by Louis Tracy
CHAPTER III.
_What the Meteor Contained._
Philip descended the stairs. He was almost choking now from anothercause than strangulation. The steam pouring in through the fracturedwindow panes was stifling. He took off his coat, first removing from aninner pocket the bundle of letters found under Mrs. Anson's pillow, andcarefully stuffed the worn garment into the largest cavities. By thismeans he succeeded somewhat in shutting out the vapor as well as thelurid light that still flared red in the back yard.
The lightning had ceased totally, and the improvised blind plunged theroom into impenetrable darkness. He felt his way to the stairs and foundthe candle, which he relighted. The rain beating on the roofs and on theouter pavements combined with the weird sounds in the inclosed yard tomake a terrifying racket, but it was not likely that a youth whoattributed his escape from a loathsome death, self-inflicted, to thedirect interposition of Providence in his behalf, would yield to anysentimental fears on that account. Indeed, although quite weak fromhunger, he felt an unaccountable elation of spirits, a new-born desireto live and justify his mother's confidence in him, a sense of power toachieve that which hitherto seemed impossible.
He even broke into a desultory whistling as he bent over the hearth andresumed the laying of the fire abandoned five minutes earlier with suchsudden soul-weariness. The candle, too, burned with cheery glimmer, asif pleased with the disappearance of its formidable competitor.Fortunately he had some coal in the house--his chief supply was storedin a small bin at the other side of the yard, beyond the burial place ofthe raging, steaming meteor, and consequently quite unapproachable.
Soon the fire burned merrily, and the coffee-stall keeper's recipe forusing coffee grounds was put into practice. Philip had neither sugar normilk, but the hot liquid smelled well, and he was now so cold and stiff,and he had such an empty sensation where he might have worn a belt, thatsome crusts of bread, softened by immersion in the dark compound, earnedkeener appreciation than was ever given in later days to the most costlydishes of famous restaurants yet unbuilt.
After he had eaten, he dried his damp garments and changed his soakedboots for a pair so worn that they scarcely held together. But theirdryness was comforting. An odd feeling of contentment, largely inducedby the grateful heat of the fire, rendered his actions leisurely. Quitehalf an hour elapsed before he thought of peeping through the backwindow to ascertain the progress of external events. The rain was notnow pelting down with abnormal fury. It was still falling, but with thequiet persistence that marks--in London parlance--"a genuine wet day."The steam had almost vanished. When he removed his coat from the brokenpanes he saw with surprise that the flagstones in the yard were drywithin a circle of two feet around the hole made by the meteor. Suchdrops as fell within that area were instantly obliterated, and tiny jetsof vapor from the hole itself betrayed the presence of the fiery objectbeneath. His boyish curiosity being thoroughly aroused, he drew an oldsack over his head and shoulders, unlocked a door which led into theyard from a tiny scullery, and cautiously approached the place where themeteor had plowed its way into the ground. The stones were littered withdebris, but the velocity of the heavy mass had been so great that acomparatively clean cut was made through the pavement. The air was warm,with the hot breath of an oven, and it was as much as Philip could bearwhen he stood on the brink of the hole and peeped in. At a good depth,nearly half his own height he estimated, he saw a round ball firmlyimbedded in the earth. It was dully red, with its surface all cracks andfissures as the result of the water poured onto it. Much larger than afootball, it seemed to him, at first sight, to be the angry eye of somecolossal demon glaring up at him from a dark socket. But the boy wasabsolutely a stranger to fear. He procured the handle of a mop andprodded the meteor with it. The surface felt hard and brittle. Largesections broke away, though they did not crumble, and he received asharp reminder of the potency of the heat still stored below when thewood burst into sudden flame.
This ended his investigations for the night. He used the sacking toblock up the window, replenished the fire, set his coat to dry, anddragged his mattress from the bedroom to the front of the fire. Thewarmth within and without the house had made him intolerably drowsy, andhe fell asleep while murmuring his prayers, a practice abandoned sincethe hour of his mother's death.
