“Going to Ranelagh, old bird,” said Algy. “Hence the bathing suit. Lunching first, don’t you know, and all that—so I thought I’d drop in this morning to make sure of catching you. You and Phyllis are dining, aren’t you, this evening?”
“We are,” said Hugh.
“Well, the most awful thing has happened, old boy. My prospective father-in-law to be—Brenda’s dear old male parent—has gone mad. He’s touched; he’s wanting; he’s up the pole.”
He lit a cigarette impressively, and Drummond stared at him.
“What’s the matter with the old thing?” he demanded. “I met him outside his club yesterday and he didn’t seem to me to be any worse than usual.”
“My dear boy, I didn’t know anything about it till last night,” cried Algy. “He sprang it on us at dinner, and I tell you I nearly swooned. I tried to register mirth, but I failed, Hugh—I failed. I shudder to think what my face must have looked like.” He was pacing up and down the room in his agitation.
“You know, don’t you, old man, that he ain’t what you’d call rolling in boodle. I mean, with the best will in the world you couldn’t call him a financial noise. And though, of course, it doesn’t matter to me what Brenda has—if we can’t manage, I shall have to do a job of work or something—yet, I feel sort of responsible for the old parent.
“And when he goes and makes a prize ass of himself, it struck me that I ought to sit up and take notice. I thought it over all last night, and decided to come and tell you this morning, so that we could all have a go at him tonight.”
“What has he done?” demanded Hugh with some interest.
“You know he’s got a laboratory,” continued Algy, “where he goes and plays games. It’s a perfect factory of extraordinary smells, but the old dear seems to enjoy himself. He’ll probably try his new albumenised chicken food on you tonight, but that’s a detail. To get to the point—have you ever noticed that big diamond Brenda wears as a brooch?”
“Yes, I have. Phyllis was speaking about it the other night.”
“You know he made it,” said Algy quietly, and Hugh stared at him. “It is still supposed to be a secret: it was to be kept dark till the next meeting of the Royal Society—but after what has happened I decided to tell you. About a fortnight ago a peculiar-looking bloke called Sir Raymond Blantyre came and dined.
“He’s made his money in diamonds, and he was on to that diamond like a terrier on to a rat. And when he heard old Goodman had made it, I thought he was going to expire from a rush of blood to the head. He’d just offered Brenda a cheque for ten thousand for it, when he was told it had cost a little over a fiver to make.
“As I say, he turned a deep magenta and dropped his eyeglass in the sauce tartare. That was the first spasm; the next we heard last night. Apparently the old man agreed to give a demonstration to this bloke and some of his pals, and the result of the show was—great heavens! when I think of it, my brain comes out in a rash—the result, Hugh, was that they offered him a quarter of a million pounds to suppress his discovery.
“Two hundred and fifty thousand acidulated tablets—and he refused. One supreme glorious burst on fifty thousand of the best, and an income from the remaining two hundred for the rest of his life. We worked it out after dinner, my boy—Brenda and I. Two hundred thousand at five percent. We couldn’t quite make out what it would come to, but whatever it is he has cast it from him. And then you wonder at my anguish.”
With a hollow groan Algy helped himself to beer and sank into a chair.
“Look here, Algy,” said Hugh, after a pause, “you aren’t playing the fool, are you? You literally mean that Professor Goodman has discovered a method by which diamonds can be made artificially?”
“Exactly; that is what I literally mean. And I further literally mean that he has turned down an offer of a quarter of a million thick ’uns to keep dark about it. And what I want you and Phyllis to do this evening …”
“Dry up,” interrupted Hugh. He was staring out of the window, and his usual look of inane good temper had completely vanished. He was thinking deeply, and after a few moments he swung round on the disconsolate Algy.
“This is a pretty serious affair, Algy,” he remarked.
“You bet your life it is,” agreed his friend. “Quarter …”
“Cut it out about the boodle. That’s bad, I admit—but it’s not that I’m thinking of.”
“I don’t know what the deuce else there is to think about, Just because he wants to spout out his footling discovery to a bunch of old geysers at the Royal Society …”
Hugh regarded him dispassionately.
“I have often wondered why they ever let you leave school,” he remarked. “Your brain is even smaller than the ten-bob helping of caviar they gave me at the Majestic last night. You don’t really think it’s a footling discovery, do you? You don’t really think people run about the streets of London pressing two hundred and fifty thousand pounds on comparative strangers for fun?”
“Oh! I suppose the old bean has spotted a winner right enough,” conceded Algy grudgingly.
“Now, look here,” said Drummond quietly. “I don’t profess to know anything about diamonds or the diamond market. But if what you say is correct—if the Professor can manufacture a stone worth at current prices ten thousand pounds for a fiver—you don’t require to know much about markets to see that diamonds will be on a par with bananas as soon as the process is known.
“Further, you don’t require to know much about
