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- Herausgeber: Booksell-Verlag
- Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
- Sprache: Englisch
- Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2021
In "The King Diamond," Fred M. White crafts a gripping tale of ambition, betrayal, and the quest for power set against the backdrop of a richly imagined world. The novel intricately weaves together elements of adventure and mystery, showcasing White's adeptness at character development and intricate plotting. The narrative flows with a compelling pace that echoes the sensationalist style of early 20th-century fiction, drawing readers into a labyrinth of political intrigue where loyalties are tested and fortunes can shift in an instant, revealing the darker sides of human nature. Fred M. White, a prolific British author known for his contributions to the adventure and detective genres, channels his experiences into "The King Diamond." A contemporary of the famed writer, Arthur Conan Doyle, White's works are characterized by a fascination with the spectacular, often rooted in his travels and diverse literary influences. His understanding of the socio-political climate of his era informs the characters' motivations and the moral ambiguities they navigate throughout the story. Readers who relish thrilling narratives filled with unexpected twists and morally complex characters will find "The King Diamond" an essential read. White'Äôs ability to intertwine suspense and rich character studies creates an engaging experience that not only entertains but invites reflection on the nature of ambition and morality.
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The King Diamond
Table of Contents
CHAPTER I
IN the outer office of the Maggersfont Diamond Company the handful of clerks worked steadily on with that ease and smoothness that always characterises a perfectly organised and smoothly running business. They were lady typists, for the most part, under the able supervision of a forewoman, and because they both admired and respected their employer, Sir Samuel Oscar, there was very little slacking in Bishopsgate-street. Because Sir Samuel was not only a great man and a South African magnate of the first importance, but a most kindly and considerate employer besides. Though when he spoke or directed then everybody under him knew that he meant exactly what he said.
An inner room leading out of the clerks' apartment was devoted to the requirements of the great man's personal secretary, and her name—Miss Stella Ravenhill—appeared in black letters on the ground glass in the upper part of the door. Rather an unusual development, perhaps, in a city office, but then Stella Ravenhill stood, more or less, in a class of her own, and it was a peculiar psychological fact that, though she had been in the employ of her firm for less than three years, she had gone easily and smoothly over the heads of the other lady clerks, and, strangely enough, there was not one of them who resented her presence or was in the least disposed to question her authority.
Perhaps they liked her all the better because they recognised from the first that she was a lady. Not that the rest failed to claim an equal distinction, but then there was a difference, and they all had admitted it from the first moment when Stella Ravenhill came in all her calm beauty and serene assurance, to say nothing of her undoubted ability, and at once took her place which Nature had ordained for her from the moment of her birth.
And now she was Sir Samuel's confidential secretary. She took down his letters in shorthand and very frequently typed them herself. Nobody knew who she was or where she came from, though there were legends in the office as to her high birth and station, and as to what position in society she had occupied before the force of circumstances had compelled her to get her own living. She took no share in the simple pleasure and amusements of the rest, and yet she had always a word of sympathy for such of the girls who chose to confide their troubles to her, and very frequently her purse was at their disposal.
Of course it was not for the body of clerks to know that Stella had been what is familiarly known as born to the purple. There had been a time, and not so very long ago, when she had lived at home with her extravagant, easy-going father in the old place called Ravenswood, where the Ravenhills had lorded it for centuries. And then the last of the race had died, leaving his affairs in inexplicable confusion. When everything was settled and wound up there was practically nothing left for the only daughter of the house, so that she was forced to go out into the world and get her own living.
She might have become dependent upon the charity of her friends, she might even have made a brilliant marriage, for she had birth and beauty and brains besides. But that was not Stella Ravenhill's way. She was a woman, gentle and refined to her finger-tips, and, sooth to say, with most of the prejudices of her class. At the same time, there was a certain streak of modernity in her, and she much preferred to struggle for herself rather than throw herself upon the resources of her relatives. She would go out and earn her own living.
