by Sapper
“So that I am in a position to say that not only am I here as representative of the Metropolitan Syndicate, but I am here as representative of the whole diamond industry and the enormous capital locked up in that industry.”
“You make yourself perfectly clear, Sir Raymond,” said Mr Blackton quietly. His face was as masklike as ever, but he wondered more and more what could be coming.
Sir Raymond took out his eyeglass and polished it; then he took a sip of the champagne which, despite his refusal, his host had poured out for him.
“That being so, Mr Blackton, and my position in the matter being fully understood, I will come to the object of our visit. One day about a fortnight ago I was dining at the house of a certain Professor Goodman. You may perhaps have heard of him by name? No!
“Well, he is, I understand, one of the foremost chemists of the day. He and I have not got much in common, but my wife and his became acquainted during the war, and we still occasionally dine with one another. There were six of us at dinner – our four selves, his daughter, and an extraordinarily inane young man with an eyeglass – who, I gathered, was engaged to the daughter.
“It was during dinner that my attention was caught by a rather peculiar ornament that the daughter was wearing. It looked to me like a piece of ordinary cut glass mounted in a claw of gold, and she was using it as a brooch. The piece of glass was about the size of a large marble, and it scintillated so brilliantly as she moved that I could not help noticing it.
“I may say that it struck me as a distinctly vulgar ornament – the sort of thing that a housemaid might be expected to wear when she was out. It surprised me, since the Goodmans are the last people one would expect to allow such a thing. And, of course, I should have said nothing about it had not the vapid youth opposite noticed me.
“‘Looking at the monkey nut?’ he said, or something equally foolish. ‘Pretty sound bit of work on the part of the old paternal parent.’
“Professor Goodman looked up and smiled, and the girl took it off and handed it to me.
“‘What do you think of it, Sir Raymond?’ she asked. ‘I put it on especially for your benefit tonight.’
“I glanced at it, and to my amazement I found that it was a perfectly flawless diamond, worth certainly ten to twelve thousand pounds, and possibly more. I suppose my surprise must have been obvious, because they all began to laugh.
“‘Well, what is your verdict, Blantyre?’ said the Professor.
“‘I will be perfectly frank,’ I answered. ‘I cannot understand how you can have placed such a really wonderful stone in such an unworthy setting.’
“And then the Professor laughed still more.
“‘What would you say was the value of that stone?’ he inquired.
“‘I should be delighted to give Miss Goodman a cheque for ten thousand pounds for it here and now,’ I said.
“And then he really roared with laughter.
“‘What about it, Brenda?’ he cried. ‘Do you know what that stone cost me, Blantyre? Five pounds ten shillings and sixpence – and two burnt fingers.’”
Blackton leaned forward in his chair and stared at the speaker.
“Well – what then?” he said quietly.
Sir Raymond mopped his forehead and took another sip of champagne.
“You’ve guessed it, Mr Blackton. It was false – or when I say false: it was not false in the sense that Tecla pearls are false, but it had been made by a chemical process in Professor Goodman’s laboratory. Otherwise it was indistinguishable from the genuine article: in fact” – in his agitation he thumped the table with his fist – “it was the genuine article!”
Blackton carefully lit another cigar.
“And what did you do?” he inquired. “I presume that you have tested the matter fully since.”
“Of course,” answered the other. “I will tell you exactly what has happened. That evening after dinner I sat on talking with the Professor. Somewhat naturally I allowed no hint of my agitation to show on my face.
“As you probably know, Mr Blackton, artificial diamonds have been manufactured in the past – real diamonds indistinguishable from those found in nature. But they have been small, and their cost has been greater when made artificially than if they had been found. And so the process has never been economically worthwhile. But this was altogether different.
“If what Professor Goodman told me was the truth – if he had indeed manufactured that diamond for five pounds in his laboratory, we were confronted with the possibility of an appalling crisis. And since he was the last person to tell a stupid and gratuitous lie, you may imagine my feelings.
“I need hardly point out to you that the whole diamond market is an artificial one. The output of stones from the mines has to be limited to prevent a slump – to keep prices up. And what would happen if the market was swamped with stones worth a king’s ransom each as prices go today and costing a fiver to produce was too impossible to contemplate. It meant, of course, absolute ruin to me and others in my position – to say nothing of hundreds of big jewellers and dealers.
“I pointed this out to Professor Goodman, but” – and once again Sir Raymond mopped his forehead – “would you believe it, the wretched man seemed completely uninterested. All he was concerned about was his miserable chemistry.
“‘A unique discovery, my dear Blantyre,’ he remarked complacently. ‘And two years ago I bet Professor—’ I forget the fool’s name, but, at any rate, he had bet this Professor a fiver that he’d do it.”
Sir Raymond rose and walked up and down the room in his agitation.
“A fiver, Mr Blackton – a fiver! I asked him what he was going to do, and he said he was going to read a paper on it, and give a demonstration at the next meeting of the Royal Society. And that takes place in a fortnight. I tried to dissuade him; I’m afraid I was foolish enough to threaten him.
