The Reverend Mr. Simon Rolles had distinguished
himself in the Moral Sciences, and was more than usually proficient in the
study of Divinity. His essay “On the Christian Doctrine of the Social
Obligations” obtained for him, at the moment of its production, a certain
celebrity in the University of Oxford; and it was understood in clerical and
learned circles that young Mr. Rolles had in contemplation a considerable
work—a folio, it was said—on the authority of the Fathers of the
Church. These attainments, these ambitious designs, however, were far from
helping him to any preferment; and he was still in quest of his first curacy
when a chance ramble in that part of London, the peaceful and rich aspect of
the garden, a desire for solitude and study, and the cheapness of the lodging,
led him to take up his abode with Mr. Raeburn, the nurseryman of Stockdove
Lane.
It was his habit every afternoon, after he had worked seven or eight hours on
St. Ambrose or St. Chrysostom, to walk for a while in meditation among the
roses. And this was usually one of the most productive moments of his day. But
even a sincere appetite for thought, and the excitement of grave problems
awaiting solution, are not always sufficient to preserve the mind of the
philosopher against the petty shocks and contacts of the world. And when Mr.
Rolles found General Vandeleur’s secretary, ragged and bleeding, in the
company of his landlord; when he saw both change colour and seek to avoid his
questions; and, above all, when the former denied his own identity with the
most unmoved assurance, he speedily forgot the Saints and Fathers in the vulgar
interest of curiosity.
“I cannot be mistaken,” thought he. “That is Mr. Hartley
beyond a doubt. How comes he in such a pickle? why does he deny his name? and
what can be his business with that black-looking ruffian, my landlord?”
As he was thus reflecting, another peculiar circumstance attracted his
attention. The face of Mr. Raeburn appeared at a low window next the door; and,
as chance directed, his eyes met those of Mr. Rolles. The nurseryman seemed
disconcerted, and even alarmed; and immediately after the blind of the
apartment was pulled sharply down.
“This may all be very well,” reflected Mr. Rolles; “it may be
all excellently well; but I confess freely that I do not think so. Suspicious,
underhand, untruthful, fearful of observation—I believe upon my
soul,” he thought, “the pair are plotting some disgraceful
action.”
The detective that there is in all of us awoke and became clamant in the bosom
of Mr. Rolles; and with a brisk, eager step, that bore no resemblance to his
usual gait, he proceeded to make the circuit of the garden. When he came to the
scene of Harry’s escalade, his eye was at once arrested by a broken
rosebush and marks of trampling on the mould. He looked up, and saw scratches
on the brick, and a rag of trouser floating from a broken bottle. This, then,
was the mode of entrance chosen by Mr. Raeburn’s particular friend! It
was thus that General Vandeleur’s secretary came to admire a
flower-garden! The young clergyman whistled softly to himself as he stooped to
examine the ground. He could make out where Harry had landed from his perilous
leap; he recognised the flat foot of Mr. Raeburn where it had sunk deeply in
the soil as he pulled up the Secretary by the collar; nay, on a closer
inspection, he seemed to distinguish the marks of groping fingers, as though
something had been spilt abroad and eagerly collected.
“Upon my word,” he thought, “the thing grows vastly
interesting.”
And just then he caught sight of something almost entirely buried in the earth.
In an instant he had disinterred a dainty morocco case, ornamented and clasped
in gilt. It had been trodden heavily underfoot, and thus escaped the hurried
search of Mr. Raeburn. Mr. Rolles opened the case, and drew a long breath of
almost horrified astonishment; for there lay before him, in a cradle of green
velvet, a diamond of prodigious magnitude and of the finest water. It was of
the bigness of a duck’s egg; beautifully shaped, and without a flaw; and
as the sun shone upon it, it gave forth a lustre like that of electricity, and
seemed to burn in his hand with a thousand internal fires.
