Jasper County Democrat, Volume 11, Number 11, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 6 June 1908 — The KING of DIAMONDS. [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

The KING of DIAMONDS.

By Louis Tracy,

Author of "Wings of the Morning,” "The Pillar of Light.” Etc. COPYRICHT, 1904, By EDWARD J. CLODS.

SYNOPSIS TO PREVIOUS CHAPTERS Chapter I—At Johnson’s Mews, a slum In London, Philip Anson, u well reared boy cf about fifteen, loses his mother, tho only relative, so far us he knows, that ho has in the world. . He finds a package of letters, many or them from a Sir Philip Morland, refusing aid to Mrs. Anson. Mrs. Anson was a Miss Morland and was thought by her relatives to have married beneath lie. - station. ll—During a great storm Philip saves a little girl, addressed as Elf, from being crushed by a carriage. In his squalid apartments Philip, sick of the outlook and discouraged, is about to hang himself when a huge meteor falls in the oourty&rd. Philip, sympathetic and imaginative, regards It as a message from his mother in heaven. Ill—With some fragments of the meteor Philip goes to a Jeweler. He 1b told that they are diamonds and is referred to Isaaestein & Co., London's largest dealers In diamonds. IV—lsaacstetn Is astounded by the gems Philip shows him and has the boy arrested. V—lsaaestein explains in court that the gems are doubtless of recent meteoric origin, Vl—The wife of Sir Philip Morland reads In the papers about Philip and his marvelous diamonds and sends to Johnson’s Mews to inquire about him. She learns nothing. Philip is dismissed from custody. Vll—Philip agrees to supply Isaaestein with a quarter of a million pounds sterling worth of diamonds each year for many years. VHI and IX —At Johnson’s Mews, while Philip is preparing to remove the rest of his diamonds, he detects an Intruder, who, with the assistance of a policeman, is captured. He is a noted criminal named Jocky Mason. Philip removes his diamonds forever from Jonnson’s Mews. X, XI and Xll—lsaaestein sells thirty of Philip’s diamonds for £62,000. XIII — Ten years later, when Jocky Mason gets out of prison, he sees the Mary Anson Home For Destitute Boys, which was founded by Philip. XlV—Philip rescues a girl from insult at the hands ■of two men, one of whom Is Victor Grenier, an ex-fellow convict of Jocky Mason. XV and XVl—The girl rescued by Philip is a Miss Atherley, an opera singer, who proves to be the Elf of Philip's adventure of many years before. Grenier's companion was a nephew of Grenier. His name is Langdon. XVll—Philip receives a letter telling him that Sir Philip Morland is dying and begging him to come. A man calling himself “Dr. Williams’’ meets Philip at the depot and escorts him to the house. XVlll—Philip ttnds too late that he has fallen into a trap set by Grenier, Jocky Mason and Langdon. Philip is struck violently on the head bv Mason and is supposed to be dead. His body is stripped baked and thrown from a cliff into the sea. Grenier, who resembles Philip, is to take his place in the world and get hold of his money for the gang. CHAPTER XVIII. I have a light?” said ■ Fhilip, with head screwed y round to ascertain if the doctor were following him. Borne sense, whether of sight or hearing he knew not, warned him of movement near at hand, an Impalpable effort, a physical tension as of a man laboring under extreme but repressed excitement. He paid little heed to It. All the surroundings in this weird dwelling were ■o greatly at variance with his anticipations that he partly expected to find further surprises. Dr. Williams did not answer. Philip advanced a halting foot, a hesitating hand groping for a door. Instantly a stout rope fell over his shoulders, a noose was tightly drawn, and he was Jerked, violently to the (tone door of the passage. He fall |rone ou his face, hurting his nose and mouth. The shock jarred him greatly, but his Lunds, if not his arms, were free, und, with the instinct of self preservation -that replaces all other sensations in moments of extreme peril, he strove vuliuutly to rise. But he was grasped by the neck with brutal force and some oue knelt on his buck. "Philip Anson,” hissed a mans voice, “do you remember Jocky Mason?” So he had fulleu into u trap, cunningly prepared by what fiendish combination of fuct and artifice he hud yet to learn. Jocky Mason, the skulking criminal of Johnson’s Mews. Was he iu that man's power? Under such conditions a man thinks quickly. Philip's first ordered thought was oue of relief. He had fallen into the clutches of au Euglish brigand. Money would settle this difficulty if ail other means failed. "Yes, yes,” he gurgled, hulf strangled by the tierce pressure on his throat. “You hit me once from behind. You can’t complain if ldo the same. You seat me to a living hell for ten years—not your fault that it wasn’t forever. Lie still! Not all your money can save you now. 1 am judge and Jury and hell itself. You are dying—dyingdead!” And with the final words drawled into bis ears with bitter intensity Philip felt a terrible blow descend on his head. There was no pain, no fear, no poignant emotion ut leaving all the world held so dear to him. There was au awful shock. A thuudeicloud seemed to burst iu bis bruin, and be sank into tho void without a groan. Now, iu falling the hard felt hat he wore dropped iu front of his face. The first wild movement of his head tilted it outward, but the savage jerk given by his assailant brought the rim slightly over his skull again. In the almost complete darkness of the passage Mason could not see the slight protection this afforded to his victim, and the sledge hammer blow he delivered with a life preserver—that murderous implement named so utterly at variance with its purpose—did not reveal the presence of an obstacle. He struck with a force that would hare stunned an ox; it must have killed any man be he the hardest skulled aborigine that ever breathed. But the stont rim of the hat, though crushed jike an eggshell, took off some of the

