The Diamond Coterie

"Ah! this phial is one of a set."

Doctor Heath nods. "So I thought," he says, glancing at Constance.

Once more, and in silence, the detective examines the safe, then he goes quietly about the room not overturning or handling, simply observing closely; then he says:

"Now, I think I am done here. We will go down, if you please, and I will give you the benefit of my conjectures." He puts the bottle and the piece of linen in his pocket, and turns from the room. Instinctively he takes the lead, instinctively they follow, naturally according him the leadership.

When they are once more seated, he turns to Constance.

"They gave you a very light dose of chloroform, Miss Wardour."

"Very light," she replies; "and that was most fortunate for me."

"How fortunate?"

"Allow me to explain," interrupts Doctor Heath. "Miss Wardour possesses one of those peculiar constitutions upon which all opiates act with disastrous effect. It is fortunate that a cautious hand,—I was about to say a skilled hand,—administered the drug. I could swear that not the half of an ordinary dose was given her, for a full dose would have prostrated her for days; and the quantity it would require to make you or me sleep soundly for half the night, would kill her outright."

"Ah!" says the detective, softly, to himself. "Ah-h-h!"

"Now I wonder;" it is Mrs. Aliston who speaks. "I wonder how in the world you knew that they had given my niece only a small dose."

"Very easily, madame. The phial is very small, and it is now over two-thirds full."

"That, indeed!" murmurs Mrs. Aliston, feeling somehow extinguished, while the others smile at his simple explanation.

"And now," says the detective, "for my deductions. First, then, the robbers did not enter these grounds last night for the first time. They did not enter the library at random, or because that window could be easily forced. They, whoever they were, knew their grounds, not only from without, but from within. The disturbance in the library is only a ruse,—the robbers wanted nothing, knew they should find nothing, there. They were not amateurs; yet, somehow, in this case, they bungled somewhat in their work. Before they approached this house, every thing was planned, and all was done as planned. They were systematic, therefore successful; and yet—they bungled. They came by the river,—came in a boat, with oars muffled; they came by the footpath over the river slope, and entered your garden by leaping the fence just below the gate, which was locked. Then they followed the footpaths through the shrubbery, and straight to that library window. They came there because they knew it to be the library window, and they wished to cross the library because they knew that from the door of that room they stepped at once upon the stairs, thus having the nearest, easiest and safest route to Miss Wardour's rooms. Either they found her door unlocked, or they were prepared with skeleton keys. Was the door locked, Miss Wardour?"

"It was locked."

"It was locked. They then used a skeleton key, entered, and knowing just the proportion of chloroform Miss Wardour could bear, they administered it carefully, secured the booty without further trouble, and made their escape without detection."

No remarks from his listeners. They sit amazed, incredulous, admiring, yet speechless.

"Now, I see I had better prove my statements," goes on Mr. Bathurst, looking from one to another with a smile of easy superiority. "Miss Wardour is beginning to think that I do belong to the godmother species, and yet, it's all very simple."

"No doubt," retorts Doctor Heath, drily; "yet we are willing to endure your simple explanation."

"I say the robbers came by the river," continues the detective. "Before sundown I sauntered along the river bank; to-morrow I can show you traces, indistinct but sufficient, to prove that a boat has been drawn out of the water, and overturned upon the grass; keel, prow and oar-locks have left their traces. There is also the print of a clubbed and muffled oar, above the water mark, where an impatient hand has pushed off the boat. Here is blunder number one. All these traces might have been avoided or obliterated."

He pauses a moment, but his listeners sit, a very respectful audience, and are inclined neither to question or argue. So he continues:

"I said that the robbers entered purposely at that particular window, and because they were familiar with the interior of the house. Now I have examined all of the windows of this floor, and I find that a person unfamiliar with the inside of the building, and not aware which of the upper rooms were occupied, would have chosen differently. The dining-room windows, from without, would seem much more inviting; still more, the drawing-room windows. Naturally, our burglars would select a window which was tolerably easy of access, and where they knew there was the least chance of being overheard and observed from above. Now, the dining-room windows are close to the ground, and the awnings cut off all chance for observation from above; but—they knew that Miss Wardour's coachman sleeps in a small room just in the rear of the dining-room."

This was too much for Mrs. Aliston.

"Now, how did you find that out?" she asks, with staring eyes.

"From my friend, the gardener," he replies. "Oh, I am quite familiar with things about here. The very best place for a burglar to operate would be these windows," motioning toward the front of the drawing room; "he could stand in comfort on the lower balcony, screened by the upper, and cut away at shutters and panes; but, our burglars knew that Miss Wardour's rooms were directly above, and that Miss Wardour is a light sleeper. Now, the very place that would be shunned by an unfamiliar robber, is this very library window; it is higher than the others, has a little thicket of shrubs just beneath it, and is overlooked from above, being near an angle, by six windows. But our burglars knew that not one of those rooms to which the six windows belong, are occupied; and that the servants all sleep on the opposite side of the house. Now, then, I say that the robbers knew Miss Wardour's sensitiveness to the effects of chloroform; how else can we account for the fact of their giving just enough to cause her to sleep, and not enough to cause any unpleasant after effects. We can call it a coincidence, but it is one not likely to happen; Doctor Heath knows that."