In reality, Philip was undergoing a novel sort of Turkish bath, and theperspiration induced thereby probably saved him from a dangerous cold.He slept long and soundly. There was no need to attend to the fire. Longere the coal in the grate was exhausted, the presence of the meteor hadpenetrated the surrounding earth, and the house was far above its normaltemperature when he awoke.
The sun had risen in a cloudless sky. A lovely spring morning hadsucceeded a night of gloom and disaster, and the first sound thatgreeted his wondering ears was the twittering of the busy sparrows onthe housetops. Of course he owned neither clock nor watch. Thesearticles, with many others, were represented by a bundle of pawn ticketsstuffed into one of the envelopes of his mother's packet of letters. Butthe experience of even a few weeks had taught him roughly how toestimate time by the sun, and he guessed the hour to be eight o'clock,or thereabouts.
His first thought was of the meteor. His toilet was that of primevalman, being a mere matter of rising and stretching his stiff limbs. Whilelacing his boots he noticed that the floor was littered with tiny whitespecks, the largest of which was not bigger than a grain of bird seed.These were the particles which shot through the broken window during theprevious night. He picked up a few and examined them. They were hard,angular, cold to the touch, and a dull white in color.
On entering the yard he saw hundreds of these queer little roughpebbles, many of them as large as peas, some the size of marbles and afew bigger ones. They had evidently flown on all sides, but,encountering lofty walls, save where they forced a way through the thinglass of the window, had fallen back to the ground. Interspersed withthem he found pieces of broken stone and jagged lumps of material thatlooked and felt like iron.
By this time the meteor itself had cooled sufficiently to reveal thenature of its outer crust. It appeared to be an amalgam of the darkironlike mineral and the white pebbles. Through one deep fissure hecould still see the fiery heart of the thing, and he imagined that whenthe internal heat had quite exhausted itself the great ball would easilybreak into pieces, for it was rent in all directions.
His first exclamation was one of thankfulness.
"I am jolly glad that thing didn't fall on my head," he said aloud,forgetting that had its advent been delayed a second or two, the preciselocality selected for its impact would not have mattered much to him.
"I wonder what it is," he went on. "Is it worth anything? Perhaps if Idig it out, I may be able to sell it as a curiosity."
A moment's reflection told him, however, that he would not be able todisinter it that day, even if he possessed the requisite implements. Onits lower side it was probably still red-hot. Through the soles of hisboots, broken as they were, he could easily feel the heat of the ground,so the experiment must be deferred for twenty-four hours, perhapslonger. At any rate, he was sure that his mysterious visitor representeda realizable asset, and the knowledge gave him a sudden distaste forcoffee grounds and stale crusts. He resolved to spend his remainingthree halfpence on a breakfast, and at the same time, make some guardedinquiries as to the nature and possible cash value of the meteoritself. Evidently, its fall had attracted no public attention. The furyof the elements and the subsequent heavy rain were effectual safeguardsin this respect, and Johnson's Mews, marked out for demolition afortnight later, were practically deserted now day and night. Philip didnot then know that London had already much to talk about in the recordedincidents of the two storms. The morning newspapers were hysterical withheadlines announcing fires, collapse of buildings, street accidents, andlamentable loss of life in all parts of the metropolis. As the day wore,and full details came to hand, the list of mishaps would be doubled,while scientific observers would b
egin a nine days' wrangle in theeffort to determine the precise reason why the electrical disturbanceshould have been wholly confined to the metropolitan area. Philip Anson,a ragged boy of fifteen, residing in a desolate nook of the mostdisheveled district in the East End, possessed the very genesis of themystery, yet the web of fate was destined to weave a spell that woulddeftly close his lips.
Meanwhile he wanted his breakfast. He gathered thirty fair-sized, whitepebbles and a few jagged lumps of the ironlike material. These hewrapped in a piece of newspaper, screwed up the small package tightly,and placed it in his trousers' pocket. Thinking deeply about the awesomeincidents of the previous night, he donned his coat and did not noticethe packet of letters lying in the chair. Never before had thesedocuments left his possession. The door was locked and the key in hispocket before he missed them. It was in his mind to turn back. Inanother second he would have obeyed the impulse, had not a mighty gustof wind swept through the yard and carried his tattered cap into thepassage. That settled it. Philip ran after his headgear, and so wasblown into a strange sea of events.
