“Yes—I guess you will.” Madden considered. He turned to Madame Jordan. “This is the identical string of pearls you were wearing at the old Palace Hotel in 1889?” he asked.
She looked it him in surprise. “The same string,” she answered.
“And even more beautiful than it was then, I’ll wager,” Eden smiled. “You know, Mr. Madden, there is an old superstition in the jewelry trade that pearls assume the personality of their wearer and become somber or bright, according to the mood of the one they adorn. If that is true, this string has grown more lively through the years.”
“Bunk,” said Madden rudely. “Oh, excuse me—I don’t mean that the lady isn’t charming. But I have no sympathy with the silly superstitions of your trade—or of any other trade. Well, I’m a busy man. I’ll take the string—at the price I named.”
Eden shook his head. “It’s worth at least three hundred thousand, as I told you.”
“Not to me. Two hundred and twenty—twenty now to bind it and the balance within thirty days after the delivery of the string. Take it or leave it.”
He rose and stared down at the jeweler. Eden was an adept at bargaining, but somehow all his cunning left him as he faced this Gibraltar of a man. He looked helplessly toward his old friend.
“It’s all right, Alec,” Madame Jordan said. “I accept.”
“Very good,” Eden sighed. “But you are getting a great bargain, Mr. Madden.”
“I always get a great bargain,” replied Madden. “Or I