She learnt to type and write shorthand, she graduated amazingly soon in the London School of Economics, and then, when she was in the possession of a weapon with which to carve out her future, she had her first piece of good fortune. So far the grand old house in which she had been born and its surrounding acres had not been sold, so she had gone down there for the last time, previous to the auction, to gather together certain belongings of small value, but of sentimental interest, and there, in the great hall, she had come face to face with Sir Samuel Oscar. So they had fallen more or less naturally into conversation, and, almost before she was aware of the fact, Stella had told most of her simple, tragic story to the man who was destined to become her employer.
He was down there, as he told her, with a view to becoming the owner of the property.
Not only did that happen, but, all unknown to Stella, Sir Samuel had slightly increased his offer to the trustees so that she found herself unexpectedly in the possession of a few hundred pounds which she might find very useful in case of a rainy day. So, eventually, Sir Samuel became master of Ravenswood and all its ancient glories, and Stella took her position in Bishopsgate-street.
And never had Sir Samuel regretted that queer sort of partnership from the first moment that Stella came into his office. There is no sentiment in business and Sir Samuel offered none. He placed Stella, to begin with, exactly on a level with the rest, and she won her way into the confidence of the big man by sheer force of quality. He was an elderly man and a bachelor, with few relations in the world, so that he devoted himself almost entirely to business, though there were times when he look his ease and entertained lavishly at Ravenswood. It was not known in the office that on more than one occasion Stella had visited her old home as a guest under the hoary roof of Ravenswood, and this she never mentioned. On these occasions employer and employed were on terms of absolute equality, but once behind those mahogany doors in Bishopsgate-street the footings changed, though, even in the inner sanctum where Sir Samuel transacted his big business there were moments when the mask was dropped and the two were more like father and daughter.
There was an atmosphere something like this one fine morning when, in response to her employer's bell, Stella entered the inner office. There was a smile on her lips when she came in, but that quickly faded as she noted the grave, preoccupied look on Sir Samuel's rather stern features. He was one of those iron-grey men, big and lean and clean shaven, with a humorous droop in the corners of his clear-cut lips and a twinkle in an eye that belied its severity. But not this morning.
"Oh, here you are, Miss Ravenhill," he said. "Will you have the goodness to take a seat?"
Stella slipped into the chair by her employer's desk, fully conscious of the fact that here was something decidedly out of the common. She waited a moment for Oscar to speak.
"I wanted to talk to you on a little matter that has given me a great deal of anxiety the last month or so," he said. "Miss Ravenhill, I am going to trust you implicitly."
"I hope you have always done so, Sir Samuel."
"Oh, of course, of course," the great man said, almost abruptly. "A queer thing, but there is not a single man of my acquaintance, including my own partner and my fellow-directors, whom I trust as thoroughly as I do you. And yet there was a time when I always declared that no woman could keep a secret. I was wrong. And I cannot pay you any higher compliment."
"Shall we get on with the business, Sir Samuel?" Stella asked.
"Quite right, my dear, quite right. Well, it's like this. For some considerable time past there has been a serious leakage in stones from the Maggersfont mines. I have said nothing about this to the board, neither do I intend to, at least not for the present. But it has got to be stopped."
"You are quite sure of your facts, Sir Samuel?" Stella asked.
"Oh dear, yes. It is a mere question of averages. Nobody knows better than myself how regular and steady the output has been from Maggersfont. It has hardly varied a dozen carats for over two years. And now, for the last three months or more, we have been down to the extent of something like £5000 every four weeks. Of course, I am going on the returns from our manager out yonder. And this morning I had a confidential letter from him in which he seems to have come to some sort of conclusion. It is a most startling one and has disturbed me considerably. I will show you the letter presently. And that is not all the trouble. From what Washburn says, I gather that a stone of outstanding value has been smuggled out of the mine. Washburn has nothing definite to go on, except gossip amongst the native boys working in the blue dust, but it is common talk amongst them that a huge stone, which they call the King Diamond in their vernacular, was found by one of the Kafirs and smuggled out of the compound. Perhaps I had better tell you that this King Diamond is a sort of legend amongst the Kafirs, and they have been searching for it ever since diamonds were first discovered at Kimberley ages ago. A sort of myth, you understand. Of course, there may not be anything in it at all; on the other hand, it may be absolutely true. Anyhow, Washburn tells me that one of the Kafirs has been in a state of partial intoxication for days, and that he is known to have a big roll of Treasury notes in his possession. Evidently he has talked or boasted amongst his compatriots and the story has got back to Washburn's ears."
