Chapter 1

In which the Metropolitan Diamond Syndicate holds converse with Mr Edward Blackton

 

With a sigh of pleasure Mr Edward Blackton opened the windows of his balcony and leaned out, staring over the lake. Opposite, the mountains of Savoy rose steeply from the water; away to the left the Dent du Midi raised its crown of snow above the morning haze.

Below him the waters of the lake glittered and scintillated with a thousand fires. A steamer, with much blowing of sirens and reversing of paddlewheels, had come to rest at a landing-stage hard by, and was taking on board a bevy of tourists, while the gulls circled round shrieking discordantly. For a while he watched them idly, noting the quickness with which the birds swooped and caught the bread as it was thrown into the air, long before it reached the water. He noted also how nearly all the food was secured by half a dozen of the gulls, whilst the others said a lot but got nothing. And suddenly Mr Edward Blackton smiled.

“Like life, my dear,” he said, slipping his arm round the waist of a girl who had just joined him at the window. “It’s the fool who shouts in this world: the wise man says nothing and acts.”

The girl lit a cigarette thoughtfully, and sat down on the ledge of the balcony. For a while her eyes followed the steamer puffing fussily away with its load of sightseers and its attendant retinue of gulls: then she looked at the man standing beside her. Point by point she took him in: the clear blue eyes under the deep forehead, the aquiline nose, the firm mouth and chin. Calmly, dispassionately she noted the thick brown hair greying a little over the temples, the great depth of chest, and the strong, powerful hands: then she turned and looked once again at the disappearing steamer. But to the man’s surprise she gave a little sigh.

“What is it, my dear?” he said solicitously. “Bored?”

“No, not bored,” she answered. “Whatever may be your failings, mon ami, boring me is not one of them. I was just wondering what it would feel like if you and I were content to go on a paddlewheel steamer with a Baedeker and a Kodak, and a paper bag full of bananas.”

“We will try tomorrow,” said the man, gravely lighting a cigar.

“It wouldn’t be any good,” laughed the girl. “Just once in a way we should probably love it. I meant I wonder what it would feel like if that was our life.”

Her companion nodded.

“I know, carissima,” he answered gently. “I have sometimes wondered the same thing. I suppose there must be compensations in respectability, otherwise so many people wouldn’t be respectable. But I’m afraid it is one of those things that we shall never know.”

“I think it’s that,” said the girl, waving her hand towards the mountains opposite – “that has caused my mood. It’s all so perfectly lovely: the sky is just so wonderfully blue. And look at that sailing boat.”

She pointed to one of the big lake barges, with its two huge lateen sails creeping gently along in the centre of the lake. “It’s all so peaceful, and sometimes one wants peace.”

“True,” agreed the man; “one does. It’s just reaction, and we’ve been busy lately.” He rose and began to pace slowly up and down the balcony. “To be quite honest, I myself have once or twice thought recently that if I could pull off some really big coup – something, I mean, that ran into the millions – I would give things up.”

The girl smiled and shook her head.

“Don’t misunderstand me, my dear,” he went on. “I do not suggest for a moment that we should settle down to a life of toping and ease. We could neither of us exist without employing our brains. But with really big money behind one, we should be in a position to employ our brains a little more legitimately, shall I say, than we are able to at present, and still get all the excitement we require.

“Take Drakshoff: that man controls three of the principal Governments of Europe. The general public don’t know it; the Governments themselves won’t admit it: but it’s true for all that. As you know, that little job I carried out for him in Germany averted a second revolution. He didn’t want one at the time, and so he called me in. And it cost him in all five million pounds. What was that to him?”

He shrugged his shoulders contemptuously.

“A mere flea-bite – a bagatelle. Why, with that man an odd million or two one way or the other wouldn’t be noticed in his pass-book.”

He paused and stared over the sunlit lake, while the girl watched him in silence.

“Given money as big as that, and a man can rule the world. Moreover, he can rule it without fear of consequences. He can have all the excitement he requires; he can wield all the power he desires – and have special posses of police to guard him. I’m afraid we don’t have many to guard us.”

The girl laughed and lit another cigarette.

“You are right, mon ami, we do not. Hullo! who can that be?”

Inside the sitting-room the telephone bell was ringing, and with a slight frown Mr Edward Blackton took off the receiver.

“What is it?”

From the other end came the voice of the manager, suitably deferential as befitted a client of such obvious wealth installed in the most palatial suite of the Palace Hotel.