"True," responds Doctor Heath; "in a matter of this sort one would hardly be likely to make so fortunate a blunder, or guess."

The detective pauses a moment, and then concludes: "My reasons for saying that the robbers entered the garden by leaping the low fence just below the gate, are, first, that gate creaks loudly when opened or shut, and they knew this, and therefore avoided it; and, second, one of them, the heavier of the two, came over with sufficient force to leave the imprint of his right boot heel in the ground. It was the right heel, because the deepest side of the indentation is to the right, and he would naturally strike the ground with the weight resting on the outside of the foot; and here, my friends, as the lawyers have it, I rest my case."

"And a very clear case it looks," says Doctor Heath.

"How easily and naturally you come at these things," exclaims Constance, in admiration. "It is a, b, c, to you, but it's awful Greek to the rest of us. I begin to think detectives are born, not made."

"You think right, Miss Wardour," replies Bathurst. "It is the made detectives who spoil and disgrace our profession."

"But," says Constance, with a look of anxiety upon her face; "I am sorry to have it proved that this thing was done by some of our people. I am reluctant to institute a search that may implicate some poor man whose wife and children may live in our very town."

The detective laughs softly.

"There it is," he exclaims. "An amateur must always judge by what appears uppermost. We detectives, as a rule, always distrust the most plausible theory. Now look, a skilled burglar is a man of many resources; a burglar studies his business as I study mine. You have no idea how much misapplied talent goes roaming about of nights with a jimmy and a dark lantern. Now let us suppose this case. A professional burglar in the course of his wanderings, hears, as would be quite natural, of the immense value of the Wardour diamonds, and he desires to possess them. Now it's a great prize, and he goes to work with his utmost care. He has confederates; they come, one or all, and manage to gain the necessary information; they may come as tramps, pedlars, what not; a talkative servant, a gossiping neighbor, like Mrs. Malloy, or fragments of information picked up here and there may help them to get the 'lay of the land;' they may even have entered the house, probably have, and it may have been last month, or last year; our burglar nourishes his job and studies it carefully. Finally he is ready; he strikes; he succeeds. I do not say this is the case, understand; I simply put it as a thing possible; and quite as probable as that the thieves are here in W——."

Constance muses; she is thinking of various other depredations committed in and about W——; and, as once before she recounted them to Doctor Heath, she enumerates them now, and closes by saying:

"Your burglars keep a sharp eye on us, at all events, Mr. Bathurst."

"Naturally," assents the detective; "W—— is a capital field for that sort of chap. It's a little mine of itself, and will always receive due attention from the law breakers. By the by, Miss Wardour, these facts you mention are worth noting; after considering, I think I will remain in W—— during to-morrow. I want to explore about the river, and about this place, a little more. If I may see you to-morrow I would like your version of these other older robberies. I keep a record of every crime reported, and, no doubt, have each of these upon my register, but not as I would receive them from you. I do not wish to be seen or known, as acting in this matter; your friend will be here to-morrow, or Monday, and the officer he has chosen should be on the ground before to-morrow morning. No doubt he will be all that you wish for, and my duties will call me elsewhere very soon."

Then they all rise, and standing in a group begin talking. They so much regret that they can not retain his services, and they are very grateful to him for so much light as he has thrown upon the subject of the robbery.

"But wait," he says, "you are to bear in mind that you have no light; you are in total darkness and ignorance; to-morrow you will have a new officer, he may evolve a totally different theory. Then discard mine, or not, as you think fit; in any case, let it be kept exclusively to your three selves, for I am very likely to make a second appearance here. I think that these burglars of yours are the chaps I am wanting. And, Miss Wardour, this reminds me," drawing from his pocket the chloroform vial wrapped in its accompanying linen bit, "may I keep this until morning? I will return it to you by Doctor Heath, and, if your officer is not too much in the way, will try and see you in person, if you will kindly give me what facts you can recall concerning those robberies."

Constance expresses a hope that the officer will not be in the way, and after they have talked a little more, the detective repeating his cautions, Constance repeating her regret that he is not to take the case, as her case; and Mrs. Aliston repeating everything that comes into her head, they separate, and the two men, looking so oddly unlike, go out into the night.

Mrs. Aliston is ready to talk, but Constance is in no mood to listen. She cuts short her aunt's elocution, and goes with listless weariness to her own apartments.

Since the appearance of the detective, a shade of perplexity rested on her face, and over and again her thoughts have repeated the question which now falls from her lips.

"What does it mean? I am not mistaken; he said, 'here, I am Doctor Heath from nowhere.' I begin to think that life is a mystery."

For Miss Wardour, hesitating a moment as she passed in from the balcony, had caught the words uttered for the ears of the detective only.

DOCTOR HEATH AT HOME.

Doctor Heath and the detective went in silence down the wide shrub-bordered walk, to the spot where the doctor's horse awaited him. Here the detective paused suddenly and listened a moment.

"We should not be seen together," he said in a low tone. "Do you mount your horse and ride on slowly, I will follow."

