“Well?” asked the Jew, noting the pause.

“I will tell you later,” said Yusuf.  “For the present—­have some dates, will you not?”

A servant entered with a tray on which were fruits and small cakes.

The peddler besought Yusuf, for friendship’s sake, to eat with him; but the Persian made a gesture of disgust.

“I have already eaten,” he said.  “Overeating in Mecca in the hot season is not wise.  Abraham, do you always wear so many rings on your fingers?”

“Oh, no,” returned the Jew, “sometimes I wear them; sometimes I carry them for months in my belt.  This”—­pointing to a huge band of ancient workmanship—­“is the most curious one of the lot.  I got it for carrying a bundle of manuscript from a man at Oman to your friend Amzi, here.  It seems that Amzi had once lived with him at Oman, but the man—­I forget his name—­went inland to Teheran, or some other place in Persia, and Amzi, after traveling about for two or three years, settled in Mecca.  This one”—­and he pointed out the ring on which Yusuf’s eyes were fixed—­“is the most expensive of the lot, but a stone fell out of it once when I was carrying it in my belt.”

“Did you not look in your belt for it?”

“No use; it had worked out between the stitches.  I had no idea where I lost it.”

“Have you had that ring long?”

“Long!  Why, that ring has not been off my person for fifteen years.”

“I suppose you would not sell it?”

The peddler shrugged his shoulders, and looked up with a shrewd glance.

“That depends on how much money it would bring.”

“I have little idea of the value of such rings,” said the Persian, “but I have a friend who, I am convinced, would appreciate that one.  I should like to present it to him.  Will you take this for it?”

He drew forth a coin worth three times the value of the ring.  The peddler immediately closed the bargain and handed the ring over, then devoted his attention again to the table.

The priest went to the window.  He drew the little stone from his bosom and slipped it into the cavity.  It fitted exactly.  He then walked back to the table, and held it before the astonished Jew.

“How now, Jew?” he said with a smile.  “Saw you such a gem before?”

“My very own carnelian!” exclaimed the peddler.  “Where did you find it?”

“You are sure it is yours?”

“Sure!  On my oath, it is mine.  There is not another such stone in Arabia, with that streak across the top.”

The priest laid his hand on the Jew’s shoulder and bent close to him.  “That stone,” he said, “was found in the house of Nathan the Jew, beside the stolen cup.  How came it there?”

The little Jew turned pale.  His guilt showed in his face.  He knew that he was undone.

With a quick, serpent-like movement, he attempted to escape, but the priest’s grasp was firm as a vise.