The Blue Diamond

by Annie Haynes

  There was a low tapping at his door, and he recognized that this was the sound that had roused him.

  “Who is there?” he called out.

  The answer came in a whisper.

  “It is I—Mavis. Be as quiet as you can, Arthur. I think—I am sure there are burglars in the house.”

  “Burglars!” Arthur ejaculated as he threw himself out of bed. “Go back to your room, Mavis, like a good girl, and lock your door. I will see to this.”

  He hurried on his clothes and opened the door, to find Mavis still outside with Dorothy clinging to her.

  “Now, where are the burglars?” he said in a reassuring tone. “I expect it is all fancy, but still—”

  “It is not fancy. Dorothy could not sleep; she was nervous and worried last night, so she came into my room. As she was tossing about she thought she heard some one opening the side door which you can just see from my window, so she got out of bed, and looked out. Dark as it was she could distinguish figures outside, and they came in—somebody let them in. They—they have gone towards the strong-room, Arthur!”

  “They have! Well, they will find they have a pretty hard nut to crack there,” Arthur remarked philosophically, “one they will not manage in a minute or two. I shall have time to take you girls back to your room. Have you told Uncle Robert?”

  “No; we came to you first.” Dorothy ventured to lay her hand on his arm. “You—you will be careful, Arthur? You will take care of yourself?”

  “I shall be all right, never fear, Dorothy,” he said. “Lock your door; I must call the men.”

  So absorbed were they that none of them heard a door softly open farther down the passage, not one of them caught a glimpse of a white face peering forth.

  Sir Arthur stole softly along the passages to the men’s quarters, catching a glimpse of light as he passed through the swing-doors that told him that the girls’ story was no mere fabrication. Very softly he roused Jenkins and the footmen and told them what was wanted. Then, arming himself with his revolver, while the men provided themselves with other weapons, the four crept down the stairs. As they reached the bottom flight they became aware for the first time of a low, filing sound. They paused in indecision. At the same moment a tall, dark figure, cloaked and thickly veiled, that had been softly stealing after them, slipped deftly behind a statue at the bend of the staircase.

  One of the men looked up.

  “I—I almost thought I heard something above, Sir Arthur. If they should be going upstairs—”

  “No, no! It is the strong-room!” Jenkins said, with a moan, going a step or two in advance. “They have the outer door open—and all my silver! Oh, dear!”

  “They will not get much farther,” Arthur said beneath his breath as they tiptoed down the passage.

  A moment later he found that he had made a mistake. Through the half-open door of the strong-room he saw that the intruders were well inside the second compartment, and he realized that the filing sound he had heard had been caused by the cutting of the electric alarm. The safe itself, with the lock of whose ingenuity the Hargreaves had been so proud, and of whose absolute impenetrability they had boasted, was wide open, and before it two men were standing.

  They carried dark lanterns and were evidently masked, but Sir Arthur fancied there was something oddly familiar about one of them as he watched them peering into the safe. Nearer to the silent watchers, behind among the shadows, a third dark figure was stealing up to them. Suddenly, before Sir Arthur had formulated his plan of action, one of the men bending over the safe turned. Arthur barely suppressed an exclamation of consternation, for in his hand he held the famous Blue Diamond; his comrades and he gazed at it with a murmur of satisfaction, and while their attention was thus occupied Jenkins leaned towards his master.

  “I will pull the door to and lock them in, Sir Arthur.”

  He dashed forward and caught the door, but the contingency had been thought of and guarded against by the burglars: the door did not yield—it was fastened back.

  The sound Jenkins made had reached the ears of the men in the inner room; they turned, and with a snarl like a wild cat at bay one of them sprang forward.

  Pistol in hand, Sir Arthur advanced.

  “It is all over!” he cried. “Put the Blue Diamond back in its case!” he commanded.

  The man upon whom his eyes were fixed—the one holding the Blue Diamond—hesitated and made a backward motion.

  “Lay the case in the safe and hold up your hands!” Arthur’s clear imperious tone rang through the little chamber, and sullenly his opponent obeyed.

