Sherlock Holmes sat up with a whistle. “By Jove, Peterson!” said he, “this is treasure trove indeed. I suppose you know what you have got?”
“ A diamond, sir? A precious stone. It cuts into glass as though it were putty.”
“ It’s more than a precious stone. It is the precious stone.”
“ Not the Countess of Morcar’s blue carbuncle!” I ejaculated.
“ Precisely so. I ought to know its size and shape, seeing that I have read the advertisement about it in The Times every day lately. It is absolutely unique, and its value can only be conjectured, but the reward offered of £ 1000 is certainly not within a twentieth part of the market price.”
“ A thousand pounds! Great Lord of mercy!” The commissionaire plumped down into a chair and stared from one to the other of us.
“ That
