The small boy assumed an air of vast importance. He leaned over the counter and with mysterious gestures arrested the progress of his cousin through the shop.  
"Rosa, I've got something to thay to you, motht important," he announced. "Come right over here."
 
She paused and swung around a little unwillingly. Her scarlet underlip was thrust outwards. She walked with her hand upon her hip, not averse to impressing even this young cousin of hers with all the allurements of her slipshod finery.
 
"I thay, Rosa, you look fine," the boy declared admiringly. "Lithen now. You told me to keep my eyes open, if ever I should see any more of Mr. Levy, eh?"
 
The girl's face was suddenly alight. She moved close to the counter.
 
"You've heard of him?" she exclaimed eagerly. "You know where he is?"
 
The boy nodded many times. He placed a finger upon his lips, in his eyes was the glint of avarice.
 
"You promithed me a shilling," he reminded her. "I worked hard. I know now just where he ith. You can see him for yourthelf. It's worth a shilling, Rosa, eh?"
 
The girl's hand dived into the recesses of her half-fastened skirt. She produced a cheap purse of imitation Russia leather and solemnly counted out a sixpence and six coppers.
 
"You tell me the truth," she adjured him, parting with the coins reluctantly.
 
"Honest and sure," the boy promised, sweeping them into his pocket. "He came back again Tuesday night. He's at work now in the repairing room."
 
"You little shark!" his cousin cried indignantly. "Why, I should have found out myself if I'd gone straight in to grandfather."
 
"Maybe and maybe not," he answered, with his finger upon his nose and his hand guarding the pocket where the shilling reposed.
 
The girl was breathing quickly with excitement. The loss of the shilling, after all, was a slight thing to a girl earning man's wages.
 
"Listen," she enjoined, "don't you say I've been. I'm off back to tidy up. I shall be here in half an hour. He won't be gone by then."
 
"Sure not," was the confident assent. "He brought his valise. He'th come to stop."
 
Rosa almost tiptoed her way out of the shop, dived into the stream of people and disappeared. It was rather more than half an hour before her small cousin, with palms outstretched upon the counter, struggling to sell a one-and-sixpenny brooch to a girl who had a shilling to spend, glanced up and recognised her. His look of admiration was a genuine tribute. For a moment the glamour of the transaction upon which he was engaged, faded.
 
"My, Rosa, you do look fine!" he exclaimed. "Them clothes must have cost something!"
 
She nodded haughtily—a vision of cheap furs, with a black hat from which flared one great scarlet flower. She carried a bag of some jingling metal in her hand. Her patent shoes squeaked loudly. She displayed at least twelve inches of silk-clad limbs, and she diffused little waves of a perfume carefully selected on account of its far-reaching qualities. The customer, who knew her by sight, gazed after her admiringly.
 
"That's your cousin Rosa, isn't it?" she asked.
 
The small boy nodded, withdrawing his eyes from the disappearing figure with reluctance.
 
"It must be wonderful to earn enough money to dress like that," he observed enviously. "My, did you see those furs! ... The firtht ornament Rosa ever bought from me wath one of these brooches," he went on, reverting to the subject in hand. "Two shillings she paid, my dear, and eighteenpence I'm asking you, jutht because I like to do business when the old man ain't here. Maybe you could pay the extra sixpence next Saturday...."
 
Rosa swept through the door and descended the two steps into the dingy sitting-room. In a high-backed chair drawn up to the scanty fire, his head a little on one side, sat her grandfather, asleep. She passed on tiptoe through the room, down the narrow passage, and softly turned the handle of the workshop door. The air was vibrating slightly with the monotonous hum of a concealed dynamo. Bending low over the board, with huge magnifying glasses in his eyes, Mr. Levy, with a small, bright instrument in his hand, was absorbed in some delicate process of refashioning a little glittering mass, carefully held between the thumb and forefinger of his left hand. Some instinct told the girl to keep silence. She watched him breathlessly until the consciousness of her presence reached him through his finer senses. He raised his knife from its task and turned swiftly around, touched a knob with his foot and the dynamo gradually slackened speed and died away.
 
"You!" he exclaimed, removing the glasses from his eyes.
 
She saw the stone upon which he had been working transferred swiftly to his pocket. She was immensely curious. Nevertheless, the personal element came first.
 