“Two gentlemen are here, Mr Blackton,” said the manager, “who wish to know when they can have the pleasure of seeing you. Their names are Sir Raymond Blantyre and Mr Jabez Leibhaus. They arrived this morning from England by the Simplon Orient Express, and they say that their business is most urgent.”

A sudden gleam had come into Mr Blackton’s eyes as he listened, but his voice as he answered was almost bored.

“I shall be pleased to see both gentlemen at eleven o’clock up here. Kindly have champagne and sandwiches sent to my sitting-room at that hour.”

He replaced the receiver, and stood for a moment thinking deeply.

“Who was it?” called the girl from the balcony.

“Blantyre and Leibhaus, my dear,” answered the man. “Now, what the deuce can they want with me so urgently?”

“Aren’t they both big diamond men?” said the girl, coming into the room.

“They are,” said Blackton. “In romantic fiction they would be described as two diamond kings. Anyway, it won’t do them any harm to wait for half an hour.”

“How did they find out your address? I thought you had left strict instructions that you were not to be disturbed.”

There was regret in the girl’s voice, and with a faint smile the man tilted back her head and kissed her.

“In our profession, cara mia,” he said gently, “there are times when the strictest instructions have to be disobeyed. Freyder would never have dreamed of worrying me over a little thing, but unless I am much mistaken this isn’t going to be little. It’s going to be big: those two below don’t go chasing half across Europe because they’ve mislaid a collar stud. Why – who knows? – it might prove to be the big coup we were discussing a few minutes ago.”

He kissed her again; then he turned abruptly away and the girl gave a little sigh. For the look had come into those grey-blue eyes that she knew so well: the alert, keen look which meant business. He crossed the room, and unlocked a heavy leather dispatch-case. From it he took out a biggish book which he laid on the table. Then having made himself comfortable on the balcony, he lit another cigar, and began to turn over the pages.

It was of the loose-leaf variety, and every page had entries on it in Blackton’s small, neat handwriting. It was what he called his “Who’s Who,” but it differed from that excellent production in one marked respect. The people in Mr Edward Blackton’s production had not compiled their own notices, which rendered it considerably more truthful even if less complimentary than the orthodox volume.

It was arranged alphabetically, and it contained an astounding wealth of information. In fact in his lighter moments the author was wont to say that when he retired from active life he would publish it, and die in luxury on the large sums paid him to suppress it. Mentioned in it were the names of practically every man and woman possessed of real wealth – as Blackton regarded wealth – in Europe and America.

There were, of course, many omissions, but in the course of years an extraordinary amount of strange and useful information had been collected. In many cases just the bare details of the person were given: these were the uninteresting ones, and consisted of people who passed the test as far as money was concerned but about whom the author had no personal knowledge.

In others, however, the entries were far more human. After the name would be recorded certain details, frequently of a most scurrilous description. And these details had one object and one object only – to assist at the proper time and place in parting the victim from his money.

Not that Mr Edward Blackton was a common blackmailer – far from it. Blackmailing pure and simple was a form of amusement which revolted his feelings as an artist. But to make use of certain privately gained information about a man when dealing with him was a different matter altogether.

It was a great assistance in estimating character when meeting a man for the first time to know that his previous wife had divorced him for carrying on with the housemaid, and that he had then failed to marry the housemaid. Nothing of blackmail in that: just a pointer as to character.

In the immense ramifications of Mr Blackton’s activities it was of course impossible for him to keep all these details in his head. And so little by little the book had grown until it now comprised over three hundred pages. Information obtained first-hand or from absolutely certain sources was entered in red; items not quite so reliable in black. And under Sir Raymond Blantyre’s name the entry was in red.

“Blantyre, Raymond. Born 1858. Vice-President Metropolitan Diamond Syndicate. Married daughter of John Perkins, wool merchant in London. Knighted 1904. Something shady about him in South Africa – probably I.D.B. Races a lot. Wife a snob. Living up to the limit of his income. 5.13.”

Mr Blackton laid the book on his knee and looked thoughtfully over the lake. The last three figures showed that the entry had been made in May 1913, and if he was living up to the limit of his income then, he must have had to retrench considerably now. And wives who are snobs dislike that particularly.

