Back Aa

Diamond Master

<h3 id="id00463" style="margin-top: 3em">CHAPTER XI</h3> <h5 id="id00464">THE SILENT BELL</h5> He stood looking at her with earnest thoughtful eyes. Suddenly the woman-soul within her awoke in a surging, inexplicable wave of emotion which almost overcame her; and after it came something of realization of the great fight he was making for her—for her, and the aged, feeble grandfather waiting patiently out there. He loved her, this master among men, and she sighed contentedly. For the moment the maddening anxiety that brought her here was forgotten; there was only the ineffable sweetness of seeing him again. She extended her hands to him impulsively, and he kissed them both. "The difficulty of you leaving here," he went on after a little, "is that you would be followed, and within two hours these men would know all about you—where you are stopping, how long you have been there; they would know of your daily telephone messages to your grandfather, and then, inevitably, they would appear out there, and learn all the rest of it. It doesn't matter how closely they keep watch of me. My plans are all made, I know I am watched, and make no mistakes. But you!" "So I should not have come?" she questioned. "I'm sorry." "I understand your anxiety, of course," he assured her, and he was smiling a little, "but the worst never happens—so for the present we will not worry. In an hour or more, now, I imagine we shall receive a pigeon-o-gram which will show that all is well. And then I shall have to plan for you to get away somehow." She leaned toward him a little and again he gathered her in his arms. The red lips were mutely raised, and he kissed her reverently. "It's all for you and it will all be right," he assured her. "Gene, dear Gene!" He pressed a button on the wall and a maid appeared. "You will have to wait for a couple of hours or so, at least, so if you would like to take off your things?" he suggested with grave courtesy. "I dare say the suite just above is habitable, and the maid is at your service." The girl regarded him pensively for a moment, then turning ran swiftly up the stairs. The maid started to follow more staidly. "Just a moment," said Mr. Wynne crisply, in an undertone. "Miss Kellner is not to be allowed to use the telephone under any circumstances. You understand?" She nodded silently and went up the stairs. An hour passed. From the swivel chair at his desk Mr. Wynne had twice seen Sutton stroll past on the opposite side of the street; and then Claflin had lounged along. Suddenly he arose and went to the window, throwing back the curtains. Sutton was leaning against an electric-light pole, half a block away; Claflin was half a block off in the other direction, in casual conversation with a policeman. Mr. Wynne looked them over thoughtfully. Curiously enough he was wondering just how he would fare in a physical contest with either, or both. He turned away from the window at last and glanced at his watch impatiently. One hour and forty minutes! In another half an hour the little bell over his desk should ring. That would mean that a pigeon had arrived from—from out there, and that the automatic door had closed upon it as it entered the cote. But if it didn't come— if it didn't come! Then what? There was only one conclusion to be drawn, and he shuddered a little when he thought of it. There could only remain this single possibility when he considered the sinister things that had happened—the failure of the girl to get an answer by telephone, and the unexpected appearance of Red Haney with the uncut diamonds. It might be necessary for him to go out there, and how could he do it? How, without leaving an open trail behind him? How, without inviting defeat in the fight he was making? His meditations were interrupted by the appearance of Miss Kellner. She had crept down the stairs noiselessly, and stood beside him before he was aware of her presence. Her eyes sought his countenance questioningly, and the deadly pallor of her face frightened him. She crept into his arms and nestled there silently with dry, staring eyes. He stroked the golden-brown hair with an utter sense of helplessness. "Nothing yet," he said finally, and there was a thin assumption of cheeriness in his tone. "It may be another hour, but it will come— it will come." "But if it doesn't, Gene?" she queried insistently. Always her mind went back to that possibility. "We shall cross no bridges until we reach them," he replied. "There is always a chance that the pigeons might have gone astray, for they have this single disadvantage against the incalculable advantage of offering no clew to any one as to where they go; and it is impossible to follow them. If nothing comes in half an hour now I shall send two more." "And then, if nothing comes?" "Then, my dear, then we shall begin to worry." Half an hour passed; the little bell was silent; Claflin and Sutton were still visible from the window. Miss Kellner's eyes were immovably fixed on Mr. Wynne's face, and he repressed his gnawing anxiety with an effort. Finally he wrote again on the tissue slips— three of them this time—and together they climbed to the roof, attached the messages, and watched the birds disappear. Another hour—two hours—two hours and a half passed. Suddenly the girl arose with pallid face and colorless lips. "I can't stand it, Gene, I can't!" she exclaimed hysterically. "I must know. The telephone?" "No," he commanded harshly, and he, too, arose. "No." "I will!" she flashed. She darted out of the room and along the hall. He followed her with grim determination in his face. She seized the receiver from the hook and held it to her ear. "Hello!" called Central. "Give me long distance—Coaldale, Number—" "No," commanded Mr. Wynne, and he placed one hand over the transmitter tightly. "Doris, you must not!" "I will!" she flamed. "Let me alone!" "You'll ruin everything," he pleaded