Cost Price by Dornford Yates

observe had never suspected its being for several years.
    Each of the jewels was wrapped in a fragment of cotton wool. (As I have said, when I had handled them last, each had lain in its jewel-case – a little, old, padded bag: but these had been discarded, for fear of the virulent poison with which they had been in touch.) There was, therefore, no packing to be done, for the wool was padding enough against any vibration or shock. For all that, we lined the locker with layers of more cotton wool, for its burden had to lie snug and must on no account shift, whatever movement the car might happen to make.
    I handed the gems to Mansel, who laid them up, and I told them as I did so and found the tale correct.
    One hundred and twenty-seven sculptured jewels…
    When Mansel received the last one, he loosed its elastic band and, carefully parting the wool, picked out the precious stone and set it in the palm of my hand.
    “Look at that, William,” he said.
    The jewel was a monstrous ruby.
    I never knew that rubies could be carved; but there, before my eyes, was the head of a laughing Bacchante, all done in pigeon’s blood. Had it been wrought in marble, it would have filled the eye, so exquisite was the detail, so vivid the air of abandon, so rare were the parted lips and the tilt of the chin: but this was made of a ruby, fit for an emperor’s crown.
    I gazed upon it in silence.
    “There’s no deception,” said Mansel. “That is a Burmese ruby – the finest I ever saw.”
    “My God,” I said, weakly. And then, “Are they all like that?”
    “All,” said Mansel. “The Pope was a connoisseur.”
    We put in still more padding – wool and scarves and stockings, until the locker was tight: then Mansel replaced the partition and screwed it home. The screwheads were countersunk, and when they had been re-covered, I do not think that a coach-builder would have looked twice at the panel which hid the recess. This being so, we were, perhaps, foolish not to have driven for the Channel as fast as we could – indeed, the idea was tempting beyond belief: but it must be remembered that, if the risk was slight, the stake was beyond calculation, it was so high. And if the car had been held and the gems had been found, neither Mansel nor I would have been the same men again.
    Then we called our sentinels in and we all of us ate our lunch, after which we drove to Villach and had a word with an inn-keeper whom we knew. Then we made for Palin’s inn, to pick up his clothes, and just before five o’clock, we were back at Hohenems.
    As we slid into the courtyard—
    “End of Act One,” said Mansel. “I wonder how many there’ll be.”
    Here, perhaps, I should say that Carson always slept in the harness room. This opened into the coach-house in which the Rolls was lodged. Such procedure was normal, when Mansel was ‘on the job’. For the Rolls was our magic carpet. More often than I can remember, if Carson or Bell was absent, Mansel or I have slept in the car ourselves.
    The Ferrers had nothing to report, and, taking tea on the terrace, surveying as gentle a prospect as ever I saw, I found it hard to believe that Violence, Battle and Murder were, so to speak, in the wings. The valley was floored with meadows, through which a lively stream was making its wanton way: its sides were all of woodland, close and deep and reflecting each whim of the foothills on which it grew. Cows and sheep were making the most of this pleasance, and a colt, shut into a paddock, was standing beside its dam. And the lazy, afternoon sunshine was arraying the scene with splendour, gilding the green of the foliage, printing the shadow of substance upon the sward and turning the water into a ribbon of silver, so that its flash betrayed the course of the torrent after the law of Distance had ruled it out of our sight.
    Then the butler appeared upon the terrace, to say that the German had come.
    “See him with Palin,” said Mansel; “William and I are not