“You hope—!” she exclaimed.
The little man made a deprecatory gesture. “Why, yes,” he said. “It would seem a pity that a crook cute enough to turn a trick as neat as that should have got nothing for his pains but a velvet-lined leather case, worth perhaps a dollar and a half—or say two dollars at the outside, if you make a point of that.”
“How do you happen to know it was a velvet-lined leather case?” Alison flashed.
Iff laughed quietly. “My dear lady,” he said, “I priced the necklace at Cottier’s in Paris the day before you purchased it. Unfortunately it was beyond my means.”
“A bit thick,” commented the purser in an acid voice.
“Now, listen”—Iff turned to face him with a flush of choler—“you keep on that way and I’ll land on you if it’s the last act of my gay young life. You hear me?”
“That will do, sir!” barked the captain.
“I trust so, sincerely,” replied Iff.
“Be silent!” The captain’s voice ascended a full octave.
“Oh, very well, very well. I hear you—perfectly.” With this the little man subsided, smiling feebly at vacancy.