was just as narrowly watching Yada. The other men in the room watched these two—recognizing, as if by instinct, that from that moment matters lay between Levendale and Yada, and not between Yada and Ayscough. They were mutually inspecting and appraising each other, and in spite of their impassive faces, it was plain that each was wondering about his next move.
It was Levendale who spoke first—spoke as if he and the young Japanese were the only people in the room, as if nothing else mattered. He bent forward to Yada.
"How much do you know?" he demanded.
Yada showed his white teeth again.
"A plain—and a wide question, Mr. Levendale!" he answered, with a laugh. "I see that you are anxious to enlist my services. Evidently, you believe that I do know something. But—you are not the owner of the diamond! Which of these gentlemen is?"
Levendale made a half impatient gesture towards Stephen Purvis, who nodded at Yada but remained silent.
"He is!" said Levendale, testily. "But you—can do your talking to me. Again—how much do you know in this matter?"
"Enough to make it worth your while to negotiate with me," answered Yada. "Is that as plain as your question!"
"It's what I expected," said Levendale. "You want to sell your knowledge."
"Well?" assented Yada, "I am very sure you are willing to purchase."
Once more that duel of the eyes—and to John Purdie,
