CHAPTER II,

At

It is not my intention to describe here the evening's gathering, for such an account would have no direct bearing upon the history which I have set my. self to relate. Let it be enough to say that the function was successful in every particular, and that my fortunate discoveries created even greater interest than I had anticipated. the close of the lecture the chairman and Dean Houghten referred in complimentary terms to my services to Carlyle literature, and Canon Worcester spoke in a similar strain. It is true that another person expressed a doubt as to the propriety of making public the letters I had found; but I did not feel that his remarks were worthy of the occasion. It has always been my opinion that scruples of this kind have no claim to consideration when the work of a public man is concerned.

It was ten o'clock when the meeting was over, and I lingered for another half hour in conversation with the officials. Thus it was rather late before I entered Queen Street on my way back to the hotel.

Queen Street was still fairly busy, though some of the shops were being closed. One of these was a large jewelry establishment; and as I passed the window I looked in. I had suddenly remembered Mr. Ashdon's bag and the brilliant wares it contained. A minute's search told me that this window could show nothing to equal them; and with a smile I passed on. The next building was the office of the Leachester Echo, and here I paused again. The Echo proprietors published a late edition and the office was still open.

Pasted on the wall was a large contents-bill. I glanced at this in a careless way; but the first line was enough to arrest my attention. When I saw the other lines I experienced a sudden thrill of excitement, for the announcement was startling indeed:

Great Jewel Robbery!
Daring Theft in London.
£60,000 in Diamonds Stolen!

I read the words several times before I could realize what they meant to me; then I rushed into the office for a copy of the paper. As soon as I came out again I opened the sheet to find the column I wanted.

It was a late telegram, hastily written up into a considerable paragraph, and placed under the striking and sensational heading which had appeared on the contents-bill. It took me but a very short time to read it through:

"The Hotel Petersburg, Westminster, was last night the scene of a jewelrobbery of a peculiarly audacious character. The affair was almost as simple as it was daring; while the value of the plunder obtained is almost unique in the history of such robberies. From the information which has been given to the police, it appears that the jewels stolen are valued at sixty thousand pounds. They are the property of the Countess Lenstoi, a Russian lady, who has taken a suite of rooms at the Hotel Petersburg for the season.

"It appears that the Countess wore the diamonds, which are a complete set of unique character and beauty, at the Home Secretary's ball last evening. When she returned at an early hour this morning they were simply locked in their cases and placed in a small

cabinet which stood in the Countess's bedchamber. No further thought seems to have been given to them until about noon to-day, when one of the maids observed that there were curious scratches about the lock of the cabinet. She at once gave an alarm, and it was discovered that the door was unlocked. Some time in the early morning a daring thief had entered the room, rifled the cabinet, and carried off the whole set of jewels. In his haste or confusion he had forgotten to lock the door after him.

"The police were at once called in by the landlord, the Countess having started an hour earlier to visit a friend residing at Leatherhead. Her absence, of course, made the situation a very difficult one; but every effort is now being made to trace the robber. The case is of peculiar interest, because among the jewels stolen was the historic gem known as the 'Lenstoi Rose Diamond,' valued at thirty thousand pounds. This stone was presented to a Count Lenstoi by the first Catharine, on account of eminent military services which he had rendered to the Russian Crown.

"It will appear remarkable that so valuable a set of jewels should have been left, even for one day, in a place so insecure. It is said, however, that arrangements had been made for their safe keeping with Messrs. Margate & Fry, of Lombard Street, though for some unknown reason they had not been sent there. On ordinary occasions they would have been handed over to Messrs. Margate directly after they had been used."

I folded the paper with trembling fingers. For a while I stood on the pavement, vainly trying to make order out of the chaos of my thoughts. Diamonds!-diamonds!-everything diamonds. I was filled with excitement, though at that moment I scarcely knew why.

was

Directly afterwards I was hurrying

towards the hotel. Like an illuminating flash came the recollection of Mr. Ashdon's bag, and my confused impressions began to find order and sequence. I may say here that I have always been rather proud of my ability to take in all the points of a complicated situation quickly, and to arrange them logically.