He knew little of precious stones; but the Rajah’s Diamond was a wonder
that explained itself; a village child, if he found it, would run screaming for
the nearest cottage; and a savage would prostrate himself in adoration before
so imposing a fetish. The beauty of the stone flattered the young
clergyman’s eyes; the thought of its incalculable value overpowered his
intellect. He knew that what he held in his hand was worth more than many
years’ purchase of an archiepiscopal see; that it would build cathedrals
more stately than Ely or Cologne; that he who possessed it was set free for
ever from the primal curse, and might follow his own inclinations without
concern or hurry, without let or hindrance. And as he suddenly turned it, the
rays leaped forth again with renewed brilliancy, and seemed to pierce his very
heart.
Decisive actions are often taken in a moment and without any conscious
deliverance from the rational parts of man. So it was now with Mr. Rolles. He
glanced hurriedly round; beheld, like Mr. Raeburn before him, nothing but the
sunlit flower-garden, the tall tree-tops, and the house with blinded windows;
and in a trice he had shut the case, thrust it into his pocket, and was
hastening to his study with the speed of guilt.
The Reverend Simon Rolles had stolen the Rajah’s Diamond.
Early in the afternoon the police arrived with Harry Hartley. The nurseryman,
who was beside himself with terror, readily discovered his hoard; and the
jewels were identified and inventoried in the presence of the Secretary. As for
Mr. Rolles, he showed himself in a most obliging temper, communicated what he
knew with freedom, and professed regret that he could do no more to help the
officers in their duty.
“Still,” he added, “I suppose your business is nearly at an
end.”
“By no means,” replied the man from Scotland Yard; and he narrated
the second robbery of which Harry had been the immediate victim, and gave the
young clergyman a description of the more important jewels that were still not
found, dilating particularly on the Rajah’s Diamond.
“It must be worth a fortune,” observed Mr. Rolles.
“Ten fortunes—twenty fortunes,” cried the officer.
“The more it is worth,” remarked Simon shrewdly, “the more
difficult it must be to sell. Such a thing has a physiognomy not to be
disguised, and I should fancy a man might as easily negotiate St. Paul’s
Cathedral.”
“Oh, truly!” said the officer; “but if the thief be a man of
any intelligence, he will cut it into three or four, and there will be still
enough to make him rich.”
“Thank you,” said the clergyman. “You cannot imagine how much
your conversation interests me.”
Whereupon the functionary admitted that they knew many strange things in his
profession, and immediately after took his leave.
Mr. Rolles regained his apartment. It seemed smaller and barer than usual; the
materials for his great work had never presented so little interest; and he
looked upon his library with the eye of scorn. He took down, volume by volume,
several Fathers of the Church, and glanced them through; but they contained
nothing to his purpose.
“These old gentlemen,” thought he, “are no doubt very
valuable writers, but they seem to me conspicuously ignorant of life. Here am
I, with learning enough to be a Bishop, and I positively do not know how to
dispose of a stolen diamond. I glean a hint from a common policeman, and, with
all my folios, I cannot so much as put it into execution. This inspires me with
very low ideas of University training.”
Herewith he kicked over his book-shelf and, putting on his hat, hastened from
the house to the club of which he was a member. In such a place of mundane
resort he hoped to find some man of good counsel and a shrewd experience in
life. In the reading-room he saw many of the country clergy and an Archdeacon;
there were three journalists and a writer upon the Higher Metaphysic, playing
pool; and at dinner only the raff of ordinary club frequenters showed their
commonplace and obliterated countenances. None of these, thought Mr. Rolles,
would know more on dangerous topics than he knew himself; none of them were fit
to give him guidance in his present strait. At length in the smoking-room, up
many weary stairs, he hit upon a gentleman of somewhat portly build and dressed
with conspicuous plainness. He was smoking a cigar and reading the
Fortnightly Review; his face was singularly free from all sign of
preoccupation or fatigue; and there was something in his air which seemed to
invite confidence and to expect submission. The more the young clergyman
scrutinised his features, the more he was convinced that he had fallen on one
capable of giving pertinent advice.
