“Gracious!” she exclaimed. “And there were a hundred and twenty of them?”
“Yes; they brought a little more than a hundred and forty thousand dollars.”
“It all harmonizes with Judd’s appearance,” said Mr. Cabot; “I should not expect him to subsist on every-day American dividends. But it’s a good jacket, even for fairy land.”
“Yes, it certainly is, and yet there was the usual touch of economy in it,” Mr. Fettiplace continued. “When we came to remove the pearls, we found a little gold loop or ring in the setting behind each one of them. Those loops passed through a sort of circular button-hole in the garment, and a gold wire, running along beneath the silk, held the jewels in place, so that by drawing out the wire they were all detached.”
“Well, where was the economy in that?”
“By being adjusted and removed so easily they probably served, when occasion required, as necklace, belt, bracelets, earrings, diadems, or the Lord knows what.”
“Of course,” assented Mr. Cabot. “A frugal device that might be of service to other farmers. And you began, Sam, by describing Daleford as an uneventful place. It seems to me that Bagdad is nothing to it.”
Mr. Fettiplace sipped his coffee without replying. After a short silence, however, with his eyes upon the coffee which he stirred in an absent-minded way, he continued:
“There are one or two other things connected with Judd which are much more difficult to explain. Daleford is full of mysterious tales of supernatural happenings in which he is the hero of prophecies and extraordinary fulfilments; always incredible, but told in honest faith by practical, hard-headed people. Any native will give them to you by the yard, but the hero, under no conditions, ever alludes to them himself.”
“Which probably proves,” said Mr. Cabot, “that the hero is the only one to be relied on. It is such fun to believe in the incredible! That is the charm of miracles, that they are impossible.”