The Orange-Yellow Diamond | Page 8

his
part. "Just as you like, mister," he said. "But you was welcome, you
know. Next Friday, then--and you can reckon on cash down for this
job."
The Monday morning brought neither of the expected letters to
Lauriston. But he had not spoken without reason when he said to Zillah
that he had a bit of property to fall back upon--now that he knew how
ready money could easily be raised. He had some pledgeable property
in his trunk--and when the remittances failed to arrive, he determined to
avail himself of it. Deep down in a corner of the trunk he had two
valuable rings--all that his mother had left him, with the exception of
two hundred pounds, with which he had ventured to London, and on
which he had lived up to then. He got the rings out towards the end of
Monday afternoon, determining to take them round to Daniel Multenius
and raise sufficient funds on them to last him for, at any rate, another
month or two. He had little idea of the real value of such articles, and
he had reasons of his own for not showing the rings to Melky

Rubinstein; his notion was to wait until evening, when he would go to
the pawnshop at about the same time as on his previous visit, in the
hope of finding Zillah in charge again. After their meeting and talk of
the afternoon before, he felt that she would do business with him in a
sympathetic spirit--and if he could raise twenty pounds on the rings he
would be free of all monetary anxiety for many a long week to come.
It was half-past five o'clock of that Monday evening when Lauriston,
for the second time, turned into the narrow passage which led to the
pawnshop door. He had already looked carefully through the street
window, in the hope of seeing Zillah inside the front shop. But there
was no Zillah to be seen; the front shop was empty. Nor did Zillah
confront him when he stepped into the little boxed-in compartment in
the pawnshop. There was a curious silence in the place--broken only by
the quiet, regular ticking of a clock. That ticking grew oppressive
during the minute or two that he waited expecting somebody to step
forward. He rapped on the counter at last--gently at first, then more
insistently. But nobody came. The clock-- hidden from his sight--went
on ticking.
Lauriston bent over the counter at last and craned his neck to look into
the open door of a little parlour which lay behind the shop. The next
instant, with no thought but of the exigencies of the moment, he had
leapt over the partition and darted into the room. There, stretched out
across the floor, his head lying on the hearthrug, his hands lying inert
and nerveless at his sides, lay an old man, grey-bearded,
venerable--Daniel Multenius, no doubt. He lay very still, very
statuesque--and Lauriston, bending over and placing a trembling hand
on the high, white forehead, knew that he was dead.
He started up--his only idea that of seeking help. The whole place was
so still that he knew he was alone with the dead in it. Instinctively, he
ran through the front shop to the street door--and into the arms of a man
who was just entering.

CHAPTER FOUR

THE PLATINUM SOLITAIRE
The newcomer, an elderly, thick-set man, who, in spite of his plain
clothes, looked as if he were an official of some sort and carried some
documents in his hand, at which he was glancing as he entered, started
and exclaimed as Lauriston, in his haste, ran up against him. "Hullo!"
he said. "What's the matter? You seem in a hurry, young fellow!"
Lauriston, almost out of breath with excitement, turned and pointed to
the open door of the little parlour.
"There's an old man--lying in there--dead!" he whispered. "A
grey-bearded old man--is it the pawn-broker--Mr. Multenius?"
The man stared, craned his neck to glance in the direction which
Lauriston's shaking finger indicated, and then started forward. But he
suddenly paused, and motioned Lauriston to go first--and before
following him he closed the street door.
"Now then, where?" he said. "Dead, do you say?" He followed
Lauriston into the parlour, uttered a sharp exclamation as he caught
sight of the recumbent figure, and, bending down, laid a hand on the
forehead. "Dead, right enough, my lad!" he muttered. "Been dead some
minutes, too. But-- where's the girl--the grand-daughter? Have you seen
anybody?"
"Not a soul!" answered Lauriston. "Since I came in, the whole place
has been as still as--as it is now!"
The man stared at him for a second or two, silently; then, as if he knew
the ins and outs of the establishment, he strode to an