VIII.
THE DIAMONDS
I.—THE ONE DIAMOND
HAROLD BROOKE had a watchmaker's glass fitted in his eye. Through it he was intently regarding something which he held in his hand.
"One of the two finest diamonds which ever came out of Africa gone wrong! I wonder what Fungst will say?"
He moved to the window. Under the stronger light he renewed his examination of the crystal through the little microscopic lens.
"It'll be an affair of perhaps half an hour. I've known it happen in less. Tyrrel shall have it." He laughed. "Hard on Tyrrel, but harder still on me. He and I will share the loss. I wonder what Fungst will say? According to him, we had captured two of the finest diamonds Africa had ever yet produced. They were to make our fortunes. Well, Tyrrel shall have a chance of making his. I wonder how far his knowledge of this sort of thing may go?"
A few minutes afterwards a hansom dashed up in front of a quaint little shop in the neighbourhood of St John's Square, Clerkenwell. Mr. Brooke
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