‘I haf finished this one.’ He placed the stone on Tom Young’s outstretched hand. It seemed to shimmer with a million lights, and white fire sprang out from the heart of it—a pure brilliant heart, unflawed, untinted. It was a stone of superlative beauty; and Tom Young, who was a connoisseur of precious stones, held it up to the light with interest.
Presently he gave a soft laugh.
‘What a pity you are such a scoundrel, O illustrious van Reuth!’ he remarked.
Van Reuth, accustomed to such pleasantries, smiled. He had fallen foul of the police in his own country, and, escaping on a Dutch boat from Rotterdam, he had found refuge with Tom Young, a person with whom he had previously done some business which was not unconnected with the cutting and sale of precious stones.
‘You are a genius, van Reuth,’ said Young, looking at the diamond, his head on one side. ‘I do not wonder that once you were the most illustrious man of all your profession at Amsterdam. A lapidary so skilled as you is as rare as the eggs of the great roc! This stone must go to Amsterdam to-night. The Van Biesen sails on the morning tide, and I have a friend on board to take it as far as Antwerp, where your old friend Laeken will meet him. When will the other stones be ready?’
‘Some of them in two days, some five. And the smaller ones——’
‘Never mind the smaller ones,’ interrupted Tom Young. ‘Nobody will trouble to trace them. It is of diamonds like this that the watchful police will send descriptions abroad.’ He looked at the stone that was gleaming on his yellow hand, then placed it on a delicate balance which stood inside a small case with a sliding door. Carefully slipping thin metal wafers on a tray, he pressed the brass lever that lifted the fulcrum, until at length the long, swaying arm came to rest on the zero mark. Tom Young counted the tiny weights and gave a little whistle of surprise.
‘You have done wonders, van Reuth! You have cut away so little—yet it is a new stone! Even Mr. Mellis would not recognize it as the diamond which our Honourable Friend removed from the safe in Hatton Garden three weeks ago. I will reward you well for this, most villainous old dog that you are!’
His hand went out, and grasping the Dutchman’s shoulder, he shook him violently, then flung him back against the table, with a laugh.
The Dutchman gave a rueful smile. ‘My friendt is in a happy mood to-night!’ he grunted, rubbing the shoulder where Young’s strong fingers had bitten into the flesh.
‘You are wrong,’ said the other; ‘I am in no mood for frivolous amusement. I have bad news for you, van Reuth. These last three months you have been safe here with me—safe from the police of your own country—but I think the time may soon come——’
‘You send me away?’ cried van Reuth, his plump smooth bearded cheeks puckered with apprehension.
Tom Young was pacing slowly up and down the floor, and the Dutchman’s bright eyes followed every movement.
‘You will not send me away, Mr. Young?’ he repeated miserably.
Tom Young swung round to the squat figure of the Dutchman, whose skin had an odd pallor under the white rays of the lamp overhead.
‘I like you, van Reuth,’ he said at last. ‘You have been square with me, and our Honourable Friend would wish me to reward you adequately. But I have a presentiment that trouble may come to us. I have had a warning that the vigilant police are too often near “The Green Lantern” these days.’
‘The police!’ said the Dutchman in a whisper.
Tom Young nodded. ‘Our Honourable Friend snaps his fingers at the police. They will never get him. But they may get the others, such as ourselves, who have helped him. You must remain indoors, my friend, and I will have your food sent up to your bedroom. It may be that you will have to depart in a hurry. I do not think that the police will discover this hiding-place, but he is a fool who runs too great risks.’ He pointed to the partition wall, beyond which were the attics of the house. ‘They may search these rooms, and they will find nothing—nothing. I have moved all that would be incriminating. But do not let my warning words disturb your sleep, my friend! The day of departure is not yet. . . .’ He lifted up the trap-door, and began to descend the ladder. ‘You will have the big diamond ready for me in half an hour? I will convey it to my friend on the Van Biesen.’ He glanced at his wrist-watch. ‘The patrol-boat of the police passes in twenty minutes, and after that the way will be clear.’
Downstairs in his own room, Tom Young continued his meditations in front of the fire. But presently his train of thought was interrupted. The sullen-faced man called Jack opened the door, and without ceremony hurried across to the motionless figure on the hearth. He whispered a rapid message.
Tom Young sprang to his feet, and stared at the other, then laughed.
‘The police have surrounded the place? It is ridiculous!’
‘It’s true, I tell you,’ panted the other. ‘A couple of them have just come in and asked for a drink. I know the cut of their jib all right! Others outside too. Think I don’t know a “busy” when I see one?’
Tom Young made an angry gesture. ‘You’re drunk, you dog! Pluck the sleep from your foolish eyes, and listen. Have the boat ready in ten minutes—the rowing-boat. You will take me across the river to the Van Biesen: she’s lying off Hennecker’s Wharf on the other bank—you know the place? In ten minutes’ time. . . .’ He hesitated, staring at the man’s terrified face. ‘Wait!’ he said, biting his lips. ‘Switch out that light, Jack.’
The room sank into darkness, except for the dim glow at the fire-place. Tom Young went swiftly to the window. Picking up his powerful glasses, he furled aside the edge of the blind and looked out on the river.
Immediately below were the lights of barges moored to a buoy; then a belt of black water; and beyond was a multitude of sparkling pin-points, some in thick clusters, some set in a strip of darkness. Downstream were the tiny lamps at Wapping Stairs and the Tunnel Pier; to the left, the entrance lights of the St. Katherine Docks could be picked out from these dim specks that marked lit windows; and farther west still, the clear glow of Tower Bridge made a shimmer on the moving river-waters. Young’s glasses roved rapidly. He was familiar with that scene at all hours and in all weathers—when low clouds reflected London’s lights, and jewelled every leaping ripple; when nights were clear and frosty, and stars were glinting deep in the still river; when drifting mists opened and closed like grey silk curtains blown by the wind. . . .
And suddenly Tom Young’s night-glasses came to rest, and his body stiffened.
‘You’re right, Jack,’ he said sharply. ‘There’s a police launch lying out there—fifty yards away.’ He dropped the edge of the blind and hurried across the dark room. ‘Wait here. I have some arrangements to make.’
He raced upstairs and made his way along the corridor to van Reuth’s bedroom, and presently was thrusting back the trap-door of the narrow chamber above.
The Dutchman sprang up from the table in surprise. The sharp hiss of the emery-wheel on the facets of the stones in the metal clamps had prevented him from hearing Tom Young’s footsteps on the ladder.
‘Get ready to go, van Reuth—pack up now. There isn’t five minutes to waste. The police are outside, and there’s a patrol-boat out there on the river.’
‘The police——’
Tom Young grasped him by the shoulder and shook him. ‘Listen, van Reuth! Pull yourself together. We’re clearing out. Savvy?’
‘But I am safe here