Thus adjured, Mr. Deedes sighed deeply, wiped his forehead with his handkerchief, looked meditatively into his hat for a few seconds, and then began.

Beginning with the narrative of Sergeant Nicholas, Mr. Deedes went on from that point to detail by what means he had discovered that M. Platzoff was still alive and where he was now living.  Then he told of his coming down to Bon Repos, and all that had happened to him since that time.  He had already told his son with what view he had sent for him from London—­that not being able to make any further headway in the case himself, he was desirous of introducing his dear James, in the guise of a servant, into Bon Repos, as an agent on whose integrity and cleverness he could alike depend.

“But you have not yet told your dear James the amount of the honorarium you will be entitled to receive in case you recover the stolen Diamond.”

“What do you say to five thousand pounds?” asked Mr. Deedes in a solemn whisper.

The younger man opened his eyes.  “Hum!  A very pretty little amount,” he said, “but I have yet to learn what proportion of that sum will percolate into the pockets of this child.  In other words, what is to be my share of the plunder?”

“Plunder, my dear boy, is a strange word to make use of.  Pray be more particular in your choice of terms.  The mercenary view you take of the case is very distressing to my feelings.  A proper recompense for your time and trouble it was my intention to make you; but as regards the five thousand pounds, I hoped to be able to fund it in toto, to add it to my little capital, and to leave it intact for those who will come after me.  And you know very well, James, that there will only be you and Mirpah to divide whatever the old man may die possessed of.”

“But, my dear dad, you are not going to die for these five-and-twenty years.  My present necessities are imperative:  like the daughters of the horse-leech, they are continually asking for more.”

“James!  James! how changed you are from the dear, unselfish boy of ten years ago!”

“And very proper too.  But do let us be business-like, if you please.  The role of the ‘heavy father’ doesn’t suit you at all.  Keep sentiment out of the case, and then we shall do very well.  Listen to my ultimatum.  The day I place the Hara Diamond in your hands you must give me a cheque for fifteen hundred pounds.”

“Fifteen hundred pounds!” gasped the old man.  “James!  James! do you wish to see me die in a workhouse?”

“Fifteen hundred pounds.  Not one penny less,” reiterated Madgin, junior.  “What do you mean by a workhouse?  You will then have three thousand, five hundred pounds to the good, and will have got the job done very cheaply.  But there is another side to the question.  Both you and I have been counting our chickens before they are hatched.  Suppose I don’t succeed in laying hold of the Diamond—­what then?