He picked up the book again and turned up the dossier of his other visitor, to find nothing of interest. Mr Leibhaus had only bare details after his name, with the solitary piece of information that he, too, was a Vice-President of the Metropolitan Diamond Syndicate.

He closed the book and relocked it in the dispatch-case; then he glanced at his watch.

“I think, my dear,” he said, turning to the girl, “that our interview had better be apparently private. Could you make yourself comfortable in your bedroom, so that you will be able to hear everything and give me your opinion afterwards?” He opened the door for her and she passed through. “I confess,” he continued, “that I’m a little puzzled. I cannot think what they want to see me about so urgently.”

But there was no trace of it on his face as five minutes later his two visitors were ushered in by the sub-manager.

“See that the sandwiches and champagne are sent at once, please,” he remarked, and the hotel official bustled away.

“We shall be undisturbed, gentlemen,” he said, “after the waiter brings the tray. Until then we might enjoy the view over the lake. It is rare, I am told, that one can see the Dent du Midi quite so clearly.”

The three men strolled into the balcony and leaned out. And it struck that exceptionally quick observer of human nature, Mr Blackton, that both his visitors were a little nervous. Sir Raymond Blantyre especially was not at his ease, answering the casual remarks of his host at random. He was a short, stocky little man with a white moustache and a gold-rimmed eyeglass, which he had an irritating habit of taking in and out of his eye, and he gave a sigh of relief as the door finally closed behind the waiter.

“Now perhaps we can come to business, Count – er – I beg your pardon, Mr Blackton.”

“The mistake is a natural one,” said his host suavely. “Shall we go inside the room to avoid any risk of being overheard?”

“I had better begin at the beginning,” said Sir Raymond, waving away his host’s offer of champagne. “And when I’ve finished, you will see, I have no doubt, our reasons for disturbing you in this way. Nothing short of the desperate position in which we find ourselves would have induced us to seek you out after what Mr Freyder told my friend Leibhaus. But that situation is so desperate that we had no alternative.”

Mr Blackton’s face remained quite expressionless, and the other, after a little pause, went on:

“Doubtless you know who we are, Mr Blackton. I am the President of the Metropolitan Diamond Syndicate and Mr Leibhaus is the senior Vice-President. In the event of my absence at any time, he deputises for me. I mention these facts to emphasise the point that we are the heads of that combine, and that you are therefore dealing with the absolute principals, and not with subordinates.

“Now, I may further mention that although the Metropolitan is our particular Syndicate, we are both of us considerably interested in other diamond enterprises. In fact our entire fortune is bound up irretrievably in the diamond industry – as are the fortunes of several other men, for whom, Mr Blackton, I am authorised to speak.

“So that I am in a position to say that not only am I here as representative of the Metropolitan Syndicate, but I am here as representative of the whole diamond industry and the enormous capital locked up in that industry.”

“You make yourself perfectly clear, Sir Raymond,” said Mr Blackton quietly. His face was as masklike as ever, but he wondered more and more what could be coming.

Sir Raymond took out his eyeglass and polished it; then he took a sip of the champagne which, despite his refusal, his host had poured out for him.

“That being so, Mr Blackton, and my position in the matter being fully understood, I will come to the object of our visit. One day about a fortnight ago I was dining at the house of a certain Professor Goodman. You may perhaps have heard of him by name? No!

“Well, he is, I understand, one of the foremost chemists of the day. He and I have not got much in common, but my wife and his became acquainted during the war, and we still occasionally dine with one another. There were six of us at dinner – our four selves, his daughter, and an extraordinarily inane young man with an eyeglass – who, I gathered, was engaged to the daughter.

“It was during dinner that my attention was caught by a rather peculiar ornament that the daughter was wearing. It looked to me like a piece of ordinary cut glass mounted in a claw of gold, and she was using it as a brooch. The piece of glass was about the size of a large marble, and it scintillated so brilliantly as she moved that I could not help noticing it.

“I may say that it struck me as a distinctly vulgar ornament – the sort of thing that a housemaid might be expected to wear when she was out. It surprised me, since the Goodmans are the last people one would expect to allow such a thing. And, of course, I should have said nothing about it had not the vapid youth opposite noticed me.

“‘Looking at the monkey nut?’ he said, or something equally foolish. ‘Pretty sound bit of work on the part of the old paternal parent.’

“Professor Goodman looked up and smiled, and the girl took it off and handed it to me.

“‘What do you think of it, Sir Raymond?’ she asked. ‘I put it on especially for your benefit tonight.’