leaden Instrument’s tremendous impact. Philip, though quite insensible, was not dead. His sentient faculties were annihilated for the time, but his heart continued its life giving func-" , tions, and he breathed with imperceptible llutterings. Mason rose, panting with excitement, glutted with satisfied hate. He lifted his victim’s inert form with the ease of his great strength. “Come on!” he shouted and strode toward a door, which he kicked open. A step sounded haltingly in the passage. Grenier, the slo-disant doctor, livid now and shaking with the ague of irretrievable crime, stumbled after his more callous associate. Unconsciously he kicked Philip's bat to one side. He entered the room, an apartment with a boundless view of the sea. Here there was more light than in the kitchen. The windows faced toward the northwest, and the lust radiance of a setting sun illumined a wall ou the right. “Not there!” he gasped. “In this chair. His face—l must see his face!” Mason, still clasping his inanimate burden, laughed with a snarl. “Stop that!” he roared. “Pull yourself together. Get some brandy. I’ve done my work. If you can’t do yours, let me finish it.” “Oh, just a moment! Give me time! I hate the sight of blood. Get a towel. Bind it round his neck. Ills clothes! They will be saturated. And wipe his face. I must see his face.” Grenier was hysterical. He had the highly strung nervous system of a girl where deeds of bloodshed were concerned. While Mason obeyed his instructions he pressed his hands over his eyes. “Bring some brandy, white liver. Do you want me to do everything?” This gruff order awoke Grenier to trembling action. He went to a cupboard and procured a bottle. Mason, having placed Anson In a chair and steadied his head against the wall, seized half a tumblerful of the neat spirit and drank it with gusto. The other, gradually recovering his self control, was satisfied with a less potential draft. “It will be dark soon,” growled Mason. “We must undress him first, you said.” “Yes, if his clothes are not blood stained.” “Rot! lie must go into the water naked In any case. The idea is your own.” “Ah, I forgot. It wi!l soon be all right. Besides, I knew I should be upset, so I have everything written down here—nil fully thought out. There can be no mistake made then.” He produced a little notebook and opened It with uncertain fingers. He glanced at a closely written page. The words danced before his vision, but he persevered. “Yes. His coat first, then his boots; clothes or linen stained with blood to be burned, after cutting off all buttons. Now I’m ready. I will not funk any more.” His temperament linked the artistic and criminal faculties in sinister combination, and he soon Recovered his domination In a guilty partnership. It must have been the instinct of the pickpocket that led him to appropriate Philip’s silver watch, with its quaint shoelace attachment, before he touched any other article. “Queer thing!” he commented. “A rich man might afford a better timekeeper, but there’s no accounting for tastes.” Mason, satiated and stupefied, obeyed his Instructions like a ministering ghoul. They undressed Philip wholly, and Grenier, rapidly denuding himself of his boots and outer clothing, donned these portions of the victim’s attire. Then the paint tubes and the other accessories of an actor’s makeup were produced. Grenier, facing a mirror placed on a table close to rhilip, began to remodel bis own plastic features in close similitude to those of the unconscious man. He was greatly assisted by the fact that in general contour they were not strikingly different. Philip's face was of a fine classical type. Grenier, whose nose, mouth and chin were regular and pleasing, found the greatest difficulty in controlling the shifty, ferretlike expression of his eyes. Agaiu, Philip had no mustache. The only costume he really liked to v\ear was his yachting uniform, and here he conformed to the standard of the navy. The shaven lip, of course, was helpful to his Imitator. All that was needed was an artistic eye for the chief effect, combined with a skilled use of his materials. And herein Greuiei’ was an adept But the light was growing very uncertain. “A lamp,” he said querulously, for time sped and he had much to do—“bring a lamp quickly!” Mason went toward the front kitchen. Grenier did not care about being left alone face to face with the pallid and naked form in the chair, but he set his teeth and repressed the tendency to rush after his confederate. The latter in returning halted an instant. “Hello!” he cried. "Here’s bis hat.” After placing the lamp on the table Jieslde the mirror he went back to the

passage. Grenier was so busy with the making up process that he did not notice whht bis companion was doing. His bent form shrouded the light, and Mason placed the hat carelessly on a chair. He chanced to hold it by an uninjured part of the rim and never thought of examining It At last Grenier declared himself satisfied.

