"Not by a long chalk," was the smiling reply. "To tell you the truth, Brodie's about the sickest man in London just now. The stone he rolled out in front of the expert they had waiting down at Scotland Yard was——"
"Was what?"
"A lump of paste," Harvey Grimm declared, lighting a cigarette. "Queer business, eh?"
"There's no charge against the old gentleman and his granddaughter, then?" Aaron Rodd demanded breathlessly.
"None whatever. Why not try a cigarette, Aaron? You're all nerves."
The lawyer pushed the box away from him.
"You may think this sort of thing's worth while," he declared gloomily. "I can't say that I do. There'll be no reward to share, and it seems to me that we've made an enemy——"
"There's no reward," Harvey Grimm agreed, "but there's this."
He drew his handkerchief from his pocket. A diamond almost as large as a cobnut rolled over and lay upon the desk. Aaron Rodd stared at it in amazement.
"What's that?" he demanded.