Mr. Ashdon's bag contained a complete set of diamonds. The case which contained each separate article bore a coronet in gilt. This was probably the Lenstoi coronet. Further I had met the man in the London train-that is to say the train which had left London that morning. He was a commercial man; or, at any rate, he had assumed that character. Under that disguise he had lodged at a London hotel-probably the "Petersburg." I had noticed that he was a man of a bold and fearless disposition, full of self-confidence and assurance. I had also noticed that he had changed the subject when I began to make more particular inquiries about him and his business. He had never mentioned his London hotel. Why?

Here was a chain complete in every link; but just then I had no time to carry it farther. I had turned the corner of Queen Street, and was now before the "Royal" running-positively running. The hall-porter observed my hurried entry with amazement; but I did not pause. On the first flight of stairs I met the willing and intelligent waiter who had assisted me to my dress-clothes. It occurred to me directly I had passed him that his attitude had expressed a desire to speak; but there was no time for that. I was at my own door in an instant, and found the key on the hook where I had placed it. Another instant or so and I was in the room.

I took the key inside and locked the door. There stood the mysterious bag, on the chair where I had placed it

myself. I fitted my key into the lock with shaking fingers, the straps were opened, the catches clicked back, and then.. and then I was gazing in astonishment at the manuscript of my lecture! It was the first thing to come to sight, as it was the last thing I had packed away. Beneath it appeared other articles I knew; my plain brushbag, my linen-and-my dress-clothesmy own! There were no diamonds. This was, in fact, my own bag. I turned it over and recognized it. Then I took off my spectacles, wiped them, replaced them, and stared once more at my manuscript.

Was I dreaming

"Yes, sir. A gentleman came just after you had gone-about five minutes after. He was in a great to-do about the mistake-had lost hours, he said, by coming back. So, if you please, sir, I took the liberty of coming into the room and changing the bags. Hope it's all right now, sir? The two bags were exactly alike."

I stared at the fellow as I tried to comprehend what had happened. My face alarmed him.

"He was a rather stout gentleman, with a fair beard. He left his card. There it is on the table."

I looked at the table and saw the card. It was the card of Mr. Charles

Ashdon, and exactly the same as the one he had given me. It was borne in upon my understanding, now, that during my absence the man had entered the room and recovered his spoil!

I do not know what I said to the waiter, but I remember that he went out hurriedly. In a moment of excitement I am apt to lose my temper, and in this case I had good reason for anger. Through his insufferable meddling the thief had got clear once again, and I had lost a grand opportunity.

When he had gone I sat down for a few minutes to think out the situation afresh. This set back had roused my spirit of determination, and I did not intend to give in. I would run the thief to earth if it were in any way possible. He had come back for his bag, calculating, no doubt, that I would not have discovered what it contained. He had failed to calculate on my natural disposition to probe things to the bottom. In any case, the act of returning was an act of almost inconceivable assurance and daring; but I felt that it was quite in keeping with the character of the man. It had been justified by its success, and that was more.

What next? Naturally, his next move would be to make on as quickly as possible. He was going to Boltport, some two hours distant. In that great port, no doubt, he had confederates waiting, and there all trace of him would be lost. Boltport was an excellent place to hide in, and a very good place from which to escape over-sea.

What train had he been able to catch after recovering his bag. With eager fingers I turned the leaves of my timetable. To my dismay, I found that a train had left the Leachester station at eight-forty-five. It was now just eleven, and by this time he must have reached the end of his journey.

This was a blow indeed; and for a few moments I felt a keen disappointment. Then I gave an exclamation of

triumph. Glancing more closely at the badly-printed table, I had made a discovery of prime importance. The eightforty-five was a local train, and did not run farther than Hinton Junction, halfway to Boltport. The next through train would not pass Leachester until midnight-to be exact twelve-seven. Mr. Charles Ashdon and the diamonds would have to wait for it at Hinton Junction!

This was enough. I thrust the timetable into my pocket and ran downstairs. A moment after I was hurrying down Queen Street, looking out eagerly for a cab. Before one came in sight I reached the office of the Echo, and that jewelry establishment near it which I had noticed half an hour earlier. The shop was now in darkness, and the proprietor was on the point of leaving for the night. In fact, he was engaged in locking the door in the iron shutters which completely protected his window and front entrance. When I saw this I stopped.

