“Its value!” Mr. Czenki repeated musingly.  “You know, Mr. Latham,” he went on suddenly, “there are a hundred experts, commissioned by royalty, scouring the diamond markets of the world for such stones as this.  So, if you are looking for a sale and a price, by all means offer it abroad first.”  He lifted the sparkling, iridescent jewel from the box again, and gazed at it reflectively.  “There is not one stone belonging to the British crown, for instance, which would in any way compare with this.”

“Not even the Koh-i-noor?” Mr. Latham demanded, surprised.

Mr. Czenki shook his head.

“Not even the Koh-i-noor.  It is larger, that’s all—­a fraction more than one hundred and six carats, but it has neither the coloring nor the cutting of this.”  There was a pause.  “Would it be impertinent if I ask who owns this?”

“I don’t know,” replied Mr. Latham slowly.  “I don’t know; but it isn’t ours.  Perhaps later I’ll be able to—­”

“I beg your pardon,” the expert interrupted courteously, and there was a slight expression of surprise on his thin scarred face.  “Is that all?”

Mr. Latham nodded absently and Mr. Czenki left the room.

CHAPTER II

TWEEDLEDUM AND TWEEDLEDEE

A little while later, when Mr. Latham started out to luncheon, he thrust the white glazed box into an inside pocket.  It had occurred to him that Schultze—­Gustave Schultze, the greatest importer of precious stones in America—­was usually at the club where he had luncheon, and—­

He found Mr. Schultze, a huge blond German, sitting at a table in an alcove, alone, gazing out upon Fifth Avenue in deep abstraction, with perplexed wrinkles about his blue eyes.  The German glanced around at Latham quickly as he proceeded to draw out a chair on the opposite side of the table.

“Sid down, Laadham, sid down,” he invited explosively.  “I haf yust send der vaiter to der delephone to ask—­”

There was a restrained note of excitement in the German’s voice, but at the moment it was utterly lost upon Mr. Latham.

“Schultze, you’ve probably imported more diamonds in the last ten years than any other half-dozen men in the United States,” he interrupted.  “I have something here I want you to see.  Perhaps, at some time, it may have passed through your hands.”

He placed the glazed box on the table.  For an instant the German stared at it with amazed eyes, then one fat hand darted toward it, and he spilled the diamond out on the napkin in his plate.  Then he sat gazing as if fascinated by the lambent, darting flashes deep from the blue-white heart.

“Mein Gott, Laadham!” he exclaimed, and with fingers which shook a little he lifted the stone and squinted through it toward the light, with critical eyes.  Mr. Latham was leaning forward on the table, waiting, watching, listening.