"You're a nice man, aren't you, eh?" she demanded, coming slowly towards him. "What about that little dinner we were going to have, eh, and a theatre? You just leave your place without a word of warning. I wonder grandfather took you back again."
 
"My dear young lady," he began.
 
"Rosa!" she pouted.
 
"Rosa, then," he went on, "pleasure is a great thing, but business is a greater. I have been away on business, the business I spoke to you of. Now, you see, I am back again. The other place didn't suit me."
 
"And grandfather took you on without a word?"
 
"As you see."
 
"What is it you are working at?" she asked curiously. "I never knew you had a dynamo here, or that you needed one for watch repairing."
 
"It is an idea of my own," he told her. "You see, it isn't only watches but every article of jewellery we repair. It saves another assistant."
 
"What were you working at when I came in?" she persisted.
 
"A piece of glass, cutting it up into a few of those beautiful diamond brooches you see in the window," he explained. "But don't let's talk about the work. How well you look!"
 
She tossed her head.
 
"A lot you care about how well I look," she retorted, "going away like that with never a word!"
 
"By the by," he enquired suddenly, "how did you come in? Where was your grandfather?"
 
"Grandfather was asleep in the easy chair," she told him. "I came through on tiptoe. Like to keep yourself private down here, don't you?"
 
"Part of my training," he replied. "I can't work unless I am absolutely alone and undisturbed."
 
She leaned against his bench and raised her foot as though to look at the patent tip of her shoe. He was privileged to behold a goodly number of inches of silk-clad limb.
 
"What are you doing to-night," she asked, "after work?"
 
He shook his head disconsolately.
 
"Your grandfather is a hard taskmaster," he grumbled. "I generally stick on here until I'm tired out."
 
"We'll see about that," she promised. "Would you like ... Oh, bother!" she broke off. "I promised to go to the pictures with Stolly Wykes."
 
Her companion's faint sigh of regret was very cleverly assumed.
 
"Perhaps another evening, then," he suggested.
 
"You're such a slippery customer," she went on, "here to-day and gone to-morrow sort of chap. I suppose I could put Stolly off," she went on meditatively, raising her eyes and looking at him.
 
"I wouldn't do that," he protested. "I can't help thinking how disappointed I should be in his place."
 
"Plenty of feeling for others you have, haven't you?" she observed sarcastically. "I don't know as I care about going out with Stolly. He's always worrying me to get engaged."
 
"I've wondered more than once," he told her confidentially, "why you haven't been engaged long ago. How old are you? Twenty?"
 
"I am twenty-two," she confessed, "and if I'm not engaged, it's because I haven't been over-anxious. I don't think much of these young fellows round here. I feel, somehow, as though I wanted something different."
 
He sighed sympathetically, and then, as though with an effort, turned back to his bench.
 
"If the old man wakes up and finds I'm not working," he remarked, "he'll be annoyed."
 
"You can get on with your work, then," she replied. "I'm going to talk to him for a minute or two. Be good."
 
She gave him a little backward nod, enigmatically encouraging, and left him, closing the door softly behind her. She made her way into the stuffy little parlour and shook her grandfather by the shoulder.
 
"Wake up, old man," she exhorted. "Nice thing going to sleep over the fire in the middle of the afternoon!"
 
"Eh, what—what, my dear?" he exclaimed, sitting up. "It's Rosa, is it? Ah! How beautiful you look, Rosa! But those furs—were they very expensive, my dear?"
 
"They were rather," the girl admitted complacently, "but I'm earning good money and I want to get married."
 
"To get married, my dear," the old man repeated, a little vaguely. "Well, well, you find some young man with good prospects, and money—money in his hand, mind——"
 
"I've found the young man I'd like to marry," Rosa interrupted. "He's your assistant down there."
 
Abraham Letchowiski stretched out his hands in protest. He shook his head vigorously.
 
"No, no, my tear!" he cried. "You cannot marry him. He is just a journeyman repairer. He has no money saved. He spends too much on his clothes."
 
"He's a clever workman, isn't he?"
 
"Oh, he is clever," the old man admitted, "very clever indeed, but there are many clever people in the world who have not much money."
 
"Look here," the girl expostulated, "you're going to leave David and me your money, aren't you? You've no one else?"
 
"But I have not much," the old man whined, "and I may live quite some time yet."
 
"You're getting too old to work," the girl declared. "Why not take him into partnership?"
 
