“Big Brazilian gem,” he read on. “Eighty thousan' dollars--many valuable gems of the first water--several thousan' small diamonds well worth forty thousan'.” “What you don't know about jools is worth knowin',” Matt smiled good-humouredly. “Theory of the sleuths,” Jim read. “Thieves must have known--cleverly kept watch on Bujannoff's actions--must have learned his plan and trailed him to his house with the fruits of his robbery--” “Clever--hell!” Matt broke out. “That's the way reputations is made... in the noospapers. How'd we know he was robbin' his pardner?” “Anyway, we've got the goods,” Jim grinned. “Let's look at 'em again.” He assured himself that the door was locked and bolted, while Matt brought out the bundle in the bandanna and opened it on the table. “Ain't they beauties, though!” Jim exclaimed at sight of the pearls; and for a time he had eyes only for them. “Accordin' to the experts, worth from fifty to seventy thousan' dollars.” “An' women like them things,” Matt commented. “An' they'll do everything to get 'em--sell themselves, commit murder, anything.” “Just like you an' me.” “Not on your life,” Matt retorted. “I'll commit murder for 'em, but not for their own sakes, but for sake of what they'll get me. That's the difference. Women want the jools for themselves, an' I want the jools for the women an' such things they'll get me.” “Lucky that men an' women don't want the same things,” Jim remarked. “That's what makes commerce,” Matt agreed; “people wantin' different things.” In the middle of the afternoon Jim went out to buy food. While he was gone, Matt cleared the table of the jewels, wrapping them up as before and putting them under the pillow. Then he lighted the kerosene stove and started to boil water for coffee. A few minutes later, Jim returned. “Most surprising,” he remarked. “Streets, an' stores, an' people just like they always was. Nothin' changed. An' me walking along through it all a millionaire. Nobody looked at me an' guessed it.” Matt grunted unsympathetically. He had little comprehension of the lighter whims and fancies of his partner's imagination. “Did you get a porterhouse?” he demanded. “Sure, an' an inch thick. It's a peach. Look at it.” He unwrapped the steak and held it up for the other's inspection. Then he made the coffee and set the table, while Matt fried the steak. “Don't put on too much of them red peppers,” Jim warned. “I ain't used to your Mexican cookin'. You always season too hot.” Matt grunted a laugh and went on with his cooking. Jim poured out the coffee, but first, into the nicked china cup, he emptied a powder he had carried in his vest pocket wrapped in a rice-paper. He had turned his back for the moment on his partner, but he did not dare to glance around at him. Matt placed a newspaper on the table, and on the newspaper set the hot frying-pan. He cut the steak in half, and served Jim and himself.