“All brought from a distance,” Meyer answered. “None of them could be located. I did, however, examine a teamster who carted his belongings from the freight office. This fellow saw a few rooms in the lower part of the house and confirms the general impression that the place is as difficult to get into as a fort. Randolph’s belongings were all carefully crated, but the teamster remembered that many of the crates were extraordinarily heavy; several, he knew, contained machinery.”
“At regular intervals Randolph disappears. At first it was supposed that he had left the house, since no amount of knocking or pounding could rouse him. After my detectives got on the trail, they kept a strict watch of the place day and night to catch him when he came forth or returned, in order to find out where he went. They finally came to the conclusion that he did not leave the house. He did not issue from any of the doors or windows. His motor car remained unused in a small shed to one side of the larger building. It was apparent, therefore, that he shut himself up alone for some purpose.”
He paused and looked from one to the other of the two men before him. They were both intensely interested in his recital. Philander Morgan’s fat face had lost the look of baby innocence, and had taken on a keen, alert expression, which quite transformed the man. Spreckles’ shaggy head was bent slightly forward and from beneath beetling brows his eyes gleamed like coals as he surveyed the Hebrew.
“Well,” he said sharply—“well, what was that purpose?”
Marcus Meyer hesitated, his slim hand straying again to the smooth head.
“I can think of but one solution,” he said slowly at length. “Wild, absurd, incredible as it may sound, I think the man has discovered the secret for which so many scientists have toiled in vain. I believe—he has found a way—of manufacturing diamonds!”
The stillness which followed the Hebrew’s amazing statement was so intense that the slow ticking of the clock on the mantel beat on the tense nerves of the waiting men like the strokes of a hammer. Suddenly Philander Morgan snorted incredulously.
“Ridiculous!” he cried in a shrill voice. “The thing’s impossible!”
Herman Spreckles made no reply, for several moments his piercing eyes remained fixed on Meyer’s pale face. Then he turned swiftly toward the man he had brought with him.
“Pickering!”