“I didn’t t’ink of dat, boss,” he admitted.
“Of course not. One can’t think of everything. Now, if you will just hand me those diamonds, I will put them back where they belong.”
“Put dem back, boss!”
“What else would you propose? I’d get you to do it, only I don’t think putting things back is much in your line.”
Spike handed over the jewels. The boss was the boss, and what he said went. But his demeanour was tragic, telling eloquently of hopes blighted.
Jimmy took the necklace with something of a thrill. He was a connoisseur of jewels, and a fine gem affected him much as a fine picture affects the artistic. He ran the diamonds through his fingers, then scrutinized them again, more closely this time.
Spike watched him with a slight return of hope. It seemed to him that the boss was wavering. Perhaps, now that he had actually handled the jewels, he would find it impossible to give them up. To Spike a diamond necklace of cunning workmanship was merely the equivalent of so many “plunks”; but he knew that there were men, otherwise sane, who valued a jewel for its own sake.
“It’s a boid of a necklace, boss,” he murmured encouragingly.
“It is,” said Jimmy. “In its way I’ve never seen anything much better. Sir Thomas will be glad to have it back.”
“Den you’re going to put it back, boss?”