“Sir,” said he, “you will excuse my abruptness; but I judge
you from your appearance to be pre-eminently a man of the world.”
“I have indeed considerable claims to that distinction,” replied
the stranger, laying aside his magazine with a look of mingled amusement and
surprise.
“I, sir,” continued the Curate, “am a recluse, a student, a
creature of ink-bottles and patristic folios. A recent event has brought my
folly vividly before my eyes, and I desire to instruct myself in life. By
life,” he added, “I do not mean Thackeray’s novels; but the
crimes and secret possibilities of our society, and the principles of wise
conduct among exceptional events. I am a patient reader; can the thing be
learnt in books?”
“You put me in a difficulty,” said the stranger. “I confess I
have no great notion of the use of books, except to amuse a railway journey;
although, I believe, there are some very exact treatises on astronomy, the use
of the globes, agriculture, and the art of making paper flowers. Upon the less
apparent provinces of life I fear you will find nothing truthful. Yet
stay,” he added, “have you read Gaboriau?”
Mr. Rolles admitted he had never even heard the name.
“You may gather some notions from Gaboriau,” resumed the stranger.
“He is at least suggestive; and as he is an author much studied by Prince
Bismarck, you will, at the worst, lose your time in good society.”
“Sir,” said the Curate, “I am infinitely obliged by your
politeness.”
“You have already more than repaid me,” returned the other.
“How?” inquired Simon.
“By the novelty of your request,” replied the gentleman; and with a
polite gesture, as though to ask permission, he resumed the study of the
Fortnightly Review.
On his way home Mr. Rolles purchased a work on precious stones and several of
Gaboriau’s novels. These last he eagerly skimmed until an advanced hour
in the morning; but although they introduced him to many new ideas, he could
nowhere discover what to do with a stolen diamond. He was annoyed, moreover, to
find the information scattered amongst romantic story-telling, instead of
soberly set forth after the manner of a manual; and he concluded that, even if
the writer had thought much upon these subjects, he was totally lacking in
educational method. For the character and attainments of Lecoq, however, he was
unable to contain his admiration.
“He was truly a great creature,” ruminated Mr. Rolles. “He
knew the world as I know Paley’s Evidences. There was nothing that he
could not carry to a termination with his own hand, and against the largest
odds. Heavens!” he broke out suddenly, “is not this the lesson?
Must I not learn to cut diamonds for myself?”
It seemed to him as if he had sailed at once out of his perplexities; he
remembered that he knew a jeweller, one B. Macculloch, in Edinburgh, who would
be glad to put him in the way of the necessary training; a few months, perhaps
a few years, of sordid toil, and he would be sufficiently expert to divide and
sufficiently cunning to dispose with advantage of the Rajah’s Diamond.
That done, he might return to pursue his researches at leisure, a wealthy and
luxurious student, envied and respected by all. Golden visions attended him
through his slumber, and he awoke refreshed and light-hearted with the morning
sun.
Mr. Raeburn’s house was on that day to be closed by the police, and this
afforded a pretext for his departure. He cheerfully prepared his baggage,
transported it to King’s Cross, where he left it in the cloak-room, and
returned to the club to while away the afternoon and dine.
“If you dine here to-day, Rolles,” observed an acquaintance,
“you may see two of the most remarkable men in England—Prince
Florizel of Bohemia, and old Jack Vandeleur.”
“I have heard of the Prince,” replied Mr. Rolles; “and
General Vandeleur I have even met in society.”
“General Vandeleur is an ass!” returned the other. “This is
his brother John, the biggest adventurer, the best judge of precious stones,
and one of the most acute diplomatists in Europe. Have you never heard of his
duel with the Duc de Val d’Orge? of his exploits and atrocities when he
was Dictator of Paraguay? of his dexterity in recovering Sir Samuel
Levi’s jewellery? nor of his services in the Indian Mutiny—services
by which the Government profited, but which the Government dared not recognise?
