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The Diamond Master — Reading Companion

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In Category - Mystery Collections

Authors: Futrelle, Jacques, 1875-1912 Digital Source: Project Gutenberg Gutenberg Release Year: 2005 First Publication Year: Not confirmed

Key Word: Fiction; Detective and mystery stories Target Reader: Readers of public-domain and historical texts

Book Edition: Project Gutenberg digital edition Book Language: en

Edition facts

Words 31,310

Reading time 137 min

Text sections 3

For The Diamond Master — Reading Companion, the stored edition analysis reports 31,310 words, 2 hr 17 min estimated reading time, and 3 detected text sections.

The text analysis averages about 13.6 words per sentence, while the detected sections provide another way to judge how the source is divided.

Project Gutenberg metadata also associates the work with “Fiction,” connecting these edition facts with the source record’s subject description.

Source: Project Gutenberg record #14896

A jewel merchant receives an unsolicited diamond in the mail, triggering a chain of surveillance, secret meetings, and a mysterious syndicate. The narrative moves between office, cab, and shadowed streets, with recurring motifs of wrapped packages, veiled women, and constant watching.

Editorial Edition Score 4.5/5

★★★★★ ★★★★★

Calculated from edition completeness, EPUB availability, text structure and catalogue metadata. Not a user rating.

How this score is calculated

Description quality20 pts
Title & short description10 pts
Source metadata20 pts
Text length15 pts
Chapters / structure15 pts
EPUB file integrity20 pts

Total of 100 points, scaled to a 2.5-5.0 range. Editions with an empty description or a missing EPUB file are not scored.

Edition quality

File: pg14896

Read the Text

There were thirty or forty personally addressed letters, the daily heritage of the head of a great business establishment; and a plain, yellow-wrapped package about the size of a cigarette-box, some three inches long, two inches wide and one inch deep. It was neatly tied with thin scarlet twine, and innocent of markings except for the superscription in a precise, copperplate hand, and the smudge of the postmark across the ten-cent stamp in the upper right-hand corner. The imprint of the cancellation, faintly decipherable, showed that the package had been mailed at the Madison Square substation at half-past seven o'clock of the previous evening.

Mr. Harry Latham, president and active head of the H. Latham Company, manufacturing jewelers in Fifth Avenue, found the letters and the package on his desk when he entered his private office a few minutes past nine o'clock. The simple fact that the package bore no return address or identifying mark of any sort caused him to pick it up and examine it, after which he shook it inquiringly. Then, with kindling curiosity, he snipped the scarlet thread with a pair of silver scissors, and unfolded the wrappings. Inside was a glazed paper box, such as jewelers use, but still there was no mark, no printing, either on top or bottom.

The cover of the box came off in Mr. Latham's hand, disclosing a bed of white cotton. He removed the downy upper layer, and there--there, nestling against the snowy background, blazed a single splendid diamond, of six, perhaps seven, carats. Myriad colors played in its blue-white depths, sparkling, flashing, dazzling in the subdued light. Mr. Latham drew one long quick breath, and walked over to the window to examine the stone in the full glare of day.

A minute or more passed, a minute of wonder, admiration, allurement, but at last he ventured to lift the diamond from the box. It was perfect, so far as he could see; perfect in cutting and color and depth, prismatic, radiant, bewilderingly gorgeous. Its value? Even he could not offer an opinion--only the appraisement of his expert would be worth listening to on that point. But one thing he knew instantly--in the million-dollar stock of precious stones stored away in the vaults of the H. Latham Company, there was not one to compare with this.

At length, as he stared at it fascinated, he remembered that he didn't know its owner, and for the second time he examined the wrappings, the box inside and out, and finally he lifted out the lower layer of cotton, seeking a fugitive card or mark of some sort. Surely the owner of so valuable a stone would not be so careless as to send it this way, through the mail--unregistered--without some method of identification! Another sharp scrutiny of box and cotton and wrappings left him in deep perplexity.

Then another idea came. One of the letters, of course! The owner of the diamond had sent it this way, perhaps to be set, and had sent instructions under another cover. An absurd, even a reckless thing to do, but ----! And Mr. Latham attacked the heap of letters neatly stacked up in front of him. There were thirty-six of them, but not one even remotely hinted at diamonds. In order to be perfectly sure, Mr. Latham went through his mail a second time. Perhaps the letter of instructions had come addressed to the company, and had gone to the secretary, Mr. Flitcroft.

He arose to summon Mr. Flitcroft from an adjoining room, then changed his mind long enough carefully to replace the diamond in the box and thrust the box into a pigeonhole of his desk. Then he called Mr. Flitcroft in.

