Evening Republican, Volume 23, Number 46, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 21 February 1920 — Diamond Cut Diamond [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

Diamond Cut Diamond

By JANE BUNKER

by the Bobbs-Merrill Company * naa gone to ueu qune a bit of a grouch on Mrs. Delario —I think anybody would have felt the same in my place. I was perfectly willing that she should keen her faith in Tibetan masters or mahatmas along with the emperor’s diamonds, and I stood prepared to help her do. both; but if I were willing to make such concessions to her it did seem as if she oughtn’t to go throwing off her responsibilities and her diamonds on me all the time! She didn’t seem to feel she owed me any consideration. Very complimentary, of course, that I was the only person in the world she dared to trust; but I’ve found from experience there isn’t much in that sort of compliment—for the recipient. And she hadn’t even troubled herself to explain why she’d brought them back —to warn me of what threatened! That was what rankled more than anything. I waked up grouchler than ever — if she’d been there I’d have told her what I thought about her! How was

Ito hide her diamonds now? I had exhausted all my ingenuity with the hyacinths, so what between racking my brains and nursing my grouch, I decided I wouldn’t hide them at all, and what I did was to turn them bottom side up under the/cotton and fill the rest of the box with pens and drop It carelessly on the tray where it had been. And when I’d done that I was, to all intents and purposes, back in the sajne hole again!—if I went out and left them in the house they might be stolen; if I took them out with me I might be robbed. From being grouchy I got mad at her; and from being mad It was but a step to the Idea that I was fate’s instrument to save the nation, and by the time Td finished breakfast I had decided to go to Washington immediately and lay the matter before the president and let him attend to Germany.

I had just settled the laudable intention with myself when Billy breeze 1 In. He was rosy; he was cordial—oh,very! I’m free to say Fve never seen Billy quite so cordial since the day I rescued him from maternal spanks and curled his hair and pressed* his Fauntleroy suit—the day the boys threw him In the swimming hole. But his young face was also clouded with anxiety and he was puzzled still at the stand Fd taken the night before—that Mrs. Delario was to keep the diamonds—and that Fd no chance to explain to him.« He said “Hello” four times and pumped my hand off. “You’re still alive, I see,” he observed with a sweet smile. ' Without waiting to hear what I had to say he threw his hat on the table and rattled off, “Well, I got her back "Krthe hotel all right—she was as—as gay as anything all the way down. Her father was standing In the door looking for us—l guess he was scared stiff that she hadn’t come—and the minute she saw him she threw herself in his arms and went Into hysterics!” Billy’s face puckered up with his anxlety> and his sympathy as I exclaimed, ‘Toor child !’h “I couldn’t do anything more so I** evaporated,” he continued. “Didn’t even try to say goodby to her. Do you think she’ll think that was queer ot me? —go off without saying goodby?” He was anxious on this point. “No. She’s enough the lady to regard it as great delicacy on your part.” “I hope she, .will,” he said .fervently. “But do you think the shock —last nlght.and all—was too much for her? Say—Fm worried —•” he looked at me in an appealing way. ■ I answered, amused, “I suppose that means you want me to go right dqwn to the hotel with you and find out all about her. I suppose a maiden aunt has nothing to do but go racing off with jelly and make one big dra* matlc fuss—just as if fainting hero* lues weren’t the most ordinary occur* rences known to fiction.” “Ordinary I" gasped Billy. “A faint like that ordinary? I never saw anything like It—and Fve seen a good deal—of life." He jumped up and took a turn about the room. He was annoyed. 1 was amused—so much amused that I had forgotten my grouch on Mrs. Delario and that I bad the diamonds and meant to take them to the president. “Well—are you going down to see how she is?” demanded Billy, wheeling and planking himself in front ot me. .“Dear auntie—eweet auntie,” 1 jibed. “Please put on your camel’s fhalr rtwiwl and bunnit and haste away to Beauty-ta-Dlstress that I may Instantly know how she bore up under the . strala .of meeting tiie mid how she liked his pink, round cheeks.” Bffly gave me a* vicious grunt and strode across the room—he wanted to say something ugly to me but he didn’t darwwting how l held hia fate in mJ

