The Diva's Ruby

  CHAPTER VII

  When Van Torp and Logotheti left Mr. Pinney's shop, the old jewellermeant to have a good look at the ruby the Greek had brought him, andwas going to weigh it, not merely as a matter of business, for heweighed every stone that passed through his hands from crown diamondsto sparks, but with genuine curiosity, because in a long experience hehad not seen very many rubies of such a size, which were also of suchfine quality, and he wondered where this one had been found.

  Just then, however, two well-dressed young men entered the shop andcame up to him. He had never seen either of them before, but theirlooks inspired him with confidence; and when they spoke, their tonewas that of English gentlemen, which all other Englishmen find itpractically impossible to imitate, and which had been extremelyfamiliar to Mr. Pinney from his youth. Though he was the greatjeweller himself, the wealthy descendant of five of his name insuccession, and much better off than half his customers, he was alonein his shop that morning. The truth was that his only son, the sixthPinney and the apple of his eye, had just been married and was goneabroad for a honeymoon trip, and the head shopman, who was Scotch, washaving his month's holiday in Ayrshire, and the second man had beensent for, to clean and restring the Duchess of Barchester's pearls ather Grace's house in Cadogan Gardens, as was always done after theseason, and a couple of skilled workmen for whom Mr. Pinney foundoccupation all the year round were in the workshop at their tables;wherefore, out of four responsible and worthy men who usually wereabout, only the great Mr. Pinney himself was at his post.

  One of the two well-dressed customers asked to see some pins, and theother gave his advice. The first bought a pin with a small sapphireset in sparks for ten guineas, and gave only ten pounds for it becausehe paid cash. Mr. Pinney put the pin into its little morocco case,wrapped it up neatly and handed it to the purchaser. The latter andhis friend said good-morning in a civil and leisurely manner,sauntered out, took a hansom a few steps farther down the street, anddrove away.

  The little paper twist containing Logotheti's ruby was still exactlywhere Mr. Pinney had placed it on the counter, and he was going toexamine the stone and weigh it at last, when two more customersentered the shop, evidently foreigners, and moreover of a sortunfamiliar to the good jeweller, and especially suspicious.

  The two were Baraka and her interpreter and servant, whom Logothetihad called a Turk, and who was really a Turkish subject and aMohammedan, though as to race, he was a half-bred Greek and Dalmatian.Now Dalmatians are generally honest, truthful, and trustworthy, andthe low-class Greek of Constantinople is usually extremely sharp, ifhe is nothing more definitely reprehensible; and Baraka's man was across between the two, as I have said, and had been brought up as aMusulman in a rich Turkish family, and recommended to Baraka by thePersian merchant in whose house she had lived. He had been originallybaptized a Christian under the name of Spiro, and had beensubsequently renamed Selim when he was made a real Moslem at twelveyears old; so he used whichever name suited the circumstances in whichhe was placed. At present he was Spiro. He was neatly dressed in greyclothes made by a French tailor, and he wore a French hat, whichalways made a bad impression on Mr. Pinney. He had brown hair, browneyes, a brown moustache, and a brown face; he looked as active as acat, and Mr. Pinney at once put him down in his mind as a 'Froggy.'But the jeweller was less sure about Baraka, who was dressed like anyyoung Englishman, but looked like no European he had ever seen. On thewhole, he took the newcomer for the son of an Indian rajah sent toEngland to be educated.

  The interpreter spoke broken but intelligible English. He calledBaraka his master, and explained that the latter wished to see somerubies, if Mr. Pinney had any, cut or uncut. The young gentleman, hesaid, did not speak English, but was a good judge of stones.

  For one moment the jeweller forgot the little paper twist as he turnedtowards his safe, pulling out his keys at the same time. To reach thesafe he had to walk the whole length of the shop, behind the counter,and before he had gone half way he remembered the stone, turned, cameback, and slipped it into his waistcoat pocket. Then he went and gotthe little japanned strong-box with a patent lock, in which he keptloose stones, some wrapped up in little pieces of paper, and some inpill-boxes. He brought it to his customers, and opened it before them.

