Produced by D Alexander, Mary Meehan and the OnlineDistributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (Thisfile was produced from images generously made availableby The Internet Archive)
THE KING OF DIAMONDS
A Tale of Mystery and Adventure
By LOUIS TRACY
Author of "The Wings of the Morning," "The Pillar of Light," Etc.
GROSSET & DUNLAP PUBLISHERS, NEW YORK
COPYRIGHT 1904. BY EDWARD J. CLODE.
"INSTANT ACTION IS WORTH A CENTURY OF DIPLOMACY."]
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. No. 3, Johnson's Mews 5
II. On the Edge of the Precipice 19
III. What the Meteor Contained 32
IV. Isaacstein 45
V. Perplexing a Magistrate 60
VI. A Game of Hazard 73
VII. A Business Transaction 87
VIII. The Transition 105
IX. A Decisive Battle 122
X. A Step Higher 136
XI. In Clover 151
XII. The Close of One Epoch 165
XIII. After Long Years 177
XIV. An Adventure 192
XV. A Face From the Past 208
XVI. The Master Fiend 223
XVII. The Inmates of the Grange House 238
XVIII. "Revenge is Mine; I Will Repay" 253
XIX. Philip Anson Redivivus 266
XX. Nemesis 281
XXI. The Rescue 293
XXII. A Settlement of Old Scores 307
THE KING OF DIAMONDS.
CHAPTER I.
_No. 3, Johnson's Mews._
"Is there no hope, doctor?"
"Absolutely none--now."
"If she had gone to the--the workhouse infirmary--would she have lived?"
The doctor paused. The gulp before that hateful word was not lost onhim. He tried professional severity, and bestowed some care on thebuttoning of a glove.
"I am surprised," he said, "that an excellent woman like your mothershould encourage your feelings of--er--repugnance toward--er----Confoundit, boy, have you no relatives or friends?"
"No, sir. We are alone in the world."
"And hard up, eh?"
The boy dug a hand into a pocket with the stolid indifference ofdespair. He produced two shillings and some pennies. He picked out thesilver, and the man reddened in protest.
"Don't be stupid, Philip. That is your name, is it not? When I want myfee I will ask for it. Your mother needs a nurse, wine, chicken broth.You are old enough to realize that a doctor practicing in aneighborhood like this might want such things himself and whistle forthem. But in the--er--infirmary they are provided by the State."
"Would my mother have lived had she consented to be taken there a monthago?"
Again the man wondered at the stony persistence of the questioner, afearless-looking, active boy of fifteen, attired in worn clothes toosmall for him, and wearing an old pair of boots several sizes too large.The strong, young face, pinched with vigils and privation, the large,earnest eyes, heavy with unshed tears, the lips, quivering in theirresolute compression over a chin that indicated great strength ofcharacter, appealed far more to the doctor than the whimpering terrorwith which the children of the poor usually meet the grim vision ofdeath.
The wrestle with the glove ceased and a kindly hand rested on Philip'sshoulder.
"No," came the quiet answer. "May God help you, she would not havelived."
"God does not help anybody," was the amazing retort.
The doctor was shocked, visibly so.
"That is a foolish and wicked statement," he said, sternly. "Do not letyour mother hear such awful words. She has lived and will die a trueChristian. I have never met a woman of greater natural charm and realpiety. She has suffered so much that she merits the life eternal. It isa reward, not a punishment. Cast away these terrible thoughts; go,rather, and kneel by her side in prayer."
For an instant the great brown eyes blazed fiercely at him.
"Am I to pray that my mother shall be taken from me?"
"Even that, if it be God's will."
The gleam of passion yielded to utter helplessness. The boy againbrought forth his tiny store of money.
"Surely," he said, "I can buy some small amount of wine. In the shopsthey sell things in tins that make chicken broth, don't they? I have afire and a kettle. Would you mind telling me----"
"There, there! You go to your mother, and endeavor to cheer her up. Iwill see what I can do. What! Would you argue with me? Go at once; Iinsist. Listen, she is calling for you!"
In that poor tenement there were no secrets. A rickety staircase,crudely built against the retaining wall of the only living room on theground floor, led steeply to an apartment above, and culminated in anopening that suggested a trapdoor. The walls, roughly paneled, were wellprovided with shelves and pegs. The back door was fastened with a latch,a contrivance rarely seen in the London of to-day. The front windowlooked out into a badly-paved court girt by tumbledown stables. Asmaller window at the back revealed a dismal yard darkened by loftywalls. Although little more than a stone's throw removed from the busyMile End Road, the place was singularly quiet. It was already dead, andonly waited the coming of men with pickaxes and crowbars to sweep awaythe ruins.
