"Why should you need a memorandum if you yourself will bring the jewels? Did you think I was a bally clerk to sell your jewels for you? You do the talking--and don't change the prices!"
So profoundly relieved as not to resent the last insult, Mr. Boon smiled pleasantly and said, "I must take a man to carry them."
"Take a regiment if you wish; but there's room for only three in the motor," said the Englishman, his neck twitching and twisting and jerking quite violently. Anger seemed to aggravate his nervous malady. Wherefore Mr. Boon hastily gathered up the packages, put them into a jeweler's strong valise, and followed the colonel, accompanied by Terry Donnelly, the store's private policeman, who carried the precious satchel in one hand, and in the other--in his overcoat pocket--an automatic pistol of the latest model.
One of the clerks must have told of the affair, for there was an eager crowd on the sidewalk. They had heard that the Duke of Connaught's secretary was in the store, buying diamonds. By the time it had passed seven mouths it was the duke himself. Mr. Boon heard: "There he comes!" and, "Is the princess with him?" and, "Which is the duke?" And he had pleasant visions of free reading-notices and renewed popularity among the ultra-fashionable. One of the traffic squad was trying to make the crowd move on--in vain.
The colonel good-naturedly forced his way through the mob to the motor, followed by the jeweler and the store policeman, who saw on the door of the limousine the letters "W. R." And both of them concluded that this stood for the well-known initials of the duke's host.
A short woman, with red hair and a self-assertive bust, stared boldly at the colonel and said, "He don't look like his pictures."
"Say, are you the duke?" asked a messenger-boy.
However, the colonel merely said "Home!" and entered the motor, followed by Mr. Boon and T. Donnelly. The store footman closed the door as if it were made of priceless cut-glass. The traffic policeman touched his cap and the motor went up the Avenue.
The colonel picked up a newspaper from the seat and turned to Mr. Boon.
"See!" he said, "our pictures. Your reporters are--ah!--very enterprising and clever. But the photographers are worse!" He laughed and went on: "The pictures don't look like me, d'ye think?"