  They stayed a long time, and Spiro asked many questions for Baraka,chiefly relating to the sliding-scale of prices which is regulated bythe weight of the stones where their quality is equally good, andBaraka made notes of some sort in a little English memorandum-book, asif she had done it all her life; but Mr. Pinney could not see what shewrote. He was very careful, and watched the stones, when she took themin her fingers and held them up against the light, or laid them on asheet of white paper to look at them critically.

  She bought nothing; and when she had seen all he had to show her, shethanked him very much through Spiro, said she would come back anotherday, and went out with a leisurely, Oriental gait, as if nothing inthe world could hurry her. Mr. Pinney counted the stones again, andwas going to lock the box, when his second man came in, havingfinished stringing the Duchess's pearls. At the same moment, itoccurred to Mr. Pinney that he might as well go to luncheon, and thathe had better put Logotheti's ruby into the little strong-box and lockit up in the safe until he at last had a chance to weigh it. Heaccordingly took the screw of paper from his waistcoat pocket, and asa matter of formality he undid it once more.

  'Merciful Providence!' cried Mr. Pinney, for he was a religious man.

  The screw of paper contained a bit of broken green glass. He threw hiskeys to his shopman without another word, and rushed out into thestreet without his hat, his keen old face deadly pale, and hisbeautiful frock-coat flying in his wake.

  He almost hurled himself upon a quiet policeman.

  'Thief!' he cried. 'Two foreigners in grey clothes--ruby worth tenthousand pounds just gone--I'm Pinney the jeweller!'

  You cannot astonish a London policeman. The one Pinney had caughtlooked quietly up and down the street, and then glanced at hisinterlocutor to be sure that it was he, for he knew him by sight.

  'All right,' he said quickly, but very quietly. 'I'll have them in aminute, sir, for they're in sight still. Better go in while I takethem, sir.'

  He caught them in less than a minute without the slightest difficulty,and by some odd coincidence two other policemen suddenly appearedquite close to him. There was a little stir in the street, but Barakaand Spiro were too sensible and too sure of themselves to offer anyuseless resistance, and supposing there was some misunderstanding theywalked back quietly to Mr. Pinney's shop between two of the policemen,while the third went for a four-wheeler at the nearest stand, whichhappened to be the corner of Brook Street and New Bond Street.

  Mr. Pinney recognised his late customers without hesitation, and wentwith them to the police station, where he told his story and showedthe piece of green glass. Spiro tried to speak, but was ordered tohold his tongue, and as no rubies were found in their pockets he andBaraka were led away to be more thoroughly searched.

  But now, at last, Baraka resisted, and with such tremendous energythat there would have been serious trouble if Spiro had not called outsomething which at once changed the aspect of matters.

  'Master is lady!' he yelled. 'Lady, man clothes!'

  'That makes a pretty bad case,' observed the sergeant who wassuperintending. 'Send for Mrs. Mowle.'

  Baraka did not resist when she saw the matron, and went quietly withher to a cell at the back of the station. In less than ten minutesMrs. Mowle came out and locked the door after her. She was a cheerylittle person, very neatly dressed, and she had restless bright eyeslike a ferret. She brought a little bag of soft deerskin in her hand,and a steel bodkin with a wrought silver handle, such as southernItalian women used to wear in their hair before such weapons wereprohibited. Mrs. Mowle gave both objects to the officer withoutcomment.

  'Any scars or tattoo-marks, Mrs. Mowle?' he inquired in hisbusiness-like way.

  'Not a one,' answered Mrs
. Mowle, who had formerly taken in washingat home and was the widow of a brave policeman, killed in doing hisduty.

  In the bag there were several screws of paper, which were found tocontain uncut rubies of different sizes to a large value. But therewas one, much larger than the others, which Mr. Van Torp had not seenthat morning. Mr. Pinney looked at it very carefully, held it to thelight, laid it on a sheet of paper, and examined it long in everyaspect. He was a conscientious man.

