there was a distinct change. The listlessness had gone. He had the air of one awaiting events. So he had sat for the last half-hour, with his eyes fixed alternately upon the outside door, purposely left ajar, and the inner one which led to his humble bed-sitting-room.
There came at last the sound for which he had been waiting. Up that last flight of stone stairs he could hear distinctly the slow movement of weary footsteps, the continual tapping of a stick, the occasional cough and querulous complaint of a tired old man, and by the side of those shuffling footsteps, others, marvellously light, the swish of a silken skirt, the music of a clear, very sweet young voice.
"You see, we are arrived," she was saying. "There is the name upon the door. You will be able to sit down directly. Courage, dear grandfather. Remember it is for Leopold's sake."
Then there followed a gentle knock, the somewhat hesitating entrance of the two, the half-doubtful look of the girl towards the tall, gaunt young man whose face seemed almost saturnine underneath that unshaded light. As he moved forward, however, she recognised him, and a smile of relief parted her lips.
"Ah! it is Mr. Rodd, is it not—the gentleman with whom I spoke in the Gardens this morning—the lawyer?"
He bowed. Anxiety made his voice sound even harsher. Many things had happened since the morning.
"You have kept your promise, then," he remarked. "You have come to consult me. I am at your service. One moment."
He brought two of the chairs which stood stiffly against the wall, and placed them by the side of his desk. The old man sat down with an air of relief. The passage up the stairs had apparently exhausted him.
"We are very haphazard clients, I fear, Mr. Rodd," he said wearily. "This is unfortunately one of my bad days. I must leave my granddaughter to explain the reason of our visit, and in what manner we hope to be able to make use of your services."
"If I do so, grandfather," she said, turning a little towards him, "I am going to tell the whole truth."
"If it must be," he murmured uneasily.
The girl took up at once the burden of explanation.
"My grandfather, my brother and myself," she began, "are staying at the Milan Hotel. We make use of a name, the name of Brinnen, to which we have some right, even though it may be a shadowy one. We happen to be Belgians by birth, a fact which at the present moment makes our position easier. To be honest with you, however, my brother has just returned from America. He has been engaged for some time in more hazardous enterprises, even, than defending his country against the Germans."
The old man interrupted her impatiently.
"These explanations are waste of time," he insisted. "Tell this gentleman quickly what we desire of him."
She patted his hand and glanced half apologetically across at Aaron Rodd. He had resumed his seat before his desk, his face half hidden by his hand. Listening to the girl's voice, he had become conscious of a long-forgotten sentiment. Encumbered though she was with a difficult mission, there was a certain fineness of speech and manner, an appeal for sympathy in even this last gesture, which he found strangely disturbing.
"You need explain to me no more than you wish," he told her, a little stiffly. "I shall be glad to be of any service to you. There is no need for you to enter into any painful details."
She shrugged her shoulders protestingly.
"You and my grandfather are of one mind," she remarked. "Then I will make a confession which may sound abrupt but which is nevertheless true. We three—my brother, my grandfather and myself—are not entitled to the sympathy we receive. We are, to a certain extent, impostors. Is your standard of morals a very high one, Mr. Rodd?"
"I—I scarcely really know," he stammered. "As a lawyer I am brought into contact with all conditions of people. I have before now done my best for the criminal as I have for the honest man."
"It is reassuring," she admitted. "Behold, then, my full confession. You have to do now with criminals—or may I say adventurers? We have, we three, to dispose of secretly a very large amount of precious stones. I have come to you for advice. The ordinary avenues of sale are closed to us. How can we get into touch with some one who will buy them and ask no questions?"
Aaron Rodd was conscious of a little shock. Up to this last moment he had been doubtful. Notwithstanding the story which had been unfolded to him by Harvey Grimm, he had clung to his first impressions, impressions from which he was parting now with dire reluctance.
"It is not an easy matter," he admitted, "but if anyone can help you, I can."
The girl nodded.
"There must be secrecy," she declared. "You see, my brother is, in a way, notorious. He has been very daring and very successful. For the sake of those who buy them, as well as for our own sake, the jewels must not be recognised afterwards.
"I have a friend who might arrange it," Aaron Rodd announced. "I must warn you, however, that selling your stones in this way you cannot possibly receive their full value."
"We do not expect that," the old man mumbled. "What we want, though, is the money—quickly."
"My friend could doubtless manage that," the lawyer declared.
"When can we see him?" the girl asked eagerly.
"At once," was the prompt reply. "He was with me when you came and I sent him into my private apartments. If it is your wish, I will fetch him."
"By all means," the old man insisted eagerly.
"Yes, yes!" the girl echoed.
Aaron Rodd rose to his feet and crossed the room to the door which led into his private apartment. He opened it and beckoned to its unseen occupant.
"I have some clients here who would like a word with you, Grimm," he announced. "There may, perhaps, be some business."
Harvey Grimm made his appearance at once. His air of curiosity, as he looked into the room, was very well done.
"Business?" he repeated.
"This gentleman and young lady," Aaron Rodd explained, "are clients of mine. Their names are unnecessary. They have consulted me as to the disposal of valuable jewels, their claim to which—might be open to question."
Harvey Grimm threw the cigar which he had been smoking into the fire-place.
"I see," he murmured. "Better tell me the circumstances."
The girl repeated her story, with a few more details. The old man listened in a sort of placid stupor. He interrupted only once.
"It is a foolish way, this. There is a man in Amsterdam——"
"You will tell me what you advise, monsieur," the girl begged. "We must have money, and the jewels must be made unrecognisable."
Harvey Grimm took a small magnifying glass from his pocket and screwed it together.
"You have probably brought some of the stones with you," he observed briskly.
The girl
