held up the card. "Here's another man who wants to tell me something
about the Ashton case!" he exclaimed.

"It's been quite a stroke of luck having that paragraph in the
newspapers, asking for information from anybody who could give it!"

"What's this?" asked Viner.

"Mr. Jan Van Hoeren, Diamond Merchant," read Mr. Pawle from the card,
"583 Hatton Garden--"

"Ah!" Mr. Armitstead exclaimed. "Diamonds!"

"I shouldn't wonder if you're right," remarked Mr. Pawle. "Diamonds, I
believe, are to Hatton Garden what cabbages and carrots are to Covent."
He touched his bell, and the clerk appeared. "Bring Mr. Van Hoeren this
way," he said.

There entered, hat in hand, bowing all round, a little fat, beady-eyed
man, whose beard was blue-black and glossy, whose lips were red, whose
nose was his most decided feature. His hat was new and shining, his black
overcoat of superfine cloth was ornamented with a collar of undoubted
sable; he carried a gold-mounted umbrella. But there was one thing on him
that put all the rest of his finery in the shade. In the folds of his
artistically-arranged black satin stock lay a pearl--such a pearl as few
folk ever have the privilege of seeing. It was as big as a moderately
sized hazel nut, and the three men who looked at it knew that it was
something wonderful.

"Take a chair, Mr. Van Hoeren," said Mr. Pawle genially. "You want to