“We’ve found the other piece at the bottom of a drawer,” he said, “and we thought you might give more for it, as it might be joined on to the first piece and sold as a chain, instead of being melted down as old gold.”
Scarcely able to believe his eyes, the jeweller asked him to sit down while he went into the back shop to assay the gold. He did not set about the task with great alacrity, but contented himself with sending an apprentice out by a side door with a message to the Central Office, while he stood and watched the lad through the glass door. The message was handed to me, and I went to the shop at my smartest.
As I entered I saw the lad seated in the front shop in the overalls of a working joiner. At the same moment the jeweller came from the back shop with the piece of chain in his hand.
“A piece of old gold which this lad wants me to buy,” he observed, and then, while the lad started and glanced at me, I, with apparent carelessness, and without looking in his direction, took from my pocket my little staff of authority, as if to polish up with my sleeve the silver crown. The lad’s eyes became fixed on that in a kind of fascination, and when I took the bit of chain and glanced full in his face, I was not astonished to find him deadly pale, and almost tottering on his legs.
“Where did you get it?” I demanded, and then, after a feeble grip at the counter, he sat down, looking ghastly indeed.
“At home; it’s my mother’s,” he stammered; then he seemed to think better of it, for he hastily added, “No—I found it.”
“Imphim; where the Hielantman found the tongs—at the fireside, eh?” I returned, after cautioning him. “Did you find any other things in the same place?”
“No.” It was a lie. I saw that, but then it was meant more as a dogged refusal than a denial. A reaction had come to his terror; he had pondered the position for a moment, and decided to take shelter in silence.
“Where do you live?”
“I’d rather not say,” was the tardy answer.