THE GRANTHAM DIAMONDS
By Russell Stockton.
HOW it did snow, to be sure! The flakes, and very small ones they were, came down in slanting drives or bewildering spirals, to be taken up again from the earth in fierce gusts and whisked along in blinding drifts.
John, the austere-looking butler, was putting the finishing touches on a tempting spread in the dining-room of the Grantham mansion. There was a salad and a dish of nuts; there was a generous plate of cake and a heaping pile of gorgeous red apples; but it would never do not to have something hot on such a cold night as this, so, alongside of a silver chafing dish was a fine English cheese and two eggs, which of course meant rarebits, and a tea urn with six dainty and varied tea cups and saucers, which of course meant girls.
The antique hall clock blinked like an old man at the dancing flames in the great fire-place and slowly sounded eight o’clock. Almost at once there came the merry jingle of sleigh bells, then a few shrill shrieks, a ring, and then a fierce stamping of small feet on the veranda.
Almost before John’s dignity could carry him to the hall door, Miss Maud Grantham ran swiftly down the stairs, followed, partly on the stairs, but mainly on the bannisters, by little Bobbie Grantham. Four rosy and very pretty faces came in with the snow gust at the door; there was much embracing and such a chattering, Maud failed to get a word in edgeways, and so resorted to the exorcism of holding aloft the yellow sheet of paper she held in her hand so that every eye could see it. The effect was instantaneous: a hush fell on the quartet at the sight of that dreadful messenger—a telegram.
“Now don’t be afraid, girls! It’s nothing very terrible,” and she handed the sheet to Sadie Stillwell, who read aloud:
“Hudson, N. Y., Nov. 28, 1891.
“To C. V. Grantham, Yonkers, N. Y.—Train stalled. Don’t expect us till morning.
Wes.”
If the girls looked relieved for a moment they certainly showed regret the next, especially Minnie Trumbull; but she said nothing. Ella Bromley, on the contrary, exclaimed in great vexation:
“What a shame! For two whole days I’ve been promising myself such a time teasing that scamp Dick almost to death. I think it’s too bad.”
“Never mind,” replied Sadie; “you will have four days in which to work out your horrible purpose. Why, is not slow torture better than killing him off in one night?”
“Why, girls! How can you stand there joking,” spoke up Grace Waldron, “while those poor boys are slowly freezing to death in the middle of a snow bank?”
“Nonsense!” replied Maud. “Where there’s a telegraph office there must be a station and a stove. It is too bad, indeed, that Wes and Dick must miss the little surprise party. But come along! I’ve done everything to help out for a jolly time. There’s the supper—I’ve had that all fixed, and I’ve told John we wouldn’t want him, so he’s gone off to bed, I suppose. Then mamma and papa have gone to the Bruces’ musicale, so there isn’t a soul in the house to disturb. Isn’t that just delightful?”
With a deafening din of joyous exclamations they followed Maud Grantham into the music room, and there all the evening they played games, and gossiped, and danced and sang, totally unsuspicious of the grave proceedings that were taking place within sound of their voices.
While this festive event was in progress Wesley and Richard Grantham, the sons of a wealthy New York banker, were really speeding on toward their home by the Eastern express. About four o’clock in the afternoon they had run into a snow drift just after drawing away from the station at Hudson. Things had looked for a time as if they were to be held in that town over night: so, when the train had backed to the station they had sent the telegram to their father. But when they saw a crowd of laborers file off with spades and shovels toward the deep drift, they had followed and watched the work, done in the faint light of many lamps; and they had of course chafed and grumbled, as well they might at being delayed on the eve of a school holiday and almost at the threshold of their luxurious home, quite oblivious of the fortunate outcome of the delay.
The fierce winds that had swept the drift in place had helped to clear it away, and by six o’clock, when it had long been dark, the laborers had shoveled it nearly all off. The train moved out and plunged into the shallow layer of snow that remained, sweeping it up into the air in great feathery plumes, and the obstruction was vanquished.
“See that group, Dick! What a picture! Did you notice the beautiful effect of the tiny lights on the snow and how weird those grim Italians——”
“How about a good hot cup of coffee and the burning logs in the fireplace—there’s a picture for you!” scoffed young Dick, who had not yet cultivated that eye for the picturesque that his elder brother affected, and little more was said during the remainder of the ride.
It was about ten o’clock when they slowed up at Yonkers. The boys tumbled out of the train and halted to turn up coat collars and pull mufflers more closely around their throats.
“Not a carriage in sight? Well, I like this! It would seem as if everything was contriving to keep us away from home on the eve of Thanksgiving,” growled Dick.
“We can certainly appreciate our good home all the more. Perhaps we can give thanks more heartily for it to-morrow.”
“Oh, bother!” was Dick’s reply. He was an impatient youth, certainly. “Who’d expect a fellow to feel thankful when he had to climb a little St. Bernard in a storm like this. Here goes for footing it, if you’re ready!”
