you please."

"Monsieur!" exclaimed the man, lifting his hands, and surveying me with
the widest eyes I ever saw. "A diamond! In my possession! So immense a
thing! It is impossible. I have not even seen one of the kind. It is a
mistake. Jacques Noailles, the vender of jewels _en gros_, second door
below, must be the man. One should perceive that my business is with
arms, not diamonds. I have it not; it would ruin me."

Here he paused for a reply, but, meeting none, resumed. "M. Arthur
Ulster!--I have heard of no such person. I never spoke with an
Englishman. Bah! I detest them! I have no dealings with them. I repeat,
I have not your jewel. Do you wish anything more of me?"

His vehemence only convinced me of the truth of my suspicions.

"These heroics are out of place," I answered. "I demand the article in
question."

"Monsieur doubts me?" he asked, with a rueful face,--"questions my
word, which is incontrovertible?" Here he clapped his hand upon a
_couteau-de-chasse_ lying near, but, appearing to think better of it,
drew himself up, and, with a shower of nods flung at me, added, "I deny
your accusation!" I had not accused him.

"You are at too much pains to convict yourself. I charge you with
nothing," I said. "But this diamond must be surrendered."

"Monsieur is mad!" he exclaimed, "mad! he dreams! Do I look like one who
possesses such a trophy? Does my shop resemble a mine? Look about!