The amateur of precious stones—What a beautiful diamond!—A sovereign cure—Ah! if I were a rogue—A false paste ring!—The game is played—The tell-tale stamp investigation—The wanderer by night—The mysterious tripot—The sharper caught in a trap—Recriminations—The message—The false commissary of police—The Rue de Jerusalem—Unexpected dÉnoÛement.

It was some time after this, that our two heroes arrived at Lyons, and lost no time in making inquiries regarding the various clubs in that town, and the sort of people who were members of them. Amongst others, one club was particularly mentioned, in which most of the members were gamblers.

They heard that a gentleman named BÉroli belonged to it, who was a great amateur in precious stones.

BÉroli had a mania for making clever bargains, as he called them, which means, that he often obtained a fine stone cheap, from those who were not such great connoisseurs as himself.

Such transactions would be called cheating, but that in these days, it is quite allowable, if not honest, for buyers and sellers to try to take each other in. Do we not daily hear a man boast of having, by some deceit, obtained an article from a merchant at cost price, whilst, on the other hand, the vendor rubs his hands at having got rid of a loup de magasin, as a faulty article is called.

In some commercial houses, it is stated, that a premium is paid to the clerk, who disposes of the rococo articles to some credulous customer.

Be that as it may, BÉroli's mania for precious stones, put it into the head of AndrÉas to play him a clever trick.

He requested Raymond to get himself introduced, and work his way into the club, of which BÉroli was a member, whilst he (AndrÉas) went to Paris, to arrange the preliminaries of an affair, of which he at present refused to mention the details, until all was in readiness for his great coup. A fortnight afterwards, thanks to the secret influence of Raymond, AndrÉas, who had returned from Paris, was proposed and elected by the club, of which his comrade was already a member. The two Greeks were not supposed to know one another, so each was able to proceed with his work unsuspected.

Raymond ransacked the pockets of some rich proprietors, whilst his comrade contented himself, every evening, with playing a few innocent games at ÉcartÉ with BÉroli, whose acquaintance he had made.

The very first day, the amateur observed a magnificent ring on the finger of AndrÉas.

"What a splendid diamond you have there," said BÉroli, with an accent of envy.

"Yes, it is," replied AndrÉas, carelessly, continuing his play. "Diamonds are trumps. I cut, and my turn-up card is worth nothing; you have the trick."

BÉroli, meanwhile, never took his eyes off the precious stone, the dazzling lustre of which seemed to fascinate him.

Each day brought forth fresh expressions of admiration for the stone, to all of which, his opponent apparently remained insensible.

One evening, BÉroli was determined to force a reply of some kind or other from AndrÉas.

"What did you pay for that stone?" said he.

"Are you serious in asking that question, do you really wish to know?"

"Quite serious."

"Then I must explain, that, if I have not before replied to your different exclamations of admiration, it was because I thought you were joking. Now that I know the contrary, I feel bound to tell you, that that superb diamond, which has dazzled you so much, is only paste."

"How do you mean—paste?" said BÉroli, with an air of pique. "It is you that are joking."

"No; I assure you I am in earnest."

"Oh! nonsense; let me see it closer." Saying these words, BÉroli took up the hand of AndrÉas, fixed his eyes on the ring, and kept turning it about to make it glitter.

"You may tell others that it is false, but there is no use in telling me so. I can assure you that your stone is a real diamond.

"Very well; I am glad to hear it," rejoined AndrÉas, feigning the greatest indifference. "Let me see, it is your turn to play."

The two players continued their game, but BÉroli appeared distrait, and kept constantly looking at the ring. At length he could no longer restrain himself.

"So certain am I," exclaimed he, "that the stone is of the first water, that I shall be happy to purchase it, if you will let me."

"I will not sell it to you," replied AndrÉas.

"Why not?"

"Because, in the first place, I do not want to rob you of your money; and in the second, it is a family relic, which I do not wish to part with. One of my uncles left it to me, and he had it from his father. It has been in our family for a hundred years, and is called "the paste ring." I only wear it, because it is considered a charm against headaches, to which I am very subject."

"But if I offered you a good price?" persisted BÉroli.

"If you offered me four times its value, I would not part with it."

"Suppose I offered you, not four times, but two or three hundred times, the value you set on the stone?"

