at my stone through my spy-glass to see how it was getting on. My heart was fit to break. All of a sudden I see something which I had never seen before. The little spot of white light had turned into a little spot of colour. It was as though a little spot of blood had got into the very centre of the stone. I say to myself, 'It is certain that if I try to sell the stone just as it is I shall get nothing for it—scarcely anything at all. About this affair there is something which I do not understand.' There is no man living who understands all the inns and outs of diamonds—no chemist, no scientist, I care not who it is. There are mysteries about diamonds which never yet have been explained. I have known some of them within the range of my own experience. So I say to myself, 'There is a mystery in this. If I sell the diamond now, a loss is certain; if I see the mystery through, the loss is problematical. I will see the mystery through.' I came back home again. I put the diamond away. I did not look at it for two whole days.
"When, after two whole days, I came to open the little box in which I had placed the diamond, I scarcely dared to open the lid. I felt that, as you say, my heart was in my boots. I felt as though my heart was made of jelly, and that it was melting all away." Mr. Fungst paused. He raised his fat forefinger. He pointed it at Mr. Brooke. "I say to myself, 'Have courage.' Then I take a little nip of brandy. That give me strength. Then I have a smoke. Then I raise the lid." Mr. Fungst raised himself on tiptoe. He seemed to increase in size. "My friend, there was the diamond. But what a
