cash payment of ten
million dollars for a portion of the stones now cut and ready; within
a year all the diamonds will have been delivered and the transaction
must be closed." He hesitated an instant. "I'm sorry, gentlemen, if
the terms seem hard, but I think, after consideration, you will agree
that I have done you a favor by coming to you instead of going into
the market and destroying it. I will call next Thursday at three for
your answer. That is all. Good day!"

The door opened and closed behind him. A minute, two minutes, three
minutes passed and no one spoke. At last the German came to his feet
slowly with a sigh.

"Anyhow, gendlemens," he remarked, "dat young man has a hell of a lod
of diamonds, ain'd id?"

CHAPTER V

THE ASTUTE MR. BIRNES

It was a few minutes past four o'clock when Mr. Wynne strode through
the immense retail sales department of the H. Latham Company, and a
uniformed page held open the front door for him to pass out. Once on
the sidewalk the self-styled diamond master of the world paused long
enough to pull on his gloves, carelessly chucking the small sole-leather
grip with its twenty-odd million dollars' worth of precious stones under
one arm; then he turned up Fifth Avenue toward Thirty-fourth Street. A
sneak thief brushed past him, appraised him with one furtive glance,
then went his way, seeking quarry more promising.

Simultaneously with Mr. Wynne's appearance three men whose watchful eyes
had been fastened on the doorway of the H. Latham Company for something
more than an hour stirred. One of them--Frank Claflin--was directly
across the street, strolling along idly, the most purposeless of all in
the hurrying, well-dressed throng; another--Steve Birnes, chief of the
Birnes Detective Agency--appeared from the hallway of a building
adjoining the H. Latham Company, and moved along behind Mr. Wynne, some
thirty feet in the rear; the third--Jerry Malone--was half a block away,
up Fifth Avenue, coming slowly toward them.

Mr. Birnes adjusted his pace to that of Mr. Wynne, step for step, and
then, seeming assured of his safety from any chance glance,
ostentatiously mopped his face with a handkerchief, flirting it a
little to the left as he replaced it in his pocket. Claflin, across
the street, understood from that that he was to go on up Fifth
Avenue to Thirty-fourth Street, the next intersection, and turn west
to board any crosstown car which Mr. Wynne might possibly tak