London, a busy hive ofmen and women of the working class, he had no chance of removing hisbelongings before the policeman returned.

  What would happen if the friendly constable believed Jocky Mason'sexcited statements? True, Philip had no reason to fear the law. But withexposure might come other troubles. Would anyone advance a claim to hismeteor? Mr. Abingdon hinted at such a thing. He paid no rent for hishouse; he might be turned out instantly--refused permission to removeanything except his few unsalable household goods.

  Assuredly he was in an awkward predicament. Of course, there was achance that the policeman would continue to laugh at the convict'sfolly. If he did not, there would certainly be complications. Could heavoid them by any means? Where was there a safe hiding place for hisdiamonds until next day? Would mother inspire him again as she had notfailed to do during so many strange events? Would her spirit guide hisfootsteps across this new quicksand on whose verge he hesitated?

  A few doors to the left was O'Brien's shop. The old man crept intosight, staggering under the weight of a shutter. Good gracious! Why hadhe not thought of this ally sooner? Some precious minutes were wastedalready.

  "Arrah, Phil, phwat in the worruld----"

  "Wait just the least bit, Mr. O'Brien. I have some portmanteaux that Iwant to store for the night. Do let me put them at the back of yourshop. My place is not very safe, you know."

  "Sure, boy, that's a shmall thing to ax. Bring 'em, an' welcome."

  With the speed of a deer Philip dived into the mews. He carried the twolesser bags without extraordinary difficulty, and deposited them behindO'Brien's counter. The third was almost too much for him, as the weightwas all in one hand. But he got it there, breathless with the exertion.

  He had to open the fourth and tear out the stuffing of paper. Whenfilled with the packages taken from the fifth it was beyond his power tolift it. So he dragged it bodily along the mews and into the shop.

  A passer-by offered to help him.

  "No, thanks," he managed to say, though the effort to speak calmly tookaway his remaining breath. "I am only taking it to the shop there."

  The man glanced at the shop--it was a marine store dealer's--a placewhere lead and iron and brass found ready sale. He passed on.

  "Be the forchun uv war, Phil, where did ye get the iligant leatherthrunks, an' phwat's in them?" inquired the astonished pensioner.

  The boy bravely called a smile to his aid. "I have a big story to tellyou one of these days, Mr. O'Brien, but I have no time to-night. Thesethings will not be in your way until the morning?"

  "The divil a bit. If things go on as they are, there'll soon be roomenough in the poor ould shop. To think, afther all these years, that amurtherin' thief in the War Office----"

  Philip was safe. He rapidly helped his friend to put up the shutters,and rushed back to No. 3. Even yet he was not quite prepared foreventualities. He ran upstairs and gathered a few articles belonging tohis mother, articles he never endeavored to sell even when pinched byhunger.

  The last dress she wore, her boots, a hat, an album with photographs,some toilet accessories from the tiny dressing table, the coverlet ofthe bed on which she died--these and kindred mementoes made a verycredible bulk in the denuded portmanteau.

  He gave one glance at the hole in the back yard as he went to the coalhouse for a fresh supply of coal. That must remain. It probably wouldnot be seen. In any case it remained inexplicable.

  He was stirring the fire when a tap sounded on the door and thepoliceman entered, followed by an inspector.