The Echo report had mentioned one diamond in particular as having been part of the stolen set-the Lenstoi Rose Diamond. I knew nothing of the different classes of jewels; but my idea of a rose diamond would be simply that it was a rose-tinted stone. There had been no such stone in Mr. Ashdon's bag, for they were all colorless. I suddenly remembered this, and saw its significance. It would be just as well to make inquiries before going farther.

The jeweler was a small man in a heavy greatcoat, and my conduct

Chambers's Journal.

seemed to startle him considerably. Indeed, my first question was rather abrupt.

"Can

"I beg your pardon," I said. you tell me what kind of diamond is called a rose diamond?"

The jeweler slipped his keys into his pocket, and stared at me in such an astonished way that I found it necessary to explain.

"I have just been reading," I said, "the account of the London jewel-robbery. One of the stones lost is described as a rose diamond, and I am curious to know the meaning of the term."

The man's face cleared up considerably, though he still seemed surprised. Without further hesitation, however, he gave me a reply.

"The name," he said, "describes, partly, the shape of the stone. It is something like a rose in form, the under side being flat and the upper side rounded and cut in facets to a point. There are usually twenty-four facets." Then, as though he had often been asked the same question before, he added carelessly, "The term has nothing to do with the color. It can be a colorless stone."

That was quite enough. I muttered a hasty "Thank you!" and hurried away, leaving him to look after me with renewed astonishment. A little farther down the street I met an empty cab. At my signal the driver stopped, and I got in.

"The chief police station," I cried. "Quick!"

W. E. Cule.

In her first chapter Mrs. Meynell speaks of this book as a "handbook of Ruskin,” and similarly in her last chapter, as an attempt toward a "little popular guide." These descriptions may stand if we are allowed to suggest that the handbook is for those who are returning from Ruskin, rather than for those who are going to him; that the guidance is more suited to readers who are perplexedly filled with the Master, than to those who are about to fill themselves in a girlish hope of "lilies." Again, some readers may feel generously indignant with Mrs. Meynell for putting the name of handbook to a work of exhaustive thought and beautiful literary fibre. We feel no such concern. In an age when trash comes with trumpet, a piece of literature may as well swim into our ken as Number Three in a series of handbooks.

In its preparation and building this monograph is a work of unusual solicitude solicitude of the heart as well as of the head; for when we have reckoned up the books that have been mastered, and the long dissectings, relatings and comparings which alone could unify that reading, and the writer's pains to spare us the processes which she would not spare herself-there remain a crowd of instances where not the faculties but the loyalties of her mind have had to bear their strain, where the burden of dealing justly by a dead man's work has been heavy, and where reverence, though it never failed, has had to make itself felt in the tone of "I do not agree," or in the tone of "I do not understand." It may be said that these are simply the pains of critical biography. Yes, but the quantity of such pains depends on

Modern English Writers.-John Ruskin. By Mrs. Meyrell. (Blackwood. 2 d.)

the quantity of the biographer's mind; and the resolve to walk with a Master, yet not be dragged by him, to record his conclusions, but always to understand them, to set free his messages, but to give them the accent and effectiveness of the hour, becomes notable when it is made by a mind competent for the task in hand, and sensible of all the risks. Such a book, we think, is Mrs. Meynell's. It expounds a known mind by its effect on a known mind, and we watch the impact. It is impossible to read her acute exposition and not be thinking almost as much about the author of "The Rhythm of Life" as about the author of “Modern Painters." This is not to diminish the expository value of the book, but to describe it.

In approaching her task Mrs. Meynell might, it is obvious, have quickly pronounced for the notion that Ruskin was a true seer of nature, but a muddle-headed instructor in Art, and so have been free to interpret and emulate his fine words about Sun, Cloud, Shadow, Reed, Blade of Grass and the Winds of the World. For on these things she also has thought intently, and on all could say unusual things again. But it has not been her way thus to use Ruskin's best. She has undertaken nothing less than a study of the whole body of his work, and its painful exposition. Painful is the word; we have rarely seen a mind in such lengthy travail, imposing such exactness on every decision. The essay on "Rejection" had prophetic sentences: "We are constrained to such vigilance as will not let even a master's work pass unfanned and unpurged. ... Our reflection must be alert and expert. . . . It makes us shrewder than we wish to be." It is this helplessness to be the bland disciple that