"Indeed? Have we been guilty of such conduct as that?" Mr. Golden picked up the case which Mr. Gray had flung down upon the table. "Is this the diamond necklace which we had the pleasure of selling you the other day?" Mr. Golden opened the case. He took out the necklace which it contained. He examined it as minutely as he had examined the Countess of Grinstead's ornaments. "This is--very remarkable." "Remarkable! I should think it is remarkable! I bought that necklace for a lady. As some ladies have a way of doing, she had it valued. When she found that the thing was trumpery, she, of course, jumped to the conclusion that I'd been having her--trying to gain kudos for giving her something worth having at the cheapest possible rate. A pretty state of things, upon my word!" "This appears to be a lady of acute commercial instincts, Mr. Gray." "Never mind about that! If you deny that that is the necklace which you sold to me I will prove that it is--in the police court. I am quite prepared for it. Men who are capable of selling a necklace of glass beads as a necklace of diamonds are capable of denying that they ever sold the thing at all." "Mr. Gray, there is no necessity to use such language to us. If a wrong has been done we are ready and willing to repair it." "Then repair it!" It took some time to get rid of Mr. Gray. He had a great deal to say, and a very strong and idiomatic way of saying it. Altogether it was a bad quarter of an hour for Messrs. Ruby and Golden. When, at last, they did get rid of him, Mr. Ruby turned to his partner. "Golden, it's not possible that the stones in that necklace are false. Those are the stones which we got from Fungst--you remember?" "I remember very well indeed. They were the stones which we got from Fungst. They are not now. The gems which are at present in this necklace are paste, covered with a thin veneer of real stones. It is an old trick, but I never saw it better done. The workmanship, both in Mr. Gray's necklace and in the Countess of Grinstead's ornaments, is, in its way, perfection." While Mr. Ruby was still staring at his partner, the door opened and again Mr. Thompson entered. "The Duchess of Datchet." "Let's hope," muttered Mr. Golden, "that she's not come to charge us with selling any more paste diamonds." But the Duchess had come to do nothing of the kind. She had come on a much more agreeable errand, from Messrs. Ruby and Golden's point of view--she had come to buy. As it was Mr. Ruby's special _rôle_ to act as salesman to the great--the very great--ladies who patronised that famed establishment, Mr. Golden left his partner to perform his duties.