Part 15 (1/2)

There entered, hat in hand, bowing all round, a little fat, beady-eyed man, whose beard was blue-black and glossy, whose lips were red, whose nose was his most decided feature. His hat was new and s.h.i.+ning, his black overcoat of superfine cloth was ornamented with a collar of undoubted sable; he carried a gold-mounted umbrella. But there was one thing on him that put all the rest of his finery in the shade. In the folds of his artistically-arranged black satin stock lay a pearl--such a pearl as few folk ever have the privilege of seeing. It was as big as a moderately sized hazel nut, and the three men who looked at it knew that it was something wonderful.

”Take a chair, Mr. Van h.o.e.ren,” said Mr. Pawle genially. ”You want to tell me something about this Ashton case? Very much obliged to you, I'm sure. These gentlemen are both interested--considerably--in that case, and if you can give me any information that will throw any light on it--”

Mr. Van h.o.e.ren deposited his plump figure in a convenient chair and looked round the circle of faces.

”One thing there is I don't see in them newspapers, Mr. Pawle,” he said in strongly nasal accents. ”Maybe n.o.body don't know nothings about it, what? So I come to tell you what I know, see? Something!”

”Very good of you, I'm sure,” replied Mr. Pawle. ”What may it be?”

Mr. Van h.o.e.ren made a significant grimace; it seemed to imply that there was a great deal to be told.

”Some of us, my way, we know Mr. Ashton,” he said. ”In Hatton Garden, you understand. Dealers in diamonds, see? Me, and Haas, and Aarons, and one or two more. Business!”

”You've done business with Mr. Ashton?” asked the old lawyer. ”Just so!”

”No--done nothing,” replied Mr. Van h.o.e.ren. ”Not a s.h.i.+lling's worth. But we know him. He came down there. And we don't see nothing in them papers that we expected to see, and today two or three of us, we lunch together, and Haas, he says: 'Them lawyer men,' he says, 'they want information.

You go and give it to 'em. So!”

”Well--what is it?” demanded Mr. Pawle.

Mr. Van h.o.e.ren leaned forward and looked from one face to another.

”Ashton,” he said, ”was carrying a big diamond about--in his pocketbook!”

Mr. Armitstead let a slight exclamation escape his lips. Viner glanced at Mr. Pawle. And Mr. Pawle fastened his eyes on his latest caller.

”Mr. Ashton was carrying a big diamond about in his pocketbook?” he said.

”Ah--have you seen it?”

”Several times I see it,” replied Mr. Van h.o.e.ren. ”My trade, don't it?

Others of us--we see it too.”

”He wanted to sell it?” suggested Mr. Pawle.

”There ain't so many people could afford to buy it,” said Mr. Van h.o.e.ren.

”Why!” exclaimed Mr. Pawle. ”Was it so valuable, then?”

The diamond merchant shrugged his shoulders and waved the gold-mounted umbrella which he was carefully nursing in his tightly-gloved hands.

”Oh, well!” he answered. ”Fifty or sixty thousand pounds it was worth--yes!”

CHAPTER XII

THE GREY MARE INN

The three men who heard this announcement were conscious that at this point the Ashton case entered upon an entirely new phase. Armitstead's mind was swept clean away from the episode in Paris, Viner's from the revelations at Marketstoke, Mr. Pawle suddenly realized that here, at last, was something material and tangible which opened out all sorts of possibilities. And he voiced the thoughts of his two companions as he turned in amazement on the fat little man who sat complacently nursing his umbrella.

”What!” he exclaimed. ”You mean to tell me that Ashton was walking about London with a diamond worth fifty thousand pounds in his pocket?