“She told me that she got the emerald.” But I found the courage to add:
“She also told me that she was debating whether to have it cut.”
“Oh, did she?” uttered Peter, slowly. “Well, you know how women are.
They hate to come to a decision. So I decided myself. I made up my mind
this morning to end the thing and take it, after all, to the jeweller.”
“I hope,” ventured I, “that the jeweller was properly impressed with
the emerald of Tamerlane. What did he say?”
Peter threw away his cigarette and started into the lobby.
“He had nothing to say. When I got there I found my pocket had been
picked. It’s the more awkward because I can’t help wondering if someone
in the recruiting office didn’t nab it when I was taking my physical
examination. I hardly like to accuse any one there, especially at such
a time as this. But I don’t know how I shall tell my wife. I was so
late getting home that she went on to the dinner without me. She’ll
be frightfully upset. And you know what the police are. I’m afraid we
shall never see it again. Heavens! Look at that clock!”