“Why, as many as you could send. May I ask where they come from?”
“No, you mustn’t ask that—not just at present. I know where I got them, and Pedro del Sarto knows—and we’re the only two men alive who do know. But we think there’s more there in the same place—and I’m soon going to have a look.”
Then Mr. Cunlip spoke rather disparagingly of the specimens before him; he had his doubts as to colour; they were not very big either; he said that to judge actual merits before cutting was almost impossible, even to the greatest expert in the trade—and he delicately implied that between that gifted person and himself there was little if any difference. But, urged to do so, he gave a rough estimate of the value of a particular stone, if after cutting it proved as good as it looked now.
“Splendid! As much as that? Then I may take it that emeralds are keeping up their price, and it isn’t likely to drop?”
“Their price can’t drop—so far as I can see.”
“They’re as fashionable as ever?”
“They’re just as fashionable as they were in the time of the Incas.”
“Ah. Glorious?” Dyke gave an exultant laugh. “The Incas! Rem acu tetigisti.”
“I beg your pardon—what’s that?”