The British Mysteries Edition: 14 Novels & 70+ Short Stories. Sapper
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 worth while. 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