"I may say that he, Washburn, is absolutely convinced that we have been robbed of one of the biggest diamonds in the world."
"But I thought it was impossible," Stella said.
"So it would be in ordinary circumstances. No Kafir could have got away with a stone like that without being detected. He could not have left the compound with that diamond in his possession. I don't say that he didn't find it, neither do I say that it was impossible for him to hide it, whilst awaiting a chance to get clear away with his booty. Washburn is of opinion that the man had a confederate, and that his confederate took the stone away and got clear off with it."
"But that sounds equally impossible," Stella pointed out. "Any man who is on terms of that sort with Kafir workmen would never have been allowed in the compound at all."
"Not in ordinary circumstances," Sir Samuel admitted. "But let us suppose that the visitor was a man beyond suspicion. For instance, he might have been a statesman, or a great scientist, or something of that kind, and a man who had the run of the compounds as a matter of courtesy. Naturally enough, Washburn would never suspect an individual of that kind. I shouldn't myself. There are hundreds of men all over the world whom I would trust to visit the compound at any time."
At this point Sir Samuel paused as if almost afraid to continue. Stella waited for him to speak.
"And now we are coming to the point," he went on. "I know you have met a great many distinguished people in your time, Miss Ravenhill. Now, amongst them, did you ever come in contact with a famous ethnologist called Sir Hercules Slaney?"
"Why, of course," Stella cried. "The greatest living authority on matters concerning ethnology and ethnography living to-day. He has made the black belt in Africa his hunting ground for years. I don't suppose there is anybody living who knows as much about the dark races. And I have heard it said that he can speak no less than ninety different dialects."
"All of which is absolutely true," Oscar agreed. "But I asked you if you had ever met him."
"Oh, yes," Stella said. "He used to stay occasionally with some friends of his near Ravenswood before my father died. A strange sort of man. Very tall and very spare, but as hard as Iron and supple as whipcord. A man with a great, bald head and a long straggling beard. Very eccentric and undoubtedly mad on some points. But there can be no question as to his intellect. I suppose you know that he is in London?"
"The devil he is," Sir Samuel exclaimed. "Perhaps you will kindly inform me how you know that."
Stella changed colour slightly. The question was one that she found rather difficult to answer, because it involved certain private matters which she would have preferred not to discuss even with Sir Samuel himself. Still, there could be no holding back now, and she would have to speak freely.
"Well, I haven't seen him since he got back, if that is what you mean," Stella explained. "But, you see, I happen to know his right-hand man very well. He is the son of an old neighbour of ours whose history, in a way, is very like mine. He found himself, after the war, compelled to get his own living, and, as he had spent two or three years amongst the Congo natives, he was glad of an opportunity of joining Sir Hercules in his varied expeditions. You may have heard of Lionel Bly."
Sir Samuel nodded gravely. He had heard of Lionel Bly, whose family property, or late family property rather, marched with the ancestral acres at Ravenswood. And all he had heard of that young man was distinctly in his favour. He shot a quick glance at Stella and noticed her rising colour.
"Is that all you have got to tell me, young lady?" he asked.
"Oh well," Stella laughed, "you always take me into your confidence, so why shouldn't I take you into mine? I have known Lionel Bly ever since I can remember. He was my hero when I was a tomboy and he was at Eton. He is six or seven years older than I am, but I never saw anybody else that I wanted to marry."
"And you are of the same mind, now, eh?"
Stella nodded two or three times emphatically.
"Then he is a dashed lucky young fellow, that is all I have to say," Sir Samuel said, with a hearty smile.
"I think we are both lucky in that respect," Stella said. "But otherwise this little romance of ours is likely to last until we are both middle-aged. You see, I have no money, and he has none, and there—well, there we are, don't you know. But don't you think we are getting sentimental, Sir Samuel?"