“I glanced at it, and to my amazement I found that it was a perfectly flawless diamond, worth certainly ten to twelve thousand pounds, and possibly more. I suppose my surprise must have been obvious, because they all began to laugh.

“‘Well, what is your verdict, Blantyre?’ said the Professor.

“‘I will be perfectly frank,’ I answered. ‘I cannot understand how you can have placed such a really wonderful stone in such an unworthy setting.’

“And then the Professor laughed still more.

“‘What would you say was the value of that stone?’ he inquired.

“‘I should be delighted to give Miss Goodman a cheque for ten thousand pounds for it here and now,’ I said.

“And then he really roared with laughter.

“‘What about it, Brenda?’ he cried. ‘Do you know what that stone cost me, Blantyre? Five pounds ten shillings and sixpence – and two burnt fingers.’”

Blackton leaned forward in his chair and stared at the speaker.

“Well – what then?” he said quietly.

Sir Raymond mopped his forehead and took another sip of champagne.

“You’ve guessed it, Mr Blackton. It was false – or when I say false: it was not false in the sense that Tecla pearls are false, but it had been made by a chemical process in Professor Goodman’s laboratory. Otherwise it was indistinguishable from the genuine article: in fact” – in his agitation he thumped the table with his fist – “it was the genuine article!”

Blackton carefully lit another cigar.

“And what did you do?” he inquired. “I presume that you have tested the matter fully since.”

“Of course,” answered the other. “I will tell you exactly what has happened. That evening after dinner I sat on talking with the Professor. Somewhat naturally I allowed no hint of my agitation to show on my face.

“As you probably know, Mr Blackton, artificial diamonds have been manufactured in the past – real diamonds indistinguishable from those found in nature. But they have been small, and their cost has been greater when made artificially than if they had been found. And so the process has never been economically worthwhile. But this was altogether different.

“If what Professor Goodman told me was the truth – if he had indeed manufactured that diamond for five pounds in his laboratory, we were confronted with the possibility of an appalling crisis. And since he was the last person to tell a stupid and gratuitous lie, you may imagine my feelings.

“I need hardly point out to you that the whole diamond market is an artificial one. The output of stones from the mines has to be limited to prevent a slump – to keep prices up. And what would happen if the market was swamped with stones worth a king’s ransom each as prices go today and costing a fiver to produce was too impossible to contemplate. It meant, of course, absolute ruin to me and others in my position – to say nothing of hundreds of big jewellers and dealers.

“I pointed this out to Professor Goodman, but” – and once again Sir Raymond mopped his forehead – “would you believe it, the wretched man seemed completely uninterested. All he was concerned about was his miserable chemistry.

“‘A unique discovery, my dear Blantyre,’ he remarked complacently. ‘And two years ago I bet Professor—’ I forget the fool’s name, but, at any rate, he had bet this Professor a fiver that he’d do it.”

Sir Raymond rose and walked up and down the room in his agitation.

“A fiver, Mr Blackton – a fiver! I asked him what he was going to do, and he said he was going to read a paper on it, and give a demonstration at the next meeting of the Royal Society. And that takes place in a fortnight. I tried to dissuade him; I’m afraid I was foolish enough to threaten him.

“At any rate, he rose abruptly from the table, and I cursed myself for a fool. But towards the end of the evening he recovered himself sufficiently to agree to give me and the other members of my Syndicate a private demonstration. His daughter also allowed me to take away her brooch, so that I could subject it to more searching tests the next day.”

He again sat down and stared at the man opposite him, who seemed more intent on how long he could get the ash of his cigar before it dropped than on anything else.

“Next day, Mr Blackton, my worst fears were confirmed. I subjected that stone to every known test – but it was useless. It was a diamond – perfect, flawless; and it had cost five pounds to make. I called together my Syndicate, and at first they were inclined to be incredulous.

“They suggested fraud – as you know, there have been in the past several attempts made to obtain money by men who pretended they had discovered the secret of making diamonds in the laboratory. And in every case, up till now, sleight-of-hand has been proved. The big uncut diamond was not produced by the chemical reaction, but was introduced at some period during the experiment.

“Of course the idea was to obtain hush-money to suppress the supposed secret. I pointed out to my friends how impossible such a supposition was in the case of a man like Professor Goodman; and finally – to cut things short – they agreed to come round with me the following afternoon to see the demonstration.

