“But the danger that menaces me! It has followed others before. Harriman was not the first victim!”
Chatham paused, and his face was that of a hunted man. He gripped the arms of his chair, and looked pleadingly toward Doctor Palermo. The calm-faced physician was solemn, yet reassuring.
Chatham moistened his lips. He puffed at his cigar. Then he began his story. A slight quavering of his voice alone betrayed his secret fear.
“I met Harriman in Florida,” he said. “He seemed very morose. Sick and tired. All he wanted to do was drink and gamble. Borrowed money from me. Lost money to me.
“I began to think the money was bothering him — although Harriman was supposed to have millions. But, of course, all his borrowings were at gaming tables, after he had had runs of bad luck and was only out of cash in pocket.”
Chatham stared straight ahead, lost in thought for a moment.
“One night, Harriman asked how much he owed me. I told him— somewhere between three and four thousand dollars. He laughed.
“He brought out a jewel case, and opened it. The case contained a magnificent sapphire — a deep purple color. He told me that it was worth far more than the money he owed me. He asked if I would take it.
“The jewel fascinated me. I accepted it.”
As Horace Chatham paused, a slight expression of surprise flitted over Doctor Palermo’s features. His eyelids flickered for an instant.