Chapter 3

Wardour Place, the home of Miss Constance Wardour, and the scene of the
"_great_ Diamond robbery," lies a little east from the town, away from
the clamor of its mills, and the contamination of its _canaille_.

It is a beautiful old place, built upon a slight elevation, surrounded
by stately old trees, with a wide sweep of well-kept lawn, bordered with
rose thickets, and dotted here and there with great clumps of tall
syringas, white lilacs, acacias, and a variety of ornamental trees and
flowering shrubs.

The mansion stands some distance from the road, and is reached by a
broad, sweeping drive and two footpaths that approach from opposite
directions.

In the rear are orchard and gardens, and beyond these a grassy slope
that curves down to meet the river, that is ever hurrying townward to
seize the great mill wheels and set them sweeping round and round.

The mansion itself is a large, roomy edifice, built by a master
architect. It at once impresses one with a sense of its true purpose: a
home, stately, but not stiff, abounding in comfort and aristocratic
ease; a place of serene repose and inborn refinement. Such, Wardour
Place was intended to be; such, it has been and is.

Miss Constance Wardour, mistress of the domain and last of the race, is
alone in her own favorite morning room. It is two hours since the
discovery of the robbery, and during those two hours confusion has
reigned supreme. Everybody, except Miss Wardour, has seemingly run wild.
But Miss Wardour has kept her head, and has prevented the servants from
giving the alarm upon the highway, and thus filling her house with a
promiscuous mob. She has compelled them to comport themselves like
rational beings; has ordered the library and dressing room to be closed,
and left untouched until the proper officer shall have made proper
investigations; and then she has ordered her maid to serve her with a
cup of strong coffee in the morning room; and, considering the
glittering wealth she has just been bereaved of, Miss Wardour looks very
calm and unruffled, and sips her coffee with a relish.

Presently the door opens and a lady enters: a very fat lady, with florid
complexion, restless, inquisitive, but good-humored gray eyes, and
plenty of dark crinkly hair, combed low about her ears.

This is Mrs. Honor Aliston, a distant relative of Miss Wardour's, who
has found a most delightful home with that young lady, ever since the
death of Grandmamma Wardour, for Constance Wardour has been an orphan
since her childhood.

Mrs. Aliston comes forward, rather rolls forward, and sinking, with a
grunt of satisfaction, into the largest chair at hand, fixes two gray
eyes upon the heiress, which that young lady, perceiving, says: "Well?"

"Don't say 'well' to me. I've just come down from the mansard," gasped
the widow Aliston.

"From the _mansard_?"

"Yes," fanning herself briskly with the pages of an uncut magazine.

Constance laughs musically. "Why, Aunt Honor, you didn't expect to see
the robbers running across the country, did you?"

"Not I," disdainfully. "I wanted to see how long it took the news to get
to--Mapleton."

"Oh!" indifferently.

"And--they're coming."

"So soon!"

"So soon! and the sheriff, or constable, or coroner,--_who_ is it that
make these investigations? He's coming, at any rate, whoever he is, with
a mob at his heels. Who did you send for, Con?"

"For Mr. O'Meara, of course, and--I would like to see Ray Vandyck."

"What for?"

Constance laughed. "Oh, I am fond of Ray, you know, and I think he would
offer some unique suggestions; besides--dear me, auntie!" breaking off
suddenly, "I wish this farce was at an end."

Mrs. Aliston's gray eyes twinkled. "Why, child, you may be thankful it's
no worse. Suppose--"

"Hush, Aunt Honor. 'Walls have ears,' you know. I have half a mind to
take Mr. Lamotte into my--"

"Constance Wardour, _what_ are you thinking about? 'Take Mr. Lamotte!'
that means Frank Lamotte and Madame Lamotte, and _that_ means all the
rest."

"I said '_half_ a mind,' auntie. I don't think the notion will ever get
its growth. I think we will see the end of this affair through our own
spectacles; but--hear that noise! Are they bringing a legion of people?
Auntie, I don't believe you have had a cup of coffee yet."

"Don't you? Well, I _have_, my child. Let's go out and meet those
people. They will bring all the dirt that lay loose on the highway on
the soles of their boots. Con," turning suddenly, "you don't look solemn
enough."

Without heeding this last remark, Constance Wardour throws open the
door, and passes out and down the hall to meet the party just entering.

There is Mr. Soames, the mayor of W----, very bustling and important;
Corliss, the constable, exceedingly shrewd in his own opinion, and
looking on this occasion as wise as an owl; Thomas Craig, Esq.,
sub-editor of the _Argus_; and some lesser lights, who, on one pretext
and another, hope to gain admittance and sate their curiosity.

"Really, Miss Wardour," begins the bustling mayor, "really, this is a
sad affair! miserable affair! Must have given you a terrible fright, and
then the loss!--but we will find them. Of course your jewels, such
valuables, can't be kept hid from sharp detectives--a--Corliss, what had
we better do first?" for Mayor Soames, like many another mayor, is
about as capable of fulfilling his duties as an average ten-year-old.