“The Professor had forgotten all about the appointment – he is that sort of man – and we waited in an agony of impatience while his secretary telephoned for him all over London. At last she got him, and the Professor arrived profuse in his apologies.

“ ‘I have just been watching a most interesting experiment with some blue cheese-mould,’ he told me, ‘and I quite forgot the time. Now, what is it you gentlemen want to see?’”

For the first time a very faint smile flickered on Mr Blackton’s lips, but he said nothing.

“I told him,” continued Sir Raymond, “and we at once adjourned to the laboratory. We had most of us attended similar demonstrations before, and we expected to find the usual apparatus of a mould and a furnace. Nothing of the sort, however, could we see. There was an electric furnace: a sort of bowl made of some opaque material, and a variety of chemical salts in bottles.

“‘You will forgive me, gentlemen,’ he remarked, ‘if I don’t give you my process in detail. I don’t want to run any risk of my discovery leaking out before I address the Royal Society.’

“He beamed at us through his spectacles; and – serious though it was – I really could not help smiling. That he should make such a remark to us of all people!

“‘You are, of course, at liberty to examine everything that I put into this retort,’ he went on, ‘and the retort itself.’

“He was fumbling in his pocket as he spoke, and he finally produced two or three dirty sheets of paper, at which he peered.

“‘Dear me!’ he exclaimed, ‘I’ve got the wrong notes. These are the ones about my new albumen food for infants and adults. Where can I have left them?’

“‘I hope,’ I remarked as calmly as I could, ‘that you haven’t left them lying about where anyone could get at them, Professor.’

“He shook his head vaguely, though his reply was reassuring.

“‘No one could understand them even if I had,’ he answered. ‘Ah! here they are.’ With a little cry of triumph he produced some even dirtier scraps which he laid on the desk in front of him.

“ ‘I have to refer to my notes,’ he said, ‘as the process – though the essence of simplicity, once the correct mixture of the ingredients is obtained – is a difficult one to remember. There are no fewer than thirty-nine salts used in the operation. Now would you gentlemen come closer, so that you can see everything I do?’

“He produced a balance which he proceeded to adjust with mathematical precision, while we crowded round as close as we could.

“‘While I think of it,’ he said, looking up suddenly, ‘is there any particular colour you would like me to make?’

“‘Rose pink,’ grunted someone, and he nodded.

“‘Certainly,’ he answered. ‘That will necessitate the addition of a somewhat rare strontium salt – making forty in all.’

“He beamed at us and then he commenced. To say that we watched him closely would hardly convey our attitude: we watched him without movement, without speech, almost without breathing. He weighed his salts, and he mixed them – and that part of the process took an hour at least.

“Then he took up the bowl and we examined that. It was obviously some form of metal, but that was as far as we could get. And it was empty.

“ ‘Without that retort, gentlemen,’ he remarked, ‘the process would be impossible. There is no secret as to its composition. It is made of a blend of tungsten and osmium, and is the only thing known to science today which could resist the immense heat to which this mixture will be subjected in the electric furnace. Now possibly one of you would like to pour this mixture into the retort, place the retort in the furnace, and shut the furnace doors. Then I will switch on the current.’

“I personally did what he suggested, Mr Blackton. I poured the mixture of fine powders into the empty bowl; I placed the bowl into the furnace, having first examined the furnace; and then I closed the doors. And I knew, and every man there knew, that there had been no suspicion of fraud. Then he switched on the current, and we sat down to wait.

“Gradually the heat grew intense – but no one thought of moving. At first the Professor rambled on, but I doubt if anyone paid any attention to him. Amongst other things he told us that from the very start of his experiments he had worked on different lines from the usual ones, which consisted of dissolving carbon in molten iron and then cooling the mass suddenly with cold water.

“‘That sets up gigantic pressure,’ he remarked, ‘but it is too quick. Only small stones are the result. My process was arrived at by totally different methods, as you see.’

“The sweat poured off us, and still we sat there silent – each of us busy with his own thoughts. I think even then we realised that there was no hope; we knew that his claims were justified. But we had to see it through, and make sure. The Professor was absorbed in some profound calculations on his new albumen food; the furnace glowed white in the corner; and, Mr Blackton, men worth tens of millions sat and dripped with perspiration in order to make definitely certain that they were not worth as many farthings.