"Oh, of course, of course," Oscar said with a mock severity. "Most reprehensible, especially in business hours. But it is rather a strange thing that this young man of yours—I beg your pardon, this Mr. Bly should be a sort of confidential assistant to the very man we suspect."
"Suspect?" Stella cried. "Do you mean to say that you suspect Sir Hercules Slaney?"
"That is what it comes to," Oscar said grimly. "Washburn goes even farther than that. He said he is perfectly certain that for some considerable time past Sir Hercules has been buying diamonds belonging to the Maggersfont Company through one of the Kafirs employed in the mines. Three or four months ago Sir Hercules came down from the Congo with your friend Mr. Bly and his baggage-bearers, and spent a lot of time at Maggersfont, ostensibly studying the natives. He used his great influence in his letters of introduction to impress Washburn and asked our manager for an opportunity to observe the Kafirs when they were actually at work. Even then Washburn hesitated. He cabled to me for instructions, and, after consulting one or two of Slaney's colleagues in London, I gave my consent without much hesitation. However, you had better read the letter for yourself."
Stella took up the sheets and read them carefully. They formed a long and anxious communication from the manager of the mines, in which, under the seal of secrecy, he laid all his suspicions and certain rather slender proofs before his chief. He had made exhaustive inquiries, he said. At first he had been loth to fasten suspicion upon so distinguished a scientist, whose name was a household word on both sides of the Atlantic. But the farther he had gone the more mistrusting he became of the great man. To begin with, he had elicited the fact that Sir Hercules Slaney was exceedingly short of ready money. His hotel bill in the house where he was staying near Maggersfont had not been paid for many weeks, and even his servants had been clamouring for their wages. And then, suddenly, the trouble had ceased, and Slaney appeared to be in ample funds again. Then there was the strange case of the particular native who had suddenly ceased work, and who was in a state of partial intoxication for days together. Moreover, this individual was proved to be swaggering about the various native quarters with a roll of Treasury notes on his person. He had changed one or two of these, and Washburn had traced them directly to Sir Hercules Slaney. It was clear to him that Slaney was acting as the agent for some daring firm of illicit diamond buyers, and that, in all probability, he was sharing the spoil with them. And then just as Washburn was proving his case, Sir Hercules had vanished, together with his private secretary, leaving no trace behind him. The most significant fact of all: this disappearance had taken place about the time when the native quarters were buzzing with rumours as to the finding of the traditional great King Diamond. Had Slaney got away with it in his possession? Had he returned to London, and how was he living? Did he appear to be in the possession of ample funds, or was he passing through a period of temporary impecuniosity.
"Well, now you know all about it," Oscar said when Stella had finished the letter. "What do you think?"
Stella appeared to be a little troubled.
"Such things have happened before now," she said. "It is not the first time that a great man has yielded to temptation. It was absolutely necessary that Sir Hercules should have the command of a lot of money because his expenses must have been enormous. You cannot travel all over the world as he did without a long purse, and I have heard it said more than once that his resources were exceedingly limited. At the same time I am afraid if Mr. Washburn's suspicions are correct that some of the suspicion must fall upon Lionel Bly. You see—oh, dear, I hardly know how to put it. What are you going to do, Sir Samuel?"
"Well, I haven't quite made up my mind," Oscar replied. "Of course, you can't sit down to a loss like this, and if there is any truth in the story of the King Diamond and Slaney has got away with it, then I shall have to consult someone else. We can't let the man off scot-free."
"Oh, of course you can't," Stella admitted. "Do you know, Sir Samuel, I almost wish you hadn't told me this. If I hadn't known—well if I hadn't loved Lionel Bly, or if I had not known him even, things would be very different. But he is in London now, and, naturally, he likes to see as much of me as he can.
"Mind you, he has never asked me to marry him. What you might call a word of love has never passed between us. Lionel is the last man in the world to tie a woman up to him unless he could see some prospect of giving her a home, and that is a very remote contingency at present. But we quite understand one another, and if at some future time—Oh dear, here I am, in business hours, talking sentiment again. I have done my best, but I don't see how I can keep away from it."
