“No,” the young man corrected; “this, too, is a duplicate.  The original is in the Russian sceptre.  This is a replica—­color, weight and cutting being identical—­one hundred and ninety-three carats, nearly as large as a pigeon’s egg.”

Again Mr. Wynne glanced along the table.  Suddenly the frank amazement had vanished from the faces of these men, and he found only the tense interest of an audience watching a clever juggler.  For a time Mr. Schultze studied the Orloff duplicate, then passed it along to the experts.

“Der grand Cullinan diamond weighs only two or d’ree pounds,” he questioned in a tone of deep resignation.  “Maybe you haf him in der backage, alretty?”

“Not yet,” replied Mr. Wynne, “but I may possibly get that on my next trip out.  Who knows?”

There was a long, tense silence.  Mechanically Mr. Czenki placed the three spheres and the replicas in an orderly little row on the table in front of him and the uncut stones beside them—­six, seven, eight million dollars’ worth of diamonds.

“Gentlemen, are you convinced?” demanded Mr. Wynne suddenly.  “Is there one lingering doubt in any mind here as to the tremendous find which makes the production of all those possible?”

“Id iss der miracle, Mr. Vynne,” admitted the German gravely, after a little pause.  “Dere iss someding before us as nefer vas in der vorld.  I am gonvinced!”

“Up to this moment, gentlemen, the De Beers Syndicate has controlled the diamond market,” Mr. Wynne announced, “but now, from this moment, I control it.  I hold it there, in the palm of my hand, with the unlimited supply back of me.  I am offering you an opportunity to prevent the annihilation of the market.  It rests with you.  If I turn loose a billion dollars’ worth of diamonds within the year you are ruined—­all of you.  You know that—­it’s hardly necessary to tell you.  And, gentlemen, I don’t care to do it.”

“What is your proposition?” queried Mr. Latham quietly.  His face was ghastly white; haggard lines, limned by amazement and realization, were marked clearly on it.  “What is your proposition?” he repeated.

“Wait a minute,” interposed Mr. Solomon protestingly, and he turned to the young man.  “The Syndicate controls the market by force of a reserve stock of ten or fifteen million dollars.  Do we understand that you have more than these ready for market now?”

Mr. Wynne stooped and lifted the small sole-leather grip which had been unheeded on the floor.  He unfastened the catch and turned the bag upside down upon the table.  When he raised it again the assembled jewelers gazed upon a spectacle unknown and undreamed of in the history of the world—­a great, glittering heap of diamonds, flashing, colorful, prismatic, radiant, bedazzling.  They rattled like pebbles upon the mahogany table as they slipped and slid one against another, and then, at rest, resolved themselves into a steady, multi-colored blaze which was almost blinding.