They grasped their traps and plunged into the inky darkness, and in a moment were at the foot of the steep hill. The wind was cutting and the snow blinding. Even if they had not kept their heads well down against the blast they could not have seen an arm’s length before them—only a dimly white sheet under their feet.
Dick, plunging ahead knee deep in the snow suddenly felt a terrific shock; for an instant he knew nothing; then he came to the realization that he was lying on his back in a snow bank with Wesley bending close over him and calling his name anxiously. He sat upright at once and confusedly asked:
“What was that, Wes? I did not see a thing.”
“It seemed to be a man running down the hill. After he collided with you he just brushed me. Look! there he is now!”
Wes was pointing toward the station, where the train, for some reason delayed, was just beginning to move out. What Wes saw through the falling snow was the figure of a tall man dash into the circle of the station’s dim light and leap on the platform of the last car, just passing away. It all occurred in an instant and Dick looked too late to see the hurrying figure.
“Did you recognize him, Wes?”
“No, of course not. The snow blurs everything at such a distance.”
“Worse luck! I wish he’d missed that train. I’d go right back and interview him—yes I would! I think I’m hurt, Wes; that fellow’s elbow or shoulder struck me over the eye.”
“Just a moment and I will light one of those fusees. It is fortunate I bought them from that ragged Italian—nothing else would hold an instant in this gale.”
After some fumbling in pockets with gloved hands the box of vesuvians was found. Wesley struck one and by its sputtering light examined as best he could Dick’s eye. There was only a slight abrasion, apparently, but as Dick complained of a smarting in the eyeball a handkerchief was tied over the injured orb.
“Now how are we ever to find our traps? They must have gone in every direction. Oh, I’d just like to——” Dick shook his fist at the darkness in the direction of the departed train and then began to tramp around in the snow to find his things. First, Wesley put his foot into Dick’s hat which had rolled some distance off; then Dick kicked his bundle of canes and umbrellas and, lastly, he tumbled flat over his large hand satchel. He felt around it and then broke out again:
“I am a stupid. I never strapped this confounded bag in the car and the lock has slipped. The thing is perfectly empty, Wes!”
“Let us see what we can do with the aid of these fusees, Dick. They are a good example of ‘bread upon the waters,’ aren’t they.”
“Hang it! I’m thinking of bread in a better place just now. Come! give me some of those things, too. If we don’t get along soon I shall freeze stiff.”
They burned one after another of the vesuvians and gathered up all sorts of miscellaneous things in the way of clothing and boxes and little packages and what not, and at last they concluded it was useless to look further, as every inch of ground had been gone over for quite some distance. The things were jammed in pell mell and the bag was strapped this time: then they again began the ascent, cold to their very bones.
It was a toilsome tramp up the hill in knee-deep snow, with sometimes a soft drift into which the travelers would plunge and flounder around till they could finally extricate themselves. But at last the warm lights of the brilliantly illuminated mansions on the Crescent began to light the way and cheer them on, and, in a very few minutes the great Grantham house came into sight, all dark excepting the music room. There the windows were a blaze of light, and, when the boys reached the terrace, the sound of a piano almost drowned in girlish laughter, vied with the whistling and wheezing of the wind.
“Methinks there is a ‘sound of revelry by night,’” quoted Dick. “Wonder what’s up.”
The boys tiptoed along the veranda and peeped in on the bright scene.
“Great Scott, Wes! you’re in luck; there’s Minnie Trumbull at the piano,” and he nudged his elder brother in a knowing way; for Minnie, be it known, was a rather serious girl who read deep books, painted in water colors and played the piano brilliantly, and it was toward her that Wes usually gravitated when he was at home.
“I am very sorry for you, Dick, for I see Ella Bromley there, dancing with our sister, and I know you are in for a quarrel;” at which Dick looked a little conscious, for when Dick was at home he wanted nothing better than to quarrel with Ella, just for the pleasure of making up.
At this moment a shrill shriek pierced the air. One of the girls had discovered two faces glaring in at the window: one had a bandaged eye and “Tramps!” was the idea that for an instant filled every mind. But the boys pressed their faces closer to the glass; there was a general recognition and an impetuous rush to the hall door.
Handshaking, questioning, explanation, a great pulling off of coats helped by willing hands—such a hearty welcome home made up for all their trials and misfortunes on the way.
“Maud, if you’ll ring for John to carry these things upstairs, Dick and I will go to our rooms for a few minutes to get into presentable shape,” said Wes.
“I’m sorry, boys, but you’ll have to carry the things yourself, for I sent all the servants off to bed hours ago.”
“Well! it seems we’ve got another climb, after all, Wes,” and the boys disappeared above.
Just as every one was sitting down to the supper table Mr. and Mrs. Grantham came in and another round of loving greeting ensued. When the parents retired upstairs the fun around the supper-table became furious. At its height Mr. Grantham came to the threshold of the room and said:
“Boys, I shall have to take you away for a few minutes.”