AndrÉas cut short all further colloquy by continuing the game. "Diamonds," said he, "and I have what they call 'la fourchette.' I mark one."

As soon as the game was ended, BÉroli, who was very tenacious of his reputation as a connoisseur in precious stones, returned to the charge.

"I am so sure of what I aver," continued he, "that I shall always be ready to bargain for your ring, whenever you wish to part with it."

"Ah! if I were a rogue," replied TÊte d'Or, "I should part with my paste ring to you, to prove that you must not always be guided by your own judgment." "Stay," said BÉroli, "will you lend me your ring until to-morrow. To make quite sure, I will just show it to a jeweller of my acquaintance."

AndrÉas acceded to his request with a show of indifference, and they separated.

BÉroli went off at once to his friend, to show him the jewel, and ask him the value of it.

The jeweller, after examining it for some time attentively, confirmed BÉroli's opinion.

"This stone is of a most beautiful water," said he, "and I should consider it cheap if I got it for twelve thousand francs (480l.)."

The following day, BÉroli advanced to AndrÉas with an air of triumph.

"My dear sir," said he, "I can now state with positive certainty, that your family has been in error for the last hundred years about the value of this ring. What you call paste, is a real diamond. I will give you six thousand francs for it."

To this offer AndrÉas made no reply.

They sat down to play, but during the game, the indefatigable BÉroli incessantly returned to the charge, offering each time a higher price for the ring, to tempt his adversary, and finally made him an offer of nine thousand francs. To all of which AndrÉas remained silent, contenting himself by shaking his head each time in token of negative. It was late, and the party was on the point of breaking up, when BÉroli suddenly made up his mind.

"Stop," he exclaimed, at the same time placing ten bank-notes, of a thousand francs each, on the table. "This is my last offer. Say yes, and the bargain is struck."

"You are resolved to cheat yourself?"

"Yes, I am," replied the amateur, in a bantering tone, looking again intently on the ring, which he had kept on his finger throughout the evening.

"Well, if you insist on it, you shall have it; only allow me to take out from a secret recess the lock of hair of my worthy uncle, who has been the means of making me get ten thousand francs. I certainly did not anticipate this great good luck. See what it is to be a connoisseur. Here; here is your ring. Thanks."

Early the following day, BÉroli again went to his friend the jeweller. "I've got that splendid diamond," said he, addressing him. "Look here; see how beautiful it is! I am sure, that whenever I wish to part with it, I shall always get more than what you offered me."

"Do you think so?" responded the jeweller, taking up the ring, to look more closely at it.

"Stay; what's this?" he exclaimed. "What's this you have brought to show me? This a diamond! why, it is nothing but paste!"

The trick was played, and had succeeded. Under pretence of taking out his uncle's hair, AndrÉas had cleverly changed the diamond ring, for a paste one precisely similar, which he had had made for the express purpose.

On the following day, the ingenious and clever thief was far away, out of reach of BÉroli and all chance of redress.

"Those who are unacquainted with the perseverance and energy of BÉroli," observed Raymond, in relating this anecdote to me, "may fancy that the diamond ring is lost to him for ever. Not so."

The amateur, after having been so cruelly deceived, took an oath that he would discover, and be revenged on, his enemy.

On examining the false ring, BÉroli first made sure that it bore the goldsmith's mark, proving it to be of pure gold. This was not much consolation, still, it led him to suppose, that the real diamond ring must also, of course, bear the same stamp.

If, muttered BÉroli to himself, the two rings have passed through the comptroller's hands, the stones are so large, and of such value, that it is next to impossible he did not remark them.

This simple reflection, was the first step towards the discovery of the real gem.

Furnished with a letter of introduction from his friend, the jeweller, BÉroli proceeds to Paris, goes straight to the mint, and presents the ring to the comptroller, who perfectly remembers the two rings in question, and gives the address of the jeweller who manufactured them.

From the latter BÉroli learns, that his customer, AndrÉas, lives at No. 13, Rue Cadet.

Any one else would have handed AndrÉas over to the police; but caring much more to obtain possession of his ring, than to satisfy the ends of justice, BÉroli thinks it more prudent to take the affair into his own hands, and manage it in his own way.

He goes to the concierge, in the Rue Cadet, and slipping a napoleon into his hand, begins by relating to him a romantic tale, well calculated to impose on the man, and make him tell all he wished to know.