"Of course you can't," Sir Samuel agreed pleasantly. "My dear child, the British Empire was built up on sentiment. Now, don't you get worrying that pretty head of yours about that very nice young man. No suspicion attaches to him and probably none ever will. From what I can gather from inquiries I have made Sir Hercules Slaney is not the type of man who confides in anybody. Men who have a queer kink in their brain like he has always kept their own secrets. It is a case of great wits to madness nearly are akin. The village idiot is just the same. What I mean is that he likes to hoard things up. They always do. And I am quite sure that Sir Hercules is a man of the same type. Mind you, I quite appreciate your difficulty, and if you hadn't been so open and candid about that Admirable Crichton of yours, I should have known what to do. But as it is, I see that I shall have to move on another line. Of course, it is pretty hard upon you that you should have to be constantly meeting this young man and hearing him talk of Sir Hercules, whom he doubtless regards as a sort of hero, when all the time we know that he is little less than a cunning thief. It is going to be very difficult for you, my dear. I think the best thing I can do is to go round to Scotland Yard and consult the authorities there. Meanwhile, I want you to take that letter from Washburn and answer it in accordance with these notes I have made. Tell him that no sort of blame attaches as far as he is concerned, and that I am taking steps at this end to verify his suspicions. Type that letter out yourself in the private letter-book and post it personally. You can sign it if I am not back in time. And I think that is all for the present. Good morning."
Stella went back to her room with her mind in a whirl. An hour before she was just the mere business girl on terms of strict commercialism with her employer, and here she found herself suddenly plunged into a whirl of intrigue and romance, and that in Bishopsgate-street, of all places in the world. She was glad on the whole that her employer, at the last moment of their interview had assumed the strict manner of the employer towards the employed. In a way it made it easier for her.
She typed the letter presently, made a copy of it in the private letter-book and locked the volume away. Then she put on her hat and went out to her modest lunch, grateful for the opportunity of a quiet hour in which she could reduce her mind to its proper logical level. But it was not to be, because directly she stepped out in the sunshine on the pavement she found that Lionel Bly was there eagerly awaiting her.
CHAPTER II
FOR the moment, at any rate, the office in Bishopsgate- street with all its responsibilities was forgotten. There and then in the sunshine on the crowded pavement Stella could see nothing but the young man before her and a dim background of pleasant memories with which he was intimately connected. The fields and the woods and the light falling on old-world gardens and pleasant intimacies in the ancient rooms where the Ravenhills and the Blys had foregathered for centuries.
Quite a presentable young man, too. Just a typical Englishman to his finger-tips, with that clean and wholesome look that goes with the better brand of Briton the world over. Not dressed after the manner of Bond-street on a summer morning, but with a certain air of distinction that is at once so marked and yet so absolutely indescribable. Not handsome, either, but with the brand of sterling integrity and a pair of eyes that looked everybody smilingly and bravely in the face.
And what he saw was a young woman in the first flush of her beauty. Rather tall, not too fashionably slim, but eminently what she appeared to be. And in her eyes was a smile of welcome and on her cheek a flush that was not due to the perfection of health entirely. And that glorious smile of hers seemed to light up the whole dingy thoroughfare.
"Lionel," Stella cried. "This is quite unexpected. And yet none the less welcome. But what is the meaning of this? Have you taken a day off?"
"Well, not exactly that," Bly laughed. "As a matter of fact my old man is busy on some important experiment, so I am free for an hour or two. That is why I came round here this morning, knowing that you always had your lunch at 1 o'clock, in the hope that I might take you to lunch at the Ritz."
"Ah, that is quite impossible," Stella said. "I always go as far as Oxford-street and take my modest repast at Pagani's. You see, I am so important a person that my employer must know where to find me, even when I lunch. It isn't often he disturbs me, but that is our arrangement. I go by tube to Oxford Circus, because I feel that the little change does me good and the lunch-time music at Pagani's is excellent."
Bly responded eagerly to the effect that it was all the same to him so long as Stella and himself were alone together, and, a few moments later, they found themselves seated in the famous restaurant at a little table laid for two which an infatuated waiter usually retained for Stella. And there they sat for half an hour, listening to the music and discussing their modest lunch, so absorbed in themselves that they might have been absolutely alone so far as the rest of the company were concerned.
