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Diamond Cross Mystery

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<h2 id="id00997" style="margin-top: 4em">CHAPTER IX</h2> <h5 id="id00998">INDICTED</h5> "Well, Spotty, I've got to hand it to you! Certainly you did put one over on me!" "Not intentional, Colonel. So help me—not intentional!" "Well, maybe not, but I've got to hand it to you. If I didn't know that slip of mine in front of the truck was pure accident, I'd say you staged it just to make a good get-away." "I couldn't do that, Colonel." "I don't know, Spotty. You're a clever kid." "But I couldn't do that. I was on the level in saving you. You've got to give me credit for that," pleaded the gunman. "I know you were, Spotty. And that's why I gave you a chance to get away. But I never thought it was for a job like this—murder." "And it wasn't, Colonel—it wasn't! So help me, I never laid eyes on the old lady—dead or alive! Murder? I should say not!" "Then how did you get that diamond cross? Answer me!" Colonel Ashley, with a dramatic gesture, pointed to the glittering ornament that lay on the table between him and the New York crook. The stones glittered in the electric lights of police headquarters, for it was there, in the distant city, that this talk took place. Confirming over the long distance telephone the news given in his agent's telegram, Colonel Ashley, without having revealed to Grafton what new development had occurred, had made a quick trip to Lango, where Spotty, in response to a quiet but general alarm sent out, had been arrested. A diamond cross had been found in his possession, and was bent and flattened—crushed by some heavy foot—though all the stones were intact. Spotty admitted that the ornament might be the very one wanted, but he absolutely refused to tell how he had come by it. He was most emphatic, however, in denying that he had taken it from Mrs. Darcy, or that he had even seen her or been to her store. "I'm a bad man, Colonel, you know that, and maybe if I was to go to the chair—or the rope, according, to where I was caught—I wouldn't be getting any more than was comin' to me. But, so help me, I never croaked that old lady!" "Then how did you get that cross?" "I won't tell you!" "I'll make you, Spotty!" and there was a dangerous glint in the eyes of the colonel. "You can't!" defied the crook. "There ain't a man livin' that can! Go on with your third degree if you want to!" he sneered. "But for every blow you strike—for every hour you keep me awake when I'm dead for sleep—you'll be sorry, Colonel! You'll be sorry when you think of what might have happened back there in Colchester!" "Spotty, you're right!" faltered the colonel. "I almost wish you hadn't saved me. I've got to do my duty! I've got to break you if need be, Spotty, to get at the truth. I want to know who killed Mrs. Darcy and where you got that cross! I want to know, and, by gad! I'm going to know!" "Not from me, Colonel! I never saw the old lady, dead or alive, and I never knew until just now when you told me, that she'd ever had this cross." "Who gave it to you?" "Colonel, did you ever know me to split on a pal unless he split first?" "No, Spotty. I never did." "Well, then, you stand a fine chance in getting me to do it now. Go to it if you like. I'm through spielin'!" and the crook turned away with an air of indifference. The colonel knew that Spotty never would tell, until he wanted to, but it did not deter him. He "went at" Spotty. What happened in the quiet room, near the police headquarter cells, need not form part of this record. Enough to say that when they let Spotty go staggering back to his dungeon, a wreck of a man physically and mentally for the time being, he had not told. And the glittering stones in the crushed cross were not more silent than he in his misery—deserved perhaps, but none the less misery. And when the colonel, rather upset himself by what he had been forced to go through, started back for Colchester, he took with him the memory of Spotty's rather sneering face and the echo of his words: "Well, Colonel, I didn't tell!" And he had not. The diamond cross still kept its mystery. Colonel Ashley fumed, fretted, and fidgeted until he was on the verge of a sleepless night on his way back in the train. Then he bethought himself of his little green book, and he read: "You are to know, then, that there is a night as well as a day fishing for a trout, and that in the night the best trout come out of their holes." "Ah, ha," mused the colonel. "I think I shall have to do a little night fishing." So saying, having read a little farther in his Izaak Walton, he