“An opening?” she said faintly.
“Goodness, you don’t suppose that I spent two hours with a portmanteau full of jewels without doing anything? Come: I’m not such a fool as that.”
“Then—then——” she said in a yet fainter voice.
“Then, my poor friend, little by little, patiently, I extracted all the contents of the portmanteau with the result that——”
“With the result that?”
“—when you open it you will find nothing inside but a roughly equivalent weight of trifles of no great value—just what I had to hand, finding them in the sacks of provisions—a good many pounds of lentils and haricot beans—merchandise for which it is hardly worth your while perhaps, to pay the rent of a strong-room in a London bank.”
She struggled not to believe him and protested: “It isn’t true! You can’t have been able——” Her voice died away before this paralyzing revelation.
He reached up to a shelf and took down a little wooden bowl, from which he poured into the palm of his hand two or three dozen diamonds and rubies and sapphires and carelessly made them dance and sparkle and clink.
“And there are others,” he said with an air of satisfaction. “Undoubtedly the imminence of the explosion prevented me from bringing the lot of them away; and the bulk of the treasure of the monks is scattered about the bottom of the sea. But all the same there’s something to amuse a young man and help him to bear up. What do you think, Josine? You don’t answer.... But hang it all! What’s the matter now, confound it? You’re never going to faint! Oh, these infernal women! They can’t even lose a thousand millions without going off. What milksops they are!”
Josephine did not “go off,” as Ralph had phrased it. She drew herself up, livid with raised arms. She wished to insult him. She wished to strike him. But she was suffocating. Her hands beat the air like the hands of a drowning man waving above the surface of the sea; and she fell upon the bed, moaning hoarsely.