"He's the only relation I've got. The other one died. Hullo!"
He made a sudden movement. His hand slipped into his breast and found
nothing. He raised himself in bed, with a frowning brow.
"I say!"--he looked urgently at Melrose. "Where are my gems?--and my
ring?"
"Don't trouble yourself. They were brought to me. I have them locked up."
Faversham's expression relaxed. He let himself slide down upon his
pillows.
"By George!--if I'd lost them."
Melrose studied him closely.
"They're all right. What do you know about gems?"
"Only what Uncle Mackworth taught me. We were great pals. He was my
guardian. I lived with him in the holidays after my parents died. I knew
all his gems. And now he's left them to me."
"Where are the rest?"
"I left the cabinet in charge of a man I know at the British Museum. He
promised to lock it up in one of their strong rooms. But those six I
always carry with me."
Melrose laughed.
"But those are just the six that should have been locked up. They are
worth all the rest."
The young man slowly turned his head.
"Did you know my Uncle Mackworth?"
"Certainly. And I too knew all his gems. I could tell you the histories
of those six, anyway, for generations. If it hadn't been for a fool of an
agent of mine, your uncle would never have had the Arconati Bacchus."
Faversham was silent--evidently trying to feel his way through some
induction of thought. But he gave it up as too much for him, and merely
said--nervously--with the sudden flush of weakness:
"I'm afraid you've been put to great expense, sir.
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