“What did I do?” she said, in the old manner of addressing an inquiry to herself.  “The major wanted gold and perhaps I said gold.  Why, yes, I must have said I wanted eighteen thousand dollars in gold.  Well, at any rate, here’s the money to pay you for the sapphires.  I’ll telegraph the Credit Lyonnais to send me your eighteen hundred, and you can come around to the Ritz for it in the morning.”

She wished Hargrave to see that the telegram was properly worded, so the stupid French would not undertake to ship another bag of coin to her.  He wrote it out, so there could be no mistake, and sent it from Charing Cross on the way back to the club.

Hargrave had to get two porters to carry the leather portmanteau into his room at the Empire Club.  Mrs. Farmingham did not wait to receive the sapphires.  She said he could bring them over to the Ritz after he had counted the money.  She wanted a cup of tea; he could come along in an hour.

It took Hargrave the whole of the hour to verify the money.  The case had been shipped, the straps were knotted tight and the lock was sealed.  He had to get a man from the outside to break the lock open.  The man said it was an American lock and he hadn’t any implement to turn it.

There were eighteen thousand dollars in American twenty-dollar gold pieces packed in sawdust in the bag.  The Credit Lyonnais had followed Mrs. Farmingham’s directions to the letter.  Such is the custom of the stupid French!  She had asked for eighteen thousand dollars in gold, and they had sent her eighteen thousand dollars in gold.  Hargrave put one of the pieces into his waistcoat pocket.  He wanted to show Mrs. Farmingham how strangely the stupid French had made the blunder of doing precisely what she asked.  Then he strapped up the portmanteau, pushed it under the bed, went out and locked the door.  He asked the chief steward to put a man in the corridor to see that no one went into his room while he was out.  Then he got the sapphires out of the safe and went over to the Ritz.

He met Mrs. Farmingham in the corridor coming out to her carriage.

“Ah, Mr. Hargrave,” she said, “here you are.  I just told the clerk to call you up and tell you to bring the sapphires over in the morning when you came for the draft.  I promised Lady Holbert last night to come out to tea at five.  Forgot it until a moment ago.”

She took Hargrave along out to the carriage and he gave her the envelope.  She tore off the corner, emptied the sapphires into her hand, glanced at them, and dropped them loose into the pocket of her coat.

“Was the money all right?” she said.

“Precisely all right,” replied the American.  “The Credit Lyonnais, with amazing stupidity, sent you precisely what you asked for in your telegram.”  And he showed her the twenty-dollar gold piece.

“Well, well, the stupid darlings!” Then she laughed in her big, energetic manner.  “I’m not always a fool.  Come in the morning at nine.  Good-night, Mr. Hargrave.”