“Admirable, excellent!” he said. “What we tried to do, and have not done, they are wrecking the shop of the Greek on account of. My friend, I see that you and I are certainly black-watches.”
“No, Marky, no fear. We’ll keep what we know about ourselves to ourselves, but there’s not a man in the fleet would call you or me blackguard for what we’ve tried to do.”
“And for why?”
“Because,” I said, “this is a pearling fleet. And in a pearling fleet you may do anything you like, sacrilege, robbery, piracy, or murder, for a pearl, if only it’s big enough. No one would think any the less of you really, though they might have to pretend they did, if there were too many authorities about. As for a diamond like old Mo’s—why, you might dig up the whole of the cemetery without upsetting any one’s stomach or conscience. But divers don’t like being hacked out of their dresses when they die in them, which they do pretty often, to gratify the meanness of a mean little cur like George. That’s the case, Marky. Anyhow, you and I have no cause to quarrel with it, for it’s shown us that we were on a wrong scent after all. If the Greek had found such a thing as a diamond under the corselet—and mind you, he made mincemeat of old Mo, getting him out of it—he’d never have taken the risk he did, in showing off the gear second-hand.”
“Then,” demanded the Marquis, “where is the diamond?”
“That’s what we’ve got to find out yet,” I said.
133
IV
THE FIGHT AT TWELVE FATHOMS