“Since I am an apprentice, at sixteen. I have been cutting stones, now, for forty years.”
“You must have cut some famous jewels in that time.”
A twin pair of vertical lines began to pucker between the cutter’s bushy brows.
“Famous?”
“I mean, well-known jewels, that people would like to read about.”
“I have cut many good stones.”
This was manifestly going to make no revelationary progress. Simon said, as offhandedly as he could, “You’re too modest, Mr Jonkheer. For instance, how about the Angel’s Eye?”
There was no audible sound effect like a sickening thud, but the response was much the same. In a silence that fairly hummed with hollowness, the diamond cutter’s small bright eyes hardened and froze like drops of his own gems.
The Saint exhaled cigarette smoke and tried to appear as if he noticed nothing out of the ordinary.
At last Jonkheer said, “What about the Angel’s Eye?”