better,” suggested Hardwick, “if Miss Baxter would repeat the conversation as she heard it.”
“I don’t see the use of that,” said Mr. Hempstead. “There is only one point at issue. Did Mr. Alder warn Mr. Hardwick that by delay he would lose the publication of this report?”
“Hardly that,” answered the girl. “As I remember it, he said, ‘Isn’t there a danger that some other paper may get this?’ Mr. Hardwick replied, ‘I don’t think so. Not for three days, at least’; and then Mr. Alder said, ‘Very good,’ or ‘Very well,’ or something like that.”
“That quite tallies with my own remembrance,” assented Hardwick. “I admit I am to blame, but I decidedly say that I was not definitely warned by Mr. Alder that the matter would be lost to us.”
“I told you it would be lost if you delayed,” cried Alder, with the emphasis of an angry man, “and it has been lost. I have been on the track of this for two weeks, and it is very galling to have missed it at the last moment through no fault of my own.”
“Still,” said Mr. Hempstead coldly, “your version of the conversation does not quite agree with what Miss Baxter says.”
“Oh, well,” said Alder, “I never pretended to give the exact words. I warned him, and he did not heed the warning.”
“You admit, then, that Miss Baxter’s remembrance of the conversation is correct?”
“It is practically correct. I do not ‘stickle’ about words.”
“But you did stickle about words an hour ago,” said Mr. Hempstead, with some severity. “There is a difference in positively stating that the item would be lost and in merely suggesting that it might be lost.”
“Oh, have it as you wish,” said Alder truculently. “It doesn’t matter in the least to me. It is very provoking to work hard for two weeks, and then have everything nullified by a foolish decision from the editor. However, as I have said, it doesn’t matter to me. I have taken service on the Daily Trumpet, and you may consider my place on the Bugle vacant”—saying which, the irate Mr. Alder put his hat on his head and left the room.
Mr. Hempstead seemed distressed by the discussion, but, for the first time, Mr. Hardwick smiled grimly.
“I always insist on accuracy,” he said, “and lack of it is one of Alder’s failings.”
“Nevertheless, Mr. Hardwick, you have lost one of your best men. How are you going to replace him?” inquired the proprietor anxiously.
“There is little difficulty in replacing even the best man on any staff in London,” replied Hardwick, with a glance at Miss Baxter. “As this young lady seems to keep her wits about her when the welfare of her paper is concerned, I shall, if you have no objection, fill Henry Alder’s place with Miss Baxter?”
Mr. Hempstead arched his eyebrows a trifle, and looked at the girl in some doubt.
“I thought you didn’t believe in women journalists, Mr. Hardwick,” he murmured at last.
“I didn’t up till to-day, but since the evening papers came out I have had reason to change my mind. I should much rather have Miss Baxter for me than against me.”
“Do you think you can fill the position, Miss Baxter?” asked the proprietor, doubtingly.
“Oh, I, am sure of it,” answered the girl. “I have long wanted a place on a well-edited paper like the Bugle.” Again Mr. Hardwick smiled grimly. The proprietor turned to him, and said, “I don’t quite see, Mr. Hardwick, what a lady can do on this paper outside of the regular departments.”
“I hardly think there will be any trouble about that, Mr. Hempstead. For example, who could be better equipped to attempt the solution of that knotty question about the Princess von Steinheimer’s diamonds?”
“By Jove!” cried Hempstead, his eyes glittering with excitement. “That is an inspiration. I imagine that if anyone can unravel the mystery, it is Miss Baxter.”
CHAPTER IV. JENNIE LEARNS ABOUT THE DIAMONDS OF THE PRINCESS
“What about the diamonds of the Princess?” asked Miss Baxter, her curiosity piqued by the remark of the editor.
“That is rather a long story,” replied Mr. Hardwick, “and before I begin it, I would like to ask you one or two questions. Can you manipulate a typewriter?”
“That depends on what make it is. The ordinary typewriter I understand very thoroughly.”
“Good. Have you any knowledge of shorthand?”
“A workable knowledge; I can write about one hundred words a minute.”
“Admirable! admirable! Your coming to this office was indeed an inspiration, as Mr. Hempstead remarked. You are just the person I have been looking for.”
“You didn’t seem to think so yesterday, Mr. Hardwick,” said the girl with a sly glance at him.
“Well, many things have happened since yesterday. We are now dealing with to-day, and with the Princess von Steinheimer.”
“She is a German princess, of course?”
“An Austrian princess, but an American woman. She was a Miss Briggs of Chicago; a daughter of Briggs, the railway millionaire, worth somewhere between twenty and twenty-five millions—dollars, of course. A year or two ago she married Prince Konrad von Steinheimer; you may remember having read about it in the papers?”
“Oh, yes; the usual international match—the girl after the title, he after the money.”
“I suppose so; but be that as it may, she is the only daughter of old Briggs, and had spent a good deal of her time in Europe, but she spent more than time; she spent the old man’s money as well, so during her stay in Europe she accumulated a vast stock of diamonds, some of them very notable stones. I don’t know what the whole collection is worth, some say a million dollars, while others say double that amount. However that may be, Miss Briggs became the Princess von Steinheimer, and brought to Austria with her a million dollars in gold and the diamonds, which her father gave as dowry; but, of course, being an only child, she will come in for the rest of his money when the railway magnate dies.”
“Is he likely to die soon? I don’t suppose the Prince gave himself away for a mere million.”
“Oh, you forget the diamonds. As to the likelihood of old Briggs’s death, it didn’t strike me as imminent when I had a conversation with him yesterday.”
“Yesterday? Is he here in London, then?”
“Yes; he has come over to disentangle the mystery about the diamonds.”
“And what is the mystery? You take a dreadful long time to tell a story, Mr. Hardwick.”
“The story is important, and it must be told in detail, otherwise you may go on a long journey for nothing. Are you taking down what I say in shorthand? That is right, and if you are wise you will not transcribe your notes so that anyone can read them; they are safer in that form. The von Steinheimer family have two residences, a house in Vienna and an ancient castle in the Tyrol, situated on the heights above Meran, a most picturesque place, I understand; but very shortly you will know more about