BÉroli says, that a daughter of a friend of his, residing in the country, has been asked in marriage by his tenant, M. AndrÉas, and that he has come to find out all he can about him, believing that he could not go to a better source than his friend the concierge.

The man, delighted at the affable manners of his interlocutor, as well as flattered at the confidence reposed in him, reveals, under the seal of secresy, that AndrÉas has a mistress living with him, and that he often remains from home all night.

This is enough for BÉroli; he takes leave of his obliging informant, and, that very evening, places himself as a spy at the gate of his deceiver.

At ten o'clock at night, AndrÉas comes out, and directs his steps towards an isolated house, at the end of the Rue Pigale.

BÉroli follows him, and sees him, and about twenty other men, go into the same house.

Hidden in a doorway close by, BÉroli observes all that goes on without being himself seen. He remarks, that every time the bell of the gate is rung, the door is opened by a servant with a light in his hand, who makes a close inspection of the person presenting himself, before he admits him.

The mystery attending the meeting, the absence of a concierge, &c., all lead BÉroli to conclude, that this must be one of the secret gambling houses; and what confirms him still more in this opinion, is, that though there are four windows in each story, in the front of the house, not one of them is illuminated. Any one would have supposed it to be uninhabited.

Wishing to have a yet more convincing proof of the correctness of his surmises, he determines to wait until the meeting is over, and employs himself, whilst waiting, in concocting his plan of attack.

About four o'clock in the morning, the door again opens, and a man, after looking up and down the street in a mysterious manner, issues out.

BÉroli suddenly confronts him.

"Sir," said he, quickly, so as to give him no time for reflection, "is everybody gone out of this house?"

"Why?" asks the unknown.

"Because the police are close by, and will soon surround it. I came to warn one of my friends, who was to have spent the night here."

"Thanks for the information," replies the unknown, proceeding on his way.

If, thought BÉroli, this man be only one of the dupes, he would have nothing to fear, as he has quitted the gambling house; but his anxiety to be off, proves that he fears the vigilance of the police, so I feel sure he must be one of the gang.

Full of this idea, BÉroli follows at a little distance, and when he sees him slacken his pace, he goes up to him, and thus addresses him:— "I beg your pardon for having made you race in this manner, by giving you false information, but I wished to find out if you were one of us, and I have succeeded in so doing."

"Will you explain yourself, sir, if you please, for I do not understand what you mean."

"I can easily make you comprehend me, by simply stating that I am the colleague of AndrÉas."

"What has that got to do with it?"

"I wish to make a proposition to you. Would you like to gain two thousand francs without any trouble?".

"Explain yourself."

"Since you say you know AndrÉas——"

"I beg your pardon, I did not say that."

"Since you know him, I must inform you, that that scamp has played me a most infamous trick."

"He is quite capable of so doing," added the unknown, in a low voice.

"I wish to be revenged, and that is why I ask you to assist me."

"What is there for me to do?"

"Scarcely anything. It is only necessary for you to bring AndrÉas to a house, which I shall point out to you, under pretext of introducing him into a club, where he will find several victims to dupe. I'll arrange all the rest." "I am ready," replied the unknown. "When and where is it to be?"

"To-morrow, at No. 22, Rue Meslay, on the second floor."

The following morning, the new associate of BÉroli called on AndrÉas, to make the perfidious proposition to him.

Never doubting his comrade, AndrÉas accepted the proposal, thinking to make an excellent coup, the more so, as things were going on rather badly in the Rue Pigale.

That very evening, the two Greeks proceeded to the house indicated by BÉroli, in the Rue Meslay.

A servant in livery, having admitted them, opened the doors of a drawing-room brilliantly illuminated.

AndrÉas entered first, without apprehension, but he had no sooner done so, than his companion, following the instructions he had received from BÉroli, turned round suddenly, and locked the door.

At the same moment, BÉroli, and two athletic-looking men, entered from a door on the opposite side of the room.

"You, doubtless, remember me," exclaimed BÉroli, in an austere and determined voice. "You must know what it is that brings me here."

"What do you mean, sir," cried AndrÉas, feigning the greatest indignation. "First of all, answer me. What sort of ambush is this, into which you have entrapped me? Am I in the midst of thieves, or assassins?"

"Do not speak so loud, sir," replied BÉroli, "or you may have reason to regret it. The ambush of which you complain is only a favour to you—a step towards an amicable settlement of the business."