  Arthur made a step or two forward, his pistol still pointed.

  “Now unfasten this door!” But he was reckoning without his host. As he came into the room, keeping his eyes fixed on the man whom he took to be the leader, the other, standing farther in the safe, raised his hand; simultaneously a loud shriek rang through the room and echoed through the house, and the veiled figure which had been creeping behind sprang forward right before Arthur. There was a flash, a report. Arthur had a vision of a loved, familiar face; then, as the smoke cleared away and the men rushed in, they saw that he was standing upright apparently unhurt, but with a dazed, horror-stricken look on his white face, while at his feet lay a huddled-up heap, all undistinguishable, brown, save for one long tress of golden hair that caught the light of the lantern.

  Gazing at it with distended eyes, Sir Arthur stooped in a slow, benumbed fashion, but before he could reach it the man who had fired, dropping his pistol, rushed past him, and pushing him backwards threw himself beside the prostrate form on the floor.

  “Oh, Hilda, Hilda! Speak to me, Hilda!” he cried.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  THE CRY and the shot had roused the house; the loud clanging of the alarm-bell could be heard above the tumult; the grooms and stable-men admitted by the women rushed to their master’s assistance and one of the burglars was soon overpowered.

  Meanwhile Arthur, whose energy, whose very senses, appeared for the time to be paralysed, still leaned against the wall, where the force of the burglar’s impact had sent him, his eyes fixed in a terrible, incredulous stare upon the form lying upon the ground. Jenkins and one of the footmen had secured the other man, and then Jenkins turned to the one who, oblivious of everything apparently but the quiet form over which he was bending, was holding a white hand to his lips, and still beseeching in hoarse, broken accents:

  “Hilda! Hilda! Speak to me!”

  Jenkins gave one glance at the pale face from which the hood had fallen back, at the golden hair, then with a horrified start he turned to his master.

  “Sir Arthur, do you see as it is—”

  “Hush!” Sir Arthur broke in fiercely. “Don’t say it! It is not true! It is only a dreadful mistake. It—it can’t be, Jenkins, you know—”

  “Begging your pardon, Sir Arthur, I can’t see as there can be any mistake,” Jenkins said stolidly. “I could take my oath that it is—”

  He was interrupted by the tramp of feet along the passage. Superintendent Stokes, accompanied by his men, roused by the alarm-bell, had arrived on the scene.

  The superintendent instantly took command of the situation; one of the intruders was still held between the first footman and a groom. With a wave of his hand the superintendent ordered him into safer custody. Then he went forward and surveyed the other couple without manifesting any surprise.

  “What in the world is all this about?”

  Mr. Gore stood in the passage, peering over the shoulders of the crowd surrounding the strong-room door. Hearing his voice, the bystanders made way for him, and he advanced somewhat gingerly.

  “What is the matter, Arthur? An attempt to steal the Blue Diamond, I suppose? Why don’t you speak, boy?” Then in a different tone as Arthur turned his dull, heavy eyes upon him and apparently tried to answer, for his lips moved though no words were audible, “You are ill—wounded?”

  Sir Arthur shook his head.

  �
�No,” he said in a rough, broken tone, evidently only with difficulty made articulate. “No, I was saved. She —she saved me!”

  His uncle’s gaze travelled farther; then he went forward, uttered a quick exclamation of astonishment, and, straightening himself, looked at the superintendent.

  “Surely that is the girl without a memory? What was she doing down here?”

  “That has got to be found out, sir,” replied the superintendent. “But,” with a significant glance round, “I dare say I could make a pretty good guess at it. I can’t say as I’m much surprised, though I hardly thought matters were quite as bad as this. Hist! She is recovering,” as there was a faint flutter of the white eyelids. “And, just in the nick of time, here is Dr. Grieve. Your work is here, doctor.”