It was only when they were sipping their coffee and Stella was enjoying the one cigarette she allowed herself during the course of the day that it began to dawn upon her that Bly was unusually silent and preoccupied. So different to his usual flow of sparkling and enlivening conversation.
"There," Stella said. "That is the second time I have asked you a question you haven't answered. I hope you haven't got anything on your mind, Lionel."
"Well, I have and I haven't. All the same, I did want to consult you about something. To tell you the truth, I am rather worried about my old man."
Stella was all attention at once. She was faintly conscious of some vague trouble in the air, something connected with the story that Sir Samuel had told her that morning. And now, here was Lionel Bly, more or less leading up to the same subject.
"I don't quite understand you," she murmured.
"Well, perhaps I ought not to tell you," Bly went on. "But then, I always tell you everything. I suppose Sir Samuel does, for that matter? Being his confidential secretary, I dare say you learn many things that the public would be glad to know."
"I am absolutely in my employer's confidence and proud of the fact," Stella said. "Why, only this morning—"
She checked herself and broke off abruptly. But Bly was too absorbed in his own thoughts to notice.
"It wouldn't matter," he said thoughtfully, "if it didn't affect my future to a great extent. And when I say my future, I mean ours. He is a wonderful man in many respects, is Sir Hercules, and in certain circles he carries tremendous weight. That is one of the reasons why I have stuck to him so long. He has always promised to do something big for me one of these days and I believed him. But now I am not so sure. The last few months I can't make him out at all. He dragged me down from the Congo Belt, where we were making the most important investigations, and insisted upon settling down close to those diamond mines at Maggersfont. By the way, isn't Sir Samuel Oscar one of the big noises in connection with that mine?"
Stella suppressed a start. Here was Bly, absolutely ignorant of the really startling story she had heard from her employer's lips that morning, actually leading up to another variant of the same amazing narrative. And yet he could not possibly know, even in a small degree, anything connected with the matter which had reached Bishopsgate-street from South Africa that morning. Neither could Stella give him a lead. She could trust him of course, and trust him implicitly, but then to do that would be to betray an almost sacred confidence. It was with a feeling of some uneasiness and discomfort that Stella sat there waiting to hear what her companion was going to say. And, whatever he told her, and whatever light his information would throw upon the mystery of the Maggersfont mine, her lips were sealed. She must listen to all he had to say without response. It seemed almost like treachery, but she had no alternative.
"Don't tell me if you don't want to," she said. "Perhaps you are unduly worrying yourself."
"I don't think so," Bly muttered. "You see, it is like this. I could not for the life of me understand why Sir Hercules suddenly turned his back on the Congo. He was getting on splendidly and his enthusiasm was like that of a schoolboy. He has got some queer ideas, amongst the rest being that he can turn a nigger into a white man in two generations. I mean that in the course of thirty or forty years the coloured races of the world will disappear—so far as their outward appearance is concerned. Of course, it might be all nonsense, but, on the other hand, I have seen with my own eyes three generations of pure black African rats turned into white ones. And not in the tropics, either, but here in London, within a mile of where we are seated. Perhaps I ought not to have told you that, and I shouldn't unless I felt sure that you will never breathe a word of this to a soul. You will see where it comes in presently."
Again that feeling of uneasiness swept over Stella. She might be wrong, of course, but it seemed to her that she ought not to listen to these confidences, without being able to return them and that she could not do so long as she was bound to respect the interests of her employer.
"Do you actually mean that?" she asked.
