The night's sleep had the desired effect, and with the returning day Holmes's better nature asserted itself. Raffles was subdued, and he returned to Gaffany's to put the finishing touches to his work.
"Here's your check, Jenkins," said Raffles Holmes, handing me a draft for $5000. "The gems were found to-day in the water-cooler in the work-room, and Gaffany & Co. paid up like gentlemen."
"And the thief?" I asked.
"Under arrest," said Raffles Holmes. "We caught him fishing for them."
"And your paste jewels, where are they?"
"I wish I knew," he answered, his face clouding over. "In the excitement of the moment of the arrest I got 'em mixed with the originals I had last night, and they didn't give me time or opportunity to pick 'em out. The four were mounted immediately and sent under guard to the purchaser. Gaffany & Co. didn't want to keep them a minute longer than was necessary. But the purchaser is so rich he will never have to sell 'em—so, you see, Jenkins, we're as safe as a church."
"Your friend Robinstein was a character, Holmes," said I.
"Yes," sighed Holmes. "Poor chap—he was a great loss to his friends. He taught me the art of making paste gems when I was in Paris. I miss him like the dickens."
"Miss him!" said I, getting anxious for Robinstein. "What happened? He isn't—"
"Dead," said Holmes. "Two years ago—dear old chap."