“At any rate, he rose abruptly from the table, and I cursed myself for a fool. But towards the end of the evening he recovered himself sufficiently to agree to give me and the other members of my Syndicate a private demonstration. His daughter also allowed me to take away her brooch, so that I could subject it to more searching tests the next day.”
He again sat down and stared at the man opposite him, who seemed more intent on how long he could get the ash of his cigar before it dropped than on anything else.
“Next day, Mr Blackton, my worst fears were confirmed. I subjected that stone to every known test – but it was useless. It was a diamond – perfect, flawless; and it had cost five pounds to make. I called together my Syndicate, and at first they were inclined to be incredulous.
“They suggested fraud – as you know, there have been in the past several attempts made to obtain money by men who pretended they had discovered the secret of making diamonds in the laboratory. And in every case, up till now, sleight-of-hand has been proved. The big uncut diamond was not produced by the chemical reaction, but was introduced at some period during the experiment.
“Of course the idea was to obtain hush-money to suppress the supposed secret. I pointed out to my friends how impossible such a supposition was in the case of a man like Professor Goodman; and finally – to cut things short – they agreed to come round with me the following afternoon to see the demonstration.
“The Professor had forgotten all about the appointment – he is that sort of man – and we waited in an agony of impatience while his secretary telephoned for him all over London. At last she got him, and the Professor arrived profuse in his apologies.
“ ‘I have just been watching a most interesting experiment with some blue cheese-mould,’ he told me, ‘and I quite forgot the time. Now, what is it you gentlemen want to see?’”
For the first time a very faint smile flickered on Mr Blackton’s lips, but he said nothing.
“
I told him,” continued Sir Raymond, “and we at once adjourned to the laboratory. We had most of us attended similar demonstrations before, and we expected to find the usual apparatus of a mould and a furnace. Nothing of the sort, however, could we see. There was an electric furnace: a sort of bowl made of some opaque material, and a variety of chemical salts in bottles.
“‘You will forgive me, gentlemen,’ he remarked, ‘if I don’t give you my process in detail. I don’t want to run any risk of my discovery leaking out before I address the Royal Society.’
“He beamed at us through his spectacles; and – serious though it was – I really could not help smiling. That he should make such a remark to us of all people!
“‘You are, of course, at liberty to examine everything that I put into this retort,’ he went on, ‘and the retort itself.’
“He was fumbling in his pocket as he spoke, and he finally produced two or three dirty sheets of paper, at which he peered.
“‘Dear me!’ he exclaimed, ‘I’ve got the wrong notes. These are the ones about my new albumen food for infants and adults. Where can I have left them?’
“‘I hope,’ I remarked as calmly as I could, ‘that you haven’t left them lying about where anyone could get at them, Professor.’
“He shook his head vaguely, though his reply was reassuring.
“‘No one could understand them even if I had,’ he answered. ‘Ah! here they are.’ With a little cry of triumph he produced some even dirtier scraps which he laid on the desk in front of him.
“ ‘I have to refer to my notes,’ he said, ‘as the process – though the essence of simplicity, once the correct mixture of the ingredients is obtained – is a difficult one to remember. There are no fewer than thirty-nine salts used in the operation. Now would you gentlemen come closer, so that you can see everything I do?’
“He produced a balance which he proceeded to adjust with mathematical precision, while we crowded round as close as we could.
“‘While I think of it,’ he said, looking up suddenly, ‘is there any particular colour you would like me to make?’
“‘Rose pink,’ grunted someone, and he nodded.
“‘Certainly,’ he answered. ‘That will necessitate the addition of a somewhat rare strontium salt – making forty in all.’
“He beamed at us and then he commenced. To say that we watched him closely would hardly convey our attitude: we watched him without movement, without speech, almost without breathing. He weighed his salts, and he mixed them – and that part of the process took an hour at least.
“Then he took up the bowl and we examined that. It was obviously some form of metal, but that was as far as we could get. And it was empty.
“ ‘Without that retort, gentlemen,’ he remarked, ‘the process would be impossible. There is no secret as to its composition. It is made of a blend of tungsten and osmium, and is the only thing known to science today which could resist the immense heat to which this mixture will be subjected in the electric furnace. Now possibly one of you would like to pour this mixture into the retort, place the retort in the furnace, and shut the furnace doors. Then I will switch on the current.’
“I personally did what he suggested, Mr Blackton. I poured the mixture of fine powders into the empty bowl; I placed the bowl into the furnace, having first examined the furnace; and then I closed the doors. And I knew, and every man there knew, that there had been no suspicion of fraud. Then he switched on the current, and we sat down to wait.
“Gradually the heat grew intense – but no one thought of moving. At first the Professor rambled on, but I doubt if anyone paid any attention to him. Amongst other things he told us that from the very start of his experiments he had worked on different lines from the usual ones, which consisted of dissolving carbon in molten iron and then cooling the mass suddenly with cold water.
“‘That sets up gigantic pressure,’ he remarked, ‘but it is too quick. Only small stones are the result. My process was arrived at by totally different methods, as you see.’