"Bartnership?" the old man shrieked. "Ah, my tear, you do not understand!"
 
"I understand the way to deal with you, anyhow," Rosa retorted. "You wait!"
 
She walked to the end of the passage and raised her voice.
 
"Mr. Levy, please to come here."
 
There was a smothered reply, and after a few moments he appeared.
 
Abraham Letchowiski, now thoroughly awake, sat in the chair, wringing his hands.
 
"Rosa," he exclaimed, "I implore you! Rosa! Listen to me!"
 
She cut him short. She seemed, somehow, to dominate the little room—strong, forceful and determined.
 
"Mr. Levy," she announced, "grandfather has something to say to you. He makes such a muddle of things that, although it is rather embarrassing, I shall say it myself. David and I are his heirs. He has saved a great deal of money."
 
"No, no, my tear—no!" the old man interrupted tearfully.
 
"He has saved a great deal of money," she went on placidly. "He has no other relatives. He is always bothering me to get married. I tell him to-day that I have made up my mind. If you are willing, Mr. Levy, he will take you into partnership. We will see that little David is done fairly with. Later on, when you grow older, he shall be your partner. Now, grandfather, sit up and hear what Mr. Levy has to say."
 
For once in his life, Harvey Grimm was taken at a disadvantage. He stood speechless and hopelessly astounded. Rosa held out her hands to him. Before he knew exactly where he was, he was holding one of them.
 
"So that's all settled," the girl pronounced, drawing him closer to her. "Now, grandfather, Mr. Levy—Edward we must call him now—is going to leave off work at once. We are going out to supper and a cinema."
 
The old man suddenly struck the table with his clenched fist. There was a curious solemnity in his voice.
 
"I will not have it!" he cried, his eyes flashing. "All that you have spoken is foolish, Rosa. I will not have this young man for my partner, nor shall you have him for your husband, even if he were willing."
 
"Why not?" she demanded.
 
"Because he is not of our faith," Abraham Letchowiski declared solemnly, "because his name is not Levy. He is not one of us."
 
Rosa was taken aback. She looked at her prospective suitor incredulously.
 
"Is that true?" she asked him. "I don't care twopence whether you're a Jew or not, but isn't your name Levy?"
 
"It is not," he confessed.
 
"Why don't you go about under your own name?"
 
There was a moment's silence. A sudden understanding leapt into the girl's face.
 
"Wait," she cried—"the dynamo downstairs, and those men who came here to search! What is it you do in that back room, eh?"
 
There was still silence. She passed her arms suddenly through his.
 
"Be sensible," she urged. "I am not a fool. I know that grandfather loves money and loves making it. So do I. If he lets you work secretly in his back room, it must be because you make money there. Well, why not? You need have no fear of me. Tell me the truth? I shall be faithful. I do not mind that you are not a Jew. I will marry you all the same. I like you better than any of the Jews I know."
 
Harvey Grimm wiped the perspiration from his forehead. It was a situation, this, for which no foresight could have provided.
 
"And I," Abraham Letchowiski thundered, "swear before the God of my fathers that you shall marry none but a Jew!"
 
The girl made a face at him and dragged him back into his easy chair.
 
"Don't you be a silly old man," she enjoined. "Times have changed since you were young. A girl has to have a husband, doesn't she? You wouldn't have me marry any of those skimpers that come around here?"
 
A fit of coughing seized the old man and he was momentarily speechless.
 
She turned away from him.
 
"That's all right," she declared confidently. "He'll be reasonable by morning. You go and wash and get ready."
 
Harvey Grimm sighed mournfully. His wits were serving him at last, presenting a tardy possibility of escape.
 
"Miss Rosa," he said, "I haven't had the chance to say anything. You took me by surprise this afternoon. Perhaps I ought to have told you when we first met, but I didn't. I am married."
 
She stood looking at him for a moment, her voluptuous red lips parted, her eyebrows contracting.
 
"Married?" she exclaimed, a little hysterically. "You beast!"
 
"I can't help it," he apologised humbly. "I ought to have told you but I never thought. That is why I kept away before."
 
"I see," she murmured, with the air of one whose thoughts are far away.
 
Abraham Letchowiski sat up in his chair. He mopped his eyes with a yellow handkerchief.
 
"You see, my tear," he pointed out feverishly, "the young man is honest—he tells the truth. That is the end."
 