  'To the best of my belief,' he deposed, 'this is the stone that was onmy counter half an hour ago, and for which this piece of green glasswas substituted. It is the property of a customer of mine, MonsieurKonstantin Logotheti of Paris, who brought it to me this morning to becut. I think it may be worth between nine and ten thousand pounds. Ican say nothing as to the identity of the paper, for tissue paper isvery much alike everywhere.'

  'The woman,' observed the officer in charge of the station, 'appearsto steal nothing but rubies. It looks like a queer case. We'll lock upthe two, Mr. Pinney, and if you will be kind enough to look into-morrow morning, I'm sure the Magistrate won't keep you waiting forthe case.'

  Vastly relieved and comforted, Mr. Pinney returned to his shop.Formality required that the ruby itself, with the others in the bag,should remain in the keeping of the police till the Magistrate orderedit to be returned to its rightful owner, the next morning; but Mr.Pinney felt quite as sure of its safety as if it were in the japannedstrong-box in his own safe, and possibly even a little more sure, fornobody could steal it from the police station.

  But after he was gone, Spiro was heard calling loudly, though notrudely or violently, from his place of confinement.

  'Mr. Policeman! Mr. Policeman! Please come speak!'

  The man on duty went to the door and asked what he wanted. In hisbroken English he explained very clearly that Baraka had a friend inLondon who was one of the great of the earth, and who would certainlyprove her innocence, vouch for her character, and cause her to be setat large without delay, if he knew of her trouble.

  'What is the gentleman's name?' inquired the policeman.

  The name of Baraka's friend was Konstantin Logotheti, and Spiro knewthe address of the lodgings he always kept in St. James's Place.

  'Very well,' said the policeman. 'I'll speak to the officer at once.'

  'I thank very much, sir,' Spiro answered, and he made no more noise.

  The sergeant looked surprised when the message was given to him.

  'Queer case this,' he observed. 'Here's the thief appealing to theowner of the stolen property for help; and the owner is one of thosemillionaire financiers; and the thief is a lovely girl in man'sclothes. By the bye, Sampson, tell Mrs. Mowle to get out some women'sslops and dress her decently, while I see if I can find Mr. Logothetiby telephone. They'll be likely to know something about him at theBank if he's not at home, and he may come to find out what's thematter. If Mrs. Foxwell should look in and want to see the girl, lether in, of course, without asking me. If she's in town, she'll be herebefore long, for I've telephoned to her house, as usual when there's agirl in trouble.'

  There was a sort of standing, unofficial order that in any case of agirl or a young woman being locked up, Mrs. Foxwell was to know of it,and she had a way of remembering a great many sergeants' names, anddoing kind things for their wives at Christmas-time, which furtherdisposed them to help her in her work. But the London police are bynature the kindliest set of men who keep order anywhere in the world,and they will readily help a man or woman who tries to do good in asensible, practical way; and if they are sometimes a little prejudicedin favour of their own perspicuity in getting up a case, let thatpoliceman, of any other country, who is quite without fault, throw thefirst stone at their brave, good natured heads.

  Logotheti was not at his lodgings in St. James's Place, and from eachof two clubs to which the officer telephoned rather at random, theonly answer was that he was a member but not in the house. The officerwrote a line to his rooms and sent it by a messenger, to be given tohim as soon as he came in.

  "She grasped Lady Maud's hand."]

  It was late in the hot afternoon when Mrs. Foxwell answered themessage by coming to the police station herself. She was at onceadmitted to Baraka's cell and the door was closed after her.

  The girl was lying on the pallet bed, dressed in a poor calico skirtand a loose white cotton jacket, which Mrs. Mowle had brought and hadinsisted that she must put on; and her man's clothes had been takenfrom her with all her other belongings. She sat up, forlorn, pale andlovely, as the kind visitor entered and stood beside her.

  'Poor child!' exclaimed the lady, touched by her sad eyes. 'What can Ido to help you?'

