“Then, do you know what you have done? By this act alone you have sold us. There are ugly stories known to the police in connection with this black diamond. I could lay my hands at the present moment on three men in this room whom this precious gem of infernal night might bring to the gallows.”
“Hush, for Heaven’s sake!” said Scrivener, “walls have ears.”
“There are moments when one must speak out, danger or not,” said Long John. “The fact is plainly this. By your action, Rowton, you have imperilled us all. You broke faith with us when you appropriated this diamond for your own purposes. It is a lucky chance which brings it again into our possession. Understand, now, that this matter makes us quits, and that you have nothing whatever to do with the child.”
“Then my letter to you holds good,” said Rowton. “My men, I must wish you good evening.”
He took up his hat, walked down the length of the room, opened the door, and went out.
“Follow him,” said Long John, nodding to Simpkins as he spoke.
Without a word Simpkins also left the room.
When the two men had departed, and the sound of their footsteps going downstairs had completely died away, Long John seated himself once more in the old oak chair. He remained gloomy and silent for a moment. Then his voice sounded full and sonorous.
“Come up near me, all of you,” he said; “we have an important matter to discuss.”
All the men flocked, without a word, to the upper end of the room. Scrivener stood exactly in front of Long John. Long John’s eyes, pathetic to almost unbearable sadness, gazed full into the shifty eyes of his spy, his lips became thin as a line, his face showed white and cadaverous, even more deathly in hue than usual. On each cheek there came out slowly an angry spot of flame about the size of a halfpenny; the eyes grew brighter as the spot deepened. The lips were now so thin that they looked like a mere thread. The men all waited in perfect silence. They knew this mood of their leader, and trembled before it.