“I suppose it was about two hours later that the Professor, having looked at his watch, rose and switched off the current.

“‘In about an hour, gentlemen,’ he remarked, ‘the retort will be cool enough to take out. I suggest that you should take it with you, and having cut out the clinker you should carry out your own tests on it. Inside that clinker will be your rose-pink diamond – uncut, of course. I make you a present of it: all I ask is that you should return me my retort.’

“He blinked at us through his spectacles.

“‘You will forgive me if I leave you now, but I have to deliver my address to some students on the catalytic influence of chromous chloride. I fear I am already an hour and a half late, but that is nothing new.’

“And with that he bustled out of the room.”

Sir Raymond paused and lit a cigarette.

“You may perhaps think, Mr Blackton, that I have been unnecessarily verbose over details that are unimportant,” he continued after a moment. “But my object has been to try to show you the type of man Professor Goodman is.”

“You have succeeded admirably, Sir Raymond,” said Blackton quietly.

“Good. Then now I will go quicker. We took his retort home, and we cut out the clinker. No one touched it except ourselves. We chipped off the outside scale, and we came to the diamond. Under our own eyes we had it cut – roughly, of course, because time was urgent. Here are the results.”

He handed over a small box to Blackton, who opened it. Inside, resting on some cotton-wool, were two large rose-pink diamonds and three smaller ones – worth in all, to that expert’s shrewd eye, anything up to twenty-five thousand pounds. He took out a pocket lens and examined the largest, and Sir Raymond gave a short, hard laugh.

“Believe me,” he said harshly, “they’re genuine right enough. I wish to Heaven I could detect even the trace of a flaw. There isn’t one, I tell you: they’re perfect stones – and that’s why we’ve come to you.”

Blackton laid the box on the table and renewed the contemplation of his cigar.

“At the moment,” he remarked, “the connection is a little obscure. However, pray continue. I assume that you have interviewed the Professor again.”

“The very next morning,” said Sir Raymond. “I went round, ostensibly to return his metal bowl, and then once again I put the whole matter before him. I pointed out to him that if this discovery of his was made known, it would involve thousands of people in utter ruin.

“I pointed out to him that after all no one could say that it was a discovery which could benefit the world generally, profoundly wonderful though it was. Its sole result, so far as I could see, would be to put diamond tiaras within the range of the average scullery maid. In short, I invoked every argument I could think of to try to persuade him to change his mind. Useless, utterly useless. To do him justice, I do not believe it is simply pig-headedness. He is honestly unable to understand our point of view.

“To him it is a scientific discovery concerning carbon, and according to him carbon is so vitally important, so essentially at the root of all life, that to suppress the results of an experiment such as this would be a crime against science. He sees no harm in diamonds being as plentiful as marbles; in fact, the financial side of the affair is literally meaningless to him.

“Meaningless, Mr Blackton, as I found when I played my last card. In the name of my Syndicate I offered him two hundred and fifty thousand pounds to suppress it. He rang the bell – apologised for leaving me so abruptly – and the servant showed me out. And that is how the matter stands today. In a fortnight from now his secret will be given to the world, unless…”

Sir Raymond paused, and glanced at Mr Leibhaus.

“Precisely,” he agreed. “Unless, as you say...”

Mr Blackton said nothing. It was not his business to help them out, though the object of their journey was now obvious.

“Unless, Mr Blackton,” Sir Raymond took the plunge, “we can induce you to interest yourself in the matter.”

Mr Blackton raised his eyebrows slightly.

“I rather fail to see,” he remarked, “how I can hope to succeed where you have failed. You appear to have exhausted every possible argument.”

And now Sir Raymond was beginning to look visibly agitated. Unscrupulous business man though he was, the thing he had to say stuck in his throat. It seemed so cold-blooded, so horrible – especially in that room looking on to the sparkling lake with the peaceful, snow-tipped mountains opposite.

“It was Baron Vanderton,” he stammered, “who mentioned the Comte de Guy to me. He said that in a certain matter connected, I believe, with one of the big European banking firms, the Comte de Guy had been called in. And that as a result – er – a rather troublesome international financier had – er – disappeared.”

He paused abruptly as he saw Blackton’s face. It was hard and merciless, and the grey-blue eyes seemed to be boring into his brain.

“Am I to understand, Sir Raymond,” he remarked, “that you are trying to threaten me into helping you?”

