The Complete Works of H. C. McNeile "Sapper". Sapper
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 the 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 found 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