"Certainly I do," Bly replied. "Mind you, I am no scientist, and I have only obtained the information I am giving you by keeping my eyes open. I don't suppose Sir Hercules realises that I have taken so much interest in his scientific research. You see, my business is to look after the camps, and give orders to the bearers, and all that sort of thing. I know enough native dialect for that, and I picked up most of it during the three years I was serving with the S.A. Forces in the Great War. Otherwise, I should not be with Sir Hercules at all. I dare say you will think I am a long time getting to my point, but I am coming to it now. Just as everything was going splendidly in the Congo Sir Hercules suddenly made up his mind to chuck everything, and go down to Maggersfont. When I asked him why, he told me to mind my own business. And, of course, a hint like that was good enough for me. When we got to Maggersfont Sir Hercules spent most of his time there in pottering about the diamond mines. He got a permit giving him permission to watch the Kafirs at work in the compounds, and he was there almost day and night. And all that time he was in a state of extraordinary nervous irritability. It was all very difficult for me, because I was practically in command of the expedition, and when I discovered that there was absolutely no money in the exchequer I began to get really worried. You see, there were all sorts of people to pay, and there was our hotel bill running on until the landlord began to be quite nasty about it. I hardly knew what to do, because every time I mentioned it to Sir Hercules, he would fly off the handle, and behave in the most extraordinary way. And then, all at once, money began to flow in from some mysterious source. My dear girl, I was more worried than over. Where had that cash come from out of nowhere? I knew that Sir Hercules had precious little of his own, and that he had borrowed every cent he could from his scientific and other friends. So long as we were up in the Congo it didn't matter, but when we were in the limits of civilisation then it was another question altogether. And then I began to hear extraordinary rumours. Rumours of the mysterious disappearance of diamonds from the compounds. Rumours of Kafirs who were swaggering about with their pockets full of money. There was one great buck nigger called M'Papo—"
Bly looked up suddenly, as Stella uttered a little cry and then glanced down demurely at her feet. For the life of her she could not suppress the exclamation, because in the letter she had read that morning from Washburn he had mentioned the name M'Papo as being that of the man who was so shrewdly suspected of being in league with the diamond thieves.
"Oh, it's nothing," Stella said hurriedly. "Go on, Lionel, you have no idea how interested I am."
"Well, as a matter of fact, there is not much more to tell you," Bly concluded rather lamely. "But Sir Hercules has been a different man ever since. He was always inclined to be secretive and suspicious, but now his manner is almost unbearable."
"But you really don't suggest—" Stella hinted.
"Indeed I do. You see, I have all the accounts through my hands and most of the correspondence, and if that money had come through an ordinary channel, I must have known it. And, mind you, Sir Hercules is a man who brooks no opposition whatever. He allows nothing to stand in his path where research concerned and, honestly, I don't believe would stop at murder if he thought it necessary. My idea is that he took advantage of his high position and his great name to get inside the diamond compounds with the deliberate intention of corrupting the Kafirs. And don't forget that he knows their habits inside out, and can speak their language like a native. Moreover, he has a wonderful reputation as a medicine man. There are millions of natives in Africa who regard him as a great witch-doctor, I don't suppose you have ever heard of a native legend called the King Diamond—"
But Stella was prepared this time, and made no sign. Horribly guilty as she felt in listening to these confidences, she was powerless to speak. She would listen on to the end, even if some of these early days the one man in the world she really cared for accused her of something like black treachery.
"Go on," she murmured, looking down and not daring to meet his eyes. "It sounds like a page out of 'King Solomon's Mines.'"
"Yes, by Jove, it isn't far off it. I can't tell you the legend now, because it would take too long, but I heard just before we came home—which we did as abruptly as we had left the Congo—that this wonderful legendary diamond had been found and mysteriously smuggled out of the country by a native. If that is true, then I am sure that Sir Hercules is at the bottom of it. He is spending money right and left now. Why, his flat in Devonshire Mansions costs him over three hundred a year. And before we left England he was trying to sell the lease of it. And now he has ordered the most elaborate apparatus from all over Europe, stuff running into thousands of pounds, and, what is more paying cash for it. And for the first time since I have been with him he has locked up all his private papers, so that I can look at practically nothing. And then he goes off on mysterious errands for hours at a time, and comes back in the vilest of tempers. There is something very wrong, Stella, and I feel most uncomfortable about it. I don't want to get mixed up in any trouble, and that is why I am thinking of chucking my job."
"Oh, you mustn't do that," Stella cried. "At least, not just yet. I mean that it would be very foolish of you to do so unless you have something else in view. You see—"
She stopped suddenly as a messenger boy came drifting through the room shouting her name aloud.
"Miss Ravenhill," he cried. "Miss Ravenhill. Wanted at the telephone, if you please."
"That is my employer," Stella explained as she rose to her foot. "I won't keep you a moment now."
She hurried off into the sound-proof box at the end of a corridor, and took down the receiver.
"Stella Ravenhill speaking," she said. "Who is that?"
"Oh, that you, Miss Ravenhill," came the familiar voice. "No, I don't want to interrupt you, because there is no occasion for you to hurry back. As a matter of fact, I am going to Paris this afternoon to see the French Foreign Minister in connection with those Waterhouse Concessions. I am flying from Croydon Aerodrome at 4 o'clock, and I expect to get back on Friday night or early Saturday morning. I have notified the staff, and I leave you to carry on the private business in my absence. But what I really rang you up for is this. I want you to arrange for a house party at Ravenswood for this week-end. I have already notified Lady Margaret Severn, and she will go down to Ravenswood on Friday. Also, she will get the house party together."
Stella murmured something appropriate. There was no reason for her to inquire who Lady Margaret Severn was, because she had known that popular society lady for years. And she it was who had invariably acted as hostess for Sir Samuel whenever he had a social gathering in the house where Stella was born.
"So that's that," the voice went on at the other end of the wire. "And now I come to the most important part of what I have to say. I have managed to get in touch with Sir Hercules Slaney over the telephone and he has promised to come down for the weekend. A sort of lion, if you understand me. Of course, he could not very well refuse after everything I did for him in Maggersfont, and I need not tell you that I have my own reasons for asking him down. In fact, I arranged the party on purpose. And I want you to ask that young man of yours to come as well. I daresay you can easily get in contact with him."
"Quite," Stella said demurely. "In fact, I am lunching with him at the present moment."
"Oh, the deuce you are! Then I don't think there will be much difficulty in persuading that young man to become one of the gathering. What's that? Oh, yes, quite so. I think that is about all. Here, stop a moment. I was actually forgetting one of the most important points. I have just had a cable in code from Washburn to the effect, that M'Papo, that is the Kafir who is the rogue in the play, disappeared twelve or fourteen days ago, and is believed to be on his way to England in a Cape liner. Washburn has good reason to believe that he is working his passage in the stokehold. This bit of information may or may not have some significance, but I thought perhaps you would like to know it. And now you can go back to your lunch."
Stella returned to her seat in thoughtful mood. It was almost amazing how these incidents were piling up one on the top of the other, and how sensationally events had begun to develop out of nothing, just as a thunderstorm piles up in a summer sky.
She would have dearly liked to say something about all this to Lionel Bly, but then, in the circumstances, it was impossible. And in any case, if Sir Hercules Slaney was the scoundrel he appeared to be, then it would be nothing short of criminal if she dropped any hint which would give the eminent scientist a loophole by which he might escape the consequences of his criminality. No, she must be forced back upon a policy of silence, though, later on, that policy might, in a measure, recoil on her own head.
But there was nothing on her face to show these feelings as she went back to her seat again. Lionel was sitting moodily there, gazing into space.
"Nothing wrong, I hope?" he asked.
"Nothing whatever," Stella smiled. "In fact, I can give you a little longer time than usual. But I have an invitation for you. Sir Samuel thought it would please me if you were invited to be his guest for the week-end at Ravenswood."
"Ask me?" Bly cried. "My dearest girl, there is nothing I should like better in the world. It would be better than a fortnight at the seaside to see dear old Ravenswood again, to say nothing of the sight of the property that used to belong to my reprehensible ancestors. But I am afraid it is out of the question. Sir Hercules would never let me go."
"Well, as a matter of fact, Sir Hercules is going himself," Stella explained. "It appears that Sir Samuel got in contact with him over the telephone, and asked him down, and—well, he consented. And I suppose Sir Samuel thought it would please me if you had an invitation too. Sir Samuel is something more than an employer—he is my very dear friend. But he knows all about us and how well we understand one another. I thought it was exceedingly kind of him."
"So it was," Lionel agreed heartily, "and I am most grateful. A week-end under the same roof as you! It seems almost too good to be true. Only I hope there won't be a big mob down there. I would rather not run into the old set."
