 CHAPTER XI. He stood looking at her with earnest thoughtful eyes, suddenly the woman's soul within her awoke in a surging, inexplicable wave of emotion which almost overcame her. And after it came something of realization of the great fight he was making for her, for her and her aged, feeble grandfather waiting patiently out there. He loved her this master among men, and she sighed contentedly. For the moment the maddening anxiety that brought her here was forgotten there was only the ineffable sweetness of seeing him again. She extended her hands to him impulsively, and he kissed them both. The difficulty of you leaving here, he went on after a little, is that you would be followed and within two hours these men would know all about you, where you are stopping, how long you have been there, they would know of your daily telephone messages to your grandfather, and then, inevitably, they would appear out there and learn all of the rest of it. It doesn't matter how closely they keep watch of me, my plans are all made, I know I am watched, and I make no mistakes, but you. So I should not have come, she questioned. I'm sorry. I understand your anxiety, of course, he assured her, and he was smiling a little, but the worst never happens, so for the present we will not worry. In an hour or more now I imagine we shall receive a pigeonogram which will show that all is well, and then I shall have to plan for you to get away somehow. She leaned toward him a little, and again he gathered her in his arms. The red lips were mutely raised, and he kissed her reverently. It's all for you, and it will all be right, he assured her. Jeanne, dear Jeanne. He pressed a button on the wall, and a mate appeared. You will have to wait for a couple of hours or so, at least, so if you would like to take off your things, he suggested with grave courtesy. I dare say the suite just above is habitable, and the mate is at your service. The girl regarded him pensively for a moment, and then turning ran swiftly up the stairs. The maids started to follow more stately. Just a moment, said Mr. Wynn crisply, in an undertone. Miss Kellner is not to be allowed to use the telephone under any circumstances. Do you understand? She nodded silently, and went up the stairs. An hour passed. From the swivel chair at his desk, Mr. Wynn had twice seen Sutton stroll past on the opposite side of the street, and then Claflin had lounged along. Suddenly he arose and went to the window, throwing back the curtains. Sutton was leaning against an electric pole half a block away. Claflin was half a block off in the other direction, in casual conversation with a policeman. Mr. Wynn looked them over thoughtfully. Curiously enough he was wondering just how he would fare in a physical contest with either or both. He turned away from the window at last and glanced at his watch impatiently. One hour and forty minutes. In another half hour the little bell over his desk should ring. That would mean that a pigeon had arrived from—from out there, and that the automatic door had closed upon it as it entered the coat. But if it didn't come—if it didn't come—then what? There was only one conclusion to be drawn, and he shuddered a little as he thought of it. There could only remain this single possibility when he considered the sinister things that had happened, the failure of the girl to get an answer by telephone, and the unexpected appearance of Red Haney with the uncut diamonds. It might be necessary for him to go out there, and how could he do it? How without leaving an open trail behind him? How without inviting defeat in the fight he was making? His meditations were interrupted by the appearance of Miss Kellner. She had crept down the stairs noiselessly and stood beside him before he was aware of her presence. Her eyes sought his countenance questioningly, and the deadly pallor of her face frightened him. She crept into his arms and nestled there silently, with dry, staring eyes. He stroked the golden brown hair with an utter sense of helplessness. Nothing yet, he said finally, and there was a thin assumption of cheeriness in his tone. It may be another hour, but it will come. It will come. But if it doesn't, Jean, she queried insistently, always her mind went back to that possibility. We shall cross no bridges until we reach them, he replied. There is always a chance that the pigeons might have gone astray, for they have this single disadvantage against the incalculable advantage of offering no clue to anyone as to where they go, and it is impossible to follow them. If nothing comes in half an hour now, I shall send two more. And then, if nothing comes, then, my dear, then we shall begin to worry. Half an hour passed, the little bell was silent, Claflin and Sutton were still visible from the window. Miss Kellner's eyes were immovably fixed on Mr. Wynn's face, and he repressed his gnawing anxiety with an effort. Finally he wrote again on the tissue slips three of them this time, and together they climbed to the roof, attached the messages, and watched the birds disappear. Another hour, two hours, two hours and a half passed. Suddenly the girl arose with pallid face and colorless lips. I can't stand it, Jean. I can't, she exclaimed hysterically. I must know. The telephone? No, he commanded harshly, and he too arose. No. I will, she flashed. She darted out of the room and along the hall. She followed her with grim determination in his face. She seized the receiver from the hook and held it to her ear. Hello, called Central. Give me long distance, Coaldale, number. No, commanded Mr. Wynn, and he placed one hand over the transmitter tightly. Doris, you must not. I will, she flamed, let me alone. You'll ruin everything, he pleaded earnestly. Don't you know that they get every number I call? Don't you know that within fifteen minutes they will have that number, and their men will start for there? She faced him with blazing eyes. I don't care, she said deliberately, and the white face was relieved by an angry flush. I will know what has happened out there. I must, Jean, don't you see that I'm frantic with anxiety. The money means nothing to me. I want to know if he is safe. His hand was still gripped over the transmitter. Suddenly she turned and tugged at it fiercely. Her sharp little nails bit into the flesh of his fingers. In a last desperate effort she placed the receiver to her lips. Give me long distance, Coaldale, number. With a quick movement he snapped the connection wire from the instrument, and the receiver was free in her hand. Doris you are mad, he protested. Wait a minute, my dear girl, just a minute. I don't care, I will know. Mr. Wynn turned and picked up a heavy cane from the hall stand, and brought it down on the transmitter with all his strength. The delicate mechanism jangled and tingled. Then the front fell off at their feet. The diaphragm dropped and rolled away. Doris you must not, he commanded again gravely. We will find another way, dear. How dare you, she demanded violently. It was cowardly. Don't you understand? I understand it all, she broke in. I understand that this might lead to the failure of the thing you are trying to do, but I don't care. I understand that already I have lost my father, and my brother in this, that my grandmother and my mother were nearly starved to death while it was all being planned, all for these hideous diamonds. Diamonds, diamonds, diamonds, I've heard nothing all my life but that. As a child it was dinned into me, and now I am sick and weary of it all. I know, I know, something has happened to him now, I hate them, I hate them. She stopped, glared at him with scornful eyes for an instant, then ran up the stairs again. Mr. Wynn touched a button in the wall, and the maid appeared. Go lock the back door, and bring me the key, he commanded. The maid went away, and a moment later returned to hand him the key. He still stood in the hall, waiting. After a little there came a rush of skirts, and Miss Kellner ran down the steps dressed for the street. Doris, he pleaded, you must not go out now, wait just a moment. You'll find a way, and then I'll go with you. She tried to pass him, but his outstretched arms made her a prisoner. Do I understand that you refuse to let me go? She asked