"What do you mean by talking to me about favours?" replied AndrÉas, "and what do you complain of? You offered me ten thousand francs for a ring, and I accepted your offer. Did I not give you the ring?"

"Yes, you did, but you omit to mention, that the stone you gave me was a false one."

"Ah! Mon Dieu!" coolly replied AndrÉas. "I am far from denying it. I repeated that to you so often, that you must recollect it. Besides, did you not, when paying me the ten thousand francs, say you knew the stone was false, but that you very much wished to possess it?"

"Do not let us play upon words, sir, but let us come to the point. You are going to give me the ring you cheated me out of."

"To avoid all discussion on the subject, I tell you, once for all, that I have never had any other ring in my possession, than the one I delivered to you."

"If that be the case, you will not mind copying this, and sending it to your mistress?"

"Let me see what it's about," said AndrÉas, taking the paper from BÉroli. He read as follows:—

"My dearest,—I hope to make some money in the house from which I pen these lines, but I require my diamond ring for the affair. Bring it to me yourself, to the address I enclose, and do not entrust it to any one else. The bearer of this note will give you my keys. At eleven o'clock precisely, I shall be at the door awaiting you. Take a carriage, so as to be punctual.

"AndrÉas.

"22, Rue Meslay."

"Nothing will induce me to write that," exclaimed AndrÉas.

"I will not solicit you long," said BÉroli. "Will you do it, Yes or No?"

"No, a thousand times, no!"

"Baptiste, go and bring the commissary of police," said BÉroli, addressing the man on his right. "Go at once, and do not return without him."

"A moment," supplicated AndrÉas, making a sign to the commissionnaire to stop. "Let us see if we cannot arrange this business; what will you take to end the affair?"

"I will have no arrangements; I require nothing, but that you should copy and sign this letter."

Seeing there was nothing for it but to agree to BÉroli's proposal, AndrÉas began to think, how he could manage to decamp with the ring, as soon as he received it from the hands of his mistress.

So, seating himself at the table, on which all the implements for writing had been previously prepared, and under the eye of BÉroli, he copied the missive word for word.

Two hours afterwards, AndrÉas was set at liberty, and BÉroli had obtained possession of the celebrated ring.

This is how it was managed:

The chÈre amie of AndrÉas, on receiving his note, hastened in a carriage to the house he had indicated, taking the ring with her; but no sooner did the carriage stop at the door of No. 22, Rue Meslay, than a commissary of police, with his badge of office (the scarf), and accompanied by a sergent-de-ville, opened the door of the carriage and got in, directing the coachman to go to the prefecture of police in the Rue de Jerusalem.

On their way thither, the commissary explained to the fair messenger, that, having been ordered by the police to keep a watch on No. 22, Rue Meslay, he stopped a man coming out of that house, who was the bearer of a letter, and that after reading the contents of it, he had substituted one of the police for the original messenger.

"The law has seized all the property which was in that house, and I am under the painful necessity, madam," continued he, "of arresting you, as being a party concerned in a serious robbery. Allow me to take charge of this article, which otherwise you might make away with." Thus saying, the officer drew the diamond ring from the finger of the lady, though not without some resistance on her part.

The clock of the Palais de Justice was striking midnight, as the carriage drove up to the gate. The night was pitch dark.

"We must ring up the concierge to open the gate," observed the commissary to the sergent-de-ville; at the same time they both got out, and shut the door of the carriage with assiduous care.

Two minutes had scarcely elapsed, when a loud voice exclaimed, "You cannot remain opposite this gate, coachman."

"I know that," replied that individual, "but I am waiting for orders. You have not told me where to drive to, Ma'am," added he, putting down one of the glasses. "Where am I to drive you to?"

"Where are you to drive me? To the Rue Cadet, where you took me up," said the fair occupant of the carriage, in a tremulous voice.

"Go along, my hearties," exclaimed the Jehu, whipping up his horses, "this is my last fare to-night."

If my readers have not already guessed as much, I will mention for their edification, that the commissary of police and his assistant, were neither more nor less than two of BÉroli's friends; and that, instead of ringing up the concierge, as they had stated, favoured by the darkness of the night, they made off, as quickly as they could, carrying the precious ring, which they soon afterwards delivered into the hands of BÉroli.