You make me wonder what we mean by fame, or even by infamy; for Jack Vandeleur
has prodigious claims to both. Run downstairs,” he continued, “take
a table near them, and keep your ears open. You will hear some strange talk, or
I am much misled.”
“But how shall I know them?” inquired the clergyman.
“Know them!” cried his friend; “why, the Prince is the finest
gentleman in Europe, the only living creature who looks like a king; and as for
Jack Vandeleur, if you can imagine Ulysses at seventy years of age, and with a
sabre-cut across his face, you have the man before you! Know them, indeed! Why,
you could pick either of them out of a Derby day!”
Rolles eagerly hurried to the dining-room. It was as his friend had asserted;
it was impossible to mistake the pair in question. Old John Vandeleur was of a
remarkable force of body, and obviously broken to the most difficult exercises.
He had neither the carriage of a swordsman, nor of a sailor, nor yet of one
much inured to the saddle; but something made up of all these, and the result
and expression of many different habits and dexterities. His features were bold
and aquiline; his expression arrogant and predatory; his whole appearance that
of a swift, violent, unscrupulous man of action; and his copious white hair and
the deep sabre-cut that traversed his nose and temple added a note of savagery
to a head already remarkable and menacing in itself.
In his companion, the Prince of Bohemia, Mr. Rolles was astonished to recognise
the gentleman who had recommended him the study of Gaboriau. Doubtless Prince
Florizel, who rarely visited the club, of which, as of most others, he was an
honorary member, had been waiting for John Vandeleur when Simon accosted him on
the previous evening.
The other diners had modestly retired into the angles of the room, and left the
distinguished pair in a certain isolation, but the young clergyman was
unrestrained by any sentiment of awe, and, marching boldly up, took his place
at the nearest table.
The conversation was, indeed, new to the student’s ears. The ex-Dictator
of Paraguay stated many extraordinary experiences in different quarters of the
world; and the Prince supplied a commentary which, to a man of thought, was
even more interesting than the events themselves. Two forms of experience were
thus brought together and laid before the young clergyman; and he did not know
which to admire the most—the desperate actor or the skilled expert in
life; the man who spoke boldly of his own deeds and perils, or the man who
seemed, like a god, to know all things and to have suffered nothing. The manner
of each aptly fitted with his part in the discourse. The Dictator indulged in
brutalities alike of speech and gesture; his hand opened and shut and fell
roughly on the table; and his voice was loud and heavy. The Prince, on the
other hand, seemed the very type of urbane docility and quiet; the least
movement, the least inflection, had with him a weightier significance than all
the shouts and pantomime of his companion; and if ever, as must frequently have
been the case, he described some experience personal to himself, it was so
aptly dissimulated as to pass unnoticed with the rest.
At length the talk wandered on to the late robberies and the Rajah’s
Diamond.
“That diamond would be better in the sea,” observed Prince
Florizel.
“As a Vandeleur,” replied the Dictator, “your Highness may
imagine my dissent.”
“I speak on grounds of public policy,” pursued the Prince.
“Jewels so valuable should be reserved for the collection of a Prince or
the treasury of a great nation. To hand them about among the common sort of men
is to set a price on Virtue’s head; and if the Rajah of Kashgar—a
Prince, I understand, of great enlightenment—desired vengeance upon the
men of Europe, he could hardly have gone more efficaciously about his purpose
than by sending us this apple of discord. There is no honesty too robust for
such a trial. I myself, who have many duties and many privileges of my
own—I myself, Mr. Vandeleur, could scarce handle the intoxicating crystal
and be safe. As for you, who are a diamond hunter by taste and profession, I do
not believe there is a crime in the calendar you would not perpetrate—I
do not believe you have a friend in the world whom you would not eagerly
betray—I do not know if you have a family, but if you have I declare you
would sacrifice your children—and all this for what? Not to be richer,
nor to have more comforts or more respect, but simply to call this diamond
yours for a year or two until you die, and now and again to open a safe and
look at it as one looks at a picture.”