tensely. Not like this, he replied. If you'll give me just a little while then perhaps, perhaps I may go with you. Even if something had happened there you could do nothing alone, I too am afraid now. Just half an hour, fifteen minutes, perhaps I may be able to find a plan. Suddenly she sank down on the stairs with her face in her hands. He caressed her hair tenderly, then raised her to her feet. Suppose you step into the back parlor here, he requested. Just give me fifteen minutes. Then unless I can find a way for us to go together safely, we will throw everything aside and go anyway. Forgive me, dear. He submitted quietly to be led along the hall. He opened the door into a room and stood aside for her to pass. Gene, Gene, she exclaimed, her soft arms found their way around his neck, and she drew his face down and kissed him then without a word. She entered the room and closed the door. A minute passed, two, four, five, and Mr. Wynn stood as she left him. Then he opened the front door and stepped out. Frank Claflin was just starting toward the house from the corner with a deliberate pace when he glanced up and saw Mr. Wynn signalling for him to approach. Could it be possible? He had had no orders about talking to this man, but perhaps he was going to give it up. And with this idea he accelerated his pace and crossed the street. Oh, Mr. Claflin, will you step in just a moment, please? requested Mr. Wynn courteously. Why? demanded the detective suspiciously. There's a matter I want to discuss with you, responded Mr. Wynn. It may be that we can reach some sort of an agreement about this, and if you don't mind. Wynn went up the steps. Mr. Wynn ushered him in and closed the door behind him. Three minutes later Mr. Wynn appeared on the steps and beckoned to Sutton, who had just witnessed the incident just proceeding and was positively being eaten by curiosity. This is Mr. Sutton, isn't it, inquired Mr. Wynn. Yes, that's me. While Mr. Claflin and I are discussing this matter, and my proposition to him was such that he felt it must be made in your presence. Would you mind stepping inside for a moment? You and the girl decided to give it up, queried Mr. Sutton triumphantly. We are just discussing the matter now, was the answer. Sutton went up the steps and disappeared inside. About four minutes after that Mr. Wynn stood in the hallway, puffing a little as he readjusted his necktie. He picked up his hat, drew on his gloves, and then wrapped on the door of the back parlor. Miss Kellner appeared. We will go now, said Mr. Wynn quietly. But is it safe, Jean? She asked quickly. Perfectly safe, yes. There's no danger of being followed if we go immediately. She gazed at him, wonderingly, then followed him to the door. He opened it and she passed out, glancing around curiously. For one instant he paused, and there came a clatter and clammer from somewhere in the rear of the house. He closed the door with a grim smile. Which are the detectives? asked Miss Kellner, in an odd whisper. I don't see them around just now, he replied. We can get a cab at the corner. End of CHAPTER XI. CHAPTER XII of the Diamond Master by Jacques Futrell. This Libervox recording is in the public domain. CHAPTER XII THE THIRD DEGREE Some years ago a famous head of the police department clearly demonstrated the superiority of a knockout blow, frequently administered, as against moral suasion, and from that moment the third degree became an institution. Whatever sort of criticism may be made of the third degree, it is nevertheless amazingly effective, and beyond that, affords infinite satisfaction to the administrator. There is a certain vicious delight in brutally smashing a sullen helpless prisoner in the face, and the third degree is not officially in existence. Red Haney was submitted to the third degree, his argument that he found the diamonds and that having found them they were his until the proper owner appeared was Futrell. Ten minutes after having passed into a room, where sat Chief Arkwright of the Mulberry Street Force and three of his men, and Mr. Burns of the Burns Detective Agency, Haney remembered that he hadn't found the diamonds at all, somebody had given them to him. "'Who gave them to you?' demanded the Chief. "'I don't know the guy's name, boss,' Haney replied humbly. "'This is to remind you of it.' Haney found himself sprawled on the floor and looking up with a pleading piteous expression. His eyes were still red and blurry, his mottled face shot with purple, and the fumes of the liquor still clouded his brain. The Chief stood above him with a clenched fist. "'On the level, boss, I don't know,' he whined. "'Get up,' commanded the Chief. Haney struggled to his feet and dropped into his chair. "'What's he look like, this man who gave them to you? Where did you meet him? Why did he give them to you?' "'Now, boss, I'm going to give you the straight goods,' Haney pleaded. "'Don't hit me any more, and I'll tell you all I know about it.' The Chief sat down again with scowling face. Haney drew a long breath of relief. "'He's a little skinny-feller, boss,' the prisoner went on to explain. For a while he thoughtfully caressed his jaw. "'I meet him out here in a little town called Willow Creek. Me haven't swung off the freight there to get something to eat. Just got a couple of handouts, and he passes one to me, and we get to talking. He gets to telling me something about a nutty old gazebo who lives in the next town, which he had just left. This old bazoo, he says he has a hat full of diamonds up there, but they ain't polished or nothing, and he's there by himself, and is old and simple, and it's fine to money, he says, to go over and take him away from him. He reckoned there must be a thousand dollars' worth altogether.' "'Well, he puts the proposition to me,' Haney continues, circumstantially, and I falls for it. Where to go over, and I'm to pipe it all off, to see it's all right, then I'm to sort of hang around and keep watch, while he goes in and gives the old nut a gentle tap on the cocoa, and cops the sparks. That's what we done. I goes up and takes a few looks around, then I whistles, and he appears from the back, and goes up to the kitchen for a handout. The old guy opens the door, and he goes in. About a minute later he comes out, and gives me a hand full of little rocks, them I had, and we go away. He catches a freight going west, and I swings one for Jersey City. When was this?' demanded Chief Arkwright. "'What's to-day?' Haney asked in turn. "'This is Sunday morning.' "'Well, it was yesterday morning sometime Saturday. When I gets to Jersey I take one of the little rocks and goes into a place, shows it to the barkeep. He gives me a lot of booze for it, and I guess I get considerable lit up. And he also gives me some money to pay ferry fare, and the next thing I knows I'm nabbed over in the hawk-shop.' I guess I was lit up good, because if I'd been right I wouldn't have went to a hawk-shop and got pinched. He glanced around at the five other men in the room, and he read belief in each face, whereupon he drew a breath of relief. "'What town was it?' asked the Chief. "'Little place named Coaldale.' "'Coaldale,' the Chief repeated thoughtfully. Where is that?' "'About forty or fifty miles out in Jersey,' says Haney. "'I know the place,' remarked Mr. Burns. "'Are you sure, Haney?' said the Chief after a pause. "'You are sure you don't know the other man's name?' "'I don't know it, boss.' "'Who was the man you robbed?' "'I don't know.' The Chief arose quickly and the prisoner cringed in his seat. "'I don't know,' he went on, protestingly. "'Don't hit me again.' But the Chief had no such intention. It was merely to walk back and forth across the room. What kind of a man was he, a tramp?' Haney faltered and thoughtfully pulled his underlip. The cunning brain behind the bleary eyes was working now. "'I wouldn't call him a tramp,' he said evasively. He had on collar and cuffs and good clothes and talk sort of easy. "'Little skinny man,' you said, what color was his hair?' The Chief turned in his tracks and regarded Haney with keen, inquiring eyes. The prisoner withstood the scrutiny bravely. "'Sort of blackish, brownish hair?' "'Black, you mean?' "'Well, yes, black.' And his eyes?' "'Black