  Baraka shook her head, for she did not understand. Then she looked upinto eyes almost as beautiful as her own, and pronounced a name,slowly and so distinctly that it was impossible not to hear eachsyllable.

  'Konstantin Logotheti.'

  The lady started, as well she might; for she was no other than LadyMaud, who called herself by her own family name, 'Mrs. Foxwell,' inher work amongst the poor women of London.

  Baraka saw the quick movement and understood that Logotheti was wellknown to her visitor. She grasped Lady Maud's arm with both her smallhands, and looked up to her face with a beseeching look that could notbe misunderstood. She wished Logotheti to be informed of hercaptivity, and was absolutely confident that he would help her out ofher trouble. Lady Maud was less sure of that, however, and said so,but it was soon clear that Baraka did not speak a word of any languageknown to Lady Maud, who was no great linguist at best. Under thesecircumstances it looked as if there were nothing to be done for thepoor girl, who made all sorts of signs of distress, when she saw thatthe English woman was about to leave her, in sheer despair of being ofany use. Just then, however, the sergeant came to the door, andinformed the visitor that the girl had an accomplice who spoke herlanguage and knew some English, and that by stretching a point hewould bring the man, if Mrs. Foxwell wished to talk with him.

  The result was that in less than half an hour, Lady Maud heard fromSpiro a most extraordinary tale, of which she did not believe a singleword. To her plain English mind, it all seemed perfectly mad at first,and on reflection she thought it an outrageous attempt to play uponher credulity; whereas she was thoroughly convinced that the girl hadcome to grief in some way through Logotheti and had followed him fromConstantinople, probably supporting herself and her companion bystealing on the way. Lady Maud's husband had been a brute, but he knewthe East tolerably well, having done some military duty in theCaucasus before he entered the diplomatic service; his stories hadchiefly illustrated the profound duplicity of all Asiatics, and shehad not seen any reason to disbelieve them.

  When Spiro had nothing more to say, therefore, she rose from the onlyseat there was and shook her head with an air of utter incredulity,mingled with the sort of pitying contempt she felt for all lying ingeneral. She could easily follow the case, by the help of the sergeantand the Police Court reports, and she might be able to help Barakahereafter when the girl had served the sentence she would certainlyget for such an important and cleverly managed theft. The poor girlimplored and wept in vain; Lady Maud could do nothing, and would notstay to be told any more inane stories about ruby mines in Tartary.She called the sergeant, freed herself from Baraka's despairing holdon her hand and went out. Spiro was then marched back to his cell onthe men's side.

  Though it was hot, Lady Maud walked home, as Mr. Van Torp had donethat same morning when he had left Mr. Pinney's shop. She alwayswalked when she was in any distress or difficulty, for the motionhelped her to think, since she was strong and healthy, and only in hertwenty-ninth year. Just now, too, she was a good deal disturbed bywhat had happened, besides being annoyed by the attempt that had beenmade to play on her credulity in such a gross way.

  She was really fond of Margaret Donne, quite apart from any admirationshe felt for the Primadonna's genius, by which she might have beeninfluenced. In her opinion, the Tartar girl's
appeal for help to reachLogotheti could only mean one thing, and that was very far from beingto his credit. If the girl had not been positively proved to be athief and if she had not attempted to impose upon her by what seemedthe most absurd falsehoods, Lady Maud would very probably have takenher under her own protection, as far as the law would allow. But herespecial charity was not for criminals or cheats, though she hadsometimes helped and comforted women accused of far worse crimes thanstealing. In this instance she could do nothing, and she did not evenwish to do anything. It was a flagrant case, and the law would dealwith it in the right way. The girl had come to grief, no doubt, bytrusting Logotheti blindly, and he had thrown her off; if she had sunkinto the dismal depths of woe behind the Virtue-Curtain, as most ofher kind did, Lady Maud would have gone in and tried to drag her out,as she had saved others. But Logotheti's victim had taken a differentturn, had turned thief and had got into the hands of justice. Her sinwould be on his head, no doubt, but no power could avert from her thejust consequences of a misdeed that had no necessary connexion withher fall.

