“Enoch is attending to that end of the business just about at the present moment.” Kidd was right in his surmise. Just then Cook was closeted with one of the most famous fences in New York--Monte Murphy. In appearance and manner, Murphy seemed an uncouth and ignorant man. A more shrewd rascal at driving a bargain did not exist. We will leave Kidd and Quick, and give our attention for awhile to Enoch. Murphy lived in a tumble-down sort of house on Elizabeth Street, and, when Cook called, he found the fence at home. Monte had not seen his visitor in years, but he knew him at first glance. This the fence did not allow to appear, and he pretended not to recognize Cook for some time. “Well, my boy,” said Murphy, after admitting he remembered his caller, “what can I do for you now?” “Can’t you guess?” smiled Enoch. “Not I.” “I have something to sell.” “Peddling, are you?” “Oh, come off! I’ve got swag.” “Then you came to the wrong shop.” “How is that?” “I have retired from the business. The police made things too uncomfortable for me.” “Why, Bull English told me to come and see you.” “Well, you do see me.” “Now, Monte, what’s the use of your acting this way?” “What way would you have me act, young man?” “Bull told me you were still on the ‘cross,’” remarked Enoch. “English was only joking.” “It ain’t common stuff I want to get rid of.” “What have you--bonds?” “Something better.” “I’m not buying, so there’s no use of your talking.” Cook seemed nonplused. He knew the old rascal in front of him was still engaged in business as a “fence.” Enoch could not understand Murphy’s disinclination to deal with him. Monte was playing his fish. If he appeared too eager to do business, the other might seek to take advantage of that fact. “You know I am square.” “Now, I have your own word for it,” remarked Murphy. “You can do the biggest stroke of business of your life through me.” “Sit down; it will do no harm for you to tell me about it.” “You have dealt in diamonds?” “Yes; I’ve handled a few.” “I have the largest diamond in the known world, I believe.” Monte smiled. “Let me see it,” he said. “I can’t.” “Then you haven’t got it?” “Well, it amounts to the same thing; a pal has the stone.” “Do you own it?” “We hold equal shares.” “Sure I couldn’t tell how much the jewel is worth without seeing it; and, by the way, I haven’t seen anything in the newspapers about any one losing such a great diamond. I think, young man, you are slightly off your base.” “The diamond was not ‘lifted’ in this country,” remarked Cook. “Europe?” “No; Africa.” “I don’t take much stock in diamonds from there.” “This is a pure stone, and it has a peculiar green tint.” Again the “fence” smiled. “By the Lord Harry, then,” he said, “it must be an Irish diamond!” Enoch paid no attention to the interruption. “It formed,” he continued, “the eye of an Abyssinian idol for many centuries. I am positive it is a genuine diamond.”