eyes, little and round, like gimlet holes.' "'Heavy eyebrows, I suppose?' "'Yes,' Haney agreed readily. They sort of stuck out.' And his nose, big or little, heavier thin, Haney considered that thoughtfully for a moment before he answered, then, "'Sort of medium nose, boss, with a point on it.' And a thin face, naturally. How much did he weigh?' "'Oh, he was a little feller, skinny, you know. I reckon he didn't weigh more than a hundred, twenty-five or thirty. One germ had been born in the fertile mind of Mr. Burns. Now it burst into maturity. He leaned forward in his chair and stared coldly at Haney. "'Perhaps,' he suggested slowly. Perhaps he had a scar on his face.' Haney returned the gaze dullly for an instant, then suddenly he nodded his head. "'Yes, a scar,' he said. From here Mr. Burns placed one finger on the point of his chin and drew it across his right jaw. "'Yes, a scar, that's it,' the prisoner acquiesced, from his chin almost around his ear. Mr. Burns came to his feet while the official police stared. The chief sat down again and crossed his fat legs. "'Why, what do you know, Burns?' he queried. "'I know the—'man,' chief, the detective burst out confidently. "'I'd gamble my head on it. I knew it. I knew it,' he told himself. Again he faced the tramp. "'Haney, do you know how much the diamonds you had were worth? Must have been three or four hundred dollars.' Something like fifty thousand dollars, Mr. Burns informed him impressively. And if you got fifty thousand dollars for your share, the other man got a million.' Haney only stared. CHAPTER XIII Mr. Zanky appears. Half an hour later Mr. Burns, Chief Arkwright and Detective Sergeant Connolly were on a train, bound for Coaldale. Mr. Burns had left them for a moment at the ferry, and rushed into a telephone booth. When he came out he was exuberantly triumphant. "'It's my man, all right,' he assured the chief. "'He has been missing since Friday night, and no one knows his whereabouts. It's my man.'" It was an hour's ride to Coaldale, a sprawling, scraggly village, with only four or five houses in sight from the station. When the three men left the train there, Mr. Burns walked over and spoke to the agent, a thin, cadaverous, tobacco-chewing specimen of his species. "'We are looking for an old gentleman who lives out here somewhere,' he explained. "'He probably lives alone, and we've been told that he has a little cottage somewhere over this way.' He waved his hand vaguely to the right, in accordance with the directions of Red Haney. The station agent scratched his stubbly chin, and spat with great accuracy through a knothole ten feet away. "'Spec, do you mean old man Kellner?' he replied obligingly. He lives by himself part of the time, then again, sometimes his granddaughter lives with him.' "'Granddaughter?' Mr. Burns almost jumped. "'A granddaughter?' "'Yes,' he said with a forced calm. "'Rather a pretty girl, twenty-two or three years old? Sometimes she dresses in blue.' "'Yes,' the agent agrees. "'Spec them's them. Follow the road down till you come to the widow-gardener's hoglot, then turn to your left, and it's about a quarter of a mile on. The only house up that way. You can't miss it.' The agent stood squinting at them, with friendly inquiry radiating from his parchment-like countenance, and Mr. Burns took an opportunity to ask some other questions. "'By the way, what sort of a man is this Kellner? What does he do? Is he wealthy?' A pleasant grin overspread the informant's face. One finger was raised to his head, and twirled significantly. "'Spec he's crazy,' he went on to explain. "'Don't do nothing so far as anybody knows. Lives like a hermit, stays in the house all the time, and has long whiskers. Don't know whether he's rich or not. But Spec he ain't, because no man with money lives like he does.' He thrust a long forefinger into Mr. Burns' face. And Stingy? He's so stingy he won't let nobody come in the house, scared they'll wear the furniture out looking at it. How long has he lived here? There ain't nobody in this town old enough to say. Why, Mr., I'll bet that old man's a thousand years old. Wait till you see him.' That was all. They went on, as indicated. The very type of man who would scrimp and starve to put all his money in something like diamonds, mused Chief Arkwright, the usual rich old miser who winds up being murdered. They passed the widow-gardener's hoglot and came into a pleasant country road, which, turning, brought them to a shabby little cottage and bowered in trees. Through the foliage, far on, they caught the amber gleam of a languid river, and around their feet, as they entered the yard, scores of pigeons fluttered. Carriers, ejaculated Mr. Burns as if startled. With a strange feeling of elation, the detective led the way up the steps to the veranda and knocked. There was no answer. He glanced at the chief significantly and tried the door. It was locked. Try the back door, directed Chief Arkwright tersely. If that's locked, we'll go in anyway. They passed around the house to the rear, and Mr. Burns laid one hand upon the doorknob. He turned it, and the door swung inward. Again he glanced at Chief Arkwright. The chief knotted and led the way into the house. They stood in a kitchen, clean as to floors and table, but now in the utmost disorder. They spent only a moment here, then passed into the narrow hall, along this to a door that stood open, and then, then Chief Arkwright paused, staring downward and respectfully lifted his hat. Always the same, he remarked endimatically. Mr. Burns thrust himself forward and through the door. On the floor, with white face turned upward, and fixed, staring eyes, lay an old man. His venerable gray hair, long and unkept, fell back from a brow of noble proportions, the wide high brow of the student, and a great snow-white beard rippled down over his breast. Save for the glassiness of the eyes, the face was placid in death, even as it must have been in life. Mutely Mr. Burns examined the body. A blow in the back of the head, that was all. Then he glanced around the room inquiringly. Everything was in order, except. Except here lay an overturned cigar-box. He picked it up. Two uncut diamonds were on the floor beneath it. The rough inert pebbles silently attested to the obvious manner of death, which simultaneously forced itself upon the three men. The cowardly blow of an assassin, a dying struggle, perhaps, for the contents of the box. And this the end. From outside came sharply in the silence the rattle of wheels on the gravel of the road, and a vehicle stopped in front of the door. Sh! Warned the chief. Someone came along the walk, up the steps, and wrapped briskly on the door. The detectives waited motionless. Silent, the knob rattled under impatient fingers, then the footsteps passed along the veranda quickly, and were lost as if someone had stepped off at the end, intending to come to the back door which was open. A moment later they heard steps in the kitchen, then in the narrow hall approaching, and the doorway of the room where they stood framed the figure of a man. It was Mr. Zenke. There's your man-chief," remarked Mr. Burns quietly. The diamond expert permitted his gaze to wander from one to the other of the three men, and then the beady black eyes came to rest on the silent, outstretched figure of the old man. He started forward impulsively. The grip of Detective Sergeant Connolly on his arm stopped him. You're my prisoner. Yes, I understand," said Mr. Zenke impatiently. He didn't even look up. He was still gazing at the figure on the floor. Well, what if you got to say for yourself, demanded Chief Arkwright coldly? Mr. Zenke met the accusing stare of the chief squarely for an instant. Then the keen eyes shifted to the slightly flushed face of Mr. Burns, and lingered there interrogatively. I have nothing whatsoever to say," he replied at last, and he drew one hand slowly across the thin, scarred face. Yes, I understand, he repeated absently. I have nothing to say. CHAPTER XIV Doris looked down in great dry-eyed horror upon the body of this withered old man whom she had loved, and the thin thread of life within her all but snapped. It has come the premonition of disaster has been fulfilled. The last of her blood had been