"But——"

"No buts; I can follow you, never fear; that's my business; do you go straight home and prepare to admit me on the quiet. Stay—have you any gelatine?"

"No."

"Any plaster of Paris?"

"No."

"Any wax?"

"Only a small quantity."

"Too bad; I must have some. There will be a drug store open?"

"At this hour? oh, yes."

"Then get me some, half a pound at least. Now move on, I hear a horse coming down the road."

"Some farmer going home. Well, I'm off, then."

"And so am I."

Half an hour later Doctor Heath was standing in his open doorway, wondering what had become of the detective, when a light touch upon his shoulder caused him to start suddenly, and turning, he saw the man for whom he watched, standing behind him, and within the dimly-lighted hall.

"Are we alone?" whispered the detective; "is the coast clear?"

"Are we alone?"

"Quite clear; but how the mischief did you get in there, man?"

"Through the door," replied Bathurst, as he followed his host into a cozy parlor, where a shaded lamp burned. "You are not a good sentinel; why, I all but brushed you; have you no sense of feeling, then; why, man, I can recognize a near presence in the darkest room."

"Now that I think of it," retorts the doctor, maliciously, "I did feel a queer sensation in the ends of my thumbs. Make yourself at home now; take that chair," rolling a comfortable-looking monster close to the round table; "there are segars and—why—I say man, have you eaten any thing since you started on this chase?"

"Now you mention it, I distinctly recollect, that I have not."

"Of course not; I will wake up Mrs. Gray."

"Pray don't; I couldn't think of eating Mrs. Gray."

"Nonsense!" laughs his host; "Mrs. Gray is my housekeeper, and she is deaf as a post."

"Well, that's a comfort, the deafness. Is she dumb, too?"

"Unfortunately, no; but as I have not been home to dine, she will think she is preparing my supper, and I will tell her you are a patient come to be treated, and that I am going to give you a bed; here," tossing something which he finds upon a bookcase, across to his guest, "tie your face up in that rag, before she comes in. She will not give you a second glance; she never troubles her head about my patients."

So saying, he goes out, and the detective proceeds to spread out the "rag," to prepare his bandage. Suddenly he starts; scrutinizes closer, turns it about, and looks again, then——

"Ah!" says Mr. Bathurst; "Oh! really!"

And he folds up his bandage, and puts it in one pocket, whips a clean pocket handkerchief from another, and substituting it for the "rag," awaits the coming of his host.

"Very comfortable quarters," he muttered, looking about him, "Luxurious too; quite so. Our doctor has not forgotten how people ought to live."

The doctor's "quarters" were all that he described them. Luxurious, comfortable; and luxury and comfort do not always go hand in hand; tasteful, too. Nothing too much; nothing lacking—just the beau-ideal of a bachelor's parlor. Warm browns brightening here and there into bronze. Books, a great many and of the best. Pictures, a very few, and all rare and beautiful. Bronzes and statuettes in plenty. Bric-a-bric, not any, for no fair and foolish woman has trailed her skirts through these apartments, leaving traces of her presence in the shape of those small and costly abominations, yclept "ceramics."

Presently Doctor Heath reappears, and not long after, Mrs. Gray bears in a heaped-up tray of edibles. Then Doctor Heath sets forth brandy and wine, and informs Mrs. Gray, through the medium of his ten fingers, that she is dismissed for the night.

When she has retired the detective unties his face, and falls upon the food spread before him, as a hungry man will. While he eats he talks a little, just a random remark now and then, and his host sits opposite him, answering his infrequent questions and observations, and thinking.

In past days, and under very different circumstances, these two men have met and known each other, and Doctor Clifford Heath is wondering how much of his story it will be necessary to tell, in order to explain his present position, which, he knows, must seem a most strange one to his former acquaintance; for Doctor Clifford Heath, like most of us who have not passed a vegetable existence, has a history, and a past.

Of that fact, however, Mr. Bathurst seems quite oblivious, as he washes down his repast with a glass of brandy and water, and pushes back his chair from the table.

"Now, then," he begins, with his usual brisk business manner, "I'm rested and refreshed, and all ready for that white wax, if you please, Doctor Heath."

"I'm quite curious about that wax," says the doctor, rising. "Just let me draw away this table and bring up another, it's the easiest way of disposing of the dinner things, and will furnish Mrs. Gray with food for comfortable comment; she takes all such opportunities to disparage 'men's ways,' and as she seems to enjoy them, I make it a point to afford her as many as possible," making the proposed change as he talks. "Now, then, there's a table and there's your wax."

"Now something to melt it in and over; I'm going to take an impression."

There is a little difficulty about getting the necessary articles together, but after a while they are all there, and the wax is simmering in the melting cup. Then the detective takes from his pocket the borrowed bottle of chloroform, and asks for an empty vial. This being given him he pours out the chloroform carefully, and wipes the emptied bottle.

"It's a pity I can't keep this bottle just as it is," he says, eyeing the cut-glass stopper regretfully, "but it must be returned, of course; and I must do the next best. What's your notion of the original use of that little gimcrack?"