Corliss, however, comes gallantly to the rescue. He is equal to any
emergency; there is nothing, if you take his word as proof, that Corliss
is _not_ equal to.

"First," says Corliss, "I think we had better--ahem--investigate."

"To be sure--investigate, of course--Miss Wardour, you have--"

"Closed up the disturbed rooms," interrupts Constance, promptly. "Yes,
sir; I fear you will find little there to assist you. Nelly, throw open
the library."

The servant, thus commanded, took from her mistress' hand a key,
unlocked the library door and threw it open; and then the farce began.

If there is anything in all our dispensations of law and order that is
calculated to strike astonishment to the heart and mind of a foreigner,
it is our off-hand way of conducting a police investigation. In other
countries, to be a magistrate, a notary, means to be in some degree
qualified for the position; to be a constable, means to possess a
moderate allowance of mother wit, and a small measure of "muscular
christianity;" and to discover a crime, means to follow it up with a
thorough and systematic investigation. Such is not our mode. With us, to
hold office, means to get a salary; and to conduct an investigation,
means to maunder through some sort of farce, which gives the criminal
time to make good his escape, and to permit the newspapers to seize upon
and publish every item, to detail every clue, as fast as discovered; all
this being in favor of the law-breakers, and detrimental to the
conscientious officers of justice.

In France, they complain of too much red tape in the police department.
Let them supply us out of their superabundance; we have too little.

While Corliss "investigates," the mayor delivers an impromptu oration;
and Mr. Craig, of the _Argus_, takes notes, according to his own light.

Out of his inner consciousness, the _Argus_ man evokes an idea, which
Corliss is not slow to adopt and use as his own.

"I suppose they will have a detective down as soon as possible," says
Mr. Craig, as Corliss lays one ruthless hand on an overturned chair. "If
I were you, Corliss, I would leave everything exactly as I find it, for
the benefit of whoever works up the case."

Corliss slowly lowers the chair to its former position, and turns upon
Craig a look of offended dignity.

"Why, what did you suppose I intended to do?"

"Umph!" retorted Craig, with a disrespectful sniff, "I rather thought
you intended to sit down in that chair."

Turning his back upon the flippant young man, so sadly lacking in
respect for the "powers that be," Corliss pursues his investigations. He
has read, in many novels and sensational newspapers, vivid descriptions
of similar examinations, and he goes to work after the most approved
fashion. He scrutinizes the window, the open blind, the cut pane, the
hangings within and the down-trodden shrubbery without; he darts out,
and dives in; he peers under every thing, over every thing, into every
thing; he inspects, over and again, the mutilated writing case, or safe,
from which the treasure was actually taken; and raps and sounds it as if
in search of some private receptacle that the thieves had overlooked, or
Miss Wardour never found out. He goes down flat upon his stomach, and
scrutinizes Miss Wardour's scrupulously swept carpets, in search of a
footprint in the dust that is not there.

While he performs these feats, the mayor follows him about solemnly, and
full of wondering admiration; and the man of the _Argus_ scribbles, and
chuckles and grins maliciously.

Meantime, there have been other arrivals at Wardour Place; and
Constance, leaving the inspectors to their own devices, is standing in
her drawing-room, talking earnestly with a broad-shouldered, handsome
man, who looks much surprised at the tale she is telling.

"How unfortunate, and how fortunate," he says, depositing his hat upon
the table beside him. "I came here to speak of our river excursion, and
lo, I am in the midst of a sensation."

Constance laughed.

"And surrounded by forlorn females," she supplemented. "Aunt Honor won't
recover from the fright in a week, although she looks so fierce at
present."

Mrs. Aliston, who is seated at the farthest window, half buried by the
lace draperies, and looking steadfastly down the road, pops out her head
to retort:

"It's time to look fierce; don't I know that those Vandals in the next
room will make as big a muddle as if they were in sympathy with the
burglars?"

Constance laughed easily.

"They can't do much harm, auntie; the burglars did not leave a trace; I
am positive of that." Then turning to the new comer, "I am very glad you
came just now, Doctor Heath; you may help me with your advice. I have
sent for my lawyer, Mr. O'Meara; but, for some reason he does not come."

"Mr. O'Meara left for the city last night."

"Oh! I am sorry for that; he would be sure to know how to proceed, and
who to employ. Doctor Heath you are of course acquainted in the city;
tell me of a good man, a _really_ good one. I intend to spare no expense
in hunting these robbers."

"And these diamonds," from behind the curtain.

"Aunt Honor, you are like the ghost in the pantomime; come out and be
one of us."

"I won't."

"Very well, then; but seriously, Doctor Heath, if I can't secure but the
one, let it be the robbers. Do you know I have a fancy that if we caught
them or him, it would put an end to some of our mysteries. You have not
been among us very long; but, don't you think we have more than our
average of crime?"

"I had not observed, Miss Wardour."