"They are quite safe there," he thought. "In any case, it will be bestnot to carry them about in future. They get so frayed, and some day Imay want them."
Emerging from the haven of the mews, he found the untidy life of theMile End Road eddying in restless confusion through a gale. The gaunt,high walls surrounding his secluded dwelling had sheltered him from theblustering, March wind that was now drying the streets and creating muchill-temper in the hearts of carters, stall owners and girls with largehats and full skirts. In a word, everything that could be flapped orshaken, or rudely swept anywhere out of its rightful place, was dealtwith accordingly. In one instance a heavy tarpaulin was lifted clean offa wagon and neatly lodged over the heads of the driver and horses of apassing omnibus. They were not extricated from its close embrace withoutsome difficulty and a great quantity of severe yet cogent remarks by thewagoner and the driver, assisted by the 'bus conductor and variouspassengers.
Philip laughed heartily, for the first time since his mother's death. Hewaited until the driver and the wagoner had exchanged their farewellcompliments. Then he made off briskly toward an establishment wherethree halfpence would purchase a cup of coffee and a bun.
In ten minutes he felt much refreshed, and his busy mind reverted to themysterious package he carried. Thinking it best to seek the counsel ofan older head, he went to O'Brien's shop. The old man was taking downthe shutters, and found the task none too easy. Without a word, Philiphelped him, and soon the pensioner was wiping his spectacles in theshelter of the shop.
"I dunno what the weather is comin' to at all at all," he grumbled."Last night was like the takin' uv the Redan, an' this mornin' remindsme uv crossin' the Bay o' Biscay."
"It certainly was a fearful thunderstorm," said Philip.
"Faix, boy, that's a thrue word. It was just like ould times in thehills in Injia, where the divil himself holds coort some nights. Butwhat's the matter? Didn't you get that job?"
Philip laughed again. "I am not sure yet," he replied. "I really came into ask you what this is."
With his hand in his pocket, he had untwisted the paper and taken outthe white pebbles, which he now handed to O'Brien.
The old man took it, smelt it and adjusted his glasses for a criticalexamination.
"It ain't alum," he announced.
"No. I think not."
"An' it ain't glass."
"Probably not."
"Where did yer get it?"
"I found it lying on the pavement."
O'Brien scratched his head. "'Tis a quare-looking objec', anyhow. Whatgood is it?"
"I cannot tell you. I thought that possibly it might have some value."
"What! A scrap of white shtone like that. Arrah, what's come over ye?"
"There is no harm in asking, is there? Some one should be able to tellme what it is made of."
Philip, from his small store of physical geography, knew that meteorswere articles of sufficient rarity to attract attention. And he wastenacious withal.
"I suppose that a jeweler would be the best man to judge. He mustunderstand about stones," he went on.
"Maybe; but I don't see what's the use. 'Tis a sheer waste of time. Butif y're set on findin' out, go to a big man. These German Jews roundabout here are omadhauns. They don't know a watch from a clock, an' ifthey did they'd chate ye."
"I never thought of that, yet I ought to know by this time. Thank you; Iwill go into the city."
He took the pebble, which he placed in his waistcoat pocket. Walkingbriskly, he traversed some part of the sorrowful journey of barelytwelve hours earlier. What had happened to change his mood he did notknow, and scarcely troubled to inquire. Last night he hurried throughthese streets in a frenzied quest for death. Now he strode along full ofhope, joyous in the confidence of life and youth. His one dominantthought was that his mother had protected him, had snatched him from thedark gate of eternity. Oddly enough, he laid far more stress on hisescape from the meteor than on the accident that prevented hiscontemplated suicide. This latter idea had vanished with the madnessthat induced it. Philip was sane again, morally and mentally. He waskeenly anxious to justify his mother's trust in him. The blusteringwind, annoying to most wayfarers, only aroused in him a spirit ofresistance, of fortitude. He breasted it so manfully that when at lasthe paused at the door of a great jewelry establishment in Ludgate Hill,his face was flushed and his manner eager and animated.
