“Yes, madam,” said Hargrave; “they are first-class stones.”
“Sure?” she asked.
“Quite sure, madam,” replied the American. “There can be no question about it.”
“Are they worth eighteen thousand dollars?”
She put the question in such a way that Hargrave understood her perfectly.
“Well,” he said, “that depends upon a good many conditions. But I'm willing to say, quite frankly, that if you don't want the jewels I'm ready to take them for our house at eighteen thousand dollars.”
The big, dominant, aggressive woman made the gesture of one who cracks a dog whip.
“That's all right,” she said. Then she turned to the foreigner. “Now, major, when do you want this money?”
The big old officer shrugged his shoulders and put out his hands.
“To-morrow, madam; to-morrow as I have said to you; before midday I must return. I can by no means remain an hour longer; my leave of absence expires. I must be in Bucharest at sunrise on the morning of the twelfth of October. I can possibly arrive if I leave London to-morrow at midday, but not later.”