"I don't care if--pardon me,
sir--if you stole them yourself! The loss of those jewels would do the
firm more harm than I can explain to you."
Mr. Bundercombe turned toward me and I produced the case. The manager
seized it eagerly, opened it, turned on the electric light and closed the
case again with a great sigh of relief. He held out his hand.
"Mr. Bundercombe," he said, "I don't care how you got these. I have been
robbed three times and put the matter into the hands of the police--and
never recovered a single stone! I'd shake hands with the man who stole
them so long as I got them back. How will you have the reward, sir?"
"Notes, if you can manage it," Mr. Bundercombe replied.
The manager went to his safe and counted over notes and gold to the amount
of five hundred pounds, which Mr. Bundercombe buttoned up in his pockets.
"I ask you now, sir," he said, "for your word of honor that you will not
have us followed or make any further inquiries into this affair."
"It is given--freely given!" the manager promised. "When you leave this
establishment I shall turn my back to you. You may hand over the notes to
whosoever you like upon the pavement outside and it won't concern me.
Nor," he added, "shall I tell the police for at least half an hour that I
have the necklace.
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