  Thus argued Lady Maud, while Baraka lay on her pallet bed in hercalico skirt and white cotton jacket, neither weeping, nor despairingby any means, nor otherwise yielding to girlish weakness, but alreadydevising means for carrying on her pursuit of the man she would stillseek, even throughout the whole world, though she was just now apenniless girl locked up as a thief in a London police station. It wasnot one of the down-hearted, crying sort that could have got so faralready, against such portentous odds.

  She guessed well enough that she would be tried the next morning inthe Police Court; for Spiro, who knew much about Europe, and Englandin particular, had told her a great deal during their travels. Shehad learned that England was a land of justice, and she would probablyget it in the end; for the rest, she was a good Musulman girl andlooked on whatsoever befell her as being her portion, for good orevil, to be accepted without murmuring.

  Lady Maud could not know anything of this and took Baraka for a commondelinquent, so far as her present situation was concerned. But whenthe Englishwoman thought of what must have gone before, and of thepart Logotheti had almost certainly played in the girl's life, heranger was roused, and she sat down and wrote to Margaret on theimpulse of the moment. She gave a detailed account of her experienceat the police station, including especially a description of the wayBaraka had behaved in trying to send a message to Logotheti.

  'I tell you quite frankly,' Lady Maud wrote in conclusion, 'that myfriend Mr. Van Torp has begged me very urgently to use any friendlyinfluence I may possess, to induce you to reconsider your engagement,because he hopes that you will accept him instead. You will not thinkany less well of him for that. A man may ask his best friend to helphim to marry the girl he is in love with, I am sure! I told him that Iwould not do anything to make trouble between you and Logo. If I ammaking trouble now, by writing all this, it is therefore not to helpMr. Van Torp, but because the impression I have had about Logo hasreally frightened me, for you. I made such a wretched failure of myown married life that I have some right to warn a friend who seems tobe on the point of doing just the same thing. I don't forget that inspite of all your celebrity--and its glories--you are nothing but ayoung girl still, under twenty-five; but you are not a schoolgirl, mydear, and you do not expect to find that a man like Logo, who is wellon towards forty now, is a perfect Galahad. Even I didn't flattermyself that Leven had never cared for any one else, when I marriedhim, and I had not half your knowledge of the world, I fancy. But youhave a right to be sure that the man you marry is quite free, and thatyou won't suddenly meet a lovely Eastern girl of twenty who claims himafter you think he is yours; and your friend has a right to warn you,if she feels sure that he is mixed up in some affair that isn't overyet. I'm not sure that I should be a good friend to you if I held mytongue. Our fathers were very close friends before us, Margaret, andthere is really a sort of inheritance in their friendship, between youand me, isn't there? Besides, if you think I'm doing wrong, or thatI'm making trouble out of nothing, just to help Mr. Van Torp, you cantell me so and we shall part I suppose, and that will be the end ofit! Except that I shall be very, very sorry to lose you.

  'I don't know where Logo is, but if he were near enough I should go tohim and tell him what I think. Of course he is not in town now--nobodyis, and I've only stayed on to clear everything out of my house, nowthat I'm giving it up. I suppose he is with you, though you said youdid not want him at Bayreuth! Show him this letter if you like, forI'm quite ready to face him if he's angry at my interference. I wouldeven join you in Paris, if you wanted me, for I have nothing to do andstrange to say I have a little money! I've sold almost all myfurniture, you know, so I'm not such a total pauper as usual. But inany case answer this, please, and tell me that I have done right, orwrong, just as you feel about it--and then we will go on beingfriends, or say good-bye, whichever you decide.'