He reaches out the bottle and the doctor takes it in his hand saying: "Why, it's from one of those dainty toilet cases used by ladies principally; there will be a set, uniform in size, that are filled with perfumes of various sorts, and larger bottles, of the same pattern, for goodness knows what use. I have seen the kind, but not the pattern."

"Well," says the detective, slowly, "I think that I have seen the pattern; but where? However," dipping a stick into the melting wax, "I shall find out, and before very long."

"I wonder," says Doctor Heath, stretching out his hand for a fresh segar, "at the fellows leaving such a testimonial as that behind them. What's your theory?"

"I have expected that question from both yourself and Miss Wardour. I am glad she did not ask me."

"Why?"

The detective takes a spoon and dips up his wax, letting it drip from the spoon, drop by drop. It is ready for use, and, without seeming aware of the doctor's presence, he busies himself with his impression taking—seeing which, Doctor Heath smokes on, and is silent.

Finally, his mould is set to cool, and the detective resumes his seat; and, quite ignoring that long neglected monosyllable of inquiry, uttered by his host, begins:

"When the burglars, for, no doubt, there were two of them, entered Miss Wardour's dressing room, they carried one dark lantern. This, one of them took, and crept with it into the sleeping room; here, he was, for a moment, troubled. He had prepared himself with the chloroform, but must use his own handkerchief, and that is marked."

"Oh! a burglar with marked linen!"

"Even so. It's nothing unusual. You reason like a reader of too many novels. Burglars are not all escaped convicts, blear eyed and hideous; nor do they all go about in fustian. It's the burglar in broadcloth that makes us the trouble. Fustian starves, and steals, and is soon found out; runs away with its booty, as a dog runs away with its bone. Broadcloth is wiser, just as a skilled workman is wiser than a hod carrier. It brings to its service tact, study,—who knows what, of scientific skill? It looks before it leaps; it plans before it executes; and it covers up all traces of its progress, or else leaves a network of false clues and misleading evidences. Bah! if we had only fustian to deal with, it would not be worth while to be a detective."

"Granted," says the doctor, drumming impatiently upon the table, with the fingers of his strong, white, right hand. "We have to deal with a broadcloth burglar, who marks his linen, and, perhaps, perfumes it. Was it perfumed? I forgot."

"It was not perfumed. I wish it had been. Yes, ours is a broadcloth burglar. When he approached Miss Wardour's bedside, he produced from a convenient pocket, his stupefying drug; and then he looked about for something with which to apply it, and at the same time, no doubt, he berates himself for omitting to provide himself with a plain, small napkin, or piece of linen. There was nothing at hand that was not too large for his purpose, and too coarse, for he understood the delicacy of his undertaking. So, he produced his pocket handkerchief, which, as I said before, was marked; he tears off the half bearing the name, but, in his haste, does not observe that he has left evidence that the name was there. He then saturated the linen, and set the bottle upon the night stand, leaving his two hands free to apply his drug with utmost care. Then he pauses for a moment, to note the effect of his application, or to gaze upon the fair sleeper. And then comes a sound from the outer room, an impatient call, the click of steel implements, no matter what,—he snatches up the dark lantern and, forgetting the bottle, goes out to his comrade."

"You believe there were two?"

"Yes; there were two. These affairs are seldom operated by one man."

"You said this evening that they had blundered. It seems to me that they made a very neat job of the affair."

"They did blunder. It does look like a neat job to a non-professional, but they have left several flaws in their work. They felt very confident of future safety, I am sure, for they were shrewd fellows; that's established in my mind. There's a something about this case that puzzles me, and some queer ideas are drifting through my head, but for the present I shall keep them there. About those blunders now. That boat business was the first. There's plain proof; then look at the manner in which they stirred up the library. Why, man, didn't you reflect that those heavy chairs never could have been overturned by a hasty careless hand, without coming down with a loud bang? and there are three of them, all thrown down in different positions; every one of them was lowered slowly, carefully. Why, look at that pile of books upon the floor! do you imagine they were ever tossed down from their shelves, as they appear to have been, without striking upon the floor or each other, with a thud? I can see the whole operation; one man held the lantern while the other disarranged the room. But they did not do it well. That much of the business looks like the work of an amateur. Perhaps you wonder why I did not speak of this to Miss Wardour. I said enough to convince her that I had studied the matter; I did not wish to exhaust the subject, that is the business of the man who is to come. And now I think I will remove my cast, and then, my dear fellow, I am quite ready to retire, for I feel the need of all the sleep I can get between now and sunrise."

"Shocking confession," laughs the doctor, lazily. "Let me tell you it's highly improper for a detective to get sleepy, or hungry, or tired; they never do it in print."

"Which should convince you that they always do out of it. Detectives, my dear sir, are like doctors, their success depends upon the people's faith in them, not on their own merits. Now I know that you can't see through the anatomy of old Mrs. Grundy, and tell what she had for dinner, unless, to be sure, she had been eating onions; but if Mrs. Grundy doubted for a moment your ability to don your professional spectacles and peer into the innermost depths of her disordered old being, she would write another name than yours on her books, as favorite physician."