“The sweat poured off us, and still we sat there silent – each of us busy with his own thoughts. I think even then we realised that there was no hope; we knew that his claims were justified. But we had to see it through, and make sure. The Professor was absorbed in some profound calculations on his new albumen food; the furnace glowed white in the corner; and, Mr Blackton, men worth tens of millions sat and dripped with perspiration in order to make definitely certain that they were not worth as many farthings.
“I suppose it was about two hours later that the Professor, having looked at his watch, rose and switched off the current.
“‘In about an hour, gentlemen,’ he remarked, ‘the retort will be cool enough to take out. I suggest that you should take it with you, and having cut out the clinker you should carry out your own tests on it. Inside that clinker will be your rose-pink diamond – uncut, of course. I make you a present of it: all I ask is that you should return me my retort.’
“He blinked at us through his spectacles.
“‘You will forgive me if I leave you now, but I have to deliver my address to some students on the catalytic influence of chromous chloride. I fear I am already an hour and a half late, but that is nothing new.’
“And with that he bustled out of the room.”
Sir Raymond paused and lit a cigarette.
“You may perhaps think, Mr Blackton, that I have been unnecessarily verbose over details that are unimportant,” he continued after a moment. “But my object has been to try to show you the type of man Professor Goodman is.”
“You have succeeded admirably, Sir Raymond,” said Blackton quietly.
“Good. Then now I will go quicker. We took his retort home, and we cut out the clinker. No one touched it except ourselves. We chipped off the outside scale, and we came to the diamond. Under our own eyes we had it cut – roughly, of course, because time was urgent. Here are the results.”
He handed over a small box to Blackton, who opened it. Inside, resting on some cotton-wool, were two large rose-pink diamonds and three smaller ones – worth in all, to that expert’s shrewd eye, anything up to twenty-five thousand pounds. He took out a pocket lens and examined the largest, and Sir Raymond gave a short, hard laugh.
“Believe me,” he said harshly, “they’re genuine right enough. I wish to Heaven I could detect even the trace of a flaw. There isn’t one, I tell you: they’re perfect stones – and that’s why we’ve come to you.”
Blackton laid the box on the table and renewed the contemplation of his cigar.
“At the moment,” he remarked, “the connection is a little obscure. However, pray continue. I assume that you have interviewed the Professor again.”
“The very next morning,” said Sir Raymond. “I went round, ostensibly to return his metal bowl, and then once again I put the whole matter before him. I pointed out to him that if this discovery of his was made known, it would involve thousands of people in utter ruin.
“I pointed out to him that after all no one could say that it was a discovery which could benefit the world generally, profoundly wonderful though it was. Its sole result, so far as I could see, would be to put diamond tiaras within the range of the average scullery maid. In short, I invoked every argument I could think of to try to persuade him to change his mind. Useless, utterly useless. To do him justice, I do not believe it is simply pig-headedness. He is honestly unable to understand our point of view.
“To him it is a scientific discovery concerning carbon, and according to him carbon is so vitally important, so essentially at the root of all life, that to suppress the results of an experiment such as this would be a crime against science. He sees no harm in diamonds being as plentiful as marbles; in fact, the financial side of the affair is literally meaningless to him.
“Meaningless, Mr Blackton, as I fo
und when I played my last card. In the name of my Syndicate I offered him two hundred and fifty thousand pounds to suppress it. He rang the bell – apologised for leaving me so abruptly – and the servant showed me out. And that is how the matter stands today. In a fortnight from now his secret will be given to the world, unless…”
Sir Raymond paused, and glanced at Mr Leibhaus.
“Precisely,” he agreed. “Unless, as you say...”
Mr Blackton said nothing. It was not his business to help them out, though the object of their journey was now obvious.
“Unless, Mr Blackton,” Sir Raymond took the plunge, “we can induce you to interest yourself in the matter.”
Mr Blackton raised his eyebrows slightly.
“I rather fail to see,” he remarked, “how I can hope to succeed where you have failed. You appear to have exhausted every possible argument.”
And now Sir Raymond was beginning to look visibly agitated. Unscrupulous business man though he was, the thing he had to say stuck in his throat. It seemed so cold-blooded, so horrible – especially in that room looking on to the sparkling lake with the peaceful, snow-tipped mountains opposite.
“It was Baron Vanderton,” he stammered, “who mentioned the Comte de Guy to me. He said that in a certain matter connected, I believe, with one of the big European banking firms, the Comte de Guy had been called in. And that as a result – er – a rather troublesome international financier had – er – disappeared.”
He paused abruptly as he saw Blackton’s face. It was hard and merciless, and the grey-blue eyes seemed to be boring into his brain.
“Am I to understand, Sir Raymond,” he remarked, “that you are trying to threaten me into helping you?”
He seemed to be carved out of stone, save for the fingers of his left hand, which played a ceaseless tattoo on his knee.
“Good heavens! no, Mr Blackton,” cried the other. “Nothing of the sort, believe me. I merely mentioned the Baron to show you how we got on your trail. He told us that you were the only man in the world who would be able to help us, and then only if you were convinced the matter was sufficiently big.