Watching Isaacstein's face was an interesting operation to Philip. Under ordinary conditions he might as well expect to find emotion depicted in a pound of butter as in that oily countenance, with its set expression molded by years of sharp dealings. But to-day the man was startled out of all the accustomed grooves of business. He was confronted with a problem so novel that his experience was not wide enough to embrace it.
So Philip caught a gleam of resentment at the introduction of the magistrate's name, and he instantly resolved to see Mr. Abingdon again at the earliest opportunity.
"Oh, he treated you kindly to-day, did he?" snarled Isaacstein.
"Yes, most kindly."
"You don't drink, I suppose?" broke in the other, abruptly.
"No. I am only a boy of fifteen, and do not need stimulants."
He was favored with a sharp glance at this remark, but he bent over his diamonds again and began to examine them, one by one. He knew that the action was tantalizing to his companion, and that is why he did it.
Isaacstein went to a sideboard and poured out a stiff glass of brandy. He swallowed it as an ordinary person takes an oyster.
"That's better," he said, returning to his desk. "Now we can get to close quarters. Hand over the stones."
Philip did nothing of the sort.