ink I vould yust blace my hands on dem," Mr. Schultze
advised. "Dey are his diamonds, you know, und your hands might ged
in drouble."

"I mean figuratively, of course," the detective amended.

He stopped and drummed on his stiff hat with his fingers. Again he
glanced at the impassive face of Mr. Czenki with keen, questioning
eyes; and for one bare instant it seemed as if he were trying to
bring his memory to his aid.

"I've found out all about this man Wynne," he supplemented after a
moment, "but nothing in his record seems to have any bearing on this
case. He is an orphan. His mother was a Van Cortlandt of old Dutch
stock, and his father was a merchant downtown. He left a few
thousands to the son, and the son is now in business for himself with
an office in lower Broad Street. He is an importer of brown sugar."

"Brown sugar?" queried Mr. Czenki quickly, and the thin, scarred face
reflected for a second some subtle emotion within him. "Brown
sugar!" he repeated.

"Yes," drawled the detective, with an unpleasant stare, "brown sugar.
He imports it from Cuba and Porto Rico and Brazil by the shipload, I
understand, and makes a good thing of it."

A quick pallor overspread Mr. Czenki's countenance, and he arose with
his fingers working nervously. His beady eyes were glittering; his
lips were pressed together until they were bloodless.

"_Vas iss?_" demanded Mr. Schultze curiously.

"My God, gentlemen, don't you see?" the expert burst out violently.
"Don't you see what this man has done? He has--he has--"

Suddenly, by a supreme effort, he regained control of himself, and
resumed his seat.

"He has--what?" asked Mr. Latham.

For half a minute Czenki stared at his employer; then his face grew
impassive again.

"I beg your pardon," he said quietly. "Mr. Wynne is a heavy importer
of sugar from Brazil. Isn't it possible that those _are_ Brazilian
diamonds? That new workings have been discovered somewhere in the
interior? That he has smuggled them in concealed in the sugar-bags,
right into New York, under the noses of the customs officials? I beg
your pardon," he concluded.

Late in the afternoon of the following day a drunken man, unshaven,
unkempt, unclean and clothed in rags, lurched into a small pawnshop
in the lower Bowery and planked down on the dirty counter a handful
of inert, colorless pebbles, ranging in size from a pea to a peanut.

"Say, Jew, is them real diamonds?" he demanded thickl