was in his possession. Gladly would he now have given it away
for nothing, but he dared not try, for this would lay him open to the
strongest suspicion.

"At last, in a by-street, he came upon the shop of a curio-dealer.
Putting on a careless and cheerful manner, he entered and offered the
pendant for ten francs. The dealer looked at it, shook his head, and
handed it back.

"'What will you give me for it?' demanded Parratt, breaking out into a
cold sweat at the prospect of a final refusal.

"The dealer felt in his pocket, drew out a couple of francs, and held
them out.

"'Very well,' said Parratt. He took the money as calmly as he could, and
marched out of the shop, with a gasp of relief, leaving the pendant in
the dealer's hand.

"The jewel was hung up in a glass case, and nothing more was thought
about it until some ten days later, when an English tourist, who came
into the shop, noticed it and took a liking to it. Thereupon the dealer
offered it to him for five pounds, assuring him that it was a genuine
pearl, a statement that, to his amazement, the stranger evidently
believed. He was then deeply afflicted at not having asked a higher
price, but the bargain had been struck, and the Englishman went off with
his purchase.

"This was the story told by Captain Raggerton's friend, and I have given
it to you in full detail, having read the manuscript over many times
since it was given to me. No doubt you will regard it as a mere
traveller's tale, and consider me a superstitious idiot for giving any
credence to it."

"It certainly seems more remarkable for picturesqueness than for
credibility," Thorndyke agreed. "May I ask," he continued, "whether
Captain Raggerton's friend gave any explanation as to how this singular
story came to his knowledge, or to that of anybody else?"

"Oh yes," replied Calverley; "I forgot to mention that the seaman,
Parratt, very shortly after he had sold the pearl, fell down the hatch
into the hold as the ship was unloading, and was very badly injured. He
was taken to the hospital, where he died on the following day; and it
was while he was lying there in a dying condition that he confessed to
the murder, and gave this circumstantial account of it."

"I see," said Thorndyke; "and I understand that you accept the story as
literally true?"

"Undoubtedly." Calverley flushed defiantly as he returned Thorndyke's
look, and continued: "You see, I am not a man of science: therefore my
belief