"Guide, philosopher and friend," quotes the doctor, composedly. "Let Mrs. Grundy alone, will you, she is one of my best customers."

"She is not one of my worst, but the world is not quite filled up with Mrs. Grundys, else our fortunes were soon made; for instance, up at Wardour Place to-night, that seraphic old lady was prepared to receive all my statements, as Mrs. G—— takes your pills, on faith. But the young lady; oh, no! she has too much head for a woman."

"Why, for a woman?"

"Not got scope enough. 'Woman's kingdom' too small for her; too much top to her head; brow too broad; eyes too full; won't believe a thing is true, because you say it is true; got to convince her reason. Such people make chaps like you and me lots of bother; won't take us for granted."

"Granted we wish them to."

"Bah! Of course we wish them to! everybody wants to be taken on trust; but there, we can waive this discussion; Miss Wardour will find occupation for that head of hers for a time at least. My head must rest."

"I should think so; you are as full of whimsies as ever, when off duty, and since to-night I accept you as a detective, a la 'Mrs. Grundy,' just follow me now, Sir Tramp. By the way, how will you get out of here in the morning?"

"Leave that to me. By the way, don't disturb my wax work. I will leave the bottle and linen; do you restore them to Miss Wardour to-morrow at the earliest hour possible to a caller. I shall present myself in my own time and way, governed, of course, by circumstances, and it is probable that you will not see me again for some time. Therefore let me say, thanks for your hospitality. Call on me when you want a service, and good night."

So saying he vanishes into an inner room, the door of which the doctor has just now thrown invitingly open. As the door closes quickly, and in his very face, Clifford Heath stares blankly at it, and for a moment stands so, looking half bewildered.

Finally a look of amusement crosses his face, and he returns slowly to his seat beside the table, slowly selects a segar, and slowly lights it.

"There's a queer customer," muses he, as he settles himself for a comfortable meditation. "He can go to sleep in the very teeth of mystery, and wake up, clear headed, in a fog. Now I can't sleep, and I've been awake longer than my allotted time, too. Shades of my ancestors! What a day! And, oh, my prophetic soul, what will it bring forth? Well, Doctor Clifford Heath, as Doctor Clifford Heath, what is it to you? You have been honored by the confidence of Constance Wardour, what then? There was no one else in whom she could confide; may she not honor your judgment without coveting your adoration. Bah! the very fact that she confides in you proves that she cares nothing for you. However, she has a heart for somebody; that is proved by her agitation upon hearing the story, and reading the letter telling of poor Sybil Lamotte's misery. For undoubtedly in some manner she has been made a victim; can it be that wretched Evan? His agitation to-day bore the look of remorse, and God knows where dissipation will not lead a man. I know something of that, too." Here he frowns darkly, and sits for a long time looking the incarnation of resentment and defiance.

"Bah!" he mutters presently, "what a blot upon the record of a proud family! A father who is a philanthropist and public benefactor; a mother who is 'une dame sans reproche;' a brother against whom I can bring no charge save that he is my rival; a sister, beautiful and good and accomplished, but that beauty, goodness, culture, are all shipwrecked; how could either live in the same atmosphere with John Burrill, as I have heard him described. Evan Lamotte is a black sheep; I should take it Burrill must be a black dog, or worse, and sheep and dog are owned by the same family. After all, what is race? a fig for pedigree. It's the deed that tells. Here in the next room I have a man who claims to be nobody. Nothing is said or known about his blood; a great deal is said and known about his brain, favorably said, too, and honorably known. He is a detective, and as such, dead to the blue book; it's his business to hunt men down, to pry into secret places, to unmask villainies, and drag to light shameful family secrets; and, for the second time, he has stumbled upon a secret of mine, and treated it most generously.

"To-night I say to him, 'know me only as Doctor Heath, from nowhere.' Another man would have asked for an explanation, when the opportunity came; but not he. He sits with me, sups with me, sleeps under my roof, and makes no sign that he ever knew me save as I now am. He treats me as a man worthy his confidence, yet asks none of mine. That's what I call splendid behavior; that's a man worthy to be called a gentleman. I wonder;" here his countenance darkens, and his eyes look gloomy. "I wonder what this honorable officer would say if he knew what I did to-night? if he knew, say I! does he not know? how can I tell? he is sharp, a lynx; and heaven only knows what mad impulse prompted me to do a mean thing. Bah!" rising and stretching himself; "we are all fools or knaves, or both; when a beautiful woman has dethroned reason and common sense, and sways us body and soul. I wonder what Constance Wardour would say if she knew? A keen witted detective takes me on trust; will she do the same?"

There is little of the look of a despairing swain on his face, as he concludes his soliloquy, and goes out to see that the outer door is secure, before retiring. A trifle pale, a trifle bored, a trifle cynical, and a trifle sleepy he looks. He also looks, for a man who has just been indulging in a fit of severe self-depreciation, exceedingly confident and full of faith in himself. And why not? Let that man despair who has lost confidence in his own ability to wrest favors from the fingers of Fate or Fortune. Despair is not for the brave.

A FALLING OUT.