  Lady Maud signed this long letter and addressed it to Miss MargaretDonne, at Bayreuth, feeling sure that it would be delivered, evenwithout the name of the hotel, which she did not know. But theBayreuth post-office was overworked during the limited time of theperformances, and it happened that the extra assistant through whosehands the letter passed for distribution either did not know that MissDonne was the famous Cordova, or did not happen to remember the hotelat which she was stopping, or both, and it got pigeonholed under D, tobe called for. The consequence was that Margaret did not receive ituntil the morning after the performance of _Parsifal_ to which she hadtaken Van Torp, though it had left London only six hours after him;for such things will happen even in extremely well-managed countrieswhen people send letters insufficiently addressed.

  Furthermore, it also happened that Logotheti was cooling himself onthe deck of his yacht in the neighbourhood of Penzance, while poorBaraka was half-stifled in the Police Station. For the yacht, whichwas a very comfortable one, though no longer new, and not very fastaccording to modern ideas, was at Cowes, waiting to be wanted, andwhen her owner parted from Van Torp after promising to dine on thenext day but one, it occurred to him that the smell of the woodpavements was particularly nasty, that it would make no realdifference whether he returned to Pinney's at once or in two days, ortwo weeks, since the ruby he had left must be cut before it wasmounted, and that he might just as well take the fast train toSouthampton and get out to sea for thirty-six hours. This he did,after telegraphing to his sailing-master to have steam as soon aspossible; and as he had only just time to reach the Waterloo Stationhe did not even take the trouble to stop at his lodgings. He needed noluggage, for he had everything he wanted on board, and his man was fartoo well used to his ways to be surprised at his absence.

  The consequence of this was that when Baraka's case came up the nextmorning there was no one to say a word for her and Spiro. Mr. Pinneyidentified the ruby 'to the best of his belief' as the one stolen fromhis counter, the fact that Baraka had been disguised in man's clotheswas treated as additional evidence, and she and Spiro were sent toBrixton Gaol accordingly, Spiro protesting their innocence all thewhile in eloquent but disjointed English, until he was told to holdhis tongue.

  Further, Lady Maud read the Police Court report in an evening paper,cut it out and sent it to Margaret as a document confirming theletter she had posted on the previous evening; and owing to the sameinsufficiency in the address, the two missives were deliveredtogether.

  Lastly, Mr. Pinney took the big ruby back to his shop and locked it upin his safe with a satisfaction and a sense of profound relief such ashe had rarely felt in a long and honourable life; and he would havebeen horrified and distressed beyond words if he could have evenguessed that he had been the means of sending an innocent and helplessgirl to prison. The mere possibility of such a mistake would have senthim at the greatest attainable speed to Scotland Yard, and ifnecessary in pursuit of the Home Secretary himself. The latter was inthe north of Scotland, on a friend's moor, particularly preoccupiedabout his bag and deeply interested in the education
of a youngretriever that behaved like an idiot during each drive instead oflying quiet behind the butts, though it promised to turn out atreasure in respect of having the nose and eye of a vulture and themouth of a sucking-dove. The comparisons are those of the dog's owner,including the 'nose' of the bird of prey, and no novelist can be heldresponsible for a Cabinet Minister's English.

  One thing more which concerns this tale happened on that same day. Twowell-dressed young men drove up to the door of a quiet and veryrespectable hotel in the West End; and they asked for their bill, andpacked their belongings, which were sufficient though not numerous;and when they had paid what they owed and given the usual tips, theytold the porter to call two hansoms, and each had his things put onone of them; and they nodded to each other and parted; and one hansomdrove to Euston and the other to Charing Cross; and whether they evermet again, I do not know, and it does not matter; but in order toclear Baraka's character at once and to avoid a useless and perfectlytransparent mystery, it is as well to say directly that it was theyoung man who drove to Euston, on his way to Liverpool and New York,who had Logotheti's ruby sewn up in his waistcoat pocket; and that theruby really belonged to Margaret, since Logotheti had already given itto her, before he had brought it to Mr. Pinney to be cut and set. Butthe knowledge of what is here imparted to the reader, who has alreadyguessed this much of the truth, would not help Baraka out of BrixtonGaol, where the poor girl found herself in very bad company indeed;even worse, perhaps, than that in which Spiro was obliged to spend histime.