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SYNOPSIS.
The story opens with a scream from
Dorothy Marche In the opera box of Mrs.
Mlssioner, a wealthy widow. It Is oc
casioned when Mrs. Missloner's necklace
breaks, scattering the diamonds all over
the floor. Curtis Griswold and Bruxton
Sands, society men In love with Mrs. Mls
sloner, gather up the gems. Griswold
steps on what Is suposed to be the cele
brated Maharanee and crushes It. A Hin
doo declares it was not the genuine. An
expert later pronounces all the stones
substitutes for the original. Detectives
Donnelly and Carson Investigate. They
decide that the theft of the original gems
was accomplished by some one In the
house. Miss Elinor Holcomb, confidential
companion of Mrs. Mlssioner, Is sus
pected. One of the missing diamonds Is
found In her room.
CHAPTER IV.—Continued.
“It Is a diamond.”
A sweeping gesture from Sands as
he sprang to his feet flung the tele
phone from the desk. He reached
Donnelly in two strides and appeared
on the point of gripping him by the
throat. But the big detective, for all
his bulk and mental slowness, could
be quick enough on his feet when he
must, and he readily sacrificed dignity
to safety. With a single backward
spring, he clutched a light chair and
confronted Sands.
“It'll pay you to remember I’m an
officer!” he shouted. "You ain’t deal
ing with club stewards here, Mr.
Sands. I know you and I know how
much you think your money can do.
But you can’t put anything like that
across with me.”
Sands, breathing hard, took another
step toward him. Donnelly gripped
the chair for a defensive swing.
"I don’t care if you know a million
Mannings,” said the sleuth huskily.
"If you can’t behave like one gentle
man to another, It'll be the worse»for
you. If you don’t want to be run In,
keep away."
Mrs. Missloner’s annoyance and
Dorothy’s fright, no less than Elinor's
distress, restrained Sands again.
“What does all this mean?” he said
to Carson, Ignoring the other. But
Donnelly was not to be ignored. His
successful defiance of a millionaire
had heightened his desire for the cen
ter of the stage.
“It means,” he rasped, “that we
(know who took Mrs. Missloner’s dia
monds, and that all we’ve got to do
now Is to find the rest of ’em. And
I guess that won’t be hard. Where
there’s one bird, the flock won’t be
far away. Come, Miss Holcomb, we
and you’ll be getting downtown. The
chief wants to see you.”
CHAPTER V.
The Brownstone House.
While Elinor, helpless in the reac
tion from her grief, was speeding to
Mulberry street in a taxicab with
Donnelly and Carson, a swart, slim
man glided out by the servants’ door
of the Mlssioner home. His modern
garments, Oriental only by faint sug
gestion in the English looseness of
their cut, caught the eye merely by
contrast with the snowy turban that
covered his head. He moved with the
cat tread of one long accustomed to
walking on his own soles. His shoes
were conventional enough in appear
ance, but of softer leather than that
of ordinary American make. It was
evident that he relied on the silence
of his footgear and, judging from the
caution with which he let himself out
of the house and looked up and down
the street before quitting the thres
hold, he wished to get away without
trumpeting his departure. Seeing no
one in the block, he walked swiftly
toward Fifth avenue and turned the
corner so sharply that he bowled
over a district messenger. A few
■words in a foreign tongue were his
response to the select vernacular the
rising youngster hurled at him —
(Words so mysterious that a final "Ah,
garn!” was the utmost of which the
astonished boy was capable byway of
reply. To be flung to the sidewalk
by a personage In a British tourist’s
suit with a headgear out of the Arab
ian Nights well may be disconcerting,
even to No. 4762 of the A. D. T.
The dark man hailed a hansom,
muttered “The park” to the driver,
and sat well back In the vehicle,
closing the apron doors and lowering
the upper curtain until he left only a
narrow space for observation. In the
Interior gloom, laced by chance lances
of light from arc lamps, he sprinkled
himself freely with many drops from
a silver vial that smelled of the East
He readjusted the folds of his turban,
settled his collar and scarf, and shook
himself more closely into his clothes,
which, despite their loose cut, seem
ingly were tighter than he liked.
