ask you to tell me a story. Then I will tell
_you_ a story. First, my dear young lady, tell me where you found the
beads?" As he spoke, he drew open a drawer, and took from it the
envelope Robin had given to her guardian.

Beryl answered briefly, for the simple reason that she found difficulty
managing her tongue.

"An--an old priest--back in Ireland--gave them--to us. He'd found them
in an antique shop in London."

"Ah, so! Just so! So! So!" crowed the gnome-like man, jumping up and
down in his great chair. "Now I will tell _you_ a story."

"Once upon a time, as you say, a beautiful Queen of the fifteenth
century, while travelling through a forest, came upon a roving band of
gypsies. So great was her beauty that the gypsy chief gave to her a
necklace of precious jade, upon each bead of which had been tooled a
crown, so infinitesimal as to be seen only through a strong lens. The
chief told the fair Queen that the necklace brought good fortune to
whosoever possessed it. But so proud was the young Queen of the precious
beads and the good fortune that was to be hers that she boasted of them
to her Court and aroused the envy of many until a knave among her
courtiers stole them from her. For generations these beads, the
workmanship of a Magyar artisan, have passed from owner to owner,
always mysteriously, for, because of the good fortune they had power to
bestow, no one parted with them except from the most dire necessity, and
only lost them through theft. Ah," he held up one of the glowing green
globes, "the stories they could tell of greed and dishonor and cunning!
The lies that have been told for them! And an old priest found them at
last! It is many years since there has been any trace." He stared at
Beryl as though to see through her into the past. Then he roused quickly
and shook his shoulders. "They have hung about the necks of crowned
people, good people--and wicked people. Perhaps they have brought good
fortune--as the Magyar chieftain said they would. Who knows? You, my
dear--you are a girl with a sensible head on a pair of straight
shoulders--tell me, do you care more for the superstition of this
necklace--than for the money I will pay you for it--say, fifteen
thousand dollars?"

Beryl stood up so suddenly that her chair tumbled backward, making a
crashing noise in the subdued stillness of the little room.

"Are you joking?" she asked in a queer, choky voice.

"No, he is not joking. And I told you he is k