Inside the office the jeweller was sitting beside a table; he was
leaning back in his chair; he had his hands clasped over his
stomach. He was gazing toward the ceiling; his face was a study,
full of wonder and speculation.

"Well?" I asked.

For an answer he merely raised his finger, pointed towards the
ceiling.

"Up there," he spoke. "Your jewel or whatever it is. A good thing
we weren't in open air. 'Twould be going yet."

I looked up. Sure enough, against the ceiling was the gem. It was
a bit disconcerting, though I will confess that in the first
moment I did not catch the full significance.

The jeweller closed one eye and studied first myself and then the
beautiful thing against the ceiling.

"What do you make of it?" he asked.

Really I had not made anything; it was a bit of a shock; I hadn't
grasped the full impossibility. I didn't answer.

"Don't you see, Mr. Wendel? Impossible! Contrary to nature!
Lighter than air. We took it out of the ring and it shot out like
a bullet. Thought I'd dropped it. Began looking on the floor.
Couldn't find it; looked up and saw Reynolds, here, with his eyes