DAVID’S SON SOLOMON.

Mr David Moses, who is now dead, was a jeweller and pawnbroker in Wych Street. He kept a very good show of jewelry in the front window of his establishment, and was never known to complain as to trade being unsatisfactory in the line of watches and precious stones and electro-plate. But Mr Moses made much more money by his pawnbroking than by his jeweller’s shop, and still more by discounting bills at cent. per cent., than by either of the two businesses which he ostensibly followed. The bill-discounting, which was also accompanied by money-lending at stiff rates, was not done at the shop in Wych Street, but at an office in the neighbourhood of Lombard Street. The office was handsomely fitted up; the shop was rather second-hand in appearance, and filled with odds and ends which had never been redeemed from pawn. At the shop, Mr Moses rarely showed himself, for he had a valuable assistant in the shape of his deceased wife’s sister, Miss Rachel Levi, who managed the pawnbroking and jewelry business with a regard to the main point that would have done credit to Shylock. The aptitude of this elderly Jewess left Mr Moses plenty of time to attend to the office in the neighbourhood of Lombard Street. He was not Mr David Moses there; that cognomen was painted in faded gilt letters above the Wych Street shop; but the office bore the name of ‘Mr Alfred Morris,’ which title seemed more in accordance with the character of the clients who came thither to borrow on the strength of their aristocratic names or connections, or to transact business connected with what is technically termed a ‘bit of stiff.’ Anybody who was anybody could always get a ‘bit of stiff’ from Mr Alfred Morris, provided he had no objection to pay a handsome rate of interest, and allow a fair margin for commission and charges and other little incidental expenses. Many of Mr Alfred Morris’s clients knew his real name to be David Moses, and were aware of the Wych Street business, where, indeed, some of them had property lying in pledge. These, however, were old customers, and could be trusted; to all new ones and to the outside world, Moses was Mr Alfred Morris.

In appearance, the old man was eminently Hebraic. He had a hooked nose, and very curly white hair; he spoke with a nasal accent, and called middle-aged men ‘ma tear.’ As regards his business character, he was Shylockish. He wanted, and took good care to get, his pound of flesh, and an ounce or two over. He never blushed to lend you fifty pounds on a hundred pounds acceptance, or seemed to think it out of the way to deduct five pounds from the fifty for ‘present expenses.’ By his orders, the poor folk who came on Monday morning to put the Sunday wearing apparel into pawn till the following Saturday evening were screwed down to the fraction of a penny; while the timid vendor of second-hand jewelry or old gold was browbeaten to such an extent that he or she gradually came to the opinion that the goods were really worth no more than Miss Rachel Levi represented, and thankfully accepted the price which that estimable lady offered. It was Mr Moses’ idea of business to be hard and sharp and to look out for number one.

There was, however, in the heart of Moses one very soft spot. It may seem incredible that he who sucked the very lifeblood from young and foolish scions of noble houses, or made no difficulty in getting hold of the substance of widows and orphans, should have been capable of affection. But Moses was capable of a great deal of affection, and this soft spot was all affection. It is a pity that we should have to say the affection was lavished on a worthless object; for Mr Solomon Moses, the only son and child of the old money-lender, and whom the old man loved as well and as dotingly as his riches, was a thoroughly bad young scoundrel. When David Moses was sixty, his son Solomon was twenty-three, and schooled in vice and debauchery.

The senior Moses’ plans with regard to his boy were from the boy’s very birth of the high and mighty kind. He intended first of all that the little Solomon should be a ‘shentleman,’ and have nothing to do with the shop in Wych Street. He should, on attaining his majority, be provided with unlimited pocket-money and told to ‘go the pace.’ Perhaps, thought Mr David Moses, some of the young swells whom he was always having dealings with would take Solomon up and initiate him into the mysteries of society. When, therefore, Solomon came to his twenty-first birthday, Mr Moses took expensive chambers for him in the West, placed a handsome sum with a banker at his son’s credit, and told the young man that nothing would please him better than to know that his boy was living the life of a gentleman. You may be quite certain that Mr Solomon Moses was not slow to take advantage of his father’s kindness. His ideas of a gentlemanly life were somewhat hazy, but they were decided enough upon the subject of clothes of the fastest and loudest cut and style, of billiards and unlimited card-games, of gambling and prizefights, and of disreputable companions. He ‘went the pace’ splendidly; and Mr David Moses liked it, and thought his son a fine, lively young gentleman indeed.

