of the firm; and for five or six years his had been the final word
as to quality and value. He had been a laborer in the South African
diamond fields--the scar was an assegai thrust--about the time Cecil
Rhodes' grip was first felt there; later he was employed as an expert
by Barney Barnato at Kimberly, and finally he went to London with
Adolph Zeidt. Mr. Latham nodded as he entered, and took the box
from the pigeonhole.

"Here's something I'd like you to look at," he remarked.

Mr. Czenki removed the cover and turned the glittering stone out into
his hand. For a minute or more he stood still, examining it, as he
turned and twisted it in his fingers, then walked over to a window,
adjusted a magnifying glass in his left eye and continued the
scrutiny. Mr. Latham swung around in his chair and stared at him
intently.

"It's the most perfect blue-white I've ever seen," the expert
announced at last. "I dare say it's the most perfect in the world."

Mr. Latham arose suddenly and strode over to Mr. Czenki, who was
twisting the jewel in his fingers, singling out, dissecting, studying
the colorful flashes, measuring the facets with practised eyes,
weighing it on his finger-tips, seeking a possible flaw.

"The cutting is very fine," the expert went on. "Of course I would
have to use instruments to tell me if it is mathematically correct;
and the weight, I imagine, is--is about six carats, perhaps a
fraction more."