Cuypers’ white teeth flashed into an appreciative smile. “But so! Well, I am not surprised. If it’s precious stones—there is always that possibility. But he is slippery! I cannot tell you how slippery, gentlemen.” He leaned forward to them impressively over the marble-topped table. “Stefanopoulos is one of the three biggest ‘fences’ in Europe. Possibly the biggest of all—excepting perhaps the notorious Adolf Schneitzer. It is only the really big stuff that he touches. The stuff that’s too big for the smaller men. Do you know his—his——?” He paused to collect the word he wanted. “What do you say—his pre—I know—antecedents?” His audience expressed their ignorance. Cuypers continued. “His father was a Greek who was employed for many years in the diamond-cutting industry of this city down in the Zwanenburger Straat. He got into trouble after he married one of our women and took to crime very thoroughly. In time he became an expert. His son—our man—is one of the craftiest devils you could meet. We’ve had him three times and wanted him many more times. But he’s like an eel. He’s cleared some of the biggest diamond robberies of recent years both in Europe and the States. And you think he’s going to occupy your present attention—eh?” “Let me tell you this,” rejoined Anthony. “We have been waiting for a certain movement to be made by somebody in our country concerning the disposal of a very valuable, precious stone. A very big thing indeed. The bird we are trailing has flown to Amsterdam. Do you think I am very far out if I deduce the probable presence in the affair of M. Stefanopoulos?” Cuypers shook his head. “Rather would I say, without hesitation, that you have hit the right nail on the head. At any rate,” he shrugged his shoulders expressively, “If your man is here and you are here to watch him wherever he goes—you cannot go very far wrong. Even if the trail as you call it doesn’t lead to Stefanopoulos.” Sir Austin, who had been talking quietly to the Crown Prince for a moment or two broke in. “Where does this Stefanopoulos live?” “In the Jewish Quarter,” replied the Dutchman. “Far from here?” queried Anthony. “Take a tram along the Geldersche Kade past the Fish Market into the New Market. Get off by St. Anthony’s Weigh House. You can’t miss that—it’s a rather quaint red-brick affair carrying round towers and spires. It was the old East Gate of Amsterdam. Go down a side turning just before Joden Bree Straat—the first turning on the left before the canal. Stefanopoulos lives in the second establishment on the right. But I shall be coming along with you when the fun starts—so you need have no worry about finding your way.” “It is most essential that we should be able to interview Stefanopoulos before he receives his visitor,” remarked Anthony. “That also shall be arranged,” said Cuypers. “I will see to it.”