The securing of the reward was not to be so simple a matter as the Press and Dr. Parsons imagined. A telephone message had acquainted Lord Claythorpe with the recovery of his jewel, and the doctor himself carried it to Belgrave Square. Lord Claythorpe was a thin little man, bald of head, and yellow of face. He suffered from some sort of chronic jaundice, which not only tinged his skin, but gave a certain yellowy hue to his temper. He received the doctor in his beautiful library, one wall of which, as Dr. Parsons noticed, was covered with the doors of small safes which had been let into the wall itself. For Lord Claythorpe was a great connoisseur of precious stones, and argued that it was just as absurd to keep your gems all behind one door as it was to keep all your eggs in one basket. “Yes, yes,” he said a little testily; “that is the jewel. I wouldn’t have lost it for anything. If my fool of a--if her ladyship hadn’t taken it down with her I shouldn’t have had all this bother and worry. This is one of the rarest ornaments in the kingdom.” He descanted upon the peculiar artistic value and historical interest of this precious armlet for the greater part of a quarter of an hour, during which time Dr. Parsons shifted uneasily from foot to foot, for no mention of the reward had been made. At last Parsons managed to murmur a hint. “Reward--er--reward,” said his lordship uncomfortably, “there was some talk of a reward. But surely, Dr. Parsons, you do not intend to benefit your--er--charitable institution at the expense of a law-abiding citizen? Or, might I say, receive a subscription at the hands of a malicious and wicked criminal?” “I am wholly uninterested in the moral character of any person who donates money to my hospital,” said Parsons boldly. “The only thing that troubles me is the lack of funds.” “Perhaps,” said his lordship hopefully, “if I put my name down as an annual subscriber for----” The doctor waited. “Say ten guineas a year,” suggested Lord Claythorpe. “You offered a £10,000 reward,” said the doctor, his anger rising. “Either your lordship is going to pay that reward or you are not. If you refuse to pay I shall go to the Press and tell them.” “The reward was for the conviction of the thief,” said his lordship in triumph. “You don’t deny that. Now, you haven’t brought the thief along to be convicted.” “It was for any information that would lead to the recovery of the jewel,” said the angry doctor; “and that is what I have brought you--not only information, but the jewel itself. There was some talk of conviction; but that, I am informed, is the usual thing to put into an advertisement of this character.” For half an hour they haggled, and the doctor was in despair. He knew that it might mean ruin to take this curmudgeon into court, and so after a painful argument he accepted, with a sense of despair, the £4,000 which Lord Claythorpe most reluctantly paid.