S. F.
REPORT OF J. M. No. 5
June 15th
On Saturday afternoon after work according to your instructions I took one of the unset diamonds with which I am provided to M——'s pawnshop at No. — Third Avenue. I was very glad to have the second act of the drama open, and the fun begin. To tell the truth, I am very weary of the work bench at Dunsany's this hot weather. If I ever return to my proper character I will have more sympathy for my workmen. I believe now that it is not poverty that makes the working classes restless so much as monotony.
M——'s, as you know, is a large and prosperous three-ball establishment near Fifty-Seventh street. The proprietor is a youngish man, a typical pawnbroker, with eyes as hard and bright as shoe buttons. Such eyes I am sure, would look on at the murder of a parent unconcerned—if there was anything in it. I believe you are right in your estimate of the man. Good as his legitimate business appears to be, he is no doubt not averse to the other kind—if it looks safe.
But he was afraid of me. He offered to lend me money on my diamond, but declined to purchase. He demanded to know how it had come into my possession. I replied with a long and affecting tale of the hardships of an immigrant couple, no longer young. It was our last bit of property, I said, the stone out of my wife's engagement ring. The ring itself she still wore with its empty setting. Such was the pathos of the tale that I almost succeeded in convincing myself that it was true. It didn't matter, of course, whether the pawnbroker believed it or not, but it had to be a good story on the face of it, because it would be fatal to my chances of success if I gave the impression of being a fool.
The hard eyes gave no sign one way or another. One could hardly expect a pawnbroker to be moved by a hard luck story. He told me to come back on Monday at noon, and he would see what he could do for me.
I hastened up there as soon as we were released for the lunch hour to-day. There were two men loitering in the store; men of the same kidney as the astute proprietor apparently, very sprucely dressed. M—— himself ignored me for the moment and this precious pair gave me the "once over" as they say. I could feel their eyes boring into me like gimlets. However, it is possible to be too sharp to be discerning. They were deceived. A scarcely perceptible sign passed between them and the pawnbroker, and the latter suddenly became aware of the existence of his shabby customer.
He now showed me what he intended for a real friendly air. He couldn't buy my diamond himself, he said, but seeing he felt so sorry for me he would send me to a diamond broker he knew, who would do business with me if I satisfied him it was on the level. He gave me an address near by. I enclose the card, but neither the name nor the address means anything of course. I went there at once, risking a call down from the foreman if I was late getting back to the shop.
It was a room on the second floor of a typical Third avenue house, shop below, furnished rooms above, and the elevated road pounding by the windows. Evidently there had been a hasty attempt to make it look like an office; a desk had been brought in and the bed removed. Behind the desk sat a fat man rolling a cigar between his thick lips, and trying to look as if he were not expecting me. He looked prosperous in a common way, with his silk hat on the back of his head, and his immense gaping cutaway. His face was red and what passes for good-humoured with little pig eyes lost in fat. A huge moustache with curled ends, decorated it, the kind of moustache that I thought even New York politicians had given up nowadays. In a phrase, the man looked like a ward leader of fifteen years ago. The most characteristic thing about him was his bustling energy, unusual in one so fat.