“For how much?”
“Four Mex.”
Cunningham laughed. It was actually honest laughter, provoked by a lively sense of humour.
“To whom did you sell it, and where can I find the buyer?”
Ling Foo picked up the laughter, as it were, and gave his individual quirk to it.
“I see,” said Cunningham, gravely.
“So?”
“Get that necklace back for me and I will give you a hundred gold.”
“Five hundred.”
“You saw what happened last night.”