“It is true,” replied Vandeleur. “I have hunted most things,
from men and women down to mosquitos; I have dived for coral; I have followed
both whales and tigers; and a diamond is the tallest quarry of the lot. It has
beauty and worth; it alone can properly reward the ardours of the chase. At
this moment, as your Highness may fancy, I am upon the trail; I have a sure
knack, a wide experience; I know every stone of price in my brother’s
collection as a shepherd knows his sheep; and I wish I may die if I do not
recover them every one!”
“Sir Thomas Vandeleur will have great cause to thank you,” said the
Prince.
“I am not so sure,” returned the Dictator, with a laugh. “One
of the Vandeleurs will. Thomas or John—Peter or Paul—we are all
apostles.”
“I did not catch your observation,” said the Prince with some
disgust.
And at the same moment the waiter informed Mr. Vandeleur that his cab was at
the door.
Mr. Rolles glanced at the clock, and saw that he also must be moving; and the
coincidence struck him sharply and unpleasantly, for he desired to see no more
of the diamond hunter.
Much study having somewhat shaken the young man’s nerves, he was in the
habit of travelling in the most luxurious manner; and for the present journey
he had taken a sofa in the sleeping carriage.
“You will be very comfortable,” said the guard; “there is no
one in your compartment, and only one old gentleman in the other end.”
It was close upon the hour, and the tickets were being examined, when Mr.
Rolles beheld this other fellow-passenger ushered by several porters into his
place; certainly, there was not another man in the world whom he would not have
preferred—for it was old John Vandeleur, the ex-Dictator.
The sleeping carriages on the Great Northern line were divided into three
compartments—one at each end for travellers, and one in the centre fitted
with the conveniences of a lavatory. A door running in grooves separated each
of the others from the lavatory; but as there were neither bolts nor locks, the
whole suite was practically common ground.
When Mr. Rolles had studied his position, he perceived himself without defence.
If the Dictator chose to pay him a visit in the course of the night, he could
do no less than receive it; he had no means of fortification, and lay open to
attack as if he had been lying in the fields. This situation caused him some
agony of mind. He recalled with alarm the boastful statements of his
fellow-traveller across the dining-table, and the professions of immorality
which he had heard him offering to the disgusted Prince. Some persons, he
remembered to have read, are endowed with a singular quickness of perception
for the neighbourhood of precious metals; through walls and even at
considerable distances they are said to divine the presence of gold. Might it
not be the same with diamonds? he wondered; and if so, who was more likely to
enjoy this transcendental sense than the person who gloried in the appellation
of the Diamond Hunter? From such a man he recognised that he had everything to
fear, and longed eagerly for the arrival of the day.
In the meantime he neglected no precaution, concealed his diamond in the most
internal pocket of a system of great-coats, and devoutly recommended himself to
the care of Providence.
The train pursued its usual even and rapid course; and nearly half the journey
had been accomplished before slumber began to triumph over uneasiness in the
breast of Mr. Rolles. For some time he resisted its influence; but it grew upon
him more and more, and a little before York he was fain to stretch himself upon
one of the couches and suffer his eyes to close; and almost at the same instant
consciousness deserted the young clergyman. His last thought was of his
terrifying neighbour.
When he awoke it was still pitch dark, except for the flicker of the veiled
lamp; and the continual roaring and oscillation testified to the unrelaxed
velocity of the train. He sat upright in a panic, for he had been tormented by
the most uneasy dreams; it was some seconds before he recovered his
self-command; and even after he had resumed a recumbent attitude sleep
continued to flee him, and he lay awake with his brain in a state of violent
agitation, and his eyes fixed upon the lavatory door. He pulled his clerical
felt hat over his brow still farther to shield him from the light; and he
adopted the usual expedients, such as counting a thousand or banishing thought,
by which experienced invalids are accustomed to woo the approach of sleep. In
the case of Mr. Rolles they proved one and all vain; he was harassed by a dozen
different anxieties—the old man in the other end of the carriage haunted
him in the most alarming shapes; and in whatever attitude he chose to lie the
diamond in his pocket occasioned him a sensible physical distress. It burned,
it was too large, it bruised his ribs; and there were infinitesimal fractions
of a second in which he had half a mind to throw it from the window.