1 , North of the Casino, In the East
idrive of Central park, the Hindoo
pulled the check strap and gave new
(directions to the cabman. The ban-
Bom turned out of the park at Seventy
second street and rolled on rubber
tires in an easterly direction, crossing
several avenues before it stopped in
Ifront of a brownstone house exactly
Bike several others in the block. The
(Oriental paid the cabman and stood
on the sidewalk until the hansom
turned the corner. Then he walked
least a few yards, grossed the street,
turned west, and darted into the ves
jtibule of a house that was the twin
®f the one at which the cab had
stopped. He did not ring the bell,
but scratched lightly on the ground
glass pane of the inner door. The
door swung inward and he entered a
hall lighted only by a glimmer that
filtered through the glass from a gas
lamp In the street. A voice in the
dark asked a question in a language
somewhat like that the Hindoo had
flung over his shoulder at the messen
ger boy. The visitor answered with a
single word, and a sunburst of light
upon him from a cluster of Incandes-
i cent bulbs above his head.
"If you are false, turn back,” said
the voice in one of the higher tongues
of India.
“True though lowly follower of the
Light am I,” the Hindoo replied, with
a profound salaam toward ink-black
portieres at the far end of the hall.
He moved slowly toward the curtains
and stretched forth his hand. Again
the voice spoke. ,
“If there be aught of doubting in
your heart, turn back ere it be too
। late,” it said. “There is no repent
ance this side of the screen. Beware!
Turn back!"
> But the Hindoo, with another deep
bow, parted the heavy curtains and
stepped through the opening. Without
a single glance at the sumputous
Eastern furnishings of the room, he
1 bent his body forward with touching,
■ outstretched bands until his fingers
• well-nigh reached the floor. In that
posture he remained until, in the
• tones of the voice that had sounded
: through the outer darkness, a man
sitting cross-legged on a divan at the
' other end of the room murmured an
acknowledgment of the salutation.
Slowly the visitor straightened him
-1 self and looked at the divan, without
■ raising his eyes to the face of the
■ man upon it
’ “The peace of the Immutable One
> be upon you,” he said in his harsher
dialect. “Your servant All comes to
1 report upon his mission.”
1 “Peace be to you, faithful one,” an
swered the other. Not until then did
1 All look his master in the face.
' The master seemingly did not wear
’ the evening dress of the Occident In
’ which he had appeared in the opera
box adjoining Mrs. Missloner’s. His
slender, well-knit figure was swathed
! In the clinging garments of the East
—garments of silken stuff that flut
। tered and rippled with every move
' ment, that seemed to rustle in echo of
’ his thoughts.
* “What are your tidings, All?” asked
* the man on the divan. He gave little
: thoughtful tugs at a punkah string
and the resultant breeze stirred the
smoke wreaths from his narghlleh.
“The jewel, O Swami!”
The other’s eyes glistened.
“What of it?” he inquired.
“Gone!” returned the humbler Hln-
’ doo. “Vanished!”
“And you did not get It?”
J “Swami, I did not. Your servant Is
a dog and the son of a dog, but he has
1 done his best.”
J The man on the divan watched his
servant through slltted eyes.
\ “Where Is the jewel?” he asked
' sternly.
) “Who knows, holy man?” replied
’ the visitor. "It has taken unto itself
wings and in its place a false stone
’ was left. The wit of your servant is
' completely at fault. I know not
, where the diamond is.”
, The swami did not tell him he had
, seen the destruction of the false Ma
j haranee by Griswold’s heel In the
Metropolitan Opera House. He
. smoked thoughtfully, his fingers knot-
J ting and raveling the punkah-string In
, an absent way.
, “And you have come straightway
I with the news?” he asked.
, “As the hawk flies, master,” said the
। servant There was trepidation in his
( eyes, but he answered unhesitatingly.