sacrificed to the mercilessly glittering diamonds, father, brother, and now him. Mr. Wynn's face went white and his teeth closed fiercely. He had loved this old man too. Then the shock passed, and he returned anxiously to Doris to receive the limp, inert figure in his arms. She had fainted. Well, what do you know about it? inquired Chief Ark right abruptly. Mr. Wynn was himself again instantly. The calm, self-certain, perfectly poised young man of affairs. He glanced at the chief, then shot a quick, inquiring look at Mr. Zenke. Almost imperceptibly the diamond expert shook his head. Then Mr. Wynn's eyes turned upon Mr. Burns. There had been triumph in the detective's face until that moment. But under the steady, meaning glare, which was directed at him, triumph faded to a sort of wonder, followed by a vague sense of uneasiness, and he read a command in the fixed eyes, a command to silence. Curiously enough it reminded him that he was in the employ of Mr. Latham, and that there were certain business secrets to be protected. He regarded the coroner's physician hastily summoned for a perfunctory examination. Well, demanded the chief again. Nothing of this, replied Mr. Wynn. I think, doctor, and he addressed the physician, that she needs you more than he does. We know only too well what's the matter with him. The physician arose obediently. Mr. Wynn gathered up the slender still figure in his arms, and bore it away to another room. The doctor bent over Doris and tested the fluttering heart. Only shock, he said finally, when he looked up. She'll come round all right in a little while. Thank God! The young man breathed softly. He stooped, impressed, reverent lips to the marble white brow, then straightening up, and after one long lingering look at her, turned quickly and left the room. I have no statement to make, Mr. Zenki was saying, in that level unemotional way of his, when Mr. Wynn re-entered the room where lay the dead. We are to assume that you are guilty, then, demanded chief Arkwright with cold finality. I have nothing to say, replied the expert. His gaze met that of Mr. Wynn for a moment, then settled on the venerable face of the old man. Guilty, interposed Mr. Wynn quickly, guilty of what? Chief Arkwright, without speaking, waved his hand toward the body on the floor. There was a flash of amazement in the young man's face, a sudden bewilderment, the diamond expert's countenance was expressionless. You don't deny that you killed him, persisted the chief accusingly. I have nothing to say, said the expert again. And you don't deny that you were Red Haney's accomplice. I have nothing to say, was the monotonous answer. The chief shrugged his shoulders impatiently, some illuminating thought shone for an instant in Mr. Wynn's clear eyes, and he nodded as if a question in his mind had been answered. Perhaps, chief, there may be some mistake, he protested half-heartedly. Perhaps this gentleman, what motive would? There's motive enough, interrupted the chief briskly. We have this man's description straight from his accomplice Red Haney, even to the scar on his face. He paused abruptly and regarded Mr. Wynn through half-closed lids. By the way, he continued deliberately, who are you? What do you know about it? My name is Wynn, even Cortland Wynn, was the ready response. I am directly interested in this case, through a long-standing friendship for Mr. Kellner here, and through the additional fact that his granddaughter in the adjoining room is soon to become my wife. There was a little pause. I may add that I live in New York, and that Miss Kellner has been stopping there for several days. She has been accustomed to hearing from her grandfather at least once a day by telephone, but she was unable to get an answer either yesterday or today, so she came to my home, and together we came out here. Mr. Burns looked up quickly. It had suddenly occurred to him to wonder as to the whereabouts of Claflin and Sutton, who had been on watch at the 37th Street House. The young man interpreted the expression of his face all right, and favored him with a meaning glance. We came alone, he supplemented. Mr. Burns silently pondered it. All that being true, Chief Arkwright suggested tentatively, perhaps you can give us some information as to the diamonds that were stolen. How much were they worth? How many were there? He held up the uncut stones that had been found on the floor. I don't know their exact number, was the reply. Their value, I should say, was about sixty thousand dollars. But for this little house, and the grounds adjoining, practically all of Mr. Kellner's money was invested in diamonds. Those you have there are part of an accumulation of many years imported in the rough, one or two at a time. Mr. Zenke was gazing abstractedly out of a window, but the expression on his lean face indicated the keenest interest. And—and something else, apprehension maybe. The chief stared straight into the young man's eyes for an instant, and then—and Mr. Kellner's family, he inquired—there is no one except his granddaughter Doris. Some change, sudden as it was pronounced, came over the chief, and his whole attitude altered. He dropped into a chair near the door. Have a seat, Mr. Wynn, he invited courteously, and let's understand this thing clearly. Over there, please, and he indicated a chair, partly facing that in which Mr. Zenke sat. Mr. Wynn sat down. Now, you don't seem to believe, the chief went on pleasantly, that Zenke here killed Mr. Kellner? Well, no, the young man admitted. Mr. Zenke glanced at him quickly, warningly. The chief was not looking, but he knew the glance had passed. And why don't you believe it, he continued. In the first place, Mr. Wynn began without hesitation, the diamonds were worth only about sixty thousand dollars, and Mr. Zenke here draws a salary of twenty-five thousand dollars a year. The proportion is wrong, you see. Again Mr. Zenke is a man of unquestioned integrity. As diamond expert of the Henry Latham Company he handles millions of dollars worth of precious stones each year, and has practically unlimited opportunities for theft, without murder, if he were seeking to steal. He has been with that company for several years, and that fact alone is certainly to his credit. Very good, commented the chief ambiguously. He paused an instant to study this little man with an interest aroused by the sum of his salary. And what of Haney's description, his accusation, he asked. Haney might have lied, you know, retorted Mr. Wynn. Men in his position have been known to lie. I understand, you say, the chief resumed, heedless of the note of irony in the other's voice, that you and Miss Kellner are to be married? Yes. And that she is the only heir of her grandfather? Yes. Therefore, at his death, the diamonds would become her property? For one instant Mr. Wynn seemed startled and turned his clear eyes full upon his interrogator, seeking the hidden meaning. Yes, but he began slowly. That's true, isn't it? Demanded the chief with quick violence. Yes, that's true. Mr. Wynn admitted calmly. Therefore indirectly it would have been to your advantage if Mr. Kellner had died or had been killed. In that the diamonds would have come to my intended wife, yes, was the reply. Mr. Zanky clasped and unclasped his thin hands nervously. His face was again expressionless, and the beady eyes were fastened immovably on chief Arkwright's. Mr. Burns was frankly amazed at this unexpected turn of the affair. Suddenly chief Arkwright brought his hand down on the arm of his chair with a bang. It was for the moment that Red Haney lied, and that Mr. Zanky is not the murderer. Then, as a matter of fact, your salary isn't twenty-five thousand dollars a year, is it? He was on his feet now with blazing eyes and one hand was thrust accusingly into Mr. Wynn's face. It was simulation. Mr. Burns understood it. A police method of exhausting possibilities. There was not the slightest movement by Mr. Wynn to indicate uneasiness at the charge, nor a tremor in his voice when he spoke again. I understand perfectly chief, he remarked coldly. Just what was the time of the crime, may I ask? Answer my question, insisted the chief thunderously. Now look here chief, Mr. Wynn went on frigidly. I am not a child to be frightened