The boy heard his name whispered rather than spoken. The soundgalvanized him into vivid consciousness.
"Doctor," he said, earnestly, "you will come back?"
"Yes, yes; within half an hour. Tell your mother to expect me."
Philip ran up the stairs. Long practice had enabled him to move with aminimum of noise. It was pitiful to see the manner in which he emerged,with stealthy activity, into the creaking loft above. Here, at firstglance, there was an astonishing degree of comfort. Odd pieces of worncarpet, neatly joined, covered the floor. The two windows, facing onlyto the front of the dwelling, were curtained. The whitewashed walls werealmost hidden by cuttings from the colored periodicals published duringthe previous Christmas season. A screen divided the room into twocompartments, each containing a tiny bed. On one of these, propped upwith pillows, lay the wasted figure of a woman over whose face theshadows were falling fast. The extreme thinness, the waxen pallor, thedelicate texture of debilitated skin and unnatural brilliancy of theeyes, gave her a remarkably youthful appearance. This fantastic trick ofdeath in life accentuated the resemblance between mother and son. Theboy, too, was sharply outlined by hunger, and, in the fading light of aMarch day, the difference between the dread tokens of approachingcollapse and the transient effects of a scanty regimen on a vigorousyouth was not readily distinguishable.
"Do you want anything, mother dear?" said the boy, laying his handtenderly on the clammy forehead.
"Only to ask you, Phil, what it was that the
doctor told you."
The voice was low and sweet--the diction that of an educated woman. Theboy, too, though his tones were strong and harsh, spoke with the accentof good breeding. His manner and words gained some distinction from aslight touch of French elegance and precision. This was only noticeablein repose. When excited, or moved to deep feeling, the Continentalveneer acquired at the Lycee in Dieppe instantly vanished, and he becamethe strenuous, emphatic Briton he undoubtedly was by birth and breeding.
"He said, dearest, that what you wanted was some good wine--nice thingsto eat. He is an awfully fine chap, and I am afraid I was rude to him,but he didn't seem to mind it a bit, and he is coming back soon withchicken broth and port wine, and I don't know what."
His brave words were well meant, but the mother's heart understood himtoo well to be deceived. A thin hand caught his wrist and feebly drewhim nearer.
"You say you were rude to him, Phil? How can that be possible? What didyou say or do to warrant such a description?"
He hesitated for a moment. With rare self-control in one so young, hefiercely determined not to communicate his own despair to his mother. Sohe laughed gently.
"We are so jolly hard up, you know, and it sounded strange in my ears totalk about expensive luxuries which I could not buy. He has often toldus, dear, that you would be better cared for in the infirmary. I amafraid now he was right, only we couldn't bear--to be parted. Could we,mother?"
Not all his valor could control his tremulous lips. A beautiful smileillumined the face of the invalid.
"So you are trying to hoodwink me, Phil, for the first time. I know whatthe doctor said. He told you that I could not recover, and that I hadnot long to live; in a word, that I am dying."
Then the boy gave way utterly. He flung himself down by the side of thebed and buried his face in the coverlet.
"Oh, mother, mother!" he wailed, and his passionate sobs burst forthwith alarming vehemence. The poor woman vainly strove to soothe him. Shecould not move, being paralyzed, but her fingers twined gently in hishair, and she gasped, brokenly:
"Phil, darling, don't make it harder for me. Oh, calm yourself, my dearone, if only for my sake. I have so much to say to you, and perhaps solittle time. Be strong, Philip. Be strong and brave, and all will bewell with you. I know you will miss me--we have been all in all to eachother since your father's death. But my memory must be sweet, not bitterto you. When you think of me I want the recollection to inspire you todo that which is right regardless of consequences, to strive always forhonor and for the approbation of your own conscience. My own dear boy,we must bow to the will of God. We have indeed been sorely tried, youfar more than I, for I can look back on years of perfect happiness witha loving husband and a delightful child, whereas you have been plungedinto poverty and misery at an age when life should be opening before youwith every promise of a successful career. Perhaps, Phil, your trialshave come to you early, as mine have found me late. I trust I have bornereverses of health and fortune with patience and resignation. My presentsufferings will be a lasting joy to me if, in the life to come, I canknow that my example has been a stimulus to you amidst the chances andchanges of your career. Promise me, darling, that you will resignyourself to the decrees of Providence even in the bitter hour of ourparting."
Her voice failed. Tears stood in her eyes. The knowledge came to heranew that natural emotions can at times conquer all restraints. Thematernity strong within her clamored for the power to shield heroffspring from the dangers that would beset him. There was a maddeningpain in the thought that a few brief hours or minutes might unclasp herarms from him forever.
It was Phil who first gave utterance to the wild protest in their souls.