Constance Wardour arose early on Sunday morning. In spite of youth, health, and her splendid self-poise, she had slept but little; and such slumber as had visited her eyelids, had been haunted by hideous dreams, in which detectives and burglars mixed their identity in the most remarkable manner; and through all, more vivid than all, shone the face of Sybil Lamotte, always agonized, always appealing, always surrounded by dark shadows, and always seeming menaced, terrified, helpless. Such nights of tormented slumber, and uneasy wakefulness, were new to the mistress of Wardour; and now, while the dew was yet on the grass and flowers, she was promenading her pretty rose garden, where the sun shone full, looking a trifle paler than was usual to her, and somewhat dissatisfied.

Mrs. Aliston was still snugly ensconced in her bed, for she never rose early, and always retired late, her motto being, "Mrs. Aliston first, the world afterward." That lady of portly dimensions had her peculiar theory of life. To eat the best food obtainable, and a great deal of it; to wear the heaviest silks, and the softest cashmeres; and to sleep in the downiest of beds; these were to her the necessities of life. That the food was provided from the larder of her niece; that the silks and cashmeres were gracious gifts, and that the downy couch cost her nothing, mattered little; her niece needed her, she needed her niece; ergo, her niece sought in every way possible to render her happy and comfortable; and she, in return for her comfort and happiness, was a model duenna; never questioning, never criticising, humoring all that young lady's whims, yet retaining that free, hearty out-spokenness, that made her seem not in the least a dependent, and which was, as Mrs. Aliston well knew, most pleasing to the heiress.

Altogether, they were a pair of very sensible women. Mrs. Aliston ate when she liked, and slept when she liked; Miss Wardour did what she liked, and both were satisfied.

While Miss Wardour was promenading her garden, and Mrs. Aliston was comfortably sleeping, two men were approaching each other on the sandy road that ran from the town past Wardour Place.

The one coming from townward was our detective tramp, looking all that a tramp should be.

The other, approaching from the opposite direction, was a sleek, respectable looking, middle aged man, who might have been some small farmer dressed in his Sunday clothes, which fitted him none too well.

Almost opposite the gates of Wardour Place they met and passed each other, the tramp saluting respectfully, the other responding with a stolid stare.

A little further on the tramp turned slowly and looked back. The farmer-looking individual had entered the grounds of Wardour Place, and was hurrying straight on toward the entrance, looking neither to the right nor left.

The tramp turned and looked back.

"So!" muttered the tramp, with the air of a man who would have been astonished then, but for the fact that he never allowed anything to astonish him. "So he is mixing himself up in this affair! I wonder in what capacity? Can it be that by some means he has been selected to work up this case? Oh! oh! Bless my soul! What a coincidence that would be!"

Evidently he had grasped at a new idea, and one that was somewhat startling. He quickened his pace until, unconsciously, it became almost a trot. The mask of studied vacancy dropped from his face, leaving it alert, keen, analytical. His mind had grasped at a problem, and he was studying it with knitted brow and compressed mouth, as he hurried on countryward, not heeding anything save the thought which possessed him.

It was Sunday morning, too early for church goers, and too late for cow boys. So he met no one on his hurried march, and when at last he began to moderate his pace, he was a full mile from Wardour Place. As his walk grew slower his face relaxed, and gradually resumed its mask of careless stupidity.

Finally he paused, looked about him, laughed a short half laugh, and crossing the road, vaulted a high-wired fence, with the ease of a harlequin, and took his way across a meadow toward the river.

"Tra-la, tra-la-la-la-la," chirped he, softly and contentedly. "What a pretty kettle of fish. How I should love to sit down right beside it and see it boil, stir it occasionally; instead, I must go far away, and meantime, who knows, the kettle may boil over. But I hope not,—I trust not. I will try and prevent it; and, to do that, I must drop a little shell before I go. I must bind Miss Wardour over to my aid. I must show her that it is wise to trust me. I must have a confidante here, and there are only two to choose from. Doctor Heath, 'from nowhere,' and this clear-eyed lady. I choose her; for, with all due regard for my friend, the doctor, and all due faith in the propriety of his motives, I must know why he throws that bit of circumstantial evidence in my way, before I show him any part of my hand. Why Doctor Heath is here, is none of my business, strange as his presence and present occupation seem to me. Why he is mixing himself up in the affair of Miss Wardour's diamonds, however, is my business, just now. But, first of all, to know how much or little Jerry Belknap knows of this affair, and of these people, and whether he is at his old crookedness once more. Now, here is the river; here the footpath. I must see the mistress of Wardour Place, and at once; so, en avant."

And he struck into the river footpath, and strode rapidly along toward Wardour Place, whistling softly as he went. Meantime, Constance Wardour, pacing the walks of her garden, with her brows wrinkled into a frown, was interrupted by her housemaid.

"If you please, miss, there's a man in the front hall, that's wanting to see you, and says I am to tell you it's important that his business is."

Constance made a slight gesture of impatience; she had been thinking of Sybil Lamotte, to the exclusion of all other subjects, and this message brought her suddenly back to her own affairs.

"Important!" she muttered to herself. "Then it must be—the other one. Nelly," raising her voice, "what is this man like?"