When Solomon was twenty-three, he was as villainous a scamp as one could find in all London. The money he wasted would have supported a dozen ordinary families in comfort, yet he had twice persuaded his father to double his allowance. The old man was beginning to fear his son, and readily acceded to any request for money which Solomon made. Once or twice a shadow of suspicion had crossed his mind that Solomon was not the brilliant result he had hoped for. The younger Mr Moses, for instance, had not gained the entrée to society which it had been his father’s aim he should secure. He had not made the acquaintance of the aristocracy, nor did he seem likely to contract a brilliant marriage with a peer’s daughter; and the only comfort old David had was the thought that these things took time.

One hot day in the summer of 1883, Solomon called a hansom, and was driven to his father’s office near Lombard Street. He found ‘Mr Alfred Morris’ in and free, and forthwith made known his wishes, which ran in the direction of the sum of one thousand pounds. Old David stared.

‘But, ma tear poy, I haven’t so much moneys about me!’ he objected. ‘And pesides, ma tear, I gave you your money for the quarter on’y last week. What may you require the moneys for?’

‘Betting heavy, and lost,’ said young Solomon briefly.

‘Petting! O my poy, that’s pad—that’s pad! And lost too—that’s worse! I tolt you not to pet unless you was certain of winning, Solomon, ma tear. Oh, to think that you are making the peautiful moneys fly away like that!’ And then Mr David Moses plucked up spirit, and gave his worthy son a real good lecture on the evil of wasting money. Solomon listened impatiently, and again repeated his request for a thousand pounds. And he got it—as he knew he would. Then he went away and called another cab, and prepared to be driven back to his elegant rooms. As he was piloted up the Strand, it occurred to him that he would call in at Wych Street and see Aunt Rachel; so he stopped his cab, and went into the jeweller’s shop, and was welcomed by the old Jewess in the back-parlour. The worthy lady was polishing up some diamonds, and Solomon’s eyes wandered over the precious baubles covetously.

‘Anything very valuable there, auntie?’ he asked presently.

‘No, Solomon dear; nothing—nothing. The big diamond there is pretty well. It is worth two thousand pounds.’

‘Two thousand, eh?’ said young Mr Moses. ‘Very fair that, ain’t it?’

‘Well, your father lent one thousand on it—or rather, I did.’

‘Never redeemed?’

‘No.’

Solomon took up the glittering stone and looked it carefully over. It was set in a massive ring, very plainly made, and with two or three distinctive marks inside the hoop. ‘And you’re asking two thousand for this, auntie?’

‘Yes, my dear, that’s the price. I shall put him in the window in a week or so.’

Solomon went home soon after that. His first proceeding, when he got out of his father’s shop, was to write down in his pocket-book a very accurate description of the big diamond and its ring. A very clever and equally rascally plan was forming itself in his brain. By the time he reached Trafalgar Square, his plan was complete.

During the next week, more than one person stopped to gaze at the great diamond flashing in Moses’ shop-window. Its price was not upon it; but it was evident from its size that it was of tremendous value. Passers-by speculated on the probable amount, and wondered when the thing would find a purchaser. About eleven o’clock on the first day of its exposure, a middle-aged gentleman, sauntering leisurely up Wych Street from Booksellers’ Row, stopped in front of Moses’ shop, and looked for some minutes at the contents of the window. He was a good-looking man, well dressed in a quiet, unostentatious fashion; evidently a man of substance and position. He was turning away, when his eye fell on the great diamond. He looked at it a second, and then opened the shop-door and walked in. A red-headed boy of distinct Hebraic extraction was yawning behind the counter. ‘What is the price of the large diamond in your window?’ asked the solid-looking gentleman.

