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Page 87
"It won't do to think," she said. "I have got to know. I don't
buy junk."
He tried to carry himself up to her level with a laugh.
"I assure you, madam," he said, "our house is not accustomed to
buy junk. It's a perfectly simple matter to tell a spurious
jewel."
And he began to explain the simple, decisive tests. But she did
not listen to him.
"I don't care how a vet knows that a hunter's sound. All that I
want to be certain about is that he does know it. I don't want
to buy hunters on my own hook. Neither do I want to buy jewels
on what I know about them. If you know, that's all I care about
it. And you must know or old Bartholdi wouldn't trust you.
That's what I'm going on."
She was a big aggressive woman, full of energy. Hargrave could
not see her very well, but that much was abundantly clear. The
carriage turned out of Piccadilly Circus, crossed Trafalgar
Square and stopped before Blackwell's Hotel. Blackwell's has had
a distinct clientele since the war; a sort of headquarters for
Southeastern European visitors to London.
When the carriage stopped Mrs. Farmingham opened the door
herself, before the footman could get down, and got out. It was
the restless American impatience always cropping out in this
woman.
"Come along, young man," she said, "and tell me whether this
stuff is O. K. or junk."
They got in a lift and went up to the top floor of the hotel.
Mrs. Farmingham got out and Hargrave followed her along the hall
to a door at the end of a corridor. He could see her now clearly
in the light. She had gray eyes, a big determined mouth, and a
mass of hair dyed as only a Parisian expert, in the Rue de la
Paix, can do it. She went directly to a door at the end of the
corridor, rapped on it with her gloved hand, and turned the latch
before anybody could possibly have responded.
Hargrave followed her into the room. It was a tiny sitting room,
one of the inexpensive rooms in the hotel. There was a bit of
fire in the grate, and standing by the mantelpiece was, a big old
man with close-cropped hair and a pale, unhealthy face. It was
the type of face that one associates with tribal races in
Southeastern Europe. He was dressed in a uniform that fitted
closely to his figure. It was a uniform of some elevated rank,
from the apparent richness of it. There were one or two
decorations on the coat, a star and a heavy bronze medal. The
man looked to be of some importance; but this importance did not
impress Mrs. Farmingham.
"Major," she said in her direct fashion, "I have brought an
expert to look at the jewels."
She indicated Hargrave, and the foreign officer bowed
courteously. Then he took two candles from the mantelpiece and
placed them on a little table that stood in the center of the
room.
He put three chairs round this table, sat down in one of them,
unbuttoned the bosom of his coat and took out a big oblong jewel
case. The case was in an Oriental design and of great age. The
embroidered silk cover was falling apart. He opened the case
carefully, delicately, like one handling fragile treasure.
Inside, lying each in a little pocket that exactly fitted the
outlines of the stone, were three rows of sapphires. He emptied
the jewels out on the table.
"Sir," he said, speaking with a queer, hesitating accent, "it
saddens one unspeakably to part with the ancient treasure of
one's family."
Mrs. Farmingham said nothing whatever. Hargrave stooped over the
jewels and spread them out on top of, the table. There were
twenty-nine sapphires of the very finest quality. He had never
seen better sapphires anywhere. He remembered seeing stones that
were matched up better; but he had never seen individual stones
that were any finer in anybody's collection. The foreigner was
composed and silent while the American examined the jewels. But
Mrs. Farmingham moved restlessly in her chair.
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