"Is it!" the girl muttered. "Perhaps! Anyway, he is going to take me out this evening. Your wife ain't here with you, is she?"
 
"No," he replied, "she is in America."
 
"Go and get yourself ready, then."
 
Harvey Grimm meekly acquiesced, and devoted himself for the rest of the evening towards the entertainment of his companion. The girl's manner was a little queer. At the restaurant to which he took her—the best in the neighbourhood—she appeared to thoroughly enjoy the lavish meal which he provided. She even held his hand under the table and smiled many times into his eyes. She took his arm as they walked through the streets, but in the theatre, which she chose in preference to a cinema, she sat most of the time silent and absorbed. On the way home she clung to his arm. When they reached the little jeweller's shop, she paused.
 
"Let me take you across to your rooms first," he suggested.
 
She shook her head.
 
"I want to find my handkerchief," she told him. "I must have left it in the parlour. Open the door, please."
 
He obeyed her, and they stumbled through the darkened shop, down the steps, into the close, stuffy little apartment. The remains of the fire were smouldering upon the hearth, but the room was unlit. Abraham Letchowiski and the boy had long since gone to bed. Suddenly she threw her arms around him.
 
"Kiss me!" she cried, in a choked tone.
 
He yielded, struggling, however, against her vehement embrace. His hands gripped her shoulders. He wrenched himself free. He stood on the other side of the table, for a moment, panting. Her eyes, luminous, shone through the darkness at him. Then suddenly she swung round, climbed the two steps, passed through the shop and closed the door softly. Almost immediately she reopened it. In the dim street light outside he could see the outline of her figure.
 
"Thank you very much, Mr. Married Man," she said, "for my evening."
 
He made no reply. There was a second's hesitation, a last opportunity, of which he declined to avail himself—then the door was closed. A few minutes later he locked it, went back to his workshop, and from a cupboard drew out a whisky bottle and some soda.
 
"Here's a cursed mess!" he muttered dolefully, as he mixed himself a drink.
 
***** 
Mr. Paul Brodie laid down his cigar and newspaper and swung round in his chair to receive a visitor, already, in his mind, a prospective new client. A small boy had opened the door.
 
"The lady, sir," he announced.
 
Mr. Brodie recognised his visitor with a thrill of expectancy.
 
"Say, this is Miss Letchowiski, isn't it?" he exclaimed, holding out his hand. "Glad to see you, young lady. Please take a seat."
 
Rosa ignored the invitation. She came up to his desk and leaned over it.
 
"Look here," she said, "you're the man, aren't you, who came messing round my grandfather's jewellery shop a few weeks ago? You were after the assistant—Edward Levy."
 
"Well?" Brodie ejaculated eagerly.
 
"You bungled things, or else he was too clever for you," Rosa continued. "I've come to tell you that he's back again there now, carrying on the same game, got an electrical dynamo in the workshop, and no end of tools. His name ain't Levy at all, and he isn't a Jew."
 
"What do you suppose he is doing there?" Brodie enquired.
 
"Look here," the girl went on, "if I tell you, will you swear that you won't get my grandfather into this?"
 
"I think I can promise that," was the cautious reply.
 
"Breaking up diamonds, then—that's what he's doing," the girl confided. "He's at it now."
 
Mr. Brodie showed no signs of excitement, but he was already struggling into his overcoat.
 
"There will probably be a reward for this," he said to Rosa. "I shall not forget."
 
"I don't want your reward," the girl replied. "I've done it just because—well, never mind. You go and nab him...."
 
Brodie did not suffer the grass to grow beneath his feet. He drove straight to Scotland Yard, and chafed very much at the delay which kept him five minutes from Inspector Ditchwater's presence.
 
"Inspector," he announced, as soon as he was ushered into the latter's room, "I want you to give me a man and a warrant at once. This time I think I've got a clue that will lead us straight to Jerry Sands."
 
"Is that so?" the inspector remarked dryly. "We've been there before, you know."
 
"See here, Ditchwater," Brodie continued, "you've kind of lost faith in me, and I can't say that I'm altogether surprised. But just listen. The girl from Abraham Letchowiski's shop has been up to me to-day. She says that that fellow I went after is back again there. He's got a dynamo in the back place and a whole set of tools, and is breaking up diamonds. Just ............