He seemed to be carved out of stone, save for the fingers of his left hand, which played a ceaseless tattoo on his knee.

“Good heavens! no, Mr Blackton,” cried the other. “Nothing of the sort, believe me. I merely mentioned the Baron to show you how we got on your trail. He told us that you were the only man in the world who would be able to help us, and then only if you were convinced the matter was sufficiently big.

“I trust that now you have heard what we have to say you will consider – like Mr Freyder – that the matter is sufficiently big to warrant your attention. You must, Mr Blackton; you really must.” He leaned forward in his excitement. “Think of it: millions and millions of money depending on the caprice of an old fool, who is really far more interested in his wretched albumen food. Why – it’s intolerable.”

For a while there was silence, broken at length by Blackton.

“And so,” he remarked calmly, “if I understand you aright, Sir Raymond, your proposal is that I should interest myself in the – shall we say – removal of Professor Goodman? Or, not to mince words, in his death.”

Sir Raymond shivered, and into Blackton’s eyes there stole a faint contempt.

“Precisely, Mr Blackton,” he muttered. “Precisely. In such a way of course that no shadow of suspicion can rest on us, or on – or on – anyone.”

Mr Blackton rose: the interview was over.

“I will let you know my decision after lunch,” he remarked. “Shall we drink coffee together here at two o’clock? I expect my daughter will be in by then.”

He opened the door and bowed them out; then he returned to the table and picked up the bottle of champagne. It was empty, as was the plate of sandwiches. He looked at his own unused glass, and with a faint shrug of his shoulders he crossed to his dispatch-case and opened it. But when the girl came in he was making a couple of entries in his book.

The first was under the heading “Blantyre” and consisted of a line drawn through the word “Vice”; the second was under the heading “Leibhaus”, and consisted of the one word “Glutton” written in red. He was thorough in his ways.

“You heard?” he said, as he replaced the book.

“Every word,” she answered, lighting a cigarette. “What do you propose to do?”

“There is only one possible thing to do,” he remarked. “Don’t you realise, my dear, that had I heard of this discovery I should have been compelled to interfere, even if they had not asked me to. In my position I could not allow a diamond slump; as you know, we have quite a few ourselves. But there is no reason why they shouldn’t pay me for it…” He smiled gently. “I shall cross to England by the Orient express tonight.”

“But surely,” cried the girl, “over such a simple matter you needn’t go yourself.”

He smiled even more gently, and slipped his arm round her shoulders.

“Do you remember what we were talking about this morning?” he said.

“The big coup? Don’t you see that even if this is not quite it, it will fill in the time?”

She looked a little puzzled.

“I’m damned if I do,” she cried tersely. “You can’t ask ’em more than half a million.”

“Funnily enough, that is the exact figure I intended to ask them,” he replied. “But you’ve missed the point, my love – and I’m surprised at you. Everything that Blantyre said this morning was correct with regard to the impossibility of letting such a discovery become known to the world at large.

“I have no intention of letting it become known; but I have still less intention of letting it be lost. That would be an act of almost suicidal folly. Spread abroad, the knowledge would wreck everything; retained by one individual, it places that individual in a position of supreme power. And needless to say, I propose to be that individual.”

He was staring thoughtfully over the lake, and suddenly she seized his left hand.

“Ted – stop it.”

For a moment he looked at her in surprise; then he laughed.

“Was I doing it again?” he asked. “It’s a good thing you spotted that trick of mine, my dear. If there ever is a next time with Drummond” – his eyes blazed suddenly – “if there ever is – well, we will see. Just at the moment, however, let us concentrate on Professor Goodman.

“A telling picture that – wasn’t it? Can’t you see the old man, blinking behind his spectacles, absorbed in calculations on proteins for infants, with a ring of men around him not one of whom but would have murdered him then and there if he had dared!”

“But I still don’t see how this is going to be anything out of the ordinary,” persisted the girl.

“My dear, I’m afraid that the balmy air of the Lake of Geneva has had a bad effect on you.” Mr Blackton looked at her in genuine surprise. “I confess that I haven’t worked out the details yet, but one point is quite obvious. Before Professor Goodman departs this life he is going to make several hundred diamonds for me, though it would never do to let the two anxious gentlemen downstairs know it. They might say that I wasn’t earning my half-million.