The red-headed youth didn’t know, but would find out. He disappeared for a moment, and came back followed by Miss Rachel, who looked narrowly at the man who dared to ask the price of so large a stone. The gentleman bowed courteously to Miss Rachel, and repeated his question.

‘Two thousand pounds,’ replied Miss Rachel.

‘Ah! A large price. May I see it?’

Miss Rachel acquiesced, and took the diamond ring from its case in the window. The stranger looked it carefully over, examined every mark with a sharp eye, and finally returned it to the old Jewess.

‘I will purchase that ring, madam,’ he said. ‘Be good enough to put it aside for me until to-morrow morning, when I will call and pay for it. I have been in search of such a stone for some time.’

Miss Rachel Levi was delighted. So, she was sure, would Mr David Moses be. She carefully locked up the ring in a big safe, and the stranger went his way with many bows on either side.

Precisely at eleven o’clock the following morning the customer called. He was accompanied by a dapper little man, whom Miss Rachel recognised as one of Mr Attenborough’s principal assistants.

‘Good-morning, madam,’ said the stranger. ‘Here I am, you see, and here is the price of the ring—two Bank of England notes of one thousand pounds each. I think that is correct?’

Yes, that was correct; and Miss Rachel unlocked the safe and handed the ring over to the customer, who had laid his two one-thousand-pound notes on the counter before her. She placed the notes in the safe, looking them over with an experienced eye, to see that they were all right as regarded genuineness. The stranger received his ring, and turned to the man accompanying him.

‘I brought this gentleman with me,’ he said to Miss Rachel, ‘just to tell me his opinion of the stone.—Very fine one, is it not, Mr Jones?’ He passed the ring to the man as he spoke, and began to talk to Miss Rachel about the weather.

The man named Jones looked with attentive eye at the glittering thing in his hand. He examined the gold setting and seemed satisfied, and then looked at the enormous stone. Suddenly he uttered an exclamation which made Miss Rachel and the customer look round sharply. Mr Jones took a little peculiar-looking glass from his pocket and gazed at the diamond suspiciously. He said ‘Ah!’ very emphatically, and threw the ring on the counter.

‘How much did you give, sir?’ he asked of the customer, whose attention was now thoroughly aroused.

‘Two thousand pounds.’

‘Humph! Worth next to nothing. The gold’s very good; the diamond’s first-class paste!’

Miss Rachel uttered a faint scream as the customer turned to her. ‘What explanation can you give of this, madam?’ he asked.

The poor woman was dumb-stricken. She knew not what to say.

‘Where did you get the ring, Miss Levi?’ asked Mr Jones. ‘Perhaps you’ve been imposed upon.’

‘It was pledged with my brother David,’ said Miss Rachel. ‘O dear me, gentlemen, I can’t think how it is! It must be an imposition.’

‘Well, at anyrate, I can’t be imposed upon,’ said the stranger. ‘So I’ll thank you for my notes, madam; and there is your paste ring.—Dear me, what an escape I’ve had! I’m much obliged to you, Mr Jones, for your penetration.’

‘Oh,’ said Mr Jones, ‘that’s nothing! What puzzles me is that Moses, who is very sharp, should have been swindled, as he must have been. And then Miss Levi here is a regular authority on stones.’

By this time poor Rachel had handed over the notes, and was regarding the false ring with a very disconsolate face. She was thinking what David would have to say on his return home.

The stranger pressed something in the way of remuneration on Mr Jones and went away.

Jones stayed a minute or two longer and talked the matter over with Miss Rachel. It was his idea that old Moses had had a duplicate made of the big diamond for some purpose of his own, and that he had substituted the shadow for the substance. He suggested this to Miss Rachel, who was thereby a little comforted.