"Have you gone through your morning mail?" Mr. Latham inquired of the secretary.

"Yes," he replied. "I have just finished."

"Did you happen to come across a letter bearing on--that is, was there a letter to-day, or has there been a letter of instructions as to a single large diamond which was to come, or had come, by mail?"

"No, nothing," replied Mr. Flitcroft promptly. "The only letter received to-day which referred to diamonds was a notification of a shipment from South Africa."

Mr. Latham thoughtfully drummed on his desk.

"Well, I'm expecting some such letter," he explained. "When it comes please call it to my attention. Send my stenographer in."

Mr. Flitcroft nodded and withdrew; and for an hour or more Mr. Latham was engrossed in the routine of correspondence. There was only an occasional glance at the box in the pigeonhole, and momentary fits of abstraction, to indicate an unabated interest and growing curiosity in the diamond. The last letter was finished, and the stenographer arose to leave.

"Please ask Mr. Czenki to come here," Mr. Latham directed.

Continue Reading →

The story begins not with a crime but with a package: a plain, yellow-wrapped box tied in scarlet twine, containing a single perfect diamond. The opening chapter dwells on the physical details—the precise copperplate handwriting, the glazed paper box, the bed of white cotton—before the stone itself is revealed. This attention to the object’s arrival sets the tone for a narrative built around deliveries, exchanges, and the movement of valuables through space.

Jacques Futrelle structures the mystery through a series of scenes that shift between private offices, cabs, and watched houses. The reader follows the diamond’s journey as much as the characters’ deductions, with each new location introducing another layer of surveillance or concealment.

The Package as a Narrative Device

The diamond’s first appearance is mediated by layers of wrapping: yellow paper, scarlet twine, a glazed box, cotton. The act of unwrapping becomes a ritual, repeated when other packages arrive. Each parcel is described with the same precision—size, markings, postmark—so that the reader learns to scan for these details. The package is both a physical object and a plot mechanism, triggering the protagonist’s curiosity and the subsequent chase.

Later, the narrative returns to the motif of concealment: a woman hides diamonds in a cab, a detective watches from across the street, and letters are tampered with. The package’s innocent exterior mirrors the deceptive surfaces of the characters themselves.

Surveillance and the Watched City

From the moment Mr. Wynne leaves Latham’s office, he is followed. The text names the detectives—Sutton, Claflin—and specifies their positions: across the street, on the roof, at the office. This constant observation turns New York into a grid of eyes. The characters move through the city aware that every cab, every doorway, every telephone call is monitored.

The surveillance is not merely atmospheric; it drives the plot. Wynne’s plans depend on outmaneuvering the watchers, and the reader is given enough detail to track who is watching whom. The effect is a claustrophobic sense of being seen, even in private moments.

Dialogue as a Tool of Revelation and Concealment

Conversations in The Diamond Master often serve two purposes: they advance the mystery while also hiding information. Characters speak in half-statements and interruptions. When Doris says, “I hate them, hate them!” she refers to the diamonds, but the reader must infer the full context from her tears and Wynne’s reassurances.

Futrelle uses dialogue to create tension between what is said and what is understood. Wynne’s repeated “You don’t understand, dear” signals that the reader, too, is missing key facts. The exchanges are layered with subtext, and the silences between lines carry as much weight as the words.

Movement Between Public and Private Spaces

The story’s structure depends on a series of transitions: from the office to the cab, from the cab to the house, from the house to the street. Each shift changes the power dynamics. In the office, Latham is in control; in the cab, Doris is frightened; in Wynne’s apartment, the detectives outside make the space feel like a trap.

These movements are never casual. Every entrance and exit is observed, and the characters plan their routes to avoid detection. The narrative lingers on thresholds—doorways, windows, cab doors—as points of vulnerability. The result is a story that feels both fast-paced and constrained, as if the characters are always on the verge of being caught.

Readers attentive to physical details—the color of twine, the weight of a stone, the position of a detective—will find the clues embedded in the text. Futrelle rewards careful observation of objects and movements rather than abstract deduction. The mystery unfolds not through sudden revelations but through the accumulation of concrete, verifiable facts.

That rainy afternoon, The Diamond Master — Reading Companion left me with the weight of its watching eyes, the hush of veiled transactions. I kept thinking about unseen threads. Then, almost by accident, my hand found The Crevice — Text and Context, and the same quiet dread, that sense of fragile secrets, echoed there. One book simply led to the other, like a door left ajar.