“I have concluded the greater part of it, but not all, Piper,” replied Rowton.
“And why not all, my good fellow? You went away for a definite purpose. It was understood, was it not, that you were on no account to show your face in England again until that purpose was completed in its entirety?”
“I managed the diamonds and have brought them back with me,” answered Rowton.
“Aye, aye, that’s right—that’s the main thing,” muttered several voices at the other end of the room.
“Silence there,” said Long John. He did not speak loudly, but his eyes flashed fire.
“Give us full particulars,” he said, flinging himself back in his chair, and swinging round in such a way that his eyes could comfortably fix themselves on Rowton’s face. Rowton looked haggard; there were a few streaks of white in his black hair; he was unshaven, and had a somewhat unkempt appearance. He told his story briefly, speaking with a certain terseness which compelled every man in the room to listen to him, not only with interest, but respect.
“I have brought a specimen of the diamonds with me,” he said after a pause. He drew forth a small bag as he spoke—he had been holding it all this time between his knees—opened the bag with a peculiarly-shaped key, and taking out a harmless-looking brown paper parcel, laid it on Piper’s knee.
“There they are,” he said; “in the rough, it is true. These are just ordinary specimens of the pile. The whole thing is worth between eighty and one hundred thousand pounds. I have the remainder at my hotel off the Strand.”
Long John got up with a certain eagerness, which not all his efforts to show no emotion could altogether conceal. He took the little parcel, laid it on the table, opened it and called the other men to come round.