of this."

"Understand what you like," said the other with sullen ferocity. "Will
you let us have that back again?"

"No," said the Jew explosively. "I have no fear of a dog like you; if
it was worth the trouble I'd send for the police and hand you over to
them."

"Call them," said the other; "do; I'll wait. But mark my words, if you
don't give us the stone back you're a dead man. I've got a pal what half
that diamond belongs to. He's from the East, and a bad man to cross.
He has only got to wish it, and you're a dead man without his raising
a finger at you. I've come here to do you a good turn; if he comes here
it's all up with you."

"Well, you go back to him," jeered the Jew; "a clever man like that can
get the diamond without going near it seemingly. You're wasting your
time here, and it's a pity; you must have got a lot of friends."

"Well, I've warned you," said the other, "you'll have one more warning.
If you won't be wise you must keep the diamond, but it won't be much
good to you. It's a good stone, but, speaking for myself I'd sooner be
alive without it than dead with it."

He gave the Jew a menacing glance and departed, and the assistant having
by this time finished his dinner, the pawnbroker went to his own with an
appetite by no means improved by his late interview.

CHAPTER III.

The cat, with its fore-paws tucked beneath it, was dozing on the
counter. Business had been slack that morning, and it had only been
pushed off three times. It had staked out a claim on that counter some
five years before, and if anything was required to convince it of the
value of the possession it was the fact that it was being constantly
pushed off. To a firm-minded cat this alone gave the counter a value
difficult to overestimate, and sometimes an obsequious customer fell
into raptures over its beauty. This was soothing, and the animal allowed
customers of this type to scratch it gently behind the ear.

The cat was for the time the only occupant of the shop. The assistant
was out, and the pawnbroker sat in the small room beyond, with the
door half open, reading a newspaper. He had read the financial columns,
glanced at the foreign intelligence, and was just about to turn to
the leader when his eye was caught by the headline, "Murder in
White-chapel."

He folded the paper back, and, with a chilly feeling creeping over
him, perused the account. In the usual thrilling style it recorded the
finding of the body