“Those diamonds I shall unload with care and discretion during the years to come, so as not to cause a slump in prices. So it really boils down to the fact that the Metropolitan Diamond Syndicate will be paying me half a million for the express purpose of putting some five or ten million pounds’ worth of stones in my pocket. My dear! it’s a gift; it’s one of those things which make strong men consult a doctor for fear they may be imagining things.”

The girl laughed.

“Where do I come in?”

“At the moment I’m not sure. So much will depend on circumstances. At any rate, for the present you had better stop on here, and I will send for you when things are a little more advanced.”

A waiter knocked and began to lay the table for lunch; and when at two o’clock the coffee and liqueurs arrived, closely followed by his two visitors, Mr Blackton was in a genial mood. An excellent bottle of Marcobrunner followed by a glass of his own particular old brandy had mellowed him to such an extent that he very nearly produced the bottle for them, but sanity prevailed.

It was true that they were going to pay him half a million for swindling them soundly, but there were only three bottles of that brandy left in the world.

The two men looked curiously at the girl as Blackton introduced them – Baron Vanderton had told them about the beauty of this so-called daughter who was his constant and invariable companion. Only she, so he had affirmed, knew what the man who now called himself Blackton really looked like when shorn of his innumerable disguises into which he fitted himself so marvellously.

But there were more important matters at stake than that, and Sir Raymond Blantyre’s hand shook a little as he helped himself to a cigarette from the box on the table.

“Well, Mr Blackton,” he said as the door closed behind the waiter. “Have you decided?”

“I have,” returned the other calmly. “Professor Goodman’s discovery will not be made public. He will not speak or give a demonstration at the Royal Society.”

With a vast sigh of relief Sir Raymond sank into a chair.

“And your – er – fee?”

“Half a million pounds. Two hundred and fifty thousand paid by cheque made out to Self – now; the remainder when you receive indisputable proof that I have carried out the job.”

It was significant that Sir Raymond made no attempt to haggle. Without a word he drew his chequebook from his pocket, and going over to the writing-table he filled in the required amount.

“I would be glad if it was not presented for two or three days,” he remarked, “as it is drawn on my private account, and I shall have to put in funds to meet it on my return to England.”

Mr Blackton bowed.

“You return tonight?” he asked.

“By the Orient Express. And you?”

Mr Blackton shrugged his shoulders.

“The view here is delightful,” he murmured.

And with that the representatives of the Metropolitan Diamond Syndicate had to rest content for the time – until, in fact, the train was approaching the Swiss frontier. They had just finished their dinner, their zest for which, though considerably greater than on the previous night in view of the success of their mission, had been greatly impaired by the manners of an elderly German sitting at the next table.

He was a bent and withered old man with a long hook nose and white hair, who, in the intervals of querulously swearing at the attendant, deposited his dinner on his waistcoat.

At length he rose, and having pressed ten centimes into the outraged hand of the head waiter, he stood for a moment by their table, swaying with the motion of the train. And suddenly he bent down and spoke to Sir Raymond.

“Two or three days, I think you said, Sir Raymond.”

With a dry chuckle he was gone, tottering and lurching down the carriage, leaving the President of the Metropolitan Diamond Syndicate gasping audibly.

 

Chapter 2

In which Professor Goodman realises that there are more things in life than chemistry

 

When Brenda Goodman, in a moment of mental aberration, consented to marry Algy Longworth, she little guessed the result. From being just an ordinary, partially wanting specimen he became a raving imbecile. Presumably she must have thought it was natural as she showed no signs of terror, at any rate in public, but it was otherwise with his friends.

Men who had been wont to forgather with him to consume the matutinal cocktail now fled with shouts of alarm whenever he hove in sight. Only the baser members of that celebrated society, the main object of which is to cultivate the muscles of the left arm when consuming liquid refreshment, clung to him in his fall from grace. They found that his mental fog was so opaque that he habitually forgot the only rule and raised his glass to his lips with his right hand.

And since that immediately necessitated a further round at his expense, they gave great glory to Allah for such an eminently satisfactory state of affairs. And when it is further added that he was actually discovered by Peter Darrell reading the poems of Ella Wheeler Wilcox on the morning of the Derby, it will be readily conceded that matters looked black.

That the state of affairs was only temporary was, of course, recognised; but while it lasted it became necessary for him to leave the councils of men. A fellow who wants to trot back to the club-house from the ninth green in the middle of a four-ball foursome to blow his fiancée a kiss through the telephone is a truly hideous spectacle.