One by
one he burst them, the white paper slipped off and disclosed... a
box of cigarettes.
Mortimer stood gazing in stupefaction at the gaudy green and gold
lettering of the box. Then, running his thumb-nail swiftly along
the edge of the box, he broke the paper wrapping, the box burst
open and a shower of cigarettes fell to the ground.
"So that's your Star of Poland, is it?" cried Behrend in a
mocking voice.
"Wot 'ave yer done wiv' the sparklers, eh?" demanded Max,
catching Mortimer roughly by the arm.
But Mortimer stood, aimlessly shaking the empty box in front of
him, as though to convince himself that the gem was not there.
Behrend fell on his knees and raked the pile of cigarettes over
and over with his fingers.
"Nothing there!" he shouted angrily, springing to his feet. "It's
all bluff! He's bluffing to the end! See, he doesn't even attempt
to find his famous jewel! He knows it isn't there!"
But Mortimer paid no heed. He was staring straight in front of
him, a strangely woe-begone figure with his thatch of untidy hair
and round goggle eyes. Then the cigarette box fell to the floor
with a crash as Mortimer's hands dropped, with, a hopeless
gesture, to his sides.
"Barbara Mackwayte!" he whispered in a low voice, not seeming to
realize that he was speaking aloud, "so that's what she wanted
with Nur-el-Din!"
Desmond was standing at Mortimer's elbow and caught the whisper.
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