"Mother," he mourned, bitterly, "I don't want to live without you. Letus die together. If you cannot stay with me, then I swear----"
But a scream of terror, so shrill and vehement that it seemed to bealmost miraculous from so frail a form, froze the vow on his lips.
"Phil! What are you saying? Oh, my son, my son, do not break my heartbefore I die. Kiss me, dearest. I am cold. I can scarce see you. Comenearer. Let me look once more into your brave eyes. You will be a greatman, Phil. I know it. Who should know your character like your mother?But you must have faith in God always. I have prayed for you, and myprayers will surely be granted. I will watch over you. If you are indanger my spirit will come back to you across the void. We cannot beparted. Oh, God, it is impossible! You are the life of my life. I am notdead while you still live."
Even as she spoke, her left hand and arm, hitherto untouched by thecruel blight which had made her a helpless invalid during many wearymonths, became numb and rigid. She was dying now, not with the struggleagainst the king of terrors which often marks the passing of humanity,but with a slow torpidity more akin to sleep.
Her brain was clear, but the stock of nervous force had sunk so low thather few remaining words were spoken with difficulty. They were mostlyendearing expressions, appeals to her loved one to hope and pray, totrust steadfastly in the all-wise power that would direct his destiny.With the last flicker of existence the maternal instinct became dominantagain and she asked him not to forget her.
The boy could only murmur agonized appeals to the merciless unseen notto rob him of the only being he held dear on earth, but even in thatawful moment he had the strength to cease his frantic protests when theyseemed to cause her pain, and he forced himself to join her in prayer.
When the doctor brought a nurse and some small store of the much-neededdelicacies, Mrs. Anson was already unconscious.
The boy, aroused from frenzy by the steps on the stairs, shriekedincoherently:
"I have killed my mother. See! She is dead. I killed her. I made hercry. You told me to look after her until you returned. She cried andscreamed because I spoke so wildly. It is all my fault. I----"
"Hush! Your mother is not dead, but dying. Not all the skill of man cansave her. Let her die in peace."
No other words could have checked the wild torrent of lament that surgedfrom that wounded heart. So she still lived. There remained a faintflicker of life. Not yet had she passed the dreadful barrier ofeternity. Through his blinding tears he thought he could discern a smileon the worn face. The doctor watched Phil more narrowly than the sunkenframe on the bed. It was best that the paroxysm of grief should gountrammeled. The nurse, a young woman unused as yet to theinevitableness of death, moved timidly toward the windows and adjustedthe curtains to admit more light.
At last, when Phil's strength yielded to the strain of his sorrow andthe very force of his agony had spent itself, the doctor leaned over theinanimate form and looked into the eyes.
"It has ended, Phil," he whispered. "Your mother is in heaven!"
In heaven! What a tocsin of woe in a message of faith! The boy suddenlystood up. Hope was murdered within him. His tears ceased and his laboredbreathing came under control with a mighty effort. He stooped and kissedthe pale cheeks twice.
"Good-by, mother," he said, and the dull pain in his voice was soheartrending that the nurse's sympathies mastered her. She burst outcrying. Professional instinct came to the doctor's aid. He sharplyreprimanded the half-hysterical woman and sent her off on an errand tobring those whose duty it is to render the last services to frailmortality. The boy he led downstairs. He was a busy man, with manyclaims on his time, but this strange youngster interested him, and heresolved to turn the boy's thoughts forcibly away from the all-absorbinghorror of his mother's death.
"Have you a tumbler or a cup?" he said, sharply.
Phil handed him a tumbler. The doctor poured out some wine taken fromthe nurse's basket, soaked a piece of bread in the liquor, and gave itto the boy with an imperative command to eat it instantly.
Somewhat to his surprise, he was obeyed. While Phil was devouring thefood of which he stood so greatly in need, the doctor reviewed thecircumstances of this poverty-stricken household so far as they wereknown to him. Mr. and Mrs. Anson had occupied a fairly good position inDi
eppe, where Philip's father was the agent of an old-established Londonfirm of coal shippers. About two years earlier, both husband and wifewere seriously injured in a motor car accident. Mr. Anson sustainedconcussion of the brain, and practically never regained his senses,though he lingered for some weeks and was subjected to two operations.Mrs. Anson's spine was damaged, with the result that she changed from abright and vigorous woman into a decrepit invalid doomed to early deathfrom slow paralysis.
When the great expenses attendant on these mishaps were paid, she foundherself not only absolutely poor, but rendered incapable of theslightest effort to turn her many and varied talents to account in orderto earn a livelihood. She came to London, where her late husband'semployers generously gave her rent-free possession of the tenement inwhich she was lying dead, helped her with funds to furnish it modestly,and found a clerkship for Philip with a promise of early promotion.