But Mr Jones’ suspicion was wrong, as Miss Rachel quickly found on her brother’s home-coming. She told him the story immediately he appeared, and the old man went nearly mad. He yelled for the ring to be brought him. Once in his hands, he literally shrieked with horror. ‘It isn’t the tiamont at all!’ he cried. ‘Mine was not paste, as this is. It’s some conjuring trick, woman!’ And he fell to moaning and sobbing as if his heart would break. But the first fit of rage passed off, Mr David Moses took a practical step. He called on Mr Jones, and the two went away together to Scotland Yard; there Jones described the strange would-be purchaser. The hard-featured ‘chief’ who listened to them smiled.

‘That anything like him?’ he asked, taking up an album and pointing to a portrait.

‘The very man!’ cried Mr Jones.

‘Ah!’ said the chief.—‘Well, now, Mr Jones, be particular on one point. Did you keep your eye on the ring from Miss Levi’s taking it from her safe till its coming into your hands?’

‘No,’ said Jones; ‘I didn’t. Miss Levi put the notes in the safe, and I was watching her for a second before the man passed me the ring.’

‘Common trick,’ said the chief—‘changed it for a fac-simile.’

‘But,’ objected Jones, ‘how could he make the fac-simile? The ring had only been in the window one day.—Had it, Mr Moses?’

‘Only one day, ma tear—only one little day,’ sighed the old Jew. ‘O tear, O tear me!’

The chief set his lips very hard at this. ‘Are the marks—hall-marks and so on, just the same?’ he asked.

‘Yes,’ said Moses, ‘and the gold too. It’s only the stone.’

In the end, they went away, and the chief promised to do his best. He knew the stranger, who was a returned convict and a clever trickster. The mystery was the fac-simile of the ring. It implied previous acquaintance of a very intimate type. In about a week Mr Moses received news: the real ring had been pawned in Manchester for five hundred pounds, and was now in possession of the Scotland Yard authorities. The latter had, they said, got a clue to the persons implicated; but they would say nothing more. When Moses was wanted, they would let him have word.

A week or two passed on, and one morning Mr David Moses received an urgent message asking him to go to Scotland Yard. The thieves, or whatever you would call them, were found. He called on Mr Jones, and set out with an exultant heart up the Strand.

‘Well,’ said the chief, ‘we’ve got ’em both. There are two of them. One is the man whose photo I showed you; the other is a young fellow who won’t give any name. He pawned the ring under the name of Morris.’

Moses thought that rather a coincidence; but he let the thought slip out of his mind, and smiled pleasantly when two policemen brought in the well-dressed gentleman who so tricked poor old Rachel. The ci-devant convict winked in a friendly fashion at Jones.

‘Did it well, eh?’ he said. ‘No good disguising it, I suppose? Reckon I’ll get a good dose for this.’

‘You’re right there, my friend,’ said the chief.—‘Take him away, sergeant, and bring the young man in.’

In a minute or two the men returned, leading in a young, loudly dressed man, who hung his head on his breast. Old Moses turned from examining a pair of handcuffs hanging on the wall, and discovered the thief of his cherished diamond to be—his son Solomon! The old man saw it all in a moment. His white face and chattering teeth showed the chief that something was wrong. The old Jew strove vainly to speak for a second or two; then he turned to the chief and stretched out his hands imploringly.

‘O Mr Inspector,’ he said, ‘it’s a mistake—it’s a terrible mistake, ma tear Mr Inspector! Don’t say no more about it, and I’ll—I’ll give you the tiamont—yes, O yes! Why, this is ma tear son Solomon!—O Solomon, my poy, how could you do it?’

‘Your son, eh?’ said the astonished chief. ‘Well, I’m sorry for you, old man; but the law must take its course.’

‘Oh, don’t say that,’ screamed Moses—‘don’t sir, don’t! I’ll give you the stone, and a thousand pounds besides! Let him go, sir.’

‘No; I haven’t the power.—Take him away, men.’ And they marched Mr Solomon off, while poor old David alternately wept and implored and raved, and beseeched the chief to have mercy on his ‘tear poy.’

That night, they found poor David Moses, alias Mr Alfred Morris, dead in his little sanctum in Wych Street. The doctor said he had died of a sudden shock to the nervous system. We are of opinion that his son Solomon had given him a shock which broke his poor old heart.