“Gentlemen, our business this morning can be briefly dealt with. I have here”--he produced a leather case, opened it, and placed it on the table before him--“the diamond known as the Blue Rajah. Its history may be summarized thus: It appeared in the year 1680 and is supposed to have been found in the Kollur Mine, on the Kostna. It had a weight of 254½ carats in the rough, but was reduced to 132 carats in the cutting. It has been successively owned by Nadîr Shah, Princess de Lambelle, the Sultan Abdúl Hámid, Mr. Simon Rabstein of New York, and, finally, the Gaekwar of Nizam. It has no flaws; in fact, two of the original facets were retained when the stone passed through the cutter’s hands. It is rose cut and its colour is of the finest water, having the rare blue tint.” He paused, raising the diamond from its receptacle, and holding it in his hand. The sunlight, pouring in through the window, struck flame-spears from the wonderful thing. “In fact, gentlemen,” he concluded, “the Blue Rajah is a fitting offering for the City of London to make to the Crown.” “Hear, hear!” chorused the others; and the diamond was passed from hand to hand. The formal business of making over the stone to the Committee was then transacted. A huge check was placed in the pocket-case of Mr. Gautami Chinje, autographs were affixed to two formidable documents; and the Blue Rajah became the property of the loyal City of London. “You see,” said Sir John Carron, holding the stone daintily between thumb and forefinger, and pointing, lecturer-fashion, “the diamond is perfectly proportioned, being a full three fifths as deep as it is broad.” “Quite so,” agreed Mr. Morris Dell, looking over his shoulder. “It is the most perfectly proportioned stone I have ever handled, Sir John,” said the younger Mr. Anderson--and he stood back surveying the gem with the caressing glance of a connoisseur. Sir John turned and tenderly laid the diamond in its case. At which moment, exactly, arose a blood-curdling scream in the courtyard below. “Good Lord!” cried Mr. Werner. “What is that?” There was a crowded rush to the window--those in the second rank peering over the heads and shoulders of those in the first. The horrid cries continued, in a choking yet shrill crescendo. “Ah! God in Heaven! You are killing me! No! No! Mercy!… Mercy!… Mercy!…” “It is someone in the archway,” said Sir Vernon Rankin, excitedly. “Can any of you see him?” No one could, though all craned necks vigorously. “Unfortunately, the window cannot be opened,” cried Mr. Anderson. “The catch has jammed in some way. I am having it removed immediately.” The cries ceased. People were running about below, and the blue uniform of a city constable showed among the group in the archway. “I’ll run down and see what has happened,” said Mr. Chinje, stepping to the door which opened on the corridor. “Hullo! it is locked!” Young Mr. Anderson turned to him with a smile.