hand to steady himself. It rested on a display case of French, Russian and Dutch silver.
Mr. Wall's knees grew weak. He felt a strange prickly sensation all over him. He took a step—and was staring at the finest display of black pearls south of Maiden Lane, New York.
Quickly he turned away. His eyes fell upon the door of a huge safety vault It was swinging open!
Little beads of perspiration began to pop out on the forehead of Martin Wall. His heart was hammering like that of a youth who sees after a long separation his lady love. His eyes grew glassy.
He took out a silk handkerchief and passed it slowly across his damp forehead.
Staggering slightly, he stepped again to the trays of unset stones. The glassy eyes had grown greedy now. He put out one huge hand as the lover aforesaid might reach toward his lady's hair.
Then Mr. Wall shut his lips firmly, and thrust both of his hands deep into his trousers pockets.