"It is well,” the Swami said, be
tween rings of blue smoke. “Walt
J without, All, and I will have speech
’ with you in a little while.”
• The visitor, with another low sa
। laam, withdrew as he had entered,
. backing across the threshold. In the
hall, his figure shot to Its full nelght
and he flashed a glance of uncertain
meaning at the outer side of the por
tieres. He passed silently up the
stairs and slipped into a room above
j that In which the Swami sat. His cat
i like tread carried him to a closet, Into
j which he crept. Flattening himself on
। the floor, he applied his ear to a hole
[ so small it scarcely widened the crack
l between two boards. He could not
see, but he could hear the creak of
the punkah as, after a violent tug
• by the man on the divan, it continued
, swinging to and fro.
Hardly had the Hindoo left the
room when the Swami, like a mum
mer throwing oft a mask, arose brisk
i ly from the divan and cast aside the
silk robe that enveloped him. The
■ silken turban remained on his head,
- but in all other respects he was
• dressed like a Wall Street man. His
; feet, drawn beneath his robe as he sat
i on the broad couch, had not shown
• the patent leather shoes in which they
i were encased. He lighted a European
I cigarette and puffed as if he enjoyed
i the change from the pungent Eastern
I tobacco.
, Up and down the room he walked
■ springily, pausing from time to time
i with puckered forehead and thumbs
I resting on the edges of his coat pock-
ets. Then he walked softly to a door
at one side of the room, and opening i
It a little way, called softly: i
“Kananda." i
A man of mature years came In 1
quietly and looked Inquiringly at the
Swami. He was of portly build, but '
his vigor still showed traces of the ath
letic training he had followed in Eng- i
lish schools and colleges. His West
ern manner and excellent English
were not in surprising contrast to his
Indian swarthiness among those who
remembered the vogue a British edu
cation had among India’s petty princes :
In the reign of Victoria, Queen and
Empress. Prince Kananda had been
one of the best batsmen on the Cam
bridge eleven. His popularity among
the democratic young aristocrats of
the period had sprung from the day
when he remarked It was not his fault
his father was a Maharajah, and that
It shouldn’t be treasured against him,
even though he couldn’t live It down.
Nandy, as they called him on the
banks of the Cam, was voted a good
sort. The classification had stuck
to him wherever men foregathered,
from the Strangers’ Club of the Straits
Settlement to White’s and the Union
League.
"What’s the row, your reverence?"
he asked. On the surface, he took
the faith of his fathers lightly. Ori
ental though he was in the marrow.
“The Maharanee has disappeared,”
said the Swami.
"Whee-ee!” returned Kananda. "If
that blessed stone isn’t the Wander
ing Jew of jewels! How long has it
been missing this time?”
“Nobody knows, unless it be Its
present possessor. Moreover, prince
' you are, ruler you may be, but I can
not overlook your levity In connection
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Flashed a Glance of Uncertain Meaning.
with so sacred a gem. Besides, my
friend, remember the brethren.”
Nandy’s face became serious imme
diately.
"I wasn’t exactly poking fun at the
Maharanee,” he apologized, ‘‘and they
who suffer are never long absent from
my thoughts. It’s a Western habit,
this flippancy—comes from trying to
graft a Hindoo sprig on a British
oak, you know.”
‘‘We are of the Orient.” said the
Swami, still rebukingly. “We should
not copy the barbarisms of the Occi
dent”
Nandy’s eyes twinkled as the humor
of such an observation in the heart
of Manhattan flashed upon him. In a
moment, he was grave again, how
ever. He swung himself to a table,
lightly for one of his bulk, and sat
kicking his heels as he awaited the
Hindoo priest’s narrative.
"There’s little to tell,” the Swami
went on, himself dropping into the
easier speech of the West as his com
panion stopped smiling. "The great
diamond Is gon* and All has no idea
of its whereabouts. Night and day
on the watch in the woman’s home,
he has nothing to tell further than
that the jewel has disappeared and
an* arrest has been made.”
