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Rh "It is impossible," said the baron, "that this man vould buy pearls he did not know all about. I haf been a good client for fery many years."

Rosenthal was a connoisseur of jewels, and usually had a few gems sprinkled about his person. I had heard it said in Buenos Ayres that the big Jew was usually to be found about the gambling places with hard cash to pay for a ring or scarf-pin in case any unfortunate gambler wanted to get the price to continue the game. This was a sort of fad of Rosenthal's, and when he found anything particularly fine it usually went to add to the collection of his wife in Buda Pest.

"Here ve are," said the baron, and flung open the door of the taxi.

The shop was quiet and unassuming, and unlike the pretentious places on the Rue de la Paix, with scarcely any of its wares in evidence. The proprietor, a middle-aged man of genteel appearance, came forward from a room in the rear, and on catching sight of Rosenthal, smiled affably.

"Bon jour, M. le Baron," he began, then shot a look at me. His smile vanished, and in its place there came an expression that was more like fright than anything else.

"Bon jour, M. Cuttynge," says he, nervously.

Rosenthal gave me a swift look. As for my part, let me tell you, my friend, that of the series of jolts I had received in the last forty-eight hours, that "M. Cuttynge" was perhaps the hardest to sit tight under.

Rosenthal, keen-witted old adventurer that he was, had not missed the dealer's frightened look and