t be able to become part
owner of the St. Magnus.

"What does he say the diamond is worth?" I asked of Flett.

The sum he named astonished me. I could scarcely contain my wonder
at the thought of it.

"Five hundred guineas," answered Flett.

Five hundred guineas! Why, that was a fortune.

"Would you give me that much for it?" I asked, looking at old
Isaac.

"Ah! mine young man, you tink me rich. I could not offer you five
hundred shilling for the stone. I only tell you it is vort so
much."

He thereupon replaced the gem within its covering of stone, drew on
the band of gold again, and returned to me my talisman in its
original condition. Then he drank the gin that was in the glass
before him, and put back his little scales into his pocket. Before
leaving us he handed me a little card on which was inscribed the
name of a diamond merchant in Amsterdam.

"You are a sailorman," he said, buttoning up his coat. "You may be
in Amsterdam one day. If you go to dat address dey vill buy the
stone from you; but do not take one groschen less dan five hundred
guineas. Good day, mynheer!"

And he went out.

"Weel," said Davie Flett, "I must say that's a queer auld fellow."

"He seems to have turned honest," I said.

"The auld scoundrel has taken a liking for you, Halcro," said the
skipper, smiling.

"But," said I, "I almost wish he had bought the diamond."

"Nonsense, lad! keep it and bide ye're time. Besides, you forget
the dominie's 'Law of Treasure Trove'"

"Ah, yes, I suppose I would only be entitled to a third of the
money after all," I said. "But what about the pilot boat?"

"That will be all square, my lad. Did they not tell you that I had
bought the St. Magnus?"

"No! do you really mean that, captain?"

"Certainly I mean it. And you and Jack Paterson can start the
piloting as soon's ye like."

That night, as I sat at Andrew Drever's fireside talking of Jarl
Haffling's talisman, Thora Quendale told us how, when one day after
her illness she was sitting in an armchair, with the stone dangling
by a string from her hand, she fell asleep before the warm fire.
She was awakened by hearing a footstep in the room; it was Tom
Kinlay's. She felt for the stone, but it was gone. Tom had stolen
it. This was how it came into his possession. Evidently it was by a
mere accident that he left it at the top of the cliff, before going
down to the cave, after the death of Colin Lothian.

That night, too, Andrew Drever t