The first fellow gets mad:
"Do you think I would try to cheat anyone with the ring that belonged to my sainted mother?"
"I have nothing to do with you. I am trying to protect this young man."
The jeweller examines the ring through a glass, and then whispers to me.
"Ask him how much he wants for it."
I ask, and receive the reply.
"Ten marks at least."
"He must have stolen it," the jeweller whispers again. "It is valuable. Give him twenty marks for it to get it quickly. Then follow me to my store, and I will give you a hundred."
Delighted at the opportunity to make some money on land, I give the man twenty marks for the ring. He hurries away. I look for the jeweller, whom I am to follow. He has disappeared. At a bona fide jeweller's I am told:
"It is a rhinestone, not a bad value for three marks."