The Orange-Yellow DiamondFletcher, J. S. (Joseph Smith)
General
The Orange-Yellow Diamond
Fletcher, J. S. (Joseph Smith)
Detective and mystery stories; Diamonds -- Fiction; London (England) -- Fiction
"They can come in--and go out--whenever they please," answered the
elder man. "I tell you we've nothing to do with them--except as their
landlords."
"Where do you live--yourselves?" asked the Inspector. "On these
premises?"
"No, we don't," replied the younger brother, who, of the two, had
showed the keenest, if most silent, resentment at the police
proceedings. "We live--elsewhere. This establishment is opened at eight
in the morning, and closed at seven in the evening. We're never here
after seven--either of us."
"So that you never see anything of these foreigners at night-time?"
asked the Inspector. "Don't know what they do, I suppose?"
"We never see anything of 'em at any time," said the elder brother. "As
you see, this passage and staircase is outside the shop. We know
nothing whatever about them beyond what I've told you."
"Well--take us up, and we'll see what we can find out," commanded the
Inspector. "We're going to examine those rooms, Mr. Pilmansey, so we'll
get it done at once."
The intervening rooms between the lower and the top floors of the old
house appeared to be given up to stores--the open doors revealed casks,
cases, barrels, piles of biscuit and confectionery boxes--nothing to
conceal there, decided the lynx-eyed men who trooped up the dingy
stairs after the grumbling proprietors. But the door on the top floor
was closed--and when Ayscough turned its handle he found it to be
locked from within.
"They've keys of their own for that, too," remarked the younger
Pilmansey. "I don't see how you're going to get in, if there's nobody
inside."
"We're going in there whether there's anybody or not," said the
Inspector. "Knock, Ayscough!--knock loudly!"
The group of men gathered behind the leaders, and filling the whole of
the lobby outside the closed door, waited, expectant and excited, in
the silence which followed on Ayscough's loud beating on the upper
panel. A couple of minutes went by: the detective knocked again, more
insistently. And suddenly, and silently, the door was opened--first, an
inch or two, then a little wider, and as Ayscough slipped a stoutly
booted foot inside the crack a yellow face, lighted by a pair of
narrow-slitted dark eyes, looked out--and immediately vanished.
"In with you!" said the Inspector. "Careful, now!"
Ayscough pushed the door open and walked in, the rest crowding on his
heels. And Purdie, who was one of the foremost to enter, was
immediately cognizant of two distinct odours--one, the scent of
fragrant tea, the other of a certain heavy, narcotic something which
presently overpowered the fragrance of the tea and left an acid and
bitter taste.
"Opium," he whispered to Lauriston, who was close at his elbow. "Opium!
Smell it?"
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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