While he was thus lying, a strange incident took place.
The sliding-door into the lavatory stirred a little, and then a little more,
and was finally drawn back for the space of about twenty inches. The lamp in
the lavatory was unshaded, and in the lighted aperture thus disclosed, Mr.
Rolles could see the head of Mr. Vandeleur in an attitude of deep attention. He
was conscious that the gaze of the Dictator rested intently on his own face;
and the instinct of self-preservation moved him to hold his breath, to refrain
from the least movement, and keeping his eyes lowered, to watch his visitor
from underneath the lashes. After about a moment, the head was withdrawn and
the door of the lavatory replaced.
The Dictator had not come to attack, but to observe; his action was not that of
a man threatening another, but that of a man who was himself threatened; if Mr.
Rolles was afraid of him, it appeared that he, in his turn, was not quite easy
on the score of Mr. Rolles. He had come, it would seem, to make sure that his
only fellow-traveller was asleep; and, when satisfied on that point, he had at
once withdrawn.
The clergyman leaped to his feet. The extreme of terror had given place to a
reaction of foolhardy daring. He reflected that the rattle of the flying train
concealed all other sounds, and determined, come what might, to return the
visit he had just received. Divesting himself of his cloak, which might have
interfered with the freedom of his action, he entered the lavatory and paused
to listen. As he had expected, there was nothing to be heard above the roar of
the train’s progress; and laying his hand on the door at the farther
side, he proceeded cautiously to draw it back for about six inches. Then he
stopped, and could not contain an ejaculation of surprise.
John Vandeleur wore a fur travelling cap with lappets to protect his ears; and
this may have combined with the sound of the express to keep him in ignorance
of what was going forward. It is certain, at least, that he did not raise his
head, but continued without interruption to pursue his strange employment.
Between his feet stood an open hat-box; in one hand he held the sleeve of his
sealskin great-coat; in the other a formidable knife, with which he had just
slit up the lining of the sleeve. Mr. Rolles had read of persons carrying money
in a belt; and as he had no acquaintance with any but cricket-belts, he had
never been able rightly to conceive how this was managed. But here was a
stranger thing before his eyes; for John Vandeleur, it appeared, carried
diamonds in the lining of his sleeve; and even as the young clergyman gazed, he
could see one glittering brilliant drop after another into the hat-box.
He stood riveted to the spot, following this unusual business with his eyes.
The diamonds were, for the most part, small, and not easily distinguishable
either in shape or fire. Suddenly the Dictator appeared to find a difficulty;
he employed both hands and stooped over his task; but it was not until after
considerable manoeuvring that he extricated a large tiara of diamonds from the
lining, and held it up for some seconds’ examination before he placed it
with the others in the hat-box. The tiara was a ray of light to Mr. Rolles; he
immediately recognised it for a part of the treasure stolen from Harry Hartley
by the loiterer. There was no room for mistake; it was exactly as the detective
had described it; there were the ruby stars, with a great emerald in the
centre; there were the interlacing crescents; and there were the pear-shaped
pendants, each a single stone, which gave a special value to Lady
Vandeleur’s tiara.
Mr. Rolles was hugely relieved. The Dictator was as deeply in the affair as he
was; neither could tell tales upon the other. In the first glow of happiness,
the clergyman suffered a deep sigh to escape him; and as his bosom had become
choked and his throat dry during his previous suspense, the sigh was followed
by a cough.