“What do you think of the result?” he demanded, facing about so that the other could see both Anson and himself. “First rate. It would deceive his own mother.” , A terrific rattat sounded on the outer door. A direct summons to the infernal regions could not have startled both men more thoroughly. Grenier, with the protecting makeup ou forehead and cheeks, only showed his terror in bis glistening eyes and palsied frame. Mason, whom nothing could daunt, was nevertheless spellbound with surprise. What intruder was this who knocked so Imperatively? They were a mile and a half from the nearest habitation, four miles from a village. What fearful chance bad brought to their door one who thus boldly demanded admission? Had their scheme miscarried at this vital moment? Had Anson suspected something and arranged that he should be followed by rescuers—avengers?

The sheer agony of fear restored Grenier’s wits. He was not Grenier now, but Philip Anson—a very shaky and unnerved Philip Anson, it was true, but sufficiently lifelike to choke off doubting inquiries. He clutched Mason’s arm and pointed a quivering finger at Philip. “Out with him! This instant! The tide is high!” “But his face! If he is found”— Mason reached for the life preserver with horrible purpose. “No, no. No more noise. Quick, man! You must go to the door. Only summon me if necessary. Oh, quick!” He rushed to another door and opened it. There was a balcony beyond. It overhung the very lip of the rock. Far beneath the deep blue of the sea shone and naught else.

Mason caught up Anson’s limp form and ran with him to the balcony. With a mighty swing he threw him outward, clear of the cliff’s edge. For a few tremulous seconds they listened. They thought they heard a splash. Then Mason turned coolly to Grenier. “Is there any blood on my coat?” “I can see none. Now, the door! Keep inside!” With quaking heart he listened to Mason’s heavy tread along the passage and across the kitchen. He clinched the back of a chair in the effort to calm himself by forcible means. Then be heard the unbolting of the door and the telegraph messenger’s prompt announcement: “Philip Anson, Esq.” Mason came to him carrying the telegram. Grenier subsided into the chair he held. This time he was prostrated. He could scarcely open the flimsy envelope. Abingdon counsels caution. Sayß there is some mistake. Much love. EVELYN. That was all, but it was a good deal. Grenier looked up with lackluster eyes. He was almost fainting. “Send him away,” he murmured. “There is nothing to be done. In the morning”— Mason saw that his ally was nearly exhausted by the reaction. He grinned and cursed. “Of all the chicken hearted”— But he went and dismissed the boy. Grenier threw himself at full length on a sofa. “What’s up now?” demanded Mason, finding him prone. “Wait—just a little while—until my heart stops galloping. That confounded kjiock! It jarred my spine.” “Take some more brandy.” “How can I? It Is impossible. I haven’t got an ox head, like you.” Mason placed the lamp on a central

table. Its rays fell on Philip’s bat. Something In Its appearance caught the man's eye. He picked up the hat and examined It critically. “Do you know,” he said, after a silence broken only by Grenier's deep breathing, “I fancy I didn’t kill him, after all.” “Not—kill him? Why—he was deadin that chair— for an hour.” “Perhaps. I hit hard enough, but this hat must have taken some of It. When you were busy, I thought his chest headed slightly. And just now »

Vrhen I carried THm^utside he seemed to move." “Rot!” “It may be. I struck very hard.” Grenier sat up. # “Even if you are right,” he muttered, “It does not matter. He fell 300 feet. The fall alone would kill him. And If he is drowned and the body Is picked up it is better so. Don’t you see? Even if he were recognized he would be drowned, not—not— Well, his death would be dufe to natural causes.”

He could not bring-himself to say “murdered,” flu ugly word. “If you were not such a milksop, there would be no fear of his being recognized.” But Grenier langbed a hollow and unconvincing laugh. Nevertheless it was a sign of recovery. “What nonsense we are talking! A naked man floating dead In the North sea. Who is be? Not Philip Anson surely! Fhilip Anson is gayly gadding about England on his private affairs. Where is Green? Hunter, go and tell Green to bring my traps here instantly. I wish him to return to town on an urgent errand.” There was a glint of admiration in Mason’s eyes. Here was one with Anson’s face, wearing Anson’s clothes and addressing him In Anson’s voice. “That’s better,” he chuckled. “You’re clever when your head is clear.” “Now be off for Green. You know what to say.” “You will be alone. Will you be afraid?” The sneer was the last stimulant Grenier needed.