into making any absurd statements. I do not draw a salary of twenty-five thousand a year, no. I am in business for myself, and make more than that. You may satisfy yourself by examining the books in my office, if you like. By intimation, at least, you are accusing me of murder. Now answer me a question, please. What was the time of the crime? Chapter 15 The Truth In Part The chief dropped back into his chair with the utmost complacency. This was not the kind of man with whom mere bluster counted. Haney says Saturday morning, he answered, the coroner's physician agrees with that. Yesterday morning, Mr. Wynn mused. Then, after a moment, I think chief, you know Mr. Burns here, and that you would accept a statement of his is correct? Yes, the chief agreed with the glance at Mr. Burns. Mr. Burns, where was I all day Saturday? Mr. Wynn queried, without so much as looking around at him. You were in your house from eleven o'clock Friday night until fifteen minutes of nine o'clock Saturday morning, was the response. You left there at that time and took the surface car at 34th Street to your office. You left your office at five minutes of one, took luncheon alone at the Savarin, and returned to your office at two o'clock. You remained there until five or a few minutes past, then returned home. At eight, you... Is that sufficient? interrupted Mr. Wynn. Does that constitute an alibi? Yes, he admitted, but how do you know all this Burns? Mr. Burns and the men of his agency have favoured me with the almost persistent attentions during the last few days, Mr. Wynn continued promptly. He has had two men constantly on watch at my office day and night, and two others constantly on watch at my home day and night. There are two there now, one in the rear room of the basement, and another in the pantry with the doors locked on the outside. Their names are Claflin and Sutton. So that was it! It came home to Mr. Burns suddenly. Claflin and Sutton had been tricked into the house on some pretext, had locked in. Con found their stupidity. Why are they locked up? demanded the chief, with kindling interest. Why have you been watched? I think perhaps Mr. Burns will agree with me when I say that that has nothing whatever to do with this crime, replied Mr. Wynn easily. That's for me to decide, declared the chief bluntly. There was a long pause. Mr. Zanky was leaning forward in his chair, gripping the arms fiercely, with his lips pressed into a thin line. It was only by a supreme effort that he held himself in control, and the lean, scarred face was working strangely. Well, if you insist on knowing, observed Mr. Wynn, slowly, I suppose I'll have to tell all of it. In the first place—don't! It came finally the one word from Mr. Zanky's half-closed lips, a smothered explosion which drew every eye upon him. Mr. Wynn turned slightly in his chair and regarded the diamond expert with an expression of astonishment on his face. The beady black eyes were all a glitter with the effort of repression, and some intangible message flashed in them. In the first place, resumed Mr. Wynn as if there had been no interruption, Mr. Kellner here— Don't! the expert burst out again desperately—don't! it means ruin! Absolute ruin! Mr. Kellner had those diamonds, about sixty thousand dollars worth of them. Mr. Wynn continued distinctly. Mr. Kellner decided to sell some diamonds. One of the quickest and most satisfactory methods of selling rough gems, such as those you have in your hand-chief, is to offer them directly to the men who deal in them. I went to Mr. Henry Latham, and other jewelers of New York, on behalf of Mr. Kellner, and offered them a quantity of diamonds. It may be that they regarded the quantity I offered as unusual, that I don't know, but I would venture the conjecture that they did. He paused a moment, Mr. Zanky's face again growing expressionless, was turned toward the light of the window. Chief Arkwright was studying it, shrewdly. Diamond merchants, of course, have to be careful. The young man went on smoothly. They can't afford to buy whatever is offered by people whom they don't know. They had reason, too, to believe that I was not acting for myself alone. What was more natural, therefore, than that they should have called in Mr. Burns, and the men of his agency, to find out about me? And, if possible, to find out whom I represented, so they might locate the supply. I wouldn't tell them, because it was not desirable that they should deal directly with Mr. Kellner, who was old and childish and lacking perhaps in appreciation of the real value of diamonds. The result of all this was that the diamond dealers placed me under strict surveillance. My house was watched, my office was watched, my mail going and coming was subjected to scrutiny, my telephone calls were traced, telegrams opened and read. I had anticipated all this, of course, and was in communication with Mr. Kellner here only by carrier pigeons. He glanced, meaningly, at Mr. Burns, who was utterly absorbed in the recital. Those carrier pigeons were not exchanged by express, because the records would have furnished a clue to Mr. Burns' men. I personally took them back and forth in a suitcase before I approached Mr. Latham with the original proposition. He was giving categorical answers to a few of the multitude of questions to which Mr. Burns had been seeking answers. The tense expression about Mr. Zanky's eyes was dissipated, and he sighed a little. I saw the red Haney affair in the newspapers this morning, as you will know. He continued after a moment. It was desirable that I should come out here with Mr. Kellner, but it was not desirable, even under those circumstances, that I should permit myself to be followed. That's how it happens that Mr. Claflin and Mr. Sutton are now locked up in my house. Again there was a pause. Mr. Burns I know will be glad to confirm my statement of the case insofar as his instructions from Mr. Latham and the other gentlemen interested bear on it. Chief Arkwright glanced at the detective inquiringly. That's right, Mr. Burns admitted with an uncertain nod. That is, so far as my instructions go. I understood, though, that the diamonds were worth more than sixty thousand dollars, in fact that there might have been a million dollars worth of diamonds. A million dollars, repeated Chief Arkwright in amazement. A million dollars, he repeated. He turned fiercely upon Mr. Winn. What about that, he demanded. I am sure I don't know what Mr. Burns understood, replied the young man, with marked emphasis. But it's preposterous on the face of it, isn't it, would a man with a million dollars worth of diamonds live in a hovel like this? The Chief considered the matter reflectively for a minute or more, the while his keen eyes alternately searched the faces of Mr. Winn and Mr. Zenke. It would depend on the man, of course, he said at last. Then some new idea was born within him. Your direct connection with the crime seems to be disproved, Mr. Winn, he remarked slowly. And if we admit his innocence, he jerked a thumb at the expert. There remains yet another viewpoint. Do you see it? The young man turned upon him quickly. Is it occurred to you that every argument I advanced to furnish you with a motive for the crime might well be applied with equal weight against Miss Kellner? Doris, flamed Mr. Winn, for the first time his perfect self-possession deserted him, and he came to his feet with gripping hands. Why, why, what are you talking about? Sit down, advised the Chief quietly. Mr. Zenke glanced at them once uneasily, then resumed his fixed stare out of the window. Sit down, said the Chief again. Mr. Winn glared at him for an instant, then dropped back into his chair. His hands were clenched desperately, and a slight flush in his clean cut face showed the fight he was making to restrain himself. All the property this old man owned, including the diamonds, would become her property in the event of his death. Or murder, the Chief added mercilessly. That's true, isn't it? But when she entered this room her every act testified to her innocence, Mr. Winn burst out passionately. The Chief shrugged his shoulders. She has been living in a little hotel in Irving Place, the young man rushed on. The people there can satisfy you as to