"Like, miss?" inquiringly.

"Yes. How does he look?"

"Oh! Well, it's very ugly he looks, to my notion."

"Does he look like a gentleman, Nelly?"

"Oh, murther! no."

"Like a tramp, then?"

"No; his clothes is too new."

"Well, Nelly, I will go and see him," said Constance, beginning to despair of finding out whether this visitor were the tramp of the night previous, or the new actor expected on the scene. "You know I never allow you to turn a tramp away hungry, and if one comes who seems worthy of help, I wish you always to let me know it."

This she said, thinking of the manner in which it was probable the detective tramp would seek access to her presence.

"By the way, Nelly," pausing with one foot on the steps of the dining-room terrace. "You may wake Mrs. Aliston and tell her that if I wish her to join me in the little parlor I will send you to her," then sotto voce, as she entered the house and went carelessly toward the drawing-room: "If this visitor proves a bore I will turn him over to Aunt Honor; I can't have two days of constant boredom."

Coming forward from the lower entrance, Constance encountered the gaze of the strange man, whom, arriving at the front door, Nelly had not ventured to set down as a tramp, and whose clothes made her doubt the propriety of showing him the drawing-room. Being of Hibernian extraction, and not to be nonplussed, Nelly had adapted a happy medium, and seated the visitor in the largest hall chair, where he now awaited the approach of Constance.

"I think you wished to see me," said Constance, in the unaffected kindly tone usual to her when addressing strangers or inferiors, "I am Miss Wardour."

The stranger arose, making a stiff salute, and saying in a low, guarded tone:

"Yes, Miss Wardour, I have a message for you;" at the same moment he presented her a card, and glanced in a suggestive manner toward Nelly, who was traveling up the stairs in a very leisurely manner, en route for Mrs. Aliston's rooms.

Constance glanced at the card which bore the inscription,

"Come this way," she said, throwing open the drawing-room door and preceding him into that apartment.

Jerry Belknap, private detective, followed close behind her, and himself closed the door carefully. Constance crossed the room, drew back the curtains, and pushed open the shutters of the terrace windows, thus letting in a flood of light. Then turning, she seated herself upon a fauteuil, and, motioning the detective to a chair opposite, said:

"Now, sir, I am ready to receive your message."

"It's a verbal one," returned the detective, in a voice soft and smooth, not at all in keeping with his disguise, "and from Mr. Lamotte. I am the officer chosen by him to investigate for you, Miss Wardour, and as much time has been lost, I only wait your sanction and acceptance to begin the work."

The soft voice and polished accent were in very marked contrast to his dress and facial appearance. His manner of boorish discomfort had been dropped when the door closed upon outside observation.

Mentally contrasting the ease and suavity of this new comer with the cat-like movements and brusqueness of his predecessor, Constance, who began to realize the ludicrousness of the situation, in fact seemed to have some special private reason for finding it exceedingly absurd, replied that Mr. Lamotte's chosen officer must of course be acceptable to her, and that she only awaited his commands, if she could be of any service to him.

"Then," said Detective Belknap, "I may as well look over the premises, unless," turning upon her a searching look, "there are particulars concerning the robbery which Mr. Lamotte was not in possession of."

Constance lowered her eyes, in seeming effort to remember if Mr. Lamotte knew absolutely all; she thought of the chloroform, but the bottle had not yet been returned to her. What should she do? Before telling this part of the story she must have the bottle. Suddenly her woman's wit came to her aid. Looking up with sweetest candor into the detective's face, she said,

"I am the only one who possesses any information that was not known to Mr. Lamotte. It is a mere trifle, but as it will take some time in the telling, I will, if you please, order breakfast. You can scarcely have breakfasted at this hour. I will show you the library now. Will you look over that and the other rooms, and kindly excuse me for a short time? Then join me at breakfast, and I will give you my version of the story."

She arose as if considering the matter decided beyond question, and moved toward the door, and with a bow and a murmur of assent, Mr. Jerry Belknap fell into his assumed shamble, and followed her to the library. Leaving him there, Constance went out to order breakfast served in half an hour, and to send Nelly with the key to her dressing room.

"Nelly must be taken into my confidence," mused she, as she went in search of that damsel. "I can trust Nelly in spite of her Irishries, and if Doctor Heath does not appear soon she must help me out in some way."

Nelly was not at her post, having been dispatched kitchenward by Mrs. Aliston, and Constance went up to her own rooms, thinking, as she went, how best to defer a further interview with Mr. Belknap.

"I must take him the key myself," she muttered, as she moved about the dressing room, and then a sudden thought came, and she moved quickly to an open wardrobe, pulled down the dress she had worn on the previous afternoon, and searched hurriedly in the pockets.

All at once a look of dismay overspread her features; again and again she shook out the silken folds, again thrust her hands in the dainty pockets, and fluttered her fingers among the intricacies of the trimming. The thing she searched for was gone. Sybil Lamotte's strange letter, the letter that was a trust not to be violated, was not to be found.

Thoroughly distressed now, Constance renewed her search—about the room—everywhere—in the most impossible places; but no letter.