He opened the door, but was rudely brought back to a sense of hissurroundings by the suspicious question of a shop-walker.
"Now, boy, what do you want here?"
The unconscious stress in the man's words was certainly borne out by thecontrast between Philip, a social pariah in attire, and the wealth ofgold and precious stones cut off from him by panes of thick glass andiron bars. What, indeed, did this outcast want there?
Confused by the sudden demand, and no less by its complete obviousness,Philip flushed and stammered:
"I--er--only wished to obtain some information, sir," he answered.
Like all others, the shopman was amazed by the difference between theboy's manners and his appearance.
"Information," he repeated, in his surprise. "What information can wegive you?"
The wealth of the firm oppressed this man. He could only speak inaccents of adulation where the shop was concerned.
Philip produced his white pebble.
"What is this?" he said.
The directness of the query again took his hearer aback. Without a word,he bent and examined the stone. Professional instinct mastered all otherconsiderations.
"You must apply to that department." He majestically waved his handtoward a side counter. Philip obeyed silently, and approached a small,elderly personage, a man with clever, kindly eyes, who was submitting tomicroscopical examination a number of tiny stones spread out on achamois leather folding case. He quietly removed the case when hisglance rested on the boy.
"Well?" he said, blankly, wondering why on earth the skilled shop-walkerhad sent such a disreputable urchin to him. Philip was now quitecollected in his wits. He held out the pebble, with a more detailedstatement.
"I found this," he said. "I thought that it might be valuable, and afriend advised me to bring it here. Will you kindly tell me what it is?"
The man behind the counter stared at him for a moment, but he reachedover for the stone. Without a word he placed it beneath the microscopeand gave it a very brief examination. Then he pressed it against hischeek.
"Where did you get it?" he asked.
"I found it where it had fallen on the pavement."
"Are you sure?"
"Quite sure."
"Strange!" was the muttered comment, and Philip began to understand thathis meteor possessed attributes hitherto unsuspected.
"But what is it?" he inquired, after a pause.
"A meteoric diamond."
"A meteoric diamond?"
"Yes."
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"Is it worth much?"
"A great deal. Probably some hundreds of pounds."
Philip felt his face growing pale. That dirty-white, small stone worthhundreds of pounds! Yet in his pocket he had twenty-nine otherspecimens, many of them much larger than the one chosen haphazard forinspection, and in the back yard of his tenement lay heaps of them,scattered about the pavement like hailstones after a shower, while themeteor itself was a compact mass of them. He became somewhat faint, andleaned against the glass case that surmounted the counter.
"Is that really true?" was all he could say.
The expert valuer of diamonds smiled. His first impulse was to send forthe police, but he knew that meteoric diamonds did fall to earthoccasionally, and he believed the boy's story. Moreover, the thing wassuch a rarity and of such value that the holder must be fully able toaccount for its possession before he could dispose of it. So his tonewas not unkindly as he replied:
"It is quite true, but if you want to ascertain its exact value youshould go to a Hatton Garden merchant, and he, most probably, would makeyou a fair offer. It has to be cut and polished, you know, before itbecomes salable, and I must warn you that most rigid inquiry will bemade as to how it came into your hands."
"It fell from heaven," was the wholly unexpected answer, for Philip wasshaken and hardly master of his faculties.
"Yes, yes, I know. Personally, I believe you, or you would be in custodyat this moment. Take it to Messrs. Isaacstein & Co., Hatton Garden. SayI sent you--Mr. Wilson is my name--and make your best terms with Mr.Isaacstein. He will treat you quite fairly. But, again, be sure and tellthe truth, as he will investigate your story fully before he issatisfied as to its accuracy."
Philip, walking through dreamland, quitted the shop. He mingled with thejostling crowd and drifted into Farringdon Road.
"A diamond--worth hundreds of pounds!" he repeated, mechanically. "Thenwhat is the whole meteor worth, and what am I worth?"