her whereabouts on Saturday. Then the Chief shrugged his shoulders. And remember, please, that the best answer to all that is that Haney had the diamonds. It doesn't necessarily follow Mr. Winn, said the other steadily, that she committed the crime with her own hands. It comes down simply to this. If there were only sixty thousand dollars' worth of diamonds, then the one motive which Zenke might have had is eliminated because Haney had practically fifty thousand dollars' worth of them, and here are some others. There would have been no share for your expert here. And again, if there were only sixty thousand dollars' worth of the diamonds, you or Miss Kellner would have been the only persons to benefit by his death. But Haney had those, protested Mr. Winn. Just what I'm saying, agreed the other complacently. Or there were more than sixty thousand dollars' worth. However we look at it, whoever may have been Haney's accomplice, that point seems settled. Or else Haney lied, declared Mr. Winn flatly. If Haney came here alone killed this old man and stole the diamonds, there would be none of these questions, would there? Mr. Burns, who had listened silently, arose suddenly and left the room. Mr. Winn's last suggestion awakened a new train of thought in the police official's mind, and he considered it silently for a moment. Finally he shook his head. The fact remains, he said, as if reassuring himself, that Haney described an accomplice and that that description fits Zenke perfectly, that Zenke has refused to defend himself or even make a denial, that he has drawn suspicion upon himself by everything he has done and said since he has been here, even by the strange manner of his appearance at this house. Therefore there were more diamonds and he got his share of them. Hello, came in Mr. Burns' voice from the hall. Give me two one eight four five river, New York. Yes, is Mr. Latham there? Yes, Henry Latham. Then Mr. Winn's self-possession forsook him and he came to his feet, evidently with the intention of interrupting that conversation. He started forward with gritting teeth and simultaneously Chief Arkwright, Detective Sergeant Conley, and Mr. Zenke, laid restraining hands upon him. Something in the expert's grip on his wrist caused him to stop and cease a futile struggle. Then came a singular expression of resignation about the mouth and he sat down again. Hello, this Mr. Latham? This is Detective Burns. I have been able to locate some diamonds, but it's necessary to know something of the quantity of those you mentioned. You remember Mr. Schultz said something about? Yes. Yes. Oh, there were! Unexpected developments? Yes. I'll call and see you to-night about eight. Yes. Good-bye. Mr. Burns re-entered the room, his face aglow with triumph. Mr. Winn glanced almost hopelessly at Mr. Zenke, then turned again to the detective. I should say there were more than sixty thousand dollars worth of them, Mr. Burns blurted. There were at least a million dollars worth. Mr. Schultz intimated as much to me. Now Mr. Latham confirms it. Chief Arkwright turned and glared scowlingly upon the diamond expert. His beady black eyes were alight with some emotion which he failed to read. Where are they, Zenke? demanded the chief harshly. I have nothing to say, replied Mr. Zenke softly. So your disappearance Friday night and your absence all day yesterday did have to do with this old man's death, said the chief directly accusing him. I have nothing to say, murmured Mr. Zenke. That settles it, gentlemen, declared the chief with an air of finality. Zenke, I charge you with the murder of Mr. Kellner here. Anything you may say will be used against you. Come along now. Don't make any trouble. End of Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Fairly drunk with excitement, his lean face, usually expressionless, now flushed and working strangely, and his beady black eyes aglitter, Mr. Zenke reeled into the study where Mr. Latham and Mr. Schultz sat awaiting Mr. Burns. He raised one hand and, joining silence, closed the door, locked it, and placed the key in his pocket, after which he turned upon Mr. Latham. He makes them, man! He makes them! He burst out between gritted teeth. Don't you understand? He makes them! Mr. Latham astonished in a little startled came to his feet. The flimatic German sat still, staring at the expert without comprehension. Mr. Zenke's thin fist was clinched under his employer's nose, and the jeweler drew back a little vaguely alarmed. I don't understand what, he began. The diamonds Mr. Zenke interrupted, and the long pent-up excitement within him burst into a flame of impatience. The diamonds he makes them! Don't you see? The diamonds! He manufactures them! But in himmel exclaimed Mr. Schultz, and it was anything but an irreverent ejaculation. He arose. The miracle has come to pass. We must have known. We must have known. Millions and millions of dollars' worth of them, even billions for all we know, the expert rushed on in incoherent violence, a sum greater than all the combined wealth of the world in the hands of one man. Think of it! Mr. Latham only gazed at him blankly, and he turned instinctively to the one who understood, Mr. Schultz. Think of the mind that achieved it, man! He collapsed into a chair and sat looking at the floor, his fingers writhing within one another, muttering to himself. Mr. Latham was a cold, sane, unimaginative man of business. As yet the full import of it all hadn't reached him. He stared dumbly first at Mr. Zanke, then at Mr. Schultz. There was not even incredulity in the look. Only faint amazement that two such well-balanced men should have gone mad at once. At last the German importer turned upon him flatly. Why don't you get excited about it, Latham? He demanded. He is all right, not crazy, he added with whimsical assurance. He is telling you that those diamonds are made. Made like doughnuts, manufactured, put together. Don't you get it? He ran off into guttural German expletives. And slowly, slowly the idea began to dawn upon Mr. Latham. The diamonds Mr. Wynn had shown were not real then. They were artificial. It was some sort of swindle. Of course! But the experts had agreed that they were diamonds, real diamonds. Perhaps they had been deceived, or— By George! Did these two men mean to say that they were real diamonds, but that they were manufactured? Mr. Latham's tidy little imagination balked at that. Absurd! Who ever heard of a diamond as big as the Coronor, or the Regent, or the Orloff being made? They were crazy, the pair of them. Do I understand, he demanded in a tone of deliberate annoyance, that you, Zenke, and you, Schultz, expect me to believe that those diamonds we saw were not natural, but were real diamonds turned out by machinery in a—in a diamond factory? Is that what you are driving at? That is, declared the German bluntly. It was coming in time, Latham. It was coming, of course. But I have always noticed that whatever is coming does come. Maid. Maid as you make marbles? Mr. Zenke repeated, monotonously, yes, it had to come, but—but imagine the insupprable difficulties that one brain had to surmount. He passed a thin hand across his flushed brow, and was thoughtfully silent. I don't believe it, asserted Mr. Latham tartly. It's impossible. I don't believe it, and sat down. It don't matter much whether you believe it or not, remarked the German, in a tone of resignation. If it is, it is. And all those diamonds in your place and mine are not worth much more than a bushel of potatoes. Mr. Latham turned away from him, half angrily, and glared at the expert who was still regarding the floor. What do you know about this, anyway, Zenke? he demanded. How do you know he makes them? Have you seen him make them? Thus directly addressed Mr. Zenke looked up, and the living flame of wonder within his eyes flickered and died. In silence for a minute or more he studied the unconcealed skepticism in his employer's face, and then asked slowly, Do you know what diamonds are, Mr. Latham? There is some theory that they are pure carbon crystallized. They are that, declared the expert impatiently. Do you know that diamonds have been made? Oh, I read something about it, yes, but what I—every schoolboy knows how to make a diamond, Mr. Latham, if