to her level with a laugh.

"I assure you, madam," he said, "our house is not accustomed to buy
junk. It's a perfectly simple matter to tell a spurious jewel."

And he began to explain the simple, decisive tests. But she did not
listen to him.

"I don't care how a vet knows that a hunter's sound. All that I want to
be certain about is that he does know it. I don't want to buy hunters on
my own hook. Neither do I want to buy jewels on what I know about
them. If you know, that's all I care about it. And you must know or old
Bartholdi wouldn't trust you. That's what I'm going on."

She was a big aggressive woman, full of energy. Hargrave could not see
her very well, but that much was abundantly clear. The carriage turned
out of Piccadilly Circus, crossed Trafalgar Square and stopped before
Blackwell's Hotel. Blackwell's has had a distinct clientele since
the war; a sort of headquarters for Southeastern European visitors to
London.

When the carriage stopped Mrs. Farmingham opened the door herself,
before the footman could get down, and got out. It was the restless
American impatience always cropping out in this woman.

"Come along, young man," she said, "and tell me whether this stuff is O.
K. or junk."

They got in a lift and went up to the top floor of the hotel. Mrs.
Farmingham got out and Hargrave followed her along the hall to a door
at the end of a corridor. He could see her now clearly in the light. She
had gray eyes, a big determined mouth, and a mass of hair dyed as only a
Parisian expert, in the Rue de la Paix, can do it. She went directly to
a door at the end of the corridor, rapped on it with her gloved hand,
and turned the latch before anybody could possibly have responded.

Hargrave followed her into the room. It was a tiny sitting room, one
of the inexpensive rooms in the hotel. There was a bit of fire in
the grate, and standing by the mantelpiece was, a big old man with
close-cropped hair and a pale, unhealthy face. It was the type of face
that one associates with tribal races in Southeastern Europe. He was
dressed in a uniform that fitted closely to his figure. It was a uniform
of some elevated rank, from the apparent richness of it. There were one
or two decorations on the coat, a star and a heavy bronze medal. The
man looked to be of some importance; but this importance did not impress
Mrs. Farmingham.

"Major," she said in her direct fashion, "I have brought an expert to
look at the jewels."