The Diamond Cross Mystery Part 16

"For, s.h.a.g, I guess I won't be needing it for a week or so," said the old detective, and there was a mingling of two emotions in his voice.

"Uh, ah!" murmured s.h.a.g, as, carefully, he put away the delicate rod and reel. "It's either fis.h.i.+n' or detectin' wif de colonel, dat's whut it suah am! Fis.h.i.+n' or detectin'! De colonel ain't one dat kin carry watermelons on bof shoulders!"

Returning from his fis.h.i.+ng trip with the one, lone specimen, Colonel Ashley, having escorted Amy Mason to her automobile, went back to the hotel with s.h.a.g.

"I might have known how it would be, s.h.a.g," he remarked, almost mournfully. "I might have known I'd run into something when I came here for rest."

"Dat's right, Colonel. Yo' suah might! But who does yo' s'pect did dish yeah killin'?"

"It's too early yet to tell, s.h.a.g, and you know I don't make any predictions. I want to get a few more facts."

This the colonel proceeded to do. First having had himself accredited as working in Darcy's behalf by being introduced by the accused man's lawyer, the detective paid a visit to the jewelry store. The place was in charge of Thomas Kettridge, a half uncle to Mrs. Darcy.

The place had been opened for business again after the funeral, and customers came in, carefully avoiding the place where a dark stain could be seen in the floor--a stain made all the more conspicuous because of the light-colored boards about it.

The colonel made a careful examination of the premises, and had described to him the exact position of the body, being told all that went on that tragic morning.

It was after this, and following some busy hours spent in various parts of the city, that the defective sent to one of his trusted men in New York this telegram:

"Spotty Morgan's vacation is over. Have him spend a few days with you until I can invite him to my country place."

"I hate to do it, after what he did for me," mused the colonel with a sigh. "But business is business from now on. I'm officially in the case, and I wasn't before."

Having sent the somewhat cryptic message, the old detective sat in his room and took from his pocket a little green book.

"Well, old friend, I guess I'm not going to have much use for you from now on," he remarked dolefully. He glanced to where his rods and flies were gathering dust. "Nor you, either," he went on. "Now for a last glimpse--"

He opened the book and read:

"And now I shall tell you that the fis.h.i.+ng with a natural fly is excellent and affords much pleasure."

"It won't do!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed the colonel as he closed the book and threw it aside.

One matter puzzled the colonel as well as the other detectives. There was no sign of the jewelry store having been entered from the outside, so that if a stranger had come in he must have done so when the doors were unlocked or made a false key, or else he had forced a pa.s.sage so skilfully as to leave not a sign.

Of course this was possible, and it added to the inference of some that a burglar, used to such work, had entered the place, and, being detected at work by Mrs. Darcy, had killed her.

However, there was not so much as a cuff b.u.t.ton missing, as far as could be learned after the contents of the store had been checked up, though of course an intruder might have been frightened off before he had taken anything.

Many of Darcy's friends could not help but admit that appearances were against him. He and his cousin had quarreled, somewhat bitterly, over money, and about his refusal to give up work on his electric lathe.

There was also King's testimony about words over Amy, though Darcy contended that this talk was nothing more than his relative had indulged in before regarding the unsuitableness of the match. Darcy admitted resenting his cousin's imputation.

All this Colonel Ashley had taken into consideration before he sent the telegram. And, having done that, and having had a talk with Darcy at the jail, as well as a consultation with the lawyer, having visited Harry King and seen Singa Phut, the detective paid another visit to the jewelry shop.

"And what can I do for you to-day, Colonel?" asked Mr. Kettridge, who, by this time, had the business running smoothly again. "Have you gotten any further into the mystery?"

"Not as far as I would like to get. I'm going to browse about here a bit, if you have no objection."

"Not at all. Make yourself at home."

"I will. First, I'd like to see that statue--the one of the hunter, with which it is supposed Mrs. Darcy was struck."

"Oh, that is at the prosecutor's office--that and Harry King's unfortunate paper knife."

"So they are. I had forgotten. Well, I'll look about a bit then.

Don't pay any attention to me. I'll go and come as I please."

And so he went, seemingly rather idly about the jewelry store, looking and listening.

It was not until the third day of his surveillance, during which pa.s.sage of time he had waited anxiously for a message from New York without getting it, that the colonel felt his patience was about to be rewarded. The detective was a fisherman in more ways than one.

Trade had been rather brisk in the shop--possibly because of gruesome curiosity--when, one afternoon, a man entered who seemed to know several in the place. Yet he did not talk with them, beyond a mere pa.s.sing of the time of day, but went about nervously from showcase to counter and repeated the journey. When Mr. Kettridge asked him at what he desired to look he replied there was nothing in particular--that he had in mind a gift, but, as yet, had decided on nothing.

"Look about as you please," was the courteous invitation he received, and the man availed himself of it.

Of medium build, yet with the appearance of having lived more in the open than does the average man, his face had, yet, a strange pallor not in keeping with his robust frame. And his manner was certainly nervous.

"Now what," mused the colonel to himself, "is _he_ fis.h.i.+ng for?"

That day there was more than the usual number of people in the store--many of them undoubtedly curiosity seekers, who came into price certain articles ostensibly, but who, really, wanted to stare at the place where the bloodstains had been scrubbed away.

And at this spot the robust man stared longer than did some of the others, the colonel thought. Did he hope that some spirit of the poor, murdered woman might still be lingering there, to whisper to him what he sought to learn?

"Who is that man?" asked Colonel Ashley of Mr. Kettridge, who had often come to the shop during the holiday seasons to help Mrs. Darcy.

"Oh, that's Mr. Grafton."

"Mr. Grafton? Who is he?"

"Aaron Grafton, one of Colchester's best and wealthiest citizens. He owns the Emporium."

"That big department store?"

"Yes. He has built it up from a small establishment. I have known him a number of years, and he knew Mrs. Darcy quite well. He often has purchased diamonds here, though he is not married, and I don't know that he is engaged--rather late in life, too, for him to be considering that."

"Oh, well, you never can tell," and the colonel smiled.

"So that is Aaron Grafton!" he mused. "Well, Mr. Grafton, in spite of the well known reputation you bear, I think you will stand a little watching. I must not neglect the smallest clew in a case like this.

Yes, decidedly, I think you will bear watching!"

For at that moment the merchant, after another round of the store, seeking for something it seemed he could not find, turned and hurried out, a much-troubled look on his face. Colonel Ashley followed.

CHAPTER VII