“I do, my lord.”
“Do you remember intrusting Mr Ayling with some goods about that time to take up-country?”
“I do, my lord.”
“What were they?”
“There were three cases of groceries to be delivered in Barkly West, and a crocodile skin to be left at the place of a friend of mine near Zeerust, in Marico, Transvaal.”
“Take that skin in your hands.” The crocodile was handed up like a baby. “Do you recognise it?”
“Yeth, my lord, that is the identical skin, I believe, that I handed to Mr Ayling.”
“Now, be careful. Was there anything inside that crocodile skin?”
The little Jew saw now exactly which way the cat jumped, and he saw, too, that only the truth could be of use to him in the weary days and years yet to come on Cape Town Breakwater. The court was hushed by this time to an absolute silence. You could have heard a feather fall, almost.
“Well, my lord,” the little Jew replied, “there wath something inside that crocodile. I had had a little bit of a speculation, and there was a big diamond inside the crocodile skin. I put it there myself. You see, my lord,” he went on rapidly, “I had been doing one or two little transactions in stones, and I fancied there was something in the air, and so I put away that diamond and packed it off in the crocodile skin, safe, as I thought, to a friend in the Transvaal. It was a risk, but just at that time it was the only way out of the difficulty. I meant to have had an eye on the skin again, myself, a few days after, but I had a little difficulty with the police and I was prevented.”