On the day following the sale, and while the price paid still slept unbanked in the Customs boxes of proof-steel, there came one to see our canny chief. It is useless to waste description on this man. Suffice it that he was in fact and in appearance as skulkingly the coward scoundrel as might anywhere be met. This creeping creature was shown into the private rooms of Betelnut Jack. A moment later, I was sent for.
Betelnut Jack was occupying a chair; he wore an air of easy confidence; and over that, a sentiment of contempt for his visitor. This latter was posed in the middle of the room; and while an apprehension of impending evil showed on his face, he made cringing and deprecatory gestures with shoulders hunched and palms turned outward.
“Sit down,” observed Betelnut Jack, pushing a chair towards me. When I was seated, he spoke on. “Since it was you who found the diamonds, I thought it right to have you present now. You asked me once how I knew in advance of those gems and their scheme of concealment. To-day you may learn. This is the gentleman who gave me the information. He did it to obtain the reward—to receive that great per cent, of the seizure’s proceeds which is promised the informer by the law. His information was right; he is entitled to the reward. That is what he is here for; he has come to be paid.” Then to the hangdog, cringing one: “Pretty good day’s work for you, eh? Over fifty thousand dollars for a little piece of information is stiff pay!” The hangdog one bowed lower and a smirk of partial confidence began to broaden his face. “And now you’ve come for your money—fifty odd thousand!”
“If you please, sir! yes, sir!” More and wider smirks.
“All right!” retorted Betelnut Jack. “You shall have it, friend; but not now—not to-day.”
“Then when?” and the smirk fled.
“To-morrow,” said Betelnut Jack. “To-morrow, next day, any day in fact when you bring before me to be witnesses of the transaction the father, the sister, and your wife.”
Across the face of the hangdog one spread a pallor that was as the whiteness of death. There burned the fires of a hot agony in his eyes as though a dirk had slowly pierced him. His voice fell in a husky whisper.
“You would cheat me!”
“No; I would do you perfect justice,” replied Betelnut Jack. “Not a splinter do you finger until you bring your people. Your wife and her sister and their father shall know this story, and stand here while the money is paid. Not a stiver else! Now, go!”