“Not at all. In fact, quite probable,” said the doctor, showing him the postal order, and then related his interview with Bela.
Donald was stunned, and when the doctor handed him the order for recovery of the package on his arrival in London, the circumstance did not tend to restore calm.
Donald hesitated at first, but his fingers finally closed over the bit of paper that made him again owner of the diamond. After looking it over, he turned to Dainty and said:
“I think the diamond belongs to you. If it were not now on its way to England through your influence, I would not be sitting here. I will endorse this order, so that you will own the diamond.”
He did so, and eventually the gem came into the possession of Dainty.
Late in the afternoon of the nineteenth day out, the steamer anchored in the bay of Plymouth. A tender, with relatives and friends of the passengers aboard, came out to meet and take them ashore.
In the gathering gloom the faces of those on board the “Arab” were not discernible, but the outline of the forms of three people could be seen, standing silently apart from the crowd at the gangway. Names were called out, and greeted with hearty, joyous words of recognition. Many stood waiting to disembark as soon as the signal was given. Suddenly a voice called out:
“If Mr Donald Laure is on board, he will please land here, as his wife, from Scotland, is waiting to receive him!”
Not a sound was heard from those on deck. All stood as silent as ghosts in the gathering mist.