In the middle of the group there was a withered little man, bent with age, with a long ragged beard and a nose like the beak of a hawk. He wore a great black coat that was very shiny and reached almost down to his ankles; and in his skinny fingers he held what I soon recognized as the large red stone that Tom Kinlay had found at Skaill. Tom himself was standing near the old Jew, and bargaining with him for all the treasure that had fallen to his share.
The Jew had made some offer for the gem when I came up, and Kinlay was deliberating whilst listening to the advice of the fishermen.
"Take his offer, lad," advised Jack Munroe.
"Ay, take it, Tommy," added another. "Ye'll mebbe never hae anither such chance again."
"Nay, dinna be a fule," said Jim London. "The auld swindler kens the thing's worth mair than he offers. Gar him gie ye anither ten shillings."
"No, no," protested the Jew, speaking in broken English. "I not want ze ting. Wot use I make of it?"
He was about to hand it back to Tom.
"Well, well," he continued, again examining the gem. "If you not satisfy, den I gif you six shilling more; wot you say, eh? Dat make ten pound and six shilling, English. It not worth one penny more, I tell you."
"Mike it ten guineas," urged Kinlay.
"What! ten guineas? Himmel, mine child, you make me ruined!" exclaimed the Jew.