“I vill now disdribute zem,” the Professor remarked in a casual tone, as if diamonds were peas, looking round at the company.  And he singled out my brother-in-law.  “One to Sir Charles!” he said, handing it; “one to Mr. Mosenheimer; one to Mr. Phibson—­as representing the tiamond interest.  Zen, one each to Sir Atolphus, to Dr. Gray, to Mr. Fane-Fiffian, as representing science.  You will haff zem cut and rebort upon zem in due gourse.  We meet again at zis blace ze day afder do-morrow.”

Charles gazed at him reproachfully.  The profoundest chords of his moral nature were stirred.  “Professor,” he said, in a voice of solemn warning, “Are you aware that, if you have succeeded, you have destroyed the value of thousands of pounds’ worth of precious property?”

The Professor shrugged his shoulders.  “Fot is dat to me?” he inquired, with a curious glance of contempt.  “I am not a financier!  I am a man of science.  I seek to know; I do not seek to make a fortune.”

“Shocking!” Charles exclaimed.  “Shocking!  I never before in my life beheld so strange an instance of complete insensibility to the claims of others!”

We separated early.  The men of science were coarsely jubilant.  The diamond interest exhibited a corresponding depression.  If this news were true, they foresaw a slump.  Every eye grew dim.  It was a terrible business.

Charles walked homeward with the Professor.  He sounded him gently as to the sum required, should need arise, to purchase his secrecy.  Already Sir Adolphus had bound us all down to temporary silence—­as if that were necessary; but Charles wished to know how much Schleiermacher would take to suppress his discovery.  The German was immovable.

“No, no!” he replied, with positive petulance.  “You do not unterstant.  I do not buy and sell.  Zis is a chemical fact.  We must bublish it for the sake off its seoretical falue.  I do not care for wealse.  I haff no time to waste in making money.”

