He held in his hand the five diamonds which had been taken from the wounded woman’s pocket.
“These four stones,” said the inspector, “will be hard to identify. The big one should find its rightful owner easily.”
He had no sooner spoken the words than Nathan Lusker was announced. He came to see whether the diamonds were a part of his stolen stock.
Lusker failed to identify them. His description did not fit the large jewel at all. This stone was cut in a peculiar manner, so that its owner should be able to describe it in a way to settle all doubt.
When Lusker had departed, an East Side jeweler called. He had no better fortune. The stones were evidently not his.
Then a card was brought in by an officer.
“Morton H. Parks,” the inspector read. “He’s not a jeweler. Bring him in.”
Mr. Parks entered immediately. He was a fine-looking man of middle age, with the face of a scholar.
He wore neither beard nor mustache.
“I called to examine some jewels,” he said. “They were, I understand, found last night in the possession of an unfortunate woman—a thief—who was stabbed by some of her accomplices.”