  “I thought it might be! I was driving home from Overdeen when I heard the alarm-bell.” The doctor bustled in and put Mr. Gore unceremoniously aside. “One moment, my dear sir, you must leave the patient to me, please,” with a keen glance at the masked man who was evidently unwilling to obey him. “At once, please!” the doctor went on. “I can see that there is no time to be lost.”

  With a silent gesture of despair the man moved aside and was instantly secured by the police. He made no resistance as they snapped the handcuffs on his wrists, but, as if hardly conscious what they were doing, stood motionless, the bright dark eyes, which were all that could be seen beneath the mask, fixed on the doctor as he went about his ghastly task with professional precision.

  Presently, shaking his head, Dr. Grieve turned round.

  “She will get better, doctor?”

  For a moment Dr. Grieve looked up in surprise, not recognizing the hoarse, changed tones as Sir Arthur’s.

  Then as he saw the young man’s haggard face he understood.

  “I am not all-powerful, Sir Arthur,” he said gravely. “And nothing but a miracle could save this poor girl now. She has been shot right through the lungs and there is internal haemorrhage; she may, in fact she will probably have a conscious interval, but it is only a question of a very short time.”

  He knelt down and contrived to force a few drops of some stimulant between the pallid lips, and in a few moments there was a little fluttering gasp and the deep-blue eyes opened once more.

  “Hilda!” The handcuffed man sprang forward, dragging his guardians with him. “Hilda, you must live —it cannot be that I have killed you—I who love you so! For my sake, Hilda!”

  With a faint flickering smile the girl looked into his face. She made a little imperative gesture, and he tore off his mask “That is better,” she said faintly. “I—I am going to die, Jim.”

  Then her eyes wandered restlessly away from him, round the curious little room, at the pitying faces; then she said softly:

  “Arthur!”

  The young man kneeled down beside her, too bewildered yet to grasp the meaning of the situation thoroughly; his mind seemed only capable of retaining the one impression, the stupendous fact that Hilda was dying.

  The girl turned her head a little towards him.

  “Now—you understand, and I can only say—forgive!”

  “Ah, no, I understand nothing,” Arthur said, his breath coming in great gasps, “except that you have given your life for mine! Ah, Hilda—”

  The girl’s eyelids flickered.

  “It wasn’t—just that,” she whispered; “it was for Jim. I am glad you were not hurt—you were very kind to me. But just now my time is short and I want it all for some one else. You will understand everything, some day, and perhaps then, if you have not forgotten, you will —forgive.”

  “Forgive!” Arthur repeated in the same bewildered accents. “Hilda, I can only—”

  “For deceiving you,” the weak accents went on. “Don’t you see that this—this was why I came to the Manor? Why I drew you on to care for me? It was not love really—it was only a sort of fascination.”

  She paused and struggled for breath. Dr. Grieve held a glass of some restorative to her lips, and with an effort she spoke again.

  “When it’s all over, when I am—away, and you know how it all was, you will soon forget me and be far happier without me. I seem to see it all”—closing her eyes for a moment—“but you will keep the diamond necklace, and I think I am rather glad it is so, for I am weary of it all, and you have been very good to me. Now—now I have but a few minutes left, and I only want—Jim!”

  A look of ineffable joy transfigured the dying face, a look of trembling ecstatic joy which Arthur had never seen. She turned her head away and stretched out her weak hands to the man who, on the other side, was bending over her in unutterable anguish.

  “Only you, now, Jim!” she whispered. “Take me in your arms, dear; I want to forget it all, the weariness and the fret, and only remember that we are together again —you and I.”

  The man held out his manacled hands with a pitiful gesture.

  “For her sake I give you my word of honour I will not attempt to get away,” he said.

  The men to whom he was handcuffed glanced inquiringly at Superintendent Stokes, and receiving his nod of assent speedily released him. The man then knelt down and took the dying girl in his arms. As if by common consent all the others drew back to the outer doorway, but those standing nearest caught the broken accents.

  “Ah, Hilda, my darling, my own! I have killed you, though for your sake I would have laid down my life!” and there was the sound of a man’s deep sob.

