As they entered a bell jingled noisily. Anthony noticed that they stood behind a high counter that ran all round the shop, for shop perhaps described the place most closely. From the apartment in the rear a curious figure shuffled towards them. Half Greek and half Dutch—as he had been described—but facially and physically he might have passed for “the Jew that Shakespeare drew.” Cupidity and cunning were the twin lights of his eyes. And with that strange tactfulness of the habitual criminal—that sixth sense that also seems to be the life as it were of the other five—he divined that his four visitors carried for him an element of danger. This too—before he perceived the identity of Cuypers. But he betrayed no outward sign of his temporary discomfort. The school in which he had been trained was a hard one. He bowed with the servility of the race whose worst qualities he had usurped and whose best qualities he had discarded. Cuypers addressed him in English. He knew that Stefanopoulos was a cosmopolitan. To the astonishment of the Crown Prince he replied in the same tongue.
“Good morning, gentlemen. Vy am I thus honoured? Mynheer Cuypers is pleased——”
The Dutchman cut him short summarily. He bent forward over the counter and spoke for a few moments to Stefanopoulos in a low tone—so low that the others were unable to catch his words. The Levantine started back eventually in spluttering denial but again Cuypers checked him. “We know” Anthony heard him say—“we know—so save your breath—Demetri. You’ll make nothing out of this deal, take it from me, and if you don’t arrange to do what I’ve just asked you, I’ll have you arrested within half an hour from now.”
Stefanopoulos snarled and showed a row of dirty yellow teeth. His lip curled back in menace. “You talk big! Pah! You can’t! What for am I to be arrested? I’m an honest trader—mind that, Mister.”
Cuypers administered the “coup de grâce.” “Ever heard of the Contessa D’Amaldi? And her nine pigeon-blood rubies? If I couldn’t prove it, my friend—I’d hold you twelve months on a charge of ‘fencing’ them while I sought round for evidence. Got that, Demetri? Very well, then—we shall be here at five o’clock. Understand! Have everything ready—you know what to do.”
“I had to frighten the old vulture,” he explained jocularly as they passed out, “but in this particular instance, I really think he knows nothing. Lal Singh as you call him knows what you English call ‘the ropes.’ ”
Sir Austin Kemble laughed. “Better than he knows what lies ahead of him,” he murmured, looking at his watch. “In about six hours time, shall we say?”
CHAPTER XXVI.
Rendezvous
Cuypers tapped his Smith-Wesson significantly. “Understand, friend Demetri,” he announced decisively, “no tricks! The first hint that you are playing us false—and——” He fingered the revolver with a wealth of meaning. The Greek made no reply. Evidently he did understand. Cuypers went on. “I shall be here at your side all the time. Never more than a few inches away from you. Your assistant, do you see? I shall have a pen and ink and write—when your visitor comes—understand? I shall also have this.” More business with the revolver. “My three friends here will take up their position behind that door which will be left ajar.” He pointed to the door of the shop-parlour that communicated with the passage leading to the back of the house. “Lal Singh, when he arrives, will walk into a trap. For your place will be covered from the outside as well, my good Stefanopoulos. A famous English detective is here as well as my three friends—no less a person than Chief-Inspector Bannister of New Scotland Yard. I expect you have heard of him—I’ve no doubt he has of you. He will work from the outside in case of an attempted get-away on the part of your visitor—do you understand, little rabbit?”
The old “fence” nodded sullenly—he wasted no words.