But the cup of sorrow is seldom left half filled. Barely had the widowsettled down to a hopeful struggle on behalf of her beloved son than aquarrel between partners led to the sale of the firm's business to alimited liability company. Economies were effected to make way forsalaried directors. Philip was dismissed, with several other junioremployees, and the stable yard was marked out as a suitable site for thestorage of coal required by the local factories.
This development took place early in the New Year, and the new companyallowed Mrs. Anson to occupy her tiny abode until the last day of March.It was now March 5th, and how the widow and her son had lived during thepast two months the doctor could only guess from the gradual depletionof their little store of furniture.
It was odd that such an intelligent and well-bred woman should be socompletely shut off from the rest of the world, and his first questionto Phil sought to determine this mystery.
"Surely," he said, "there is some one to whom you can appeal for help.Your father and mother must have had some relatives--even distantcousins--and, if they are written to, a friendly hand may beforthcoming."
Philip shook his head. The mere taste of food had provoked a ravenousappetite. He could not eat fast enough. The doctor stayed him.
"Better wait a couple of hours, Phil, and then you can tackle a heartymeal. That's the thing. I like to see such prompt obedience, but youcertainly have wonderful self-control for one so young. I may tell you,to relieve present anxieties, that a few employees of your father's firmhave guaranteed the expenses of your mother's funeral, and they alsogave me a sovereign to tide you over the next few days."
Funeral! The word struck with sledge-hammer force. Phil had not thoughtof that. He remembered the dismal pomp of such events in this squalidlocality, the loud sobbing of women, the hard-faced agony of men, thefrightened curiosity of children. His mother, so dear, so tender, sosoft-cheeked--the bright, beautiful, laughing woman of their life inDieppe--to be taken away from him forever, and permitted to fade slowlyinto nothingness in some dreadful place, hidden from the sunshine andthe flowers she loved! For the first time he understood death. When hisfather was killed his mother was left. Anxious tending on her dispelledthe horror of the greater tragedy. Now all was lost. The tears that hehated were welling forth again, and he savagely bit his lip.
"You have been--very good--to us, doctor," he forced himself to say. "Ifever--I can repay you----"
"There, there, not a word! Bless my soul, yours is a difficult case."
Again the doctor tackled his glove. He glanced at his watch.
"Four o'clock! I am an hour late on my rounds. No, Phil. Don't goupstairs. There are some women coming. Wait until they have tended yourmother. And--one last word. It will do you no good to keep vigil by herside. Best think of her as living, not dead. You will be grateful for myadvice in after life."
The women arrived, coarse but kindly-hearted creatures. One of them gavethe boy a packet of letters.
"I found 'em under the dear lydy's pillow," she said. Neither povertynor death robbed Mrs. Anson of the respect paid to her by all who camein contact with her.
He sat down, untied a string which bound the letters together, andlooked at the address on the first envelope. It bore his mother's nameand a recent postmark. Wondering dolefully what correspondence she couldhave had during these later months that demanded such carefulpreservation, he took out the letter. Suddenly he hesitated. Perhapsthese documents alluded to something which his mother did not wish himto know. For an instant his impulse was to consign the packet to thefire. No; that might be wrong. He would glance at their general purportand then commit them to the flames if he thought fit.
The letter in his hand was headed: "The Hall, Beltham, Devon," and datedabout a month earlier. It read:
"DEAR MADAM: I am requested by Sir Philip Morland to ask you not to trouble him with further correspondence. This is the fourth time I have been desired by him to write in these terms, so please note that your letters will in future remain unanswered.
"Yours truly, "LOUISA MORLAND."
The curt incivility of the note brought an angry flush to the boy'sface. Who was Sir Philip Morland that he should dare to offer thisinsult to a lady? Evidently a relative, and a near one, for Morland washis mother's name, and his own Christian name suggested a familyconnection. Yet she had never spoken of any such person.
Three other letters, of preceding dates, showed that "Louisa Morland"kept accurate reckoning. There were half a dozen more, from a firm ofsolicitors. Some of these were merely formal acknowledgments of lettersreceived and forwarded, but one stated that they "were instructed byLady Morland to inform Mrs. Anson that Sir Philip Morland declinedeither to see or hear from her."
That was all. Philip sprang up with face aflame. He was alone in thehouse now, alone with his dead mother.
He went upstairs, with the letters crushed in his right hand as thoughhe would choke a reptile which had stung the only being he loved. Hebent over the shrunken form, so placid, so resigned, so angelic in thepeace of death, and his hot tears fell unchecked.
"You poor darling," he murmured, "I believe you humbled yourself even tobeg from these people for my sake. What can I do to show my love foryou?"