Mr. Vandeleur looked up; his face contracted with the blackest and most deadly
passion; his eyes opened widely, and his under jaw dropped in an astonishment
that was upon the brink of fury. By an instinctive movement he had covered the
hat-box with the coat. For half a minute the two men stared upon each other in
silence. It was not a long interval, but it sufficed for Mr. Rolles; he was one
of those who think swiftly on dangerous occasions; he decided on a course of
action of a singularly daring nature; and although he felt he was setting his
life upon the hazard, he was the first to break silence.
“I beg your pardon,” said he.
The Dictator shivered slightly, and when he spoke his voice was hoarse.
“What do you want here?” he asked.
“I take a particular interest in diamonds,” replied Mr. Rolles,
with an air of perfect self-possession. “Two connoisseurs should be
acquainted. I have here a trifle of my own which may perhaps serve for an
introduction.”
And so saying, he quietly took the case from his pocket, showed the
Rajah’s Diamond to the Dictator for an instant, and replaced it in
security.
“It was once your brother’s,” he added.
John Vandeleur continued to regard him with a look of almost painful amazement;
but he neither spoke nor moved.
“I was pleased to observe,” resumed the young man, “that we
have gems from the same collection.”
The Dictator’s surprise overpowered him.
“I beg your pardon,” he said; “I begin to perceive that I am
growing old! I am positively not prepared for little incidents like this. But
set my mind at rest upon one point: do my eyes deceive me, or are you indeed a
parson?”
“I am in holy orders,” answered Mr. Rolles.
“Well,” cried the other, “as long as I live I will never hear
another word against the cloth!”
“You flatter me,” said Mr. Rolles.
“Pardon me,” replied Vandeleur; “pardon me, young man. You
are no coward, but it still remains to be seen whether you are not the worst of
fools. Perhaps,” he continued, leaning back upon his seat, “perhaps
you would oblige me with a few particulars. I must suppose you had some object
in the stupefying impudence of your proceedings, and I confess I have a
curiosity to know it.”
“It is very simple,” replied the clergyman; “it proceeds from
my great inexperience of life.”
“I shall be glad to be persuaded,” answered Vandeleur.
Whereupon Mr. Rolles told him the whole story of his connection with the
Rajah’s Diamond, from the time he found it in Raeburn’s garden to
the time when he left London in the Flying Scotchman. He added a brief sketch
of his feelings and thoughts during the journey, and concluded in these
words:—
“When I recognised the tiara I knew we were in the same attitude towards
Society, and this inspired me with a hope, which I trust you will say was not
ill-founded, that you might become in some sense my partner in the difficulties
and, of course, the profits of my situation. To one of your special knowledge
and obviously great experience the negotiation of the diamond would give but
little trouble, while to me it was a matter of impossibility. On the other
part, I judged that I might lose nearly as much by cutting the diamond, and
that not improbably with an unskilful hand, as might enable me to pay you with
proper generosity for your assistance. The subject was a delicate one to
broach; and perhaps I fell short in delicacy. But I must ask you to remember
that for me the situation was a new one, and I was entirely unacquainted with
the etiquette in use. I believe without vanity that I could have married or
baptized you in a very acceptable manner; but every man has his own aptitudes,
and this sort of bargain was not among the list of my accomplishments.”
“I do not wish to flatter you,” replied Vandeleur; “but upon
my word, you have an unusual disposition for a life of crime. You have more
accomplishments than you imagine; and though I have encountered a number of
rogues in different quarters of the world, I never met with one so unblushing
as yourself. Cheer up, Mr. Rolles, you are in the right profession at last! As
for helping you, you may command me as you will. I have only a day’s
business in Edinburgh on a little matter for my brother; and once that is
concluded, I return to Paris, where I usually reside. If you please, you may
accompany me thither. And before the end of a month I believe I shall have
brought your little business to a satisfactory conclusion.”
(At this point, contrary to all the canons of his art, our
Arabian author breaks off the Story of the Young Man in
Holy Orders. I regret and condemn such practices; but I must
follow my original, and refer the reader for the conclusion of Mr.
Rolles’ adventures to the next number of the cycle, the Story of the House with the Green Blinds.)