The words were said pleasantly enough, but Sadie was sensitive enough to notice something in her father’s tone that placed her in dread. She followed the boys and asked fearfully:
“What is the matter, father—something, I know!”
“Simply this: there has been a cunning thief in the house, and he seems to have taken off some of your mother’s jewels. Don’t alarm your friends, but let them go as soon as they wish to.”
When the trio reached Mrs. Grantham’s bed-room a glance showed that something strange had been going on. The drawers of the bureau had been pulled out and rummaged; the escritoire had been treated in the same way. The shelves of the closets showed signs of confusion, and finally a cedar chest had been pried open. In this the robber had found Mrs. Grantham’s jewel case. Singularly enough he had left some of its contents behind, but he had taken the priceless necklace of large diamonds, the great solitaire earrings and two costly finger rings.
“Dick go up to John’s room and ask him to dress and step down here,” directed the master.
Dick departed, to return in a moment with the exciting news that John was not in his room and his bed was quite undisturbed. It was one of the butler’s nights on duty! Sadie, who arrived a few minutes later, having dismissed her friends, was sent to interrogate each of the female servants. They had seen nothing of the butler. Some of them had heard him go downstairs about nine o’clock, come back and go down again about ten: but they had thought nothing of that.
“Everything points to John Simmons as the thief,” said Mr. Grantham. “But it is so difficult to realize a common burglar in this man, so dignified, so steady, so——”
“Wesley Grantham! didn’t you get some idea of that brute who ran over me?” interrupted Dick excitedly.
“No; only that he was very tall—just as John was. It is likely, I think, that it was he who was in such a hurry to catch the train for New York.”
“Your eye seems to be very much inflamed, Richard,” said Mr. Grantham. “Go to your room and bathe it and then go right to bed. Wesley and I will go into the library and write out a description of this fellow to send to the chief of police early in the morning. Go now, my boy; nothing further can be done to-night.”
Young Dick departed and Wesley sat down to write out a minute pen picture of John Simmons, butler. If their sight could have pierced the wall they would have seen Dick unpacking the disorderly hand satchel that had been burst open on the road. They would have seen him arranging its contents in and on his bureau. Among these things were several small boxes—one for his scarf pins and trinkets, another for his engraved cards, and so on. But one that came to his hands seemed to interest him particularly: the others he had indifferently put in their proper places—this one, about four inches long by three wide, covered with ivory white enameled paper, he examined thoughtfully, opened and——
“Are you quite through with your description of the thief?” asked Dick at the doorway. There was a singular gleam in his eyes, and he seemed to labor under some suppressed excitement.
“All but the eyes. We can’t seem to decide whether they were gray or blue.”
“The person who has those jewels has dark brown eyes—almost black,” answered Dick.
“Why, my son, what a poor memory you have! John was fair and florid—the English complexion, with fairly light eyes. But put it down gray. It really doesn’t——”
“But it is not John who has those diamonds,” insisted Dick. He would have liked to keep his discovery back longer to puzzle his auditors, but he simply couldn’t. He stepped to the library table, and, taking a hand from behind his back, placed a white enameled jeweler’s box on the cloth in the fierce glare of the lamp. His father looking at him in surprise, said under his breath.
“What can be the matter with the boy?”
Wesley mechanically opened the box and both he and his father jumped to their feet in surprise, for the sharp gleam of many diamonds dazzled their eyes!
Mr. Grantham reached for the little box and pulled out, first, a necklace of twelve large pendant diamonds; to this hung one big solitaire diamond earring; the other lay in the box, and with it were a cluster diamond ring and another of rubies, sapphires and diamonds.
“I do not understand,” said Mr. Grantham uncertainly; even the man of affairs was dazed by the sudden and peculiar entrance of these gems, supposed to be in the pocket of a thief in New York City.
“I guess you’re surprised. Fancy how I felt when I found them in my satchel.”
“Your satchel? Who could have put them there!”
“I myself. This is the only explanation I can think of. It must have been the thief—John, supposedly—who was rushing to catch the train. Perhaps he saw the gleam of the head-light up the road from one of the upper windows. He may have bundled on his wraps, thrust the box into his overcoat pocket or somewhere and started out to sprint for the train.
“When he struck my manly form the shock that heeled me over must have knocked this box out of his pocket or wherever it was, and I gathered it in with the things spilled out of my bag in the snow.”
“I think you have found the solution Dick. Your injured eye is not a very large price for sixteen thousand dollars worth of gems,” was the comment of Wes.
“Wonderful! wonderful!” exclaimed Mr. Grantham. “I must go at once and tell your mother. She is quite prostrated at this loss.” He started off, but Dick stopped him by calling:
“Father! What reward did I hear you say you had offered for the finding of these shiners?”
“Ha! ha!” laughed the banker. “I don’t think you heard me state the figure, Dick. But didn’t you say something about a sloop yacht the other day—eh?”
TRANSCRIBER’S NOTE:
—Obvious print and punctuation errors were corrected.
—A Table of Contents was not in the original work; one has been produced and added by Transcriber.