"So they’ve caught the thief?”
“Perhaps. The bunglers of this un
couth country may have stumbled
upon her by chance. She’s in custody,,
anyway.”
Nandy slid from the table and bal
anced himself on his toes.
“A woman, eh? Good-looking?’
Not without Influence on his Ideals
had he taken a post-graduate course
among London’s Gaiety girls. He was
a connoisseur in the femininity of the
" ’alls.” Serious women bored him.
But surely a young person clever
enough to get away with a diamond
the size of the Maharanee couldn’t be
stupid?
“Mrs. Missloner's secretary,” the
Swami told him. “A close friend of
hers, too, says All.”
Kananda’s whistle was expressive.
"Is there evidence to convict?” he
asked Interestedly.
“A paste necklace was substituted
for the one containing the Mahara
nee,” replied the Swami. "One of the
real diamonds was found In the pris
oner’s room.”
“Now, that’s funny,” said the Prince.
"Devilish funny! And they took her
in tow for that?”
The priest nodded.
“What rotters these American po
licemen are!” snapped Kananda in
the slang he had used as Nandy of
Cambridge. “Fancy any self-respect
ing Oriental doing that! Why, the
bulldogglest little terrier in the Mika
do's secret service wouldn’t make
such a break!”
The Swami nodded again.
“All searched her room, of course,
before the detectives got there,” he
continued. “Soon after Mrs. Mis
sloner's return from the opera, he
went straight from the hall outside
the library to Miss Holcomb’s apart
ment and Investigated thoroughly.”
“Look here, old man,” jerked Ka
nanda. "If All has the stone, it’s all
well enough to put It over on —”
"He hasn't It,” the Swami answered.
“The thing for us to do now Is to find
out who has it.”
r "Good old guesser!” grinned the
Prince. “Well, AH knows his busi
ness.”
The Swami strolled back to the dl
■ van and lay at full length, his hands
■ pillowing his head. He blew smoke
i rings at the punkah.
, “I’m not so sure of that,” he re
i torted. “I don’t like his failure to
i keep better watch on the stone.”
Nandy swung himself back to the
। table.
“How long’s it been gone??- he
• asked.
“I tell you nobody knows. Its ab
■ sence was discovered to-night.”
“You’ve just learned of it?”
"No and yes. I knew about the Ma
| haranee before All came.” He
sketched the incident of the opera
. house in crisp sentences. Kananda
listened eagerly.
"So there’s nothing left of the bo
gus Maharanee,” he observed.
"Nothing but this splinter I palm
ed,” returned the priest “It was
easy—elementary legerdemain."
Both laughed. The facility of Occi
dentals was a standing joke.
"Well, we need more help on this
now,” said the Prince. “Ali will have
to go back to the house.”
“Yes, Mrs. Missloner can’t spare
her Oriental curio just yet,” the
Swami assented.
Kananda reached for a cigarette.
, “I guess we’ll have to put Ramset
jee on the men,” he mused. “Don’t
like to do it, for Ram isn’t exactly
what we’d call an adept. Now, would
we?”
“Hardly.”
"But All can't be spared from the
Mlssioner place. Sands and Griswold
1 can be watched by one man.”
"Oh, yes,” replied the priest "I
wish the man were a little brighter
than Ramsetjee, though."
“Can’t be helped—what?” anglicized
Nandy. "I’ll have an eye to them in
the clubs from time to time. You look
after the social end.”
“Yes.” The Swami smiled. “They’ll
hardly get away from me in society."
"My word, but you’re coming on!”
chaffed the Prince. "Right in the
social swim. See what It is to be a
Swami. Dare say the Duchess of
Drygoods and the Countess de Brew
ery are heard over heels in love with
the newest Eastern mystic. Too bad
they're not in Delhi."
The Swami frowned. He refused to
laugh at a jest bordering on lack of re
spect for the faith. Even the Ma
haranee’s son feared to try him too
far In that direction.