“Oh, Billy!” I cried, suddenly remembering the latest news, “she brought back the diamonds last night!” “Claire came back? Good heavens!" he sank into the chair. “Claire? Of course not Mrs. Delario.” And I told him how she’d whipped in and out like a spook while he and Claire were going down in the elevator. Then for the first time 1 showed him the diamonds. “Love and pumpkins!” he ejaculated, overcome by the sight. “Well, if this doesn’t beat the ‘Arabian Nights!’ Are they real—real? Not paste? Why, if they’re real they’re worth about a million dollars!” < “And haven’t I been telling you that all along?” I asked testily. Billy’s words and tone gave it pretty well away that he hadn’t believed it all along, no matter what Td said and he’d pretended. “Y-y es, I think you have,” he admitted, rather stammeringly. “But ot course—you realise that a minion dollars is a —er—a pretty big order for a chap In New York to eat at a sitting.” He spread them out on his hand, muttering to himself. Finally he brought out: “And you’ve got these —here! — all alone In the flat with you! Well, save my shoestrings! I don’t wonder your nerves are on edge!” I let this pass about my nerves and gave him the story she’d told me Sunday morning—about the mahatma sending her these diamonds through the air and putting them in her slipper; and how she claimed them, absolutely, religiously, as hers. “The woman’s crazy,” was the curt way he disposed of her, and added, to mitigate this harsh judgment, “Or else she’s a thief.” ’ “She’s neither one thing nop the other,” I defended sharply. “She’s ■ merely deluded —the same as tens of thousands of other people have been deluded about things they believed in.”

“Crazy,” he repeated with conviction. I could only shrug—all I’ve ever been able to do; that was her Incorrigible belief! I wasted no more time on it then, for our question was what to do next, and I went on to tell him how I’d decided to take his advice and Lay the matter before the president To my astonishment, instead of the warm commendation Td expected from Billy at taking the advice he’d urged on both my duty and my common sense not forty-eight hours before and remember, Td barely restrained him from rushing off on the midnight train —he popped out of his chair and began excitedly pacing the floor. His first words were, “Why, you can’t do that!” . “Oh, I see all the risks Fm running of getting there alive.” “Risks?” he echoed, as If he hadn’t given them a thought. “But how much are you going to tell about this affair?” “Everything, of course—l mean everything I know. The government will have to undertake to find out the rest” He plunked himself In front of me and demanded, “You aren’t going to

let Miss de Ravenol get dragged into a mess like this, are you?’ I didn’t answer Immediately, and he ramped on, “I ask you—are you going to do It? Are you going to be party to such a—such an outrage?” “If I don’t put the case to the president what am I to do? Here I am saddled with the diamonds — n ' “Well, just keep them yourself,” he bluntly 'offered, as his solution of the difficulty. “Keep them —put them in the safe deposit—and tot things take their course?’ For a minute I was really angry, and rapped out, “If I thought you were serious, Billy, Td ask you to leave toe house. Your suggeqtlon la that I frankly become a thief, and your solution is not only criminal but—idlotic. What would it accomplish? —with so many people know ing?» “Well—eay—promise me one thing;" he pleaded. “You’ll wait—you won’t try fte won’t rush off without telling me you’re going.” I was. willing to grant this and sug gested that he go down to the hotel at once and see how Claire was. “YouTi not er - asked, taking

his hat and I detected very mixed feelings in his question: there was a good chance he might not see her at all unless I went with him. “How can I go off and leave these things alone in the house?’ I pointed to the blue box. At that moment the front bell rang and I found George glued to the button to tell me, “Why, thez a gen’lem’n downstairs say he like to see you, but he don’t give no name- an’ I tell him I can't say if you’s home er out, • but I’ll go up an’ see.” ' “Has he ever been here before?” I These are the times when I appreciate George’s virtues! “No’m—he ain’t never called here before —fer you ner nobody. He tried to crowd into the car an’ come along up. with me, an’ I tell him If he don’t stay where he is till I-find out Is yon home he don’t find out at all,” and George grinned as if he saw a quarter dangling over my left shoulder. “That’s right, George,” I waS warmly encouraging. “Tell him Tm not at home. That’s positive—don’t come up again to see If maybe I’ve come home,” and while I gave all these Instructions Billy came ramping along the hall. “Hello, George—wait—l’m going down,” and with a quick, “See you later,” he was out of sight 4 i I don’t know what instinct prompted me to it, but after I’d closed the door and gone back to my study I retraced my steps and put on the chain-b01t.“7 X

