e generally known as Conkleton, was a
regular Jew Kopjewalloper from Petticoat Lane. He had abundance
of money, and was the pest of the diamond fields. Several of his
runners were caught and convicted, but no case could ever be
framed against him in person, as he flourished before the days of
Diamond Registration. However, the charge of I.D.B. grew so
strong against him that at last the boys took the law into their
own hands and rock-salted him. Afterwards he disappeared. The
lesson appeared to have been sufficient. Rock-salt, so they say,
when fired into the skin, hurts." The name of my informant cannot
be divulged; but he is a most earnest worker in the Great Cause,
and I, Taltavull, will pledge my credit on his veracity.

(Signed) TALTAVULL.

_Anarchist Headquarters, Barcelona._

And then I went on to tell her how it was a pure platonic love for
diamonds themselves that had turned me to trade in those lovely stones;
how their iridescent glitter delighted my eye, and how the very act of
handling them in their dull, rough, uncut state was a joy to me that
almost amounted to monomania. The theme pleased her, and she asked me
to go on. I had not spoken of diamonds once during all those long years
of darkness, and to discourse about them again to any one who took the
obvious interest in them that she did was for me an indulgence nothing
short of delicious. And when we parted for the night, and I found
myself once more alone, I was almost surprised that I had said nothing
about this new enterprise in the diamond industry which fortune had
thrown in my way. "I feel sure," I told myself, "that she will share
this great secret. She is the one person in this world for me to trust.
But I cannot part with it yet. Besides, I have only known her two days.
Time enough when we get back to Palma."

We went out afoot after breakfast next morning, and during all that day
I revelled in the beauties of Miramar, the finest piece of cliff and
coast scenery in Europe. There is one of the many watch-towers here, a
gray old building whose architect was dead before the Pharaohs or even
the Phoenicians began to pile stones together, and yet the old citadel
has not bent one inch to all that string of time. We ascended half-way
outside up a ladder, and entered a small domed chamber. Then we climbed
together on to the roof, which is half a covered sentry-house, half a