"Less than a year ago, Brant, the jeweler, was a heavy loser. Within the
year, three banks in this vicinity have been robbed. Last summer, Mark
Olson, a farmer, drew from the bank several thousand dollars, intending
to purchase land. Half way between W---- and his home he was waylaid,
knocked from his horse, robbed, and left in the road senseless. I could
name to you no less than seven private residences that have been
burglarized within the past ten months, and if I related to you the
circumstances attending each robbery, you would be satisfied, as I am,
that, _in every case_, the robbers knew their ground, and did not work
at random."

"And you have noted each of these events so accurately, Miss Wardour,
and yet, were not--warned."

"I have noted all these events, Doctor Heath, and yet--have been
robbed."

Doctor Heath bends his eyes upon the floor, and remains silent; there is
no possibility of reading his thoughts in his face. It is a fine face,
however, and Miss Wardour must be pardoned if she takes advantage of
this temporary abstraction, to gaze full at him for one moment. The
close cropped thick brown hair displays a well shaped head, the forehead
is broad and full, the eyes large, dark gray, and capable of almost any
expression; usually they look out from his handsome face with a half
contemptuous indifference to all things, that leads one to fancy those
eyes may have a history; this may or may not be the case. Doctor Heath
came to W---- less than a year ago, armed with a personal certificate of
merit from the first of the great New York physicians, bought out the
practice of a broken down old resident doctor, fitted up a handsome
office, and settled down to his business. He hired a small cottage as a
place of residence, installed a deaf old woman as housekeeper and maid
of all work, and lived a quiet bachelor life, riding a good horse,
smoking a good cigar, and growing in favor with polite W---- society.

And this is absolutely all that W---- can tell concerning Dr. Clifford
Heath. What was his past, whence he came, what the length of his purse
or pedigree, no one knows. People have tried to find out something--of
course--but Doctor Heath has a wonderful way of setting aside the hints
of the curious, and he ignores the right of W---- to know his private
history, with a cool impertinence that is as exasperating as it is
effectual.

As he thinks, Miss Wardour watches; but no change comes over the calm,
smooth shaven face, every feature expresses firmness and strength, and
nothing more.

"And so you want an able officer to take this business in hand, Miss
Wardour," says Clifford Heath, at length. "If it is as you suspect, it
will need a shrewd man, and you have no clue, save those that are now
being inspected," with a light laugh, "by our worthy constable and his
supporters."

Constance Wardour arose and came close to the table, speaking in a low
voice.

"Yes, Doctor Heath, I will trust _you_, although I intended saying
nothing of this until an officer arrived. I have a clue, slight,
although it may be, it is--"

She drew from her pocket a small white roll, and unfolding it, held up
for his inspection _half_ of a fine cambric handkerchief, and a tiny
stoppered vial of finest cut glass.

Doctor Heath glanced at the vial and uttered one word.

"Chloroform."

"Chloroform," repeated Miss Wardour; "when I was awakened, by the
knocking at my door, I found this," shaking the fragment of cambric,
"lying lightly across my face; and the vial, on the little night stand
beside my bed. Aunt Honor was rapping for admittance, and when she had
made me comprehend the situation, we decided that it was best to say
nothing of this. What seems most strange is, that it was administered
with so much care; I am affected by the smallest quantity of the drug,
and an ordinary dose would have put me under medical treatment. I could
not have left my bed for a week, had they given me as much as would
serve only to stupify Aunt Honor there."

"No," interrupted Mrs. Aliston, once more half emerging from her window.
"It would have been worse than that; I think an overdose of chloroform
would kill Constance. It seems as if they knew just how much to give."

Was it fancy, or did a troubled look rest for a moment in the eyes of
Doctor Heath, and on his countenance a shade of pallor?

"This is, to my mind, the most serious aspect of the affair," he said
gravely. "Mrs. Aliston is right; an overdose of that drug would be fatal
to you. Your life has been jeopardized. I agree with Mrs. Aliston, your
investigation _is_ in the hands of bunglers; let us hunt these fellows
down."

"I will see that an officer is telegraphed for at once; but--shall I
send to the regular bureau, or--how?"

"There is one man in the city, if he _is_ in the city now, who is
qualified for the position he holds. He has withdrawn himself from the
regular force, and acts solely on his own responsibility. He is much
sought after, and possesses wonderful abilities; some of his exploits
have been truly astounding."

"And this man is--"

"Mr. Lamotte; Mr. Francis Lamotte," announced a servant.

"Show them in," said Constance, at the same time gathering up the piece
of cambric and the little vial and putting them in her pocket.

Doctor Heath arose, and taking up his hat, murmured an apology.

"I have a patient at this hour, Miss Wardour, and will call again during
the day. You will not stand in need of my counsel now," smilingly. "Mr.
Lamotte can give you all needful advice, and he is sure to be right,"
and Doctor Heath bowed himself out.

"The Wardour diamonds," he muttered, as he mounted his horse. "And to
think that they almost cost her her life; a skilled hand was it? Well,
when the detective comes, I, too, may have a clue for him."