“I have not ignored you, St. Hilary. If you lose the casket, you have two-thirds of the gems. It is better, I should think, to have that two-thirds than to have any trouble with the state.”
“Precisely,” beamed the duke.
“Very well,” agreed the dealer grudgingly.
It was now a quarter to seven. Still we could hear the muffled tick.
“It really looks as if Mr. Hume would miss his train,” mocked the duke.
At that instant there was a loud click. The duke started perceptibly. St. Hilary, pale with excitement, flung up his hands. I threw back the cover.
The room seemed suddenly irradiated with a flash of multi-colored light. Five great gems glowed in their compartments of purple velvet in the topmost tray. St. Hilary and the duke uttered cries of joy. If I must confess it, these stones affected me hardly more than a display in any jeweler’s window in Bond Street or Fifth Avenue.
“The minutes are more precious to me than those gems,” I cried. “Take out the trays, or I shall empty the contents of the casket on the table.”
“When once we have closed the shutters,” said St. Hilary.
He started to go to the windows, but noticing that the duke did not move, he halted suspiciously. They were like two beasts with their prey between them.