went peacefully to his berth and awoke calmer and himself again. But if the colonel felt refreshed on reaching Colchester, it was not because he felt that he was in a fair way to solve the problem—or, rather, the many problems connected with the Darcy murder. "It's worse tangled than before," mused the old detective. "I wonder if Grafton— No, it couldn't be. But I must have a talk with his friend Cynthia. Ticklish business when a man goes out walking with a married woman and steps on her cross. There are complications and complications. I wonder when I'll begin to unravel some of them?" For reasons of his own, the colonel said nothing to the police or county authorities in Colchester about the arrest of Spotty, nor did he mention that, nor the finding of the diamond cross, to Darcy or Grafton. He wanted to be sure of his ground before he told of this end of the affair. "I wish I knew what to make of Grafton," mused the colonel, "His share in it—if share he had—is getting more complicated. Can he and Spotty be up to some trick between them and did the gunman get away with the cross? It wouldn't be the first time Spotty had hired out his services to a man who wanted something desperate done! Now in this case, Grafton may have wanted something from Mrs. Darcy she wasn't willing to do. In that case—" The colonel shook his head. "I guess," he half-whispered, "that Shag was right. This is going to be a mighty complicated case. Talk about a diamond cross, there may be a double-cross in it on the part of Grafton. I must watch you a bit closer, my friend." The colonel considered that he was working to clear Darcy, and he wanted to do it in his own way. He was willing—perforce—that, for the time, the young man be considered guilty. He could not help the young man by making these few disclosures now. The prisoner would not be released because Spotty or any one else was suspected, nor would he be admitted to bail. In any case he must remain in jail. The Grand Jury was setting considering the evidence against the prisoner, and against others accused of various crimes. "And I suppose they'll indite Darcy," mused the colonel. "It means only another step, however, a step I have already counted on. It won't help or hinder the solving of the mystery. Hang Spotty, anyhow! Why couldn't he keep out of this? He surely has tangled it worse than ever. I wonder if he's telling the truth when he says he didn't go near the place? It was Spotty, or one of his kind, who got in and out without leaving a trace. It took Spotty's skill. But—I don't know. I must have another look around the jewelry store." A day or so after his return from the West, the colonel made a close examination of the shop. Just what he was looking for he hardly knew, but he was quite surprised when he discovered, connected with the main lighting wires of the store, other wires which ran to various places in the shelves and the show windows, where many of the clocks stood. "I wonder if that's a new kind of burglar alarm," thought the colonel. "If it is, it's the first time I've ever seen one hooked up to the electric light circuit. A bad thing in case of a short circuit. A person might get a shock that would knock him down and—" Something seemed to give the colonel a new idea. He made a hurried examination of the wires and then left the store, to be seen a little later at the establishment of an electrician, where he stayed some time. It was late that afternoon, when the papers, in extra editions, announced the indictment of James Darcy for the murder of his cousin. When Colonel Ashley returned to his hotel from the electrician's, he found Amy Mason waiting for him. "Oh, Colonel! isn't this dreadful?" she exclaimed, holding out a paper. "It's so—so—" "Tut, tut! my dear young lady, this is nothing! It is only a little shoot on the main stem. Don't let it distress you. It was to be expected." "I know! But it sounds so dreadful! Before, he was only suspected, even though formally charged. Now it seems as if he were found guilty!" "Far from it. The only evidence against him, just as it has been all along, is circumstantial. They have yet to prove anything, and I don't believe they can. Cheer up! I'll get him off yet!" "Are you sure, Colonel?" and her eyes were bright with unshed tears. "Sure? Why, of course I am!" And yet the colonel had to force himself a bit to make that sound natural. Perhaps it was because he had said it so often and was tired. Or did it have anything to do with the strange wires that led to the work table of James Darcy? <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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