full of death,—­ pistols, variously mounted, for an insurgent at the barricades, or for a lost millionnaire at the gaming-table,—­foils, with buttoned bluntness,—­and rapiers, whose even edges were viewless, as if filed into air.  Destruction lay everywhere, at the command of the owner of this place, and, had he possessed a particle of vivacity, it would have been hazardous to bow beneath his doorway.  It did not, I must say, look like a place where I should find a diamond.  As the owner came forward, I determined on my plan of action.

“You have, Sir,” I said, handing him a bit of paper, on which were scrawled some numbers, “a diamond in your possession, of such and so many carats, size, and value, belonging to the Duke of X., and left with you by an Englishman, Mr. Arthur Ulster.  You will deliver it to me, if you please.”

“Monsieur!” exclaimed the man, lifting his hands, and surveying me with the widest eyes I ever saw.  “A diamond!  In my possession!  So immense a thing!  It is impossible.  I have not even seen one of the kind.  It is a mistake.  Jacques Noailles, the vender of jewels en gros, second door below, must be the man.  One should perceive that my business is with arms, not diamonds.  I have it not; it would ruin me.”

Here he paused for a reply, but, meeting none, resumed.  “M.  Arthur Ulster!—­I have heard of no such person.  I never spoke with an Englishman.  Bah!  I detest them!  I have no dealings with them.  I repeat, I have not your jewel.  Do you wish anything more of me?”

His vehemence only convinced me of the truth of my suspicions.

“These heroics are out of place,” I answered.  “I demand the article in question.”

“Monsieur doubts me?” he asked, with a rueful face,—­“questions my word, which is incontrovertible?” Here he clapped his hand upon a couteau-de-chasse lying near, but, appearing to think better of it, drew himself up, and, with a shower of nods flung at me, added, “I deny your accusation!” I had not accused him.

“You are at too much pains to convict yourself.  I charge you with nothing,” I said.  “But this diamond must be surrendered.”

“Monsieur is mad!” he exclaimed, “mad! he dreams!  Do I look like one who possesses such a trophy?  Does my shop resemble a mine?  Look about!  See!  All that is here would not bring a hundredth part of its price.  I beseech Monsieur to believe me; he has mistaken the number, or has been misinformed.”

“We waste words.  I know this diamond is here, as well as a costly chain”—­

“On my soul, on my life, on my honor,” he cried, clasping his hands and turning up his eyes, “there is here nothing of the kind.  I do not deal in gems.  A little silk, a few weapons, a curiosity, a nicknack, comprise my stock.  I have not the diamond.  I do not know the thing.  I am poor.  I am honest.  Suspicion destroys me!”

“As you will find, should I be longer troubled by your denials.”