The engineer reassured him.
“I don’t profess to be an expert; but I can tell the difference between paste and the genuine article. These diamonds are the real thing.”
Rollo carried the armlet across to the window and examined it minutely. Eileen followed him, still mystified by the turn of events, though the explanation was beginning to shape itself in her mind.
“The end of the Dangerfield Secret, isn’t it?” asked Westenhanger, joining them. “I was pretty sure of my ground when I told you that the Secret had ceased to be of any importance now.”
Rollo Dangerfield’s lapse into unintentional brusqueness had been only a momentary one, under the stress of strong emotion. Already he had recovered his balance.
“You can perhaps understand something of what this means to me, Mr. Westenhanger, even if you don’t guess the whole story. It’s sometimes difficult to find words for what one has to say. I wish to thank you—and you also, Miss Cressage—for this. You can have no idea of the load which you have taken off my shoulders. You have cleared away the shams, and I can look people in the face again, unashamed. It’s useless to put these things into words. I can’t do it as I would like to do. But at least I can tell you, Miss Cressage, something of the Dangerfield story which will give you an idea of what this has meant to us.”
He made a gesture inviting them to sit down again. Eileen seated herself, but Westenhanger paused for a moment.
“I think we’d better shut this thing up before we go any further.”
He indicated the still open drawer in the panelling.
“Just wait a moment until I empty it completely.”