“If you were called on to stand in Philip Anson’s boots during the next week or ten days, my good friend,” he quietly retorted, “you would be afraid sixty times in every hour. Your job has nearly ended; mine has barely commenced. Now leave me.”

Nevertheless he quitted that chamber of death carrying with him all that he needed and hurrying over the task while he could yet hear the dogcart rattling down the hill. He commenced with an inventory of Philip’s pockets. His eyes sparkled at the sight of a well filled pocketbook, with a hundred pounds in notes stuffed therein, cards, a small collection of letters, and other odds and ends. Among Philip’s books was Evelyn’s hurried note of that morning, and on it a penciled memorandum: Sharpe left for Devonshire yesterday. Lady M. wrote from Yorkshire.

“That was a neat stroke,” thought Grenier, with a smile—when he smiled he least resembled Philip. “Being a man of affairs, Anson promptly went to the Morlands’ solicitors. I was sure of it. I wonder how Jimmie arranged matters with Sharpe. I will know tomorrow at York.”

A checkbook in another pocket added to his Joy. “The last rock out of my path!” he cried-aloud. “That saves two days. The bait took. By Jove! I’m in luck’s way!” There was now no need to write to Philip's bank for a fresh book, which was his first daring expedient He seated himself at a table and wrote Philip’s signature several times to test his hand. At last it was steady. Then he put a match to a fire all ready for lighting and burned Philip’s hat, collar, shirt and underclothing; also the blood stained towel. When the mass of clothing was smoldering black and red he threw a fresh supply of coal on top of it. The loss of the hat did not trouble him. He possessed one of the same shape and color.

He was quietly smoking a cigar and practicing Philip’s voice between the puffs when Mason returned with the valet.

The scene, carefully rehearsed by Grenier in all its details, passed off with gratifying success. Purring with satisfaction, the chief scoundrel of the pair left in the Grange House by the astonished servant began to overhaul the contents of Philip’s bag. It held the ordinary outfit of a gen tleman who does not expect to pay a protracted visit—an evening dress suit, a light overcoat, a tweed suit and a small supply of boots and linen. A tiny dressing case fitted into a special receptacle, and on top of this reposed a folded document. Grenier opened it. Mason looked over his shoulder. It was headed: “Annual Report of the Mary Anson Home For Destitute Boys.” Mason coarsely cursed both the home and its patron, but Grenier laughed pleasantly. “The very thing!” he cried. “Look here!”

And he pointed to an indorsement by the secretary: “For signature if approved of.” “I will sign and return It, with a nice typewritten letter, tomorrow from York. Abingdon Is one of the governors. Oh, I will bamboozle them rarely!” “This blooming charity will help yon a bit then?” “Nothing better. Let us go out for a little stroll. Now, don’t forget. Address me as ‘Mr. Anson.’ Get used to it even if we are alone, and it will be nb harm should we happen to meet somebody.” They went down the hill and entered the rough country road that wound up from Scarsdale to the cliff. Through tiie faint light of a summer’s night they saw a man approaching. It was a policeman. “Absit omen,” said Grenier softly. “What’s that?” “Latin for a cop. - You complained of my want of nerve. Watch me now.” He halted the policeman and questioned him about the locality, the direction of the roads, the villages on the coast He explained pleasantly that be was a Londoner and an utter stranger in these parts. .“Yon are staying at the Grange

House, sir?” said the man fn his turn. “Yes. Come here today, in fact” “I saw you, sir. I* the gentleman who drove you from Scarsdale staying there too? I met you on the road, and he seemed to know me.” Grenier silently anathematized his carelessness. Policemen in rural Yorkshire were not as common as policemen in Oxford street. It was the same man whom he had encountered hours ago. . “Oh, he Is a doctor. Yes, he resides in the Grange nouse.” “Yon won’t find much room for a party there, Blr,” persisted the constable. “I don’t remember the gentleman at all. What is his name?” “Dr. Williams. He is a genial sort of fellow—nods to anybody. Take a cigar. Sorry I can’t ask yon to go up and have a drink, but there Is illness ID the place.” The policeman passed on. “Illness,” he said, glancing at the gloomy outlines of the farm. “How many of. ’em are In t* place, and who’s yon dark lookin’ chap, I wonder? My, but his face would stop a clock!” (To be continued.)

With a mighty swing he threw him outward, clear of the cliff’s edge.