With an aplomb that just a moment before would have seemed impossible to him, Enrique answered:
"I'd like to see that emerald necklace in the window."
"Yes, sir."
Darlés glanced about him. He noted that a white-bearded old gentleman—doubtless the proprietor—was closely observing him from the rear of the shop. Already the student had made up his plan of attack. He would snatch the jewels and break for the door. He had left this door ajar, on purpose.
The clerk came back with the necklace, which he laid on the moss-green cloth that covered the show-case. Enrique hardly dared touch it.
"How much?" asked he.
"Fifteen thousand pesetas."
The student clacked his tongue, like a drinker savoring the state and quality of good wine. The clerk added:
"I'm sure you've seen very few emeralds like these."
The white-bearded old gentleman had now come nearer. Saying nothing, he slid his hands into his trouser pockets. His face looked grave and puzzled. You would have thought his merchant soul had scented danger. Darlés gave him a glance. It was not yet too late. He still was honest. There was still time for repentance.