earnestly. "Don't you know that they get every number I call? Don't you know that within fifteen minutes they will have that number, and their men will start for there?" She faced him with blazing eyes. "I don't care," she said deliberately, and the white face was relieved by an angry flush. "I will know what has happened out there! I must! Gene, don't you see that I'm frantic with anxiety? The money means nothing to me. I want to know if he is safe." His hand was still gripped over the transmitter. Suddenly she turned and tugged at it fiercely. Her sharp little nails bit into the flesh of his fingers. In a last desperate effort she placed the receiver to her lips. "Give me long distance, Coaldale Number—" With a quick movement he snapped the connecting wire from the instrument, and the receiver was free in her hand. "Doris, you are mad!" he protested. "Wait a minute, my dear girl— just a minute." "I don't care! I will know!" Mr. Wynne turned and picked up a heavy cane from the hall-stand, and brought it down on the transmitter with all his strength. The delicate mechanism jangled and tingled, then the front fell off at their feet. The diaphragm dropped and rolled away. "Doris, you must not!" he commanded again gravely. "We will find another way, dear." "How dare you?" she demanded violently. "It was cowardly." "You don't understand—" "I understand it all," she broke in. "I understand that this might lead to the failure of the thing you are trying to do. But I don't care. I understand that already I have lost my father and my brother in this; that my grandmother and my mother were nearly starved to death while it was all being planned; all for these hideous diamonds. Diamonds! Diamonds! Diamonds! I've heard nothing all my life but that. As a child it was dinned into me, and now I am sick and weary of it all. I know—I know something has happened to him now. I hate them! I hate them!" She stopped, glared at him with scornful eyes for an instant, then ran up the stairs again. Mr. Wynne touched a button in the wall, and the maid appeared. "Go lock the back door, and bring me the key," he commanded. The maid went away, and a moment later returned to hand him the key. He still stood in the hall, waiting. After a little there came a rush of skirts, and Miss Kellner ran down the steps, dressed for the street. "Doris," he pleaded, "you must not go out now. Wait just a moment— we'll find a way, and then I'll go with you." She tried to pass him, but his outstretched arms made her a prisoner. "Do I understand that you refuse to let me go?" she asked tensely. "Not like this," he replied. "If you'll give me just a little while then perhaps—perhaps I may go with you. Even if something had happened there you could do nothing alone. I, too, am afraid now. Just half an hour—fifteen minutes! Perhaps I may be able to find a plan." Suddenly she sank down on the stairs, with her face in her hands. He caressed her hair tenderly, then raised her to her feet. "Suppose you step into the back parlor here," he requested. "Just give me fifteen minutes. Then, unless I can find a way for us to go together safely, we will throw everything aside and go anyway. Forgive me, dear." She submitted quietly to be led along the hall. He opened the door into a room and stood aside for her to pass. "Gene, Gene!" she exclaimed. Her soft arms found their way about his neck, and she drew his face down and kissed him; then, without a word, she entered the room and closed the door. A minute passed—two, four, five—and Mr. Wynne stood as she left him, then he opened the front door and stepped out. Frank Claflin was just starting toward the house from the corner with deliberate pace when he glanced up and saw Mr. Wynne signaling for him to approach. Could it be possible? He had had no orders about talking to this man, but—Perhaps he was going to give it up! And with this idea he accelerated his pace and crossed the street. "Oh, Mr. Claflin, will you step in just a moment, please?" requested Mr. Wynne courteously. "Why?" demanded the detective suspiciously. "There's a matter I want to discuss with you," responded Mr. Wynne. "It may be that we can reach some sort of—of an agreement about this, and if you don't mind—" Claflin went up the steps, Mr. Wynne ushered him in and closed the door behind him. Three minutes later Mr. Wynne appeared on the steps again and beckoned to Sutton, who had just witnessed the incident just preceding, and was positively being eaten by curiosity. "This is Mr. Sutton, isn't it?" inquired Mr. Wynne. "Yes, that's me." "Well, Mr. Claflin and I are discussing this matter, and my proposition to him was such that he felt if must be made in your presence. Would you mind stepping inside for a moment?" "You and the girl decided to give it up?" queried Mr. Sutton triumphantly. "We are just discussing the matter now," was the answer. Sutton went up the steps and disappeared inside. And about four minutes after that Mr. Wynne stood in the hallway, puffing a little as he readjusted his necktie. He picked up his hat, drew on his gloves and then rapped on the door of the back parlor. Miss Kellner appeared. "We will go now," said Mr. Wynne quietly. "But is it safe, Gene?" she asked quickly. "Perfectly safe, yes. There's no danger of being followed if we go immediately." She gazed at him wonderingly, then followed him to the door. He opened it and she passed out, glancing around curiously. For one instant he paused, and there came a clatter and clamor from somewhere in the rear of the house. He closed the door with a grim smile. "Which are the detectives?" asked Miss Kellner, in an awed whisper. "I don't see them around just now," he replied. "We can get a cab at the corner." <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

1 of 2

2 of 2

Update Required To play the media you will need to either update your browser to a recent version or update your Flash plugin.