Eden frowned. “That’s curious,” he said. “He appeared to know you. I had heard he was in town, and when you telephoned me the other day I went at once to his hotel. He admitted he was on the lookout for a string as a present for his daughter, but he was pretty cold at first. However, when I mentioned the Phillimore pearls he laughed. ‘Sally Phillimore’s pearls,’ he said. ‘I’ll take them.’ ‘Three hundred thousand,’ I said. ‘Two hundred and twenty and not a penny more,’ he answered. And looked at me with those eyes of his—as well try to bargain with this fellow here.” He indicated a small bronze Buddha on his desk.
Sally Jordan seemed puzzled. “But Alec—he couldn’t know me. I don’t understand. However, he’s offering a fortune, and I want it badly. Please hurry and close with him before he leaves town.”
Again the door opened at the secretary’s touch. “Mr. Madden, of New York,” said the girl.
“Yes,” said Eden. “We’ll see him at once.” He turned to his old friend. “I asked him to come here this morning and meet you. Now take my advice and don’t be too eager. We may be able to boost him a bit, though I doubt it. He’s a hard man, Sally, a hard man. The newspaper stories about him are only too true.”
He broke off suddenly, for the hard man he spoke of stood upon his rug. P. J. himself, the great Madden, the hero of a thousand Wall Street battles, six feet and over and looming like a tower of granite in the grey clothes he always affected. His cold blue eyes swept the room like an Arctic blast.
“Ah, Mr. Madden, come in,” said Eden, rising. Madden advanced farther into the room, and after him came a tall, languid girl in expensive furs and a lean, precise-looking man in a dark blue suit.
“Madame Jordan, this is Mr. Madden, of whom we have just been speaking,” Eden said.
“Madame Jordan,” repeated Madden, bowing slightly. He had dealt so much in steel that it had got somehow into his voice. “I’ve brought along my daughter Evelyn, and my secretary, Martin Thorn.”
“Charmed, I’m sure,” Eden answered. He stood for a moment gazing at this interesting group that had invaded his quiet office—the famous financier, cool, competent, conscious of his power, the slender, haughty girl upon whom, it was reported, Madden lavished all the affection of his later years, the thin, intense secretary, subserviently in the background, but for some reason not so negligible as he might have been. “Won’t you all sit down, please?” the jeweller continued. He arranged chairs. Madden drew his close to the desk; the air seemed charged with his presence; he dwarfed them all.
“No need of any preamble,” said the millionaire. “We’ve come to see those pearls.”
Eden started. “My dear sir—I’m afraid I gave you the wrong impression. The pearls are not in San Francisco at present.”
Madden stared at him. “But when you told me to come here and meet the owner—”
“I’m so sorry—I meant just that.”
Sally Jordan helped him out. “You see, Mr. Madden, I had no intention of selling the necklace when I came here from Honolulu. I was moved to that decision by events after I reached here. But I have sent for it—”
The girl spoke. She had thrown back the fur about her neck, and she was beautiful in her way, but cold and hard like her father—and just now, evidently, unutterably bored. “I thought, of course, the pearls were here,” she said, “or I should not have come.”
“Well, it isn’t going to hurt you,” her father snapped. “Mrs. Jordan, you say you’ve sent for the necklace?”
“Yes. It will leave Honolulu tonight, if all goes well. It should be here in six days.”
“No good,” said Madden. “My daughter’s starting tonight for Denver. I go South in the morning, and in a week I expect to join her in Eldorado and we’ll travel East together. No good, you see.”
“I will agree to deliver the necklace anywhere you say,” suggested Eden.
“Yes—I guess you will.” Madden considered. He turned to Madame Jordan. “This is the identical string of pearls you were wearing at the old Palace Hotel in 1889?” he asked.
She looked at him in surprise. “The same string,” she answered.
“And even more beautiful than it was then, I’ll wager,” Eden smiled. “You know, Mr. Madden, there is an old superstition in the jewellery trade that pearls assume the personality of their wearer and become sombre or bright, according to the mood of the one they adorn. If that is true, this string has grown more lovely through the years.”
“Bunk,” said Madden rudely. “Oh, excuse me—I don’t mean that the lady isn’t charming. But I have no sympathy with the silly superstitions of your trade—or of any other trade. Well, I’m a busy man. I’ll take the string—at the price I named.”
Eden shook his head. “It’s worth at least three hundred thousand, as I told you.”
“Not to me. Two hundred and twenty—twenty now to bind it and the balance within thirty days after the delivery of the string. Take it or leave it.”
He rose and stared down at the jeweller. Eden was an adept at bargaining, but somehow all his cunning left him as he faced this Gibraltar of a man. He looked helplessly toward his old friend.
“It’s all right, Alec,” Madame Jordan said. “I accept.”
“Very good,” Eden sighed. “But you are getting a great bargain, Mr. Madden.”
“I always get a great bargain,” replied Madden. “Or I don’t buy.” He took out his chequebook. “Twenty thousand now, as I agreed.”
For the first time the secretary spoke; his voice was thin and cold and disturbingly polite. “You say the pearls will arrive in six days?”
“Six days or thereabouts,” Madame Jordan answered.
“Ah, yes.” An ingratiating note crept in. “They are coming by—”
“By a private messenger,” said Eden sharply. He was taking a belated survey of Martin Thorn. A pale, high forehead, pale green eyes that now