“Omitting personality for the mo
ment,” said the priest pointedly, "I
' will participate In the gregarious
mumming of these barbarians for the
sake of our purpose. It is not well to
concern ourselves with the frivolous
affairs of life. We may have to do
' much more serious things than we are
1 doing now to get the Maharanee. If
It should come to the last resort, we
! would not hesitate, you and I. Re
-1 member the brethren!”
"I shall remember," said Kananda
bravely.
The Swam! sounded a gong. As its
1 muffled music came to him through
the tiny hole In the floor above, All
rose cautiously from his crouching po
sition and hastened downstairs. Next
minute, he was entering the presence
of the higher caste Easterners with an
other profound salaam. In measured
tones, the Swami, who had resumed
his Oriental robes, gave him instruc
tions to which the Hindoo servant lis
tened with intent respect, the Prince
from time to time emphasizing the
priest’s orders with a nod.
"You may go, All,” said the Swami
in conclusion.
"1 go, master," the Hindoo replied,
backing through the portieres. He
maintained his respectful bearing all
the way along the hall, out the door,
and down the brownstone steps. Then,
when he had walked quickly to a
point several houses on and his face
was well out of the angle of vision
of the conventionally curtained win
dows at the front of the strange dwell
ing, a peculiar expression spread over
his features. Once round the corner,
, he wheeled and gazed piercingly to
ward the house he had quitted, as if
his eyes could penetrate the inter
vening walls.
"Is thy servant a dog or the son of
a dog?” he said under his breath
menacingly.
CHAPTER VI.
The Third Degree.
Police Headquarters—the old head
quarters of Mulberry Street —was one
of the architectural monstrosities of
New York. Fronting Mulberry Street,
1 its faded brick walls presented a for
bidding aspect to the ancient, tum
bledown rookeries across the way. Its
rear walls faced Mott Street, harmon
izing with the squalid tenements -of
that narrow, 111-smelling thoroughfare.
It was a type of public building now
happily obsolete, which an awakened
artistic sense Is rapidly relegating to
the scrap heap. Its rigid lines were
a monotony of ugliness, unrelieved by
. column or capital. One viewed its
hideous bulk with a shuddering sense
of apprehension, almost expecting to
see it crumble on the unfortunates
penned within.
' Visitors to the Detective Bureau
entered a dingy room, approached by
a narrow hall, on the Mott Street side
' of the building. Its most conspicuous
1 furnishings were several brass rails
1 which crossed one another in be
wildering fashion. Half-open doors
■ led boldly into other offices, as if to
' dispel the atmosphere of secrecy that
hovered perpetually over the place.
। Two uniformed lieutenants of police
were constantly on guard at oaken
desks backed against opposite walls.
On the morning following the Mls
sioner diamond robbery, the two
guardians were busy sorting piles of
documents scattered on their desks.
“Guess it’s time for the line-up," re
marked one of the lieutenants.
He entered the adjoining room, a
large, square chamber. In which the
rays from clusters of electric bulbs
mingled with the pale, shivery light of
the sun.
"Here's the list,” he called to the
desk lieutenant, at the same time
throwing a bundle of documents to
him.
Massed against the opposite wall in
listless attitudes were fifty or sixty
detectives, their faces covered by
long masks. They shifted about un
easily while waiting for the hapless
prisoners captured the night before to
be lined up for inspection. This dally
spectacle, terrifying to the Innocent
suspects, amusing to the old-time law
breakers, marks the beginning of the
morning's routine of the men detailed
to prevent crime and hunt down crim
inals. Not a pleasing exhibition, but
a necessary one. For the opportunity
। must be provided for the detectives to
become familiar with the counten
ances of the lawbreakers. And by the
simple device of the masks, the hunt
ers are shielded from becoming equal
ly familiar to the hunted.
The opening of the door at tha
rear of the room brought the waiting
detectives to attention. Their forms
stiffened to military erectness, their
manner became watchfully alert
“Good-morning,” greeted Chief of
Detectives Manning. The men sa-
. luted In return.
