gleaming rose-red stones, darted fearfully toward his interlocutor.
"Don't ask me, man," he said heavily. "That's my business, not yours. I wish to God I'd never seen it, never heard of the Black Camels and their sacred jewels! Never seen an Arab—or been near the desert! If only I could"
"Stow that!" interrupted the Jew roughly. "I'll give you my own price for these stones as you"
"Your price!" a note of contempt strengthened the other's voice. "They're priceless. . . priceless! But yes—yes—take them," he added hurriedly, as a gust of wind rattled the crazy dwelling, hooting savagely through vents and holes in the roof and walls. "Hide them quickly before I change my mind. To think of the long years I spent in the desert to get hold of those cursed jewels. . . death almost every step of the way. . . and now"
"Now you don't want them."
"I'm afraid. . . afraid!" The husky voice sank to its lowest note. "The Black Camels are on my track. He has followed me. . . he's here in this city. . . in this street perhaps. He is a devil—more awful than death itself. I dare not keep the stones. I dare not keep them. . . but. . . but"
His hands went out to the wonderful shimmering length of jewels, each stone the glowing living heart of a rose—the very fire and essence of that perfect flower!
Isaac Volk dropped the jewels into the box, shut it, and wrapped the oilskin about it abruptly.
"Two thousand dollars," he said, his thin curved mouth closing over the words like a steel trap. "That'll take you a few miles from your Black Camels and all the rest of your fancy zoo, I reckon."
Gissing made no reply. As the shining rose jewels vanished from his sight, the last flicker of energy died out of him, and he collapsed amongst the greasy garments which hung against the wall behind the long counter.
The Jew brought a thimbleful of vile brandy and forced it down the other's throat; then he counted a roll of bills and gave it to Gissing.
"Better get out," Volk said. "I don't want any of your Camels in here—black or white! To say nothing of the cops. Come on now—out of this!"
Roughly assisting him, the Jew half carried, half pushed the unfortunate Gissing across the dusty room, drew back the bolt, and deftly deposited his visitor on the slimy uneven steps outside his door.
"Don't come near this place again," he warned. "What you've done, I don't know—or care. But don't bring your troubles here—that's all."
He re-entered his house, bolting the door on the inside again; and going straight to the box of sandalwood, he drew out the jewels, and sat down to examine them at leisure.
"Fellow was crazy, I guess!" he muttered at length. "I'd be hanged by my thumbs before I'd give them away like that. That yarn of his about the Black Camels! How the did he think that up? What was he running from, anyhow? Black Camels—huh! This beauty"—and he touched the clasp—"is the only camel I'll have round here, I guess."
It was rather more than twenty-four
hours later when Gissing returned to
the pawn-shop.
Midnight had passed, and although in more fashionable quarters the glare of lights, the whirring of cars, the hooting of many horns still continued, down in Bleecker Street a heavy leaden silence enveloped the dingy neighborhood. The endless rows of gray roofs, the dreary windows, the towering factories, the fly-