CHAPTER XVI. A New Visitor. A pretty kettle of fish! I had made up my mind to lay the case before the president, but then —as Billy saidruin a young girl’s life! If I told anything I’d have to tell all. George rang 7 He was apologetic, fret h»d the offish air of havliig received compensation for my scolding. “Why, that gen’lem’n downstairs, he says—soon as I tell him you ain’t home—he says ain’t you in, or is you out—" ”1 told you positively that I was not at home.” « “Well, I tole him that—that’s why he ask me is you not at home or is you out? An’ he says fer me to go up again with this here —” and he thrust ■ sealed envelope into my hand through the crack of the door, which was still on the chain-bolt. Mechanically—as people will do those things without thinking of the possible consequences—l tore open the flap and read: “Mademoiselle de Ravenol has dis* appeared.” That was all—no signature or any* thing—and the paper looked like a leaf torn from a notebook and hastily scribbled in pencil. I made an exclamation and was in the very act of telling George to bring the man up at once, when the queerest feeling came over me—intuition, warning, whatever you choose to name it —a feeling of danger, and that this was what the detectives call a plant for me. It was George who recalled me to my senses by asking; “Shall I fetch him up?” “No—certainly not. You’ve already told him I’m not at home.” ■ “But he says—if you’s out Fm to fetch back the letter to him, an’ when I don’t fetch it back he asks me, ain’t you in, an’ if you ain’t in where’s the letter?” True —and aptly argued! -1 “Why didn’t you tell me that In the first place?” I demanded, wondering at my own stupidity that I hadn’t seen it myself in the first place. “I ain’t think of it,” said George sullenly. “Oh, well—lt doesn’t matter any* way,” I soothed. “Just tell him again Fm not at homeland if he says anything more repeat it—and keep on repeating it till he goes, for I won’t see him. But, George”—this I. said sternly— “if you bring that man up—after what Fve said to you—you needn’t say good morning to me next Sunday." George understood the allusion—l always give , him a quarter on Sunday morning when he brings, the paper up. He grinned and departed. “Now, what new dodge is. this?’ I cogitated, carrying the paper to my study and examining it in the light. The writing was distinctly foreign— French or German in the “r’s." The “mademoiselle” also suggested a foreigner. ' 5 The bell rang. I sat down. The bell rang agaln.l put my feet on a hassock, turned up my nose slightly, smiled and sat still. The door was pounded—not furiously, but with evident determination —and the bell rang again, At this I thought Td better show a through without opening. “Stop that noise!” I commanded angrily. Noise stopped.— Both persons waited for the other to say something. As the opposite side didn’t I called _ through again, “Who is itr , • “Police detective.” j, _ The words were hissed through in a stage whisper, and I noticed a foreign accent on “potico.” I thought I might as-well look at him, anyway—which I did through the crack without removing the chain-bolL l saw * rather short, very slight man—pongee colored, to be accurate—with an intelligent, honest-looking face, but very common clothes— cheap ready-made overcoat and hat Tqt the man had tone as I could. -I wished to see you about moiselle de Ravenol—the young lady who creased to the atoemm with yoa” “WeHF Oald I. t “She dtanDDeared/* *

“Well?" And this last from me left him quite In the air, as I saw by his frown. However, he made a fresh start: “Mademoiselle de Ravenol crossed in the same steamer with you about two weeks ago, did she not?" “She may have.” ■ — “Her name Is on the passenger list with yours—l have the list here”—he produced some papers, but apparently did not find that he had the list, and with a gesture of Impatience appealed to me—"l am correct, am i not—she crossed with you on the same steamer?” / “What have I to do with that?” I asked curtly, wondering what he was driving at; for of course I knew Claire hadn’t disappeared since last night, and if she had he wouldn’t be asking me about the steamer. “Dozens of people crossed on the same steamer with me.” “Naturally,” he admitted, trying to be pleasant.. “But this Mademoiselle de Ravenol—she crossed in your care, did she not?” “She did not” “She did not?” he asked In a surprised sort of way, as If he thought I was lying. “In whose, then, may I ask?” (TO BE CONTINUED)

He Plunked Himself in Front of Me.