# Ainslee's Magazine/The Gem Collector/Chapter 18

from Ainslee's magazine, December 1909, pp. 44–46.

### CHAPTER XVIII.

With a wonderful feeling of lightheartedness, Jimmy turned once more to the jewel box. He picked up the lamp and switched off the electric light. He had dropped the necklace to the floor, and had knelt to recover it when the opening of the door, followed by a blaze of light and a startled exclamation, brought him to his feet with a bound, blinking but alert.
In the doorway stood Sir Thomas Blunt. His face expressed the most lively astonishment. His bulging eyes were fixed upon the pearls in Jimmy's hand.
“Good evening,” said Jimmy pleasantly,
Sir Thomas stammered. It is a disquieting experience to find the floor of one's dressing room occupied by a burglar.
“What—what—what——” said Sir Thomas.
“Out with it,” said Jimmy.
“What——”
“I knew a man once who stammered,” said Jimmy. “He used to chew dog biscuit while he was speaking. It cured him. Besides being nutritious.”
“You—you blackguard!” said Sir Thomas.
Jimmy placed the pearls carefully on the dressing table. Then he turned to Sir Thomas, with his hands in the pockets of his coat. It was a tight corner, but he had been in tighter in his time, and in this instance he fancied that he held a winning card. He found himself enjoying the interview.
“So—so it's you, is it?” said Sir Thomas.
“Who told you?”
“So you're a thief,” went on the baronet viciously, “a low thief,”
“Dash it all—I say, come now,” protested Jimmy, “Not low. You may not know me, over here, but I've got a big American reputation. Ask anybody. But——
“And, I say,” added Jimmy, “I know you don't mean to be offensive, but I wish you wouldn't call me a thief. I'm a cracksman. There's a world of difference between the two branches of the profession. I mean, well, suppose you were an actor-manager, you wouldn't like to be called a super, would you? I mean—well, you see, don't you? An ordinary thief, for instance, would use violence in a case like this. Violence—except in extreme cases; I hope this won't be one of them—is contrary to cracksmen's etiquette. On the other hand, Sir Thomas, I should like to say that I have you covered.”
There was a pipe in the pocket of his coat. He thrust the stem of this earnestly against the lining. Sir Thomas eyed the protuberance apprehensively, and turned a little pale.
“My gun, as you see, is in my pocket. It is loaded and cocked. It is pointing straight at you at the present moment, and my finger is on the trigger. I may add that I am a dead shot at a yard and a half. So I should recommend you not to touch that bell you are looking at.”
Sir Thomas' hand wavered.
“Do, if you like, of course,” said Jimmy agreeably. “In any case, I shan't fire to kill you. I shall just smash your knees. Beastly painful, but not fatal.”
He waggled the pipe suggestively. Sir Thomas blanched. His hand fell to his side.
“How are the theatricals going?” asked Jimmy. “Did you like the monologue?”
Sir Thomas had backed away from the bell, but the retreat was merely for the convenience of the moment. He understood that it might be inconvenient to press the button just then; but he had recovered his composure by this time, and he saw that the game must be his. Jimmy was trapped, and he hastened to make this clear to him.
“How, may I ask, do you propose to leave the abbey?”
“I suppose they'll let me have the automobile,” said Jimmy. “They can hardly ask me to walk. But I wasn't thinking of leaving just yet.”
“You mean to stop!”
“Why not? It's a pretty place.”
“And what steps, if I may ask, do you imagine I shall take?”
“Waltz steps. They're going to have a dance after the show, you know. You ought to be in that.”
“You wish me, in fact, to become a silent accomplice? To refrain from mentioning this little matter?”
“You put things so well.”
“And do you propose to keep my wife's jewels, or may I have them?”
“Oh, you may have those,” said Jimmy.
“Thank you.”
“I never touch paste.”
Sir Thomas failed to see the significance of this remark. Jimmy repeated it, with emphasis.
“I never touch paste,” he said, “and Lady Blunt's necklace is, I regret to say, made of that material.”
Sir Thomas grew purple.
“Mind you,” said Jimmy, “it's very good paste. I'll say that for it. I didn't see through it till I had it in my hands. Looking at the thing—even quite close—I was taken in for a moment.”
The baronet made strange, gurgling noises.
“Paste!” he said, speaking with difficulty. “Paste! Paste! Damn your impertinence, sir! Are you aware that that necklace cost forty thousand pounds?”
“Then whoever paid that sum for it wasted a great deal of money. Paste it is, and paste it always will be.”
“It can't be paste. How do know?”
“How do I know? I'm an expert. Ask a jeweler how he knows diamonds from paste. He can feel them. He can almost smell them.”
“Let me look. It's impossible.”
“Certainly. I don't know the extent of your knowledge of pearls. If it is even moderate, I think you will admit that I am right.”
Sir Thomas snatched the necklace from the table and darted with it to the electric light. He scrutinized it, breathing heavily. Jimmy's prophecy was fulfilled. The baronet burst into a vehement flood of oaths, and hurled the glittering mass across the room. The unemotional mask of the man seemed to have been torn off him. He shook with futile passion.
Jimmy watched him in interested silence.
Sir Thomas ran to the jewels, and would have crushed them beneath his feet, had not Jimmy sprang forward and jerked him away from them.
“Be quiet,” he said. “Confound you, sir, will you stop that noise?'
Sir Thomas, unaccustomed to this style of address, checked the flood for a moment,
“Now,” said Jimmy, “you see the situation. At present, you and I are the only persons alive, to the best of our knowledge, who know about this. Stay, though, there must be one other. The real necklace must have been stolen. It is impossible to say when. Years ago, perhaps. Well, that doesn't affect us. The thief, whoever he is, is not likely to reveal what he knows. So here you have it in a nutshell. Let me go, and don't say a word about having found me here, and I will do the same for you. No one will know that the necklace is not genuine. I shall not mention the subject, and I imagine that you will not. Very well, then. Now, for the alternative. Give me up, give the alarm, and I get—well, whatever they give me. I don't know what it would be, exactly. Something unpleasant. But what do you get out of it? Lady Blunt, if I may say so, is not precisely the sort of lady, I should think, who would bear a loss like this calmly. If I know her, she will shout loudly for another necklace, and see that she gets it. I should fancy you would find the expense unpleasantly heavy. That is only one disadvantage of the alternative. Others will suggest themselves to you. Which is it to be?”
Sir Thomas suspended his operation of glaring at the paste necklace to glare at Jimmy.
“Well?” said Jimmy. “I should like your decision as soon as it's convenient to you. They will be wanting me on the stage in a few minutes. Which is it to be?”
“Which?” snapped Sir Thomas. “Why, go away, and go to the devil!”
“All in good time,” said Jimmy cheerfully. “I think you have chosen wisely. Coming downstairs?”
Sir Thomas made no response. He was regarding the necklace moodily.
“You'd better come. You'll enjoy the show. Charteris says it's the best piece there's been since 'The Magistrate'! And he ought to know. He wrote it. Well, good-by, then. See you downstairs later, I suppose?”
For some time after he had gone, Sir Thomas stood, motionless. Then he went across the room and picked sip the necklace. It occurred to him that if Lady Blunt found it lying in a corner, there would be questions. And questions from Lady Blunt ranked among the keenest of his trials.
“If I had gone into the army,” said Jimmy complacently to himself, as he went downstairs, “I should have been a great general. Instead of which, go about the country, scoring off dyspeptic baronets. Well, well!”