"Poor Alec," said Sally Jordan softly. "The new generation is so hard to understand. But—it's my own troubles I came to talk about. Broke, as I told you. Those pearls are all I have in the world."
"Well—they're a good deal," Eden told her.
"Enough to help Victor out of the hole he's in. Enough for the few years left me, perhaps. Father paid ninety thousand for them. It was a fortune at that time—but today—"
"Today," Eden repeated. "You don't seem to realize, Sally. Like everything else, pearls have greatly appreciated since the 'eighties. Today that string is worth three hundred thousand if it's worth a cent."
She gasped. "Why, it can't be. Are you sure? You've never seen the necklace—"
"Ah—I was wondering if you'd remember," he chided. "I see you don't. Just before you came in I was thinking back—back to a night forty years ago, when I was visiting my uncle in the islands. Seventeen—that's all I was—but I came to your dance, and you taught me the two-step. The pearls were about your throat. One of the memorable nights of my life."
"And of mine," she nodded. "I remember now. Father had just brought the necklace from London, and it was the first time I'd worn it. Forty years ago—ah, Alec, let's hurry back to the present. Memories—sometimes they hurt." She was silent for a moment. "Three hundred thousand, you say."
"I don't guarantee I can get that much," he told her. "I said the necklace was worth it. But it isn't always easy to find a buyer who will meet your terms. The man I have in mind—"
"Oh—you've found some one—"
"Well—yes—I have. But he refuses to go above two hundred and twenty thousand. Of course, if you're in a hurry to sell—"
"I am," she answered. "Who is this Midas?"
"Madden," he said. "P.J. Madden."
"Not the big Wall Street man? The Plunger?"
"Yes. You know him?"
"Only through the newspapers. He's famous, of course, but I've never seen him."
Eden frowned. "That's curious," he said. "He appeared to know you. I had heard he was in town, and when you telephoned me the other day, I went at once to his hotel. He admitted he was on the lookout for a string as a present for his daughter, but he was pretty cold at first. However, when I mentioned the Phillimore pearls, he laughed. 'Sally Phillimore's pearls,' he said. 'I'll take them.' 'Three hundred thousand,' I said. 'Two hundred and twenty and not a penny more,' he answered. And looked at me with those eyes of his—as well try to bargain with this fellow here." He indicated a small bronze Buddha on his desk.
Sally Jordan seemed puzzled. "But Alec—he couldn't know me. I don't understand. However, he's offering a fortune, and I want it, badly. Please hurry and close with him before he leaves town."
Again the door opened at the secretary's touch. "Mr. Madden, of New York," said the girl.
"Yes," said Eden. "We'll see him at once." He turned to his old friend. "I asked him to come here this morning and meet you. Now take my advice and don't be too eager. We may be able to boost him a bit, though I doubt it. He's a hard man, Sally, a hard man. The newspaper stories about him are only too true."
He broke off suddenly, for the hard man he spoke of stood upon his rug. P.J. himself, the great Madden, the hero of a thousand Wall Street battles, six feet and over and looming like a tower of granite in the gray clothes he always affected. His cold blue eyes swept the room like an Arctic blast.
"Ah, Mr. Madden, come in," said Eden, rising. Madden advanced farther into the room, and after him came a tall languid girl in expensive furs and a lean, precise-looking man in a dark blue suit.
"Madame Jordan, this is Mr. Madden, of whom we have just been speaking," Eden said.
"Madame Jordan," repeated Madden, bowing slightly. He had dealt so much in steel it had got somehow into his voice. "I've brought along my daughter Evelyn, and my secretary, Martin Thorn."
"Charmed, I'm sure," Eden answered. He stood for a moment gazing at this interesting group that had invaded his quiet office—the famous financier, cool, competent, conscious of his power, the slender haughty girl upon whom, it was reported, Madden lavished all the affection of his later years, the thin intense secretary, subserviently in the background but for some reason not so negligible as he might have been. "Won't you all sit down, please," the jeweler continued. He arranged chairs. Madden drew his close to the desk; the air seemed charged with his presence; he dwarfed them all.
"No need of any preamble," said the millionaire. "We've come to see those pearls."
Eden started. "My dear sir—I'm afraid I gave you the wrong impression. The pearls are not in San Francisco at present."
Madden stared at him. "But when you told me to come here and meet the owner—"
"I'm so sorry—I meant just that."
Sally Jordan helped him out. "You see, Mr. Madden, I had no intention of selling the necklace when I came here from Honolulu. I was moved to that decision by events after I reached here. But I have sent for it—"
The girl spoke. She had thrown back the fur about her neck, and she was beautiful in her way, but cold and hard like her father—and just now, evidently, unutterably bored. "I thought of course the pearls were here," she said, "or I should not have come."
"Well, it isn't going to hurt you," her father snapped. "Mrs. Jordan, you say you've sent for the necklace?"
"Yes. It will leave Honolulu tonight, if all goes well. It should be here in six days."
"No good," said Madden. "My daughter's starting tonight for Denver. I go south in the morning, and in a week I expect to join her in Colorado and we'll travel east together. No good, you see."
"I will agree to deliver the necklace anywhere you say," suggested Eden.
"Yes—I guess you will." Madden considered. He turned to Madame Jordan. "This is the identical string of pearls you were wearing at the old Palace Hotel in 1889?" he asked.
She looked it him in surprise. "The same string," she answered.
"And even more beautiful than it was then, I'll wager," Eden smiled. "You know, Mr. Madden, there is an old superstition in the jewelry trade that pearls assume the personality of their wearer and become somber or bright, according to the mood of the one they adorn. If that is true, this string has grown more lively through the years."
"Bunk," said Madden rudely. "Oh, excuse me—I don't mean that the lady isn't charming. But I have no sympathy with the silly superstitions of your trade—or of any other trade. Well, I'm a busy man. I'll take the string—at the price I named."
Eden shook his head. "It's worth at least three hundred thousand, as I told you."
"Not to me. Two hundred and twenty—twenty now to bind it and the balance within thirty days after the delivery of the string. Take it or leave it."
He rose and stared down at the jeweler. Eden was an adept at bargaining, but somehow all his cunning left him as he faced this Gibraltar of a man. He looked helplessly toward his old friend.
"It's all right, Alec," Madame Jordan said. "I accept."
"Very good," Eden sighed. "But you are getting a great bargain, Mr. Madden."
"I always get a great bargain," replied Madden. "Or I don't buy." He took out his check-book. "Twenty thousand now, as I agreed."
For the first time the secretary spoke; his voice was thin and cold and disturbingly polite. "You say the pearls will arrive in six days?"
"Six days or thereabouts," Madame Jordan answered.
"Ah, yes." An ingratiating note crept in. "They are coming by—"
"By a private messenger," said Eden sharply. He was taking a belated survey of Martin Thorn. A