pure carbon is heated to approximately five thousand degrees Fahrenheit, and simultaneously subjected to a pressure of approximately six thousand tons to the square inch, it becomes a diamond. And there's no theory about that. That's a fact. The difficulty has always been to apply the knowledge we have in a commercially practicable way—in other words, to isolate a carbon that is absolutely pure, and invent a method of applying the heat and pressure simultaneously. It has been done, Mr. Latham. It has been done. Don't you understand what it means to—with an effort he repressed the returning excitement which found vent in a rising voice and quick nervous gestures of the hands, after a moment he went on. Half a score of scientists have made diamonds, minute particles no larger than one point of a pin. Professor Henry Moisson of Paris went further, and by use of an electric furnace produced diamonds as large as a pin had. You may remember that when I first met Mr. Wynn, he inquired if I had not done some special work for Professor Moisson. I had. I tested the diamonds he made. And they were diamonds. I dare say the suggestion Mr. Wynn conveyed to me by that question, that is, the suggestion of manufactured diamonds, had been carefully planned, for he is a wonderful young man, Mr. Wynn, a wonderful young man, he paused a moment. We know that he had millions and millions of dollars worth of them. We know because we saw them. And who can tell how many billions more there are? The one man holds in his hand the power to overturn the money values of the earth. But how do you know he makes them? Demanded Mr. Latham returning to the main question. He suggested it by his question, Mr. Zenke went on. That suggestion lingered in my mind. When the detective Mr. Burns reported that Mr. Wynn was an importer of brown sugar, I was on the point of advancing a theory that the diamonds were manufactured. As of all known substances, burnt brown sugar is richest in carbon. But you, Mr. Latham, had discredited a previous suggestion of mine, and I—well, I didn't suggest it. Instead, that night I personally began an investigation to see what disposition was made of the sugar. I found that the ships discharged their cargoes in Hoboken, that the sugar was there loaded on barges, and those barges hauled up a small stream to a little town of Coaldale, all consigned to a Mr. Hugo Kellner. It took Friday, all day Saturday, and a great part of today to learn all this. This afternoon I went to see Kellner. I found him murdered. He stated it merely as an inconvenient incident. In the room with the body were Mr. Burns' chief arch-right of the New York police, and another New York detective. I had glanced at the story of Red Haney and the diamonds in the morning paper, and from Mr. Burns' presence I surmised something of the truth. I was instantly placed under arrest for the murder. The murder of this man I had never seen, the real Diamond Master, the man who achieved it all. He was silent for a moment as if from infinite weariness. Mr. Winn came, and Miss Kellner, granddaughter of the dead man. He saw me, and understood. Between us we contrived that I should be taken away as the murderer, and so to prevent an immediate search of the house. I made no denial. I permitted myself to be taken. Some mistake as to identity. I proved an alibi by the shipping men in Hoboken. The diamonds are there, untold millions of dollars worth of them. The Diamond Master is dead. Mr. Latham had been listening, as if dazed, to the hurried, somewhat disconnected narrative. Mr. Schultz keener to comprehend all that the story meant was silent for a moment. Then if all those men know all he told us, Latham, he remarked finally, our diamonds are not worth any more than potatoes already. But they don't know, Mr. Zenke burst out fiercely. Don't you understand? Haney, or somebody, killed Mr. Kellner and stole some uncut diamonds. You must have seen the newspaper account of it today. The New York police traced Haney's course to Coaldale and to that house. All they know is that sixty thousand dollars worth of uncut stones were stolen. There was not even a suggestion to them of the millions and millions of dollars worth that were manufactured. Don't you understand? I permitted myself to be accused and arrested, knowing I could establish an alibi, in order to lead them away from there and gain time, at least, to give Mr. Wynn an opportunity of hiding the other diamonds, if they were there. He understood what I was trying to do and fell in with the plan. He knew that I knew the diamonds were made. Mr. Burns doesn't know. No one knows but you and me and Mr. Wynn and perhaps the girl. But don't you see, if you don't accept the proposition he made, the diamond market of the world is ruined. You are ruined. But how do you know they are made? insisted Mr. Latham doggedly. You've never seen them made, have you? Latham. Mine got, Latham. How do you know when you have a boil on the back of your neck? You can't see it, Mr. Schultz turned to Mr. Zenke. The three of us will go and see Mr. Wynn. It is a miracle. It is, and it don't do any good to say it ain't. CHAPTER XII A cube of solid polished steel, some twenty feet square, set on a spreading base of concrete, and divided perpendicularly down the middle into titanic halves. Those being snugly fit one to the other by a series of triangular corrugations, a variation of the familiar tongue and groove. Interlacing the ponderous mass, from corner to corner, were huge steel bolts, and the hulking heads of more bolts, some forty on each of the four sides, showed that the hole might be split into halves at will, and readily made hole again, one enormous side sliding back and forth on a short track. In the two undivided faces of the cube, relatively squaring the center, were four borings, somewhat smaller in diameter than an ordinary pencil, and extending through, and directly in the center was focused a network of insulated wires which dropped down out of the gloom overhead. In the other two sides of the great cube, just where the dividing lines of the halves came, were the funnel-like mouths of a two-inch boring, this too extended straight through. Directly opposite each of the two mouths, a dozen feet away, was mounted a peculiarly heavy gun of the naval type. In a general sort of way these were not unlike twelve-inch ordnance, but the breach was much larger in proportion, the barrel longer, and the bore only two instead of twelve inches. The mountings were high, and the adjustment so delicate, that looking into the open breach of one gun, the bore through the twenty-foot cube, and through the barrel of the gun on the other side, seemed to be continuous. This is the diamond-making machine gentleman, said Mr. Wynn, and he indicated to Mr. Latham, Mr. Schultz, and Mr. Zenke, the cube and the two guns. It is perfectly simple in construction, has enormous powers of resistance, as you may guess, and is as delicately fitted as a watch, being regulated by electric power. This cube is the solution of the high-pressure, high-temperature problem, which was only one of the many seemingly insupperable obstacles to be overcome. When the bolts are withdrawn, one-half slides back. When the bolts are in position, it is as solid as if it were one piece, and perfectly able to withstand a force greater than the ingenuity of man has ever before been able to contrive. This force is a combination of a heat one-half that of the sun on its surface, and a head-on impact of two one-hundred-pound projectiles fired less than forty feet apart, with an enormous charge of cordite, and possessing an initial velocity greater than was ever recorded in gunnery. This vast force centers in the sort of furnace in the middle of the cube. The furnace is round, about three feet long, and three feet in diameter, built of half a dozen fire-resisting substances and layers, perforated for electric wires, with an opening through it lengthwise of the exact size and borings in the gun and in the cube. It fits snugly into a receptacle cut out for it in the center of the cube, and is intended to protect the steel of the cube proper from the intense heat. This heat reaches the furnace by electric wires which enter the cube from the sides, as