He was intensely occupied, so much so that he did not seem to realize that he was arresting the inquiry. They waited patiently--three--five--ten--minutes. Then he came back from the window, jingling the pebbles in his hand. “These we may keep, I suppose?” he said; “you have no objection?” Lambaire shook his head. He was calmer now, though he had no reason to be, as Whitey, licking his dry lips, realized. The next words of the Commissioner supplied a reason. “You say that you buried Mr. Sutton at a certain spot,” he said gravely. “My men find no trace of a grave--save an open grave--how do you explain this?” It took little to induce panic in Lambaire--Whitey gave him no chance of betraying his agitation. “I give no explanation,” he piped in his thin voice; “we buried him, that’s all we know--your men must have mistaken the spot. You can’t detain us any longer; it’s against the law--what do you accuse us of, hey? We’ve told you everything there is to tell; and you’ve got to make up your mind what you are going to do.” He said all this in one breath and stopped for lack of it, and what he said was true--no one knew the fact better than Amber. “Let me ask you one question,” he said. “Did you discover the diamond mine, of which we have heard so little, before or after the--disappearance of Mr. Sutton?” Lambaire, who was directly addressed, made no reply. It was safer to rely upon Whitey when matters of chronology were concerned. “Before,” said Whitey, after the slightest pause. “Long before?” “Yes--a week or so.” Amber tapped the table restlessly--like a man deep in thought. “Did Mr. Sutton know of the discovery?” “No,” said Whitey--and could have bitten his tongue at the slip; “when the discovery was made he was down with fever,” he added. “And he knew nothing?” “Nothing.” Amber opened his hand and allowed the four pebbles to slip on to the table. “And yet he had these,” he said. “What are they to do with it?” asked Whitey. Amber smiled. “Nothing,” he said, “except that these are diamonds.” CHAPTER XV IN THE BED OF THE RIVER It was a fortunate circumstance that within three days two homeward-bound ships called at the little coast town where the Commissioner for the Alebi district made his headquarters. Fortunate, for it allowed Lambaire and Whitey to travel homewards by one ship, and Cynthia Sutton by the other. Amber went to the beach where the heavy surf-boat waited--to see her off. “I ought to be taking my ticket with you,” he said, “or, better still, follow you secretly, so that when you sit down to dinner to-night--enter Amber in full kit, surprise of lady--curtain.” She stood watching him seriously. The heat of the coast had made her face whiter and finer drawn. She was in Amber’s eyes the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. Though he could jest, his heart was heavy enough and hungry enough for tears. “I wish you would come,” she said simply, and he knew her heart at that moment.