“We have to be very careful,” his voice quavered. “We have to know the people.”
“Then I’ll go, of course,” she answered swiftly, “because you don’t know me.”
The atmosphere of the place was inexpressibly distasteful to her and the old man’s manner was sneaking and suspicious. She felt that he suspected her of being a thief. Her shaking hand was already on the doorknob when he called her back, hurrying towards her.
“What’s your hurry? Come back!” he called to her. “Of course I can’t take risks. There’s cases when the goods ain’t come by honest. But you look all right. Anyway ’t ain’t no trouble to look over the stuff. Let me see what you’ve got. There ain’t another place in New York where they pay such good prices.”
She returned, hesitatingly, and handed to him a small worn case that had once been covered with red morocco. He opened it, 59 taking out the ring and moving nearer the window, where he examined it carefully.
“Yes. It’s a diamond all right,” he admitted, paternally, as if he thus conferred a great favor upon her. “But of course it’s very old and the mounting was done years and years ago, and it’s worn awful thin. Maybe a couple of dollars worth of gold, that’s all.”
“But the stone?” she asked, anxiously.
“One moment, just a moment, I’m looking at it,” he replied, screwing a magnifying glass in the socket of one of his eyes. “Diamonds are awful hard to sell, nowadays––very hard, but let me look some more.”
He was turning the thing around, estimating the depth of the gem and studying the method of its cutting.
“Very old,” he told her again. “They don’t cut diamonds that way now.”