"Really!" said Tony. "I had no idea my cousin's great-grandmother was so extravagant." He picked up the brooch. "I wonder if you could find me a nice strong case for it, Mr. Mason. Somebody might run into me at Brooklands this afternoon, and it would be a pity to get it chipped."
The old jeweller accepted the treasure with almost reverent care, and calling up one of his assistants entrusted it to the latter's charge. In a minute or so the man returned with a neatly fastened and carefully sealed little package, which Tony thrust into his pocket.
"Well, good-bye, Mr. Mason," he said, "and thank you so much. If I find out anything more about my cousin's great-grandmother I will let you know."
Bowing and beaming, Mr. Mason led the way to the door. "I should be most interested—most interested, Sir Antony. Such a remarkable piece of work must certainly possess a history. I shouldn't be surprised if it had belonged to any one—any one—from Royalty downwards."
Half-past twelve was just striking when Tony came out of the shop. The distance is not far from Bond Street to Covent Garden, but as intimate students of London are aware the route on occasions is apt to be a trifle congested. It was therefore about ten minutes after the appointed time when Tony pulled up outside the Cosmopolitan and jumping down from the car made his way straight through the hall to Donaldson's private sanctum, where the ceremony of settling up was invariably conducted.
The first person who met his eyes on entering the room was the Marquis da Freitas. Despite his rôle as payer-out that distinguished statesman appeared to be in the best of spirits, and was chatting away to a small knot of members that included "Doggy" Donaldson and Dick Fisher the referee. In a corner of the room, tastefully arrayed in a check suit and lemon-coloured gloves, lounged the slightly crestfallen figure of Mr. "Lightning" Lopez.
"I am so sorry to have kept you all waiting," said Tony. "I haven't even the excuse of having to come up from Richmond—like the Marquis."
Da Freitas, who was in the act of lighting a cigar, waved aside the apology with a characteristic gesture. "A few minutes' grace are always permissible, Sir Antony, except where a lady is concerned. As for my own punctuality—" he shrugged his shoulders and showed his white teeth in an amiable smile—"Well, I was staying at Claridge's last night, so I had even less distance to come than you."