Down stairs she went; and hopeless as was the chance of finding it there, hunted in the drawing room and on the terrace.

She distinctly remembered placing it in her pocket, after receiving it back from the hands of Doctor Heath; of bestowing it very carefully, too.

Who had been in the drawing room since Doctor Heath? Mrs. Aliston; the two detectives; herself. Who had seen her put the letter in her pocket? Only Doctor Heath. Could it have dropped from her pocket? That seemed impossible. Could he have removed it? That seemed impossible, too, and very absurd. But what could she think, else? Then, she remembered what he had said to the detective the night before, and all the mystery surrounding his past. Hitherto, she had scoffed at the prying ones, and advocated his perfect right to his own past and future, too. Now, she felt her ignorance of aught concerning the life of Doctor Clifford Heath, to be a deep personal injury. Hitherto, she had reasoned that his past was something very simple, a commonplace of study, perhaps, and self-building; for she, being an admirer of self-made men, had chosen to believe him one of them. Now, she bounded straight to the conclusion that Doctor Heath had a past—to conceal; and then she found herself growing very angry, with him first, and herself afterward.

Why had he not presented his passports before seeking her favor? How had he dared to make himself so much at home in her drawing room, with his impertinent insouciance and his Sultan airs? How had he gone about, indifferent, independent, ignoring when he pleased, courting no one's favor, and yet, be—nobody knew who.

And what a fool she had been, trusting him with her personal secrets; putting her private letters into his hands. How he must be laughing at her in his sleeve! Exasperating thought. Worse than all else, to be laughed at. What worse calamity can befall poor, arrogant human nature?

Constance was now thoroughly angry, and, "by the same token," thoroughly unreasonable. It is highly objectionable in a heroine; but Constance, as we have said before, is a very human heroine. And, dear reader, however sensible you be, if you have ever been in just the state of mind in which Constance Wardour found herself that morning, and most of us have, I promise you, you were not one whit more reasonable; not one whit less capable of being aggressive, unreasonable, and generally disagreeable.

And now, the perverse imp who goes about, concocting horrible practical jokes, and stirring up contretemps, seemed to take possession of the field; for, just at the moment when he should have been at least five miles away, Doctor Heath, unannounced, appeared at the drawing-room door,—smiling, too, looking provokingly sure of a welcome, and handsomer than usual.

Miss Wardour's self-possession was as instant as her indignation.

"Good morning, Doctor Heath," frigidly. "I am sorry you found it necessary to admit yourself in this manner. I suppose my servants are neglectful."

"Not at all," replied he, discovering that she was out of humor, but not divining the cause. "Your housemaid admitted me, and thinking you in your own room, was about to usher me in here, and go to announce me, when I saved her the trouble, telling her that my time was limited, and admitting myself; had I known you were here, I should not have intruded without permission;" then perceiving that her face retained its frigidity, his voice took on a shade of haughtiness as he laid a packet upon the table, saying: "I have brought back your 'proofs;' Mr. Bathurst wished me to say, if I chanced to see you first, that is," hesitating.

"I have not seen Mr. Bathurst."

"No!" Doctor Heath seemed to be somewhat affected by the chill of the atmosphere. "Then I am to say that he has something for your private ear, and that when he comes, he begs that you will contrive in some way to see him, whether your other officer is here or no."

A grave bow from Lapland. Then,

"Officer Belknap is here, and in the library. I presume," consulting her watch, "he is waiting for me at this moment."

Doctor Heath had been standing a few feet from her, hat in hand; now, and in spite of this implied dismissal, he coolly deposited his hat upon the table beside Miss Wardour's package, and advanced nearer to that young lady, speaking calmly, gently even, but without the slightest touch of entreaty, penitence, or humility of any sort in his manner or voice.

"Miss Wardour, pardon me for alluding to it, but I would be blind indeed not to see that something has annoyed you exceedingly. Indeed, I could almost fancy that, in some way, I have become the cause of your displeasure; if this is so, tell me how I have been so unfortunate as to offend?"

Now this was a very pacific and proper speech, and uttered in the right spirit. But had its effect been salutary, then Doctor Heath would stand alone, the first, last, and only man who ever yet attempted to argue with, reason with, or pacify an angry woman without blundering egregiously in the beginning, and coming out worsted at the end. There are a few things in this world that mortal man can't compass, and to attempt to pour oil on the waves of a woman's wrath when they are just at the boiling point, and ready to overflow their confines, is like sitting down on a bunch of fire-crackers to prevent their going off. Let the water boil over, and there will still be enough left to brew you a cup of tea. Let the crackers explode, and you may sit down on them with impunity.

Dear brethren, the moral is homely.

How had he offended? That he should ask the question, was the acme of his offense. As if she could tell how he had offended. Was there ever so impertinent a question and questioner? "How had he been so unfortunate as to offend?" Any other man would have said "unhappy," whether he meant it or not, but this man, oh! he would not even look a culprit.

She raised her haughty head a trifle higher, as high as it could be; she drew back as many steps as he had advanced; the room had become a refrigerator.

"Doctor Heath flatters himself; in what manner could he offend me?"