  The girl tried to put her arms round his neck and failed.—‘

  “Ah, Jim dear, don’t do that! The time is so short and I want to say—to tell you that it was not your fault. I threw myself in the way, for I saw you meant to shoot him, and he was pointing at you, I thought, but now I am—afraid—afraid of what may happen. But they—they ought not to do much to a man who, by accident, shoots his own wife.’’

  As the last words left her lips there was a low sigh, almost a moan, Hilda glanced round restlessly.

  “So this is the end, Jim! The great coup has turned out a failure after all. We weren’t brought up to think honesty the best policy; but if I could have my time over again I would do differently I think.’’

  “Oh, don’t, don’t!” the man broke in passionately. “Hilda, my heart is breaking! It has been my fault, all of it. Forgive me, darling—tell me once more that you forgive me!”

  Hilda put up one hand to the dark face so near hers.

  “There is nothing to forgive, Jim. If there were, a woman forgives anything—to the man she loves. All that is gone, Jim—only our love remains,” drawing his head down.

  Dr. Grieve looked at the superintendent.

  “She may last an hour or two, or she may go any minute,” he said, “but she will probably not recover consciousness again. You had better clear these people away—they are only blocking up the air and doing no good,” with a nod towards the crowd outside the door.

  But as the superintendent turned and vigorously supported Dr. Grieve’s views they began to disperse.

  Mr. Gore, who turned away with the others, felt his arm caught from behind.

  “Uncle Robert!” It was Mavis’s voice; her face looked white and frightened. “What has happened? Arthur told us to stay upstairs, Dorothy and I—and we did for a long time; but when we heard the scream and the people running about we came down. What is it?”

  “A determined attempt to steal the Blue Diamond, I should say,” her uncle replied grimly, “one that pretty nearly succeeded too.”

  “But, Uncle Robert”—Mavis’s voice sank very low, and she trembled from head to foot—“who was it on the ground? It looked like, but it could not be, Hilda!”

  Mr. Gore put his arm under his niece’s and led her back to her room.

  “Don’t you see, child, I was right all along. That poor thing lying there was an impostor, in league with these burglars. It was she—there can’t be the least doubt of it—who admitted them to the house; and it is quite evident that she had contrived to
worm the secret of the lock out of Arthur.”

  Mavis put up her hand to her head.

  “I mean that she came purposely,” he corrected, running his hand through his white hair and ruffling it up until it stood on end. “Heavens, Mavis, is it possible you don’t see how it is now? The girl was one of a gang of burglars who had planned a great stroke of business—no less a thing in fact, than to get possession of the Blue Diamond; and this woman was sent here to worm herself into Arthur’s confidence—I dare say they saw he was just the sort of young fool to do anything for a pretty face—and finally admit the rest of the party.”

  Mavis interrupted him with a cry of pain.

  “Oh, I can’t believe it, Uncle Robert, I can’t believe it! Hilda—”

  “You will have to believe facts, I suppose,” snapped her uncle. “Now some one has got to break the news to your mother, Mavis, and it seems to me that you are the proper person.”

  “Yes, yes. I will go at once. Dorothy is with her now,” faltered Mavis. “Uncle Robert, do you mean that she hadn’t lost her memory at all?”

  “Lost her memory! Certainly she hadn’t. That was merely a pretext for getting into the house and stopping there. I dare say she had seen the idea in some novel or other that put it into her head. Very likely she knew the sort of people she had to deal with. If I had been here she would have found it a difficult matter. But what is the matter here—what is all this noise about?”

  They had reached the long corridor leading to Lady Laura’s room when their progress was arrested by a little group. Mrs. Parkyns and Dorothy were bending over a shaking, sobbing figure in the window-seat. With a throb of surprise Mavis recognized her maid. She paused.

  “Why, Minnie, what is wrong?” she asked.

  Dorothy looked up.

  “Oh, Mavis, she is so upset! She thinks—”

  “It isn’t thinking, Miss Dorothy,” Minnie broke out vehemently. “I am sure. I saw his face quite plain.”

  Mavis glanced at Dorothy.