you see, being brought here by a conduit along the river bed from a large power plant five miles away. Twenty-eight large wires are necessary to bring it. I own the power plant, ostensibly for the operation of a small sugary finery. I may add that the furnace is a variation of the principle employed by Mr. Moisson in Paris, he turned to Mr. Zenki. You may remember having heard me mention him? I remember the expert acquiesced grimly. Now, pure carbon is vaporized, as you perhaps know, at a fraction less than five thousand degrees Fahrenheit, Mr. Wynn continued. A carbon not merely chemically pure, but absolutely pure, in highly compressed discs, is packed in the furnace. The furnace placed within the cube, the ends of the two-inch opening in the furnace being blocked to prevent expansion, the cube is closed, the bolts fastened, and heat applied for several minutes. A heat, gentlemen, of five thousand two hundred and eighty degrees Fahrenheit. The heat of the sun is only about ten thousand degrees. And then the pressure of about seven thousand tons to the square inch is added by means of the two guns. In other words, gentlemen, pure carbon, vaporized, is caught between two projectiles which enter the cube simultaneously from opposite sides, being fired by electricity. The impact is so terrific, that what had been two feet of compressed carbon is instantly condensed into an irregular disc, one inch or an inch and a half thick. And that disc, gentlemen, is a diamond. The violence of the operation, coupled with the intense heat, fuses everything. This projectiles electric wires, fire-brick, even asbestos, into a single mass. The cube is opened, and this mass, white-hot, is dropped into cold water. This increases the pressure until the mass is cool. Then it is broken away, and in the center is a diamond, and as big as a biscuit, gentlemen. More small bores lead from the two-inch bore through the cube and permit the escape of air as the projectiles enter. There is no rebound because the elastic quality of the carbon is crushed out of existence, driven, I might say, into the diamond itself. Of course the furnace, the two projectiles, and the connecting electric wires are all destroyed at each charge, which brings the total cost of the operation to a little more than eight hundred dollars, including nearly three tons of brown sugar. The diamond resulting is worth at least a million when broken up for cutting, sometimes even two millions. That is all, I think. There was a long, odd silence. Mr. Latham, leading against the giant cube, stared thoughtfully at his toes. Mr. Schultz was peering curiously about him, fence off into the gloom. Mr. Zenke still had a question. I understand that all the diamonds were made in that disk-like shape, he remarked at last. Then the uncut stones that were stolen were... They were natural stones, interrupted Mr. Wynn, imported for purposes of study and experiment. I told Chief Arkwright the truth, but not all of it. In the last twenty years Mr. Kellner had destroyed some twenty thousand dollars worth of diamonds in this way. I may add that while Mr. Kellner had succeeded in making diamonds of large size, he had never made a perfect one until eight years ago. But meanwhile the expenses of the work, as you will understand, were enormous. So during the past eight years about a million dollars worth of diamonds have been sold, one or two at a time, to meet this expense. He paused a moment, then resumed musingly. All this, you understand, is not the work of a day Mr. Kellner was nearly eighty-one years old, and it was fifty-eight years ago that he began work here. The cubes there were made and placed in position thirty years ago. The guns have been there for twenty-eight years. So long, in fact, that recollection of them has passed from the minds of men who made them, and until four years ago he was assisted by his son, Mr. Kellner's father, and brother. There was some explosion in this chamber where we stand which killed them both, and since then he has worked alone. His son, Miss Kellner's father, was the inventor of the machine which has enabled us to cut all the stones I showed you. I mailed the application for patent on this machine to Washington three days ago. It is as intricate as a lino-type, and as delicate as a chronometer, but it does the work of fifty expert hand-cutters. Until patent papers are granted I must ask that I be allowed to protect that. Mr. Latham turned upon him quickly. But you've explained all this to us fully, he exclaimed sharply, indicating the cube and the guns. We could duplicate that if we liked. Yes, you could, Mr. Latham, replied Mr. Wynn slowly, but you can't duplicate the brain that isolated absolutely pure carbon from the charred residue of brown sugar. That brain was Mr. Kellner's, the secret died with him. Even there was a long silence broken at last by Mr. Schultz. That means no more diamonds can be made until someone else can make the pure carbon. Yeah, and that brings us down to the question, how many diamonds are made already. The diamonds I showed you, gentlemen, were all that have been cut thus far, replied Mr. Wynn. Less than twenty of the discs were used in making them. There are now some five hundred more of these discs in existence, roughly a billion dollars worth. So you see, I am prepared to hold you to my proposition that you buy one hundred million dollars worth of them at one half the carat price you now pay in the open market. Mr. Latham passed one hand across a brow, bedewed with perspiration, and stared helplessly at the German. The work of cutting could go on steadily here under the direction of Mr. Zenke, Mr. Wynn resumed after a moment. The secrecy of this place has not been violated for forty years. We are now one hundred and seventy feet below ground level in a gallery of the abandoned coal mine which gave Coaldale its name reached underground from the cellar in the cottage. Walls and walls of the entire place are short up to ensure safety, and heavy felts make this chamber soundproof, smothering even the detonation of the guns. Mr. Zenke is the man to do the work. Mr. Kellner, for ten years, held him to be the first expert in the world, and it would be carrying out his wishes if Mr. Zenke would agree. If he does not, I shall undertake it and flood the market. His voice hardened a little, and, gentlemen, call off your detectives. The secret is now more yours than mine. It destroys you if it becomes known, not me. The New York police have turned this end of the investigation over to the local police, and they are fools. All the forms have been complied with, so this place is safe. Now call off your men. When the day the last diamond is delivered to you and the payment of one hundred million dollars is completed, everything here will be destroyed. That's all. One hundred million dollars, repeated Mr. Latham. Even if we accept the proposition, Schultz, how can we raise that enormous sum within a year and preserve the secret? It isn't a question of can, Latham. It's a question of must, was the reply. He thoughtfully regarded Mr. Wynn. It's only Sunday night, and we have until Thursday to answer, remember? He turned to Mr. Latham with a recurrence of whimsical philosophy. Think of it, Latham, the alchemists tried for three thousand years to make a piece of gold so big as a needle-point, and didn't, and he made diamonds as big as your fist with a little cordite and some electricity. Mind got man, think of it. The jewelers accepted Mr. Wynn's proposition. Mr. Wynn bowed his thanks and handed Mr. Zenke a scientific periodical opened at a page which bore a headline, Newly Discovered, Property of Radium. Diamonds, rubies, emeralds and sapphires changed in color by exposure of one month to radium. For the fourth time Red Haney underwent the third degree. It culminated in a full confession of the murder of Mr. Kellner. There had been no accomplice. Yes, see, chief, he explained apologetically, you and that other guy, meaning Mr. Burns, was so dead set on saying there was somebody else in it and was so ready with your descriptions that it looked good to me, and I said, sure, but I done it. End of Chapter 17 End of the Diamond Master by Jacques Futrell Read for You by Dawn Larson in Minnesota