Milford's diamonds again; there is a
letter here that--"
"The letter!" The old gentleman was staggering toward the desk. He
reached out his hand for the letter, hesitated as though he were
afraid that Jimmie Dale was only tantalising him, would never let him
have it--and then with a little cry of wondrous gladness, he snatched
it to him.
"I'd destroy that if I were you," suggested Jimmie Dale quietly. "I
don't imagine that Thorold or old Jake will ever bother you again, but
there are lots of 'Thorolds' in New York." He motioned toward the
pendant. "That is yours, too, colonel."
The old gentleman was fingering the letter over and over, as though to
assure himself that it was actually in his possession; and into his blue
eyes, as they travelled back and forth from the pendant to Jimmie Dale,
there crept a half wondering, half wistful light.
"I do not know why you have done this for me, or who you are, sir," he
said brokenly. "But at least I understand that in some strange way you
have stepped in between me and--and those men. You--you know the
story, then?"
"Only partially," said Jimmie Dale with a smile, as he shook his head.
"But you need not--"
"I would wish to thank you, sir.
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