SHORT STORY.

Waikato Times, Volume 102, Issue 17220, 1 October 1927, Page 4

SHORT STORY.

£498 PROFIT.

(By Pauline Hedderwick.)

“Who is the gentleman in the grey check suit over there?” asked portly Mr Moccato. “I haven’t noticed him before.” ■‘No, monsieur; probably not; he has just arrived." Monsieur Picot, the proprietor of the Rialto Hotel, turned, to the clerk in the booking-office. “What is the gentleman's name; Monsieur Moccato \vishe3 to know?”

It was obvious that Mr Moccato, the wealthy and celebrated diamond merchant, was a personage of considerable importance, and a valued visitor at the small but luxurious hotel. The clerk ran his Anger down the list of new arrivals. “Mr Mark Frobisher—room 21—just , arrived from Tabora on the Fincastlc." “Thanks,” muttered Mr Moccato, as he slowly moved his twenty stone of adipose tissue to a vacant chair facing the object of his inquiries. Now in reality Mr Moccato was not in the least interested in Mark Frobisher, but his eye had alighted on one of the most perfect pearls he had ever seen, shining and shimmering against the dense blackness of Mr Frobisher’s tic. liis small; keen eyes, half bured in fat, were riveted on Mr Frobisher’s manly chest. “Five hundred pounds, yf a penny,” he muttered; “shape and quality perfect; rare specimen.” Mr Frobisher evidently became conscious that be was the object of close scrutiny, for he jerked up the newspaper he had carelessly thrown down and placed it as a screen between his chest and the little fat eyes opposite. Presently he rose, m ushing the paper against his waistcoat. He sauntered across tile lounge to Moniseur Picot, who was in conversation with his bookiug-elerk. Monsieur Picot beamed and bowed as he approached. “Oui, monsieur; anything I can do for you?” “Yes,” answered Frobisher. “Who is the fat old gentleman silting over there?"

“That —ah! that is a very honoured client of ours—Monsieur Moccato, the great gem expert. Monsieur lias no doubt heard of him. He is so celebrate all over the world.” “Thanks,” answered Frobisher; “judging from the way lie. was examining my tie-pin I came to the conclusion that he was an expert crook." Monsieur Picot shrugged his shoulders, lifted his eyebrows, and heaved a deep sigh. “Oh, monsieur, a more upright gentleman has never honoured the Rialto with his presence; he would he desole if he thought lie had create so false an impression. May I introduce you two gentlemen, and then monsieur will prove for himself how charming,- how interesting, and expert Monsieur Moccato is?” At that moment the loud creaking of a cane chair made the .two turn round. Mr Moccato was heaving himself up. Slowly and ponderously he made his way towards them, his small eyes glinting, and a broad smile on his large, humorous face. “5..,” iie said to Frobisher, as he joined them, “I feel that I owe you an apology. I am an enthusiast, and when I see such a beautiful gem as you possess I fear enthusiasm gets the belter of mariners.” Monsieur Picot smiled.

Mark Frobisher’s hand instinctively wandered to his tie. lie looked ehibarrassed.

“Messieurs, may I—to introduce you gentlemen?" Mr Moccato graciously held out his large, ileshy hand and gripped the somewhat clamp and cold one held cut in response.

The proprietor discretely retired, and soon the two strangers were seated in amicable conversation.

“I fear,” wheezed Mr Moccato, “we gem experts often break the tenth commandment. I admit I always envy the possesor of a perfect specimen, and my one desire is to acquire it. Now, sir, that pearl of yours stirs my very soul.” Again Mark Frobisher’s hand stole towards the black tie.

Mr Moccato continued; “I would gladly give you five hundred pounds cash down for that tie-pin.” Mark Frobisher’s thin, pale face twitched and, grasping the black tie, be looked very directly into the small keen eyes of his new acquaintance. “Mr Moccato;” he said, “your offer is tempting; but being a man of honour I cannot take advantage of the mistake you have' made. The pearl I wear is not a real one.”

Mr Moccato shook; his purple countenance turned livid. His wheezy breath came in gasps. “Not real I” he reiterated. “Not real! I’d stake my whole reputation on It. You are wrong, sir; you are wrong!”

“No, Mr Moccato, I assure you I paid the large sum of two pounds for that pin.”

As he spoke he handed the treasure to the gem expert. In a second Mr Moccato whipped a magnifying-glass from his capacious waistcoat pocket, one fat eye disappearing altogether in his eager inspection. His breath became more agitated and wheezy.' "My dear sid," he gasped, "I am not wrong. Silas Moccato is never mistaken. ’Phis is a perfect pearl—a rare specimen. In spite of what you say, my offer remains the same.”

Mark Frobisher held out his hand and replaced the pin in the dense black tie. “Believe me, sir, the pearl is a sham, and as a man of honour I will not accept your offer.”

Mr Moccato seemed dazed and somewhat offended.

“Sir, you do not appear to understand that I am an——l may say the greatest—expert, and I am willing to stake my reputation on this matter." In a more conciliatory tone he continued: “All the same, Mr Frobisher I deeply appreciate your keen sense ’of honour, for, believe, me, in rny particular wailc of life it is rather rare to meet with such integrity.”

With difficulty he heaved his colossal frame out of the slim cane chair. leave for Vienna to-morrow evening, and if by that time you have altered your decision I shall still be prepared to hand you five hundred pounds. Think it over, sir; think >t over."

Next morning Frobisher was early astir. lie did not see his new acquaintance before leaving the hotel for a day’s sight-seeing. But Monsieur .Pi cot bowed him out, impressiml- - rum not to fail to sec the celebrated beauty snots.

“So celebrate all over the world' When will monsieur return?” His face fell when Frobisher, in a casual manner informed him that it would probably be late in the evening. ‘•Abl” he sighed. “Monsieur cato will then miss saying au revoir to monsieur." “I l'ear so,” answered Frobisher, ‘ but perhaps you will kindly do so for me.” . There was an amused smile on his lips as he leisurely sauntered out into

the warm sunshine. ‘So the old buffer has been talking to Picot about the pearl.’ The smile broke into a broad grin.

The railway station was within easy walking distance of the Rialto Hotel, and Frobisher had soon ascertained all he wanted to know. The'only evening train left for Vienna about G. 30, and —oh, yes the telegraph office was first on the right and down the steps. Precisely at G. 15 Mark Frobisher, looking somewhat dusty and weary, wandered into the half-dark lounge of his hotel. As he expected, the gem expert was settling his account and talking to Monsieur Picot. lie appeared to be rather agitated. Holding in his hand a large gold chronometer, he glanced anxiously first at it and then at the door. He evidently had not noticed Frobisher, for in loud, wheezing tones he was saying: ‘He’s a fool, Picot, a damned fool, but an honest chap.’ At that moment Frobisher made his presence known.

‘lla, ha! just in time to say “goodbye ” to me, sir. Mr Moccato’s little fat eyes fixed themselves on Frobisher’s tic. ‘ I adhere to the offer I made you last night. I’ve set my heart on that pearl. What about it?’ Mark Frobisher hesitated. ‘Mr Moccato,’ he stammered, ‘it would be a dirty triok on my part.’ His hand stole reluctantly upward. Mr Moccato’s hand drifted towards his pocket, and there was a sound of rustling banknotes.

‘Quick, sir, I have not a second to wait. Yes or no?’

The luggage was being piled into the waiting bus.

‘Well, I’ll do it," answered Frobisher, extracting the pearl. With a look of exultant triumph Mr Coccato drew out an enormous bundle of crisp bank-notes and, wetting his big fat thumb, hastily counted out the correct sum.

Monsieur Picot consulted his watch. ‘Quick, monsieur, quick; you will surely miss ze train.’

Frobisher handed over the coveted possession, which the gem expert thrust into the lining of his coat. Puffing and blowing, and as hurriedly as his bulk would permit, aided by a strong porter and Monsieur Picot, be was hoisted into the hotel bus and driven off in the nick of time to catch his train.

As Monsieur Picot mounted the steps a telegraph boy thrust an envelope into his hand. He glanced at it, and handed it to Frobisher. ‘Pour vous, monsieur.’

Frobisher tore it open. ‘Good God! Picot, my wife seriously ill. I must leave at once-.. Get my account ready while I pack. Order a conveyance to drive me to the station. Send up a brandy and soda.’ ‘Oui, monsieur. Pauvre monsieur, you have my great condolences.’

Silas Moccato was feeling well content, soothed by the motion of the train, and inhaling the delicious aroma of Ills corona corona. Presently lie dived his hand into the lining of his coat, and drawing forth the pearl ot price, gazed at it lovingly. The light was not good. He could not detect the shimmer and sheen. ' iie rose heavily, opened his suit-case, and took therefrom a powerful electric torch. He resumed his scat and focussed the beaming ray. As lie, gazed his jaw dropped, the purple hue of his flabby cheeks changed to a sickly grey; his large hands trembled. ‘The swindler, the damned swindler!’ he gasped. Seated alone in the corner of his railway compartment, Mark Frobisher let his hand wander up to his tie, then down again to his hip-pocket. Slowly he drew out a small leather case and extracted a beautiful, round, shimmering pearl. With great care lie fastened it in the neat black tie. ‘Old fool,’ he muttered, ‘old fool! Lucky for me that his train left in the evening when the kindly dusk had spread its mantle over the lounge of the Rialto.’