With quick, nervous strides the
' Chief made his way behind the long
desk that ran half the length of the
room, and took up a position of sur
vey. His eyes, of hawk-like penetra
tion, swept the room while the desk
, lieutenant called the roll. The ab
. sentees having been entered on the
. blotter, the process of lining up the
, prisoners began 'without further cere
mony.
A line of bedraggled, disheveled
men and women, their eyes bleary
; from a night of wakefulness in nar
, row, ill-ventilated cells, shuffled into
, the room.
"Michael Noonan," droned the lieu
tenant.
An emaciated, weak-faced man, the
wretchedness of his lot emphasized
by the frayed clothing that hung In
loose, broken lines from his form,
stepped forward. A look of dull mis
ery ^as stamped on his countenance,
a hopeless disregard of the fate in
store for him showed in his manner.
“Take a good look at this crook,"
commanded the Chief. “Never was
• pinched before. Caught with the goods
'■ on, however, by Wiggins and Wolf,
i Swipin' lead pipe from a half-finished
• house.”
The eyes of the detectives bent on
the human wreck as he shrank back
• Into line.
"Philip Pratt," called the lleuten
’ ant.
' A young man, not more than thirty,
whose sullen mein and restless eyes
betrayed his occupation even before
the Chief announced it, faced the
massed battery of eyes. His thin lips
! curled into a disdainful smile as the
i Chief read his record from a slip of
• paper.
• “Another old friend back,” the head
1 of the detective force commented.
1 "Philip Pratt, alias Morse, alias
1 Charlie Dodge, alias Toledo Phil. Con
’ fidence gent. Did a term in Elmira,
’ two short stretches up the river, and
a long leg in Joliet."
• “Carrie Chase,” came from the lleu
' tenant.
• Member of that frail sisterhood
' whose shame Is no deeper than that
of the civilization from which it
: springs, she carried herself with an
1 easy dignity born of familiarity with
her surroundings. The heavy lines of
her face were drawn Into an expres
sion of grim defiance, but her eyes,
dulled by long dissipation, could not
hide the dumb fear that lurked in her
■ soul.
1 “Got away with a gene’s super,"
the Chief drawled. He displayed a
• gold watch as if it held all the tri
' umph of his years of pursuit in the
underworld. “But we found the goods
1 on her,” he added smilingly.
Her career was part of the ele
mental knowledge of the assembled
detectives and the Chief dismissed
her quickly.
“The chances are she’ll do a long
' stretch this trip,” he commented.
' Every condition of moral obliquity
was represented in that shifting line
1 .of prisoners. There were youths, still
1 ; in the formative period of their crim
' Inal careers, vying with the old-timers
iin the forced bravado of their de
meanors. Others there were, shame
faced and sad, overcome with remorse
and praying silently for the termina
' tion of the painful spectacle. Still
others, old men and young men, re
garding the proceedings with the in
difference of disinterested spectators.
And there were women, too, from the
' bedizened “badger queen,” her hair
and complexion as false as the jewels
shimmering from her fingers and
throat, to the tremulous, weeping res
taurant cashier accused of some petty
defalcation. They represented types
as varied as the emotions struggling
' within them, but as they stood side
by side facing the expressionless
masks, they seemed headed toward
the same ultimate destiny. One after
another they stepped forward for In
spection until the line was exhausted.
When the last of them had filed out
of the room, the detectives did not re
move their masks, as was the custom.
Instead, they stood about in a high
fever of expectancy. Quizzical glances
were cast In the direction of the door
leading to the cells. Suddenly ths
men bulked forward, as If inspired by
a common impulse of curiosity. Ths
swish of skirts, accompanied by tbs
tread of masculine feet, sounded in
the doorway. A woman’s form, her
head bent to her breast, her limbs un
able to bear the weight of her frail
body, was being half dragged, ball
carried into the room. All the Ilfs
seemed to have drained out of her.
| Her hair hung disordered over het
I shoulders, her hands swung Umpiyj
i like loose pendulums.
( (TO BE CONTINUED^
