"Here we are," interrupted Paul, quickly. Somehow it irritated him to hear this hardened sinner speak of Sylvia, and he began to think that Grexon Hay had deteriorated. Not that he was considered to be particularly good at Torrington school. In fact, Paul remembered that he had been thoroughly disliked. However, he had no time to go into the matter, for at this moment Aaron appeared at the door of the shop. He stepped out on to the pavement as Paul approached. "Come in," he said, "I want to see you--privately," he added, casting a frightened look at Hay. "In that case I'll leave you," said Grexon, disengaging his arm from Paul. "Dulcinea must wait for another occasion. Go in and do your business. I'll wait without." Paul thanked his friend by a look and went into the shop with the old man. "That brooch," said Aaron, in a timid whisper, "have you got it? Give it to me--quick--quick." There was no one in the shop as Bart had apparently gone out on an errand. The door leading to the stairs, down which Sylvia had so often descended, was closed, and no one was about to overhear their conversation. "I have the brooch," said Paul, "but--" "Give it to me--give it," panted Aaron. "I'll buy it--at a large price. Ask what you want." "Why are you so eager to get it?" demanded Beecot, astonished. "That's my business," said Norman, in a suddenly imperious manner. "I want it. The stones take my fancy," he ended weakly. "Was that why you fainted?" asked Paul, suspiciously. "No." The man grew white and leaned against the counter, breathing heavily. "Where did you get the brooch?" he asked, trying to keep himself calm, but with a visible effort. "I got it from my mother, and she received it from my father--" "Beecot--Beecot," said the old man, fingering his lips, much agitated. "I know no one of that name save yourself, and you are not a spy--a scoundrel--a--a--" He caught the eyes of Paul fixed on him in amazement, and suddenly changed his tone. "Excuse me, but the brooch reminds me of trouble." "You have seen it before?" "Yes--that is no--don't ask me." He clutched at his throat as though he felt choked. "I can't talk of it. I daren't. How did your father get it?" More and more astonished, Paul explained. Aaron listened with his one eye very bright, and made uneasy motions with his lean hands as the young man spoke. When Beecot ended he bit his nails. "Yes, yes," he murmured to himself, "it would be asked for back. But it sha'n't go back. I want it. Sell it to me, Mr. Beecot." "I'm sorry I can't," replied Paul, good-naturedly. "But my mother wired that it was to be returned. My father has discovered that she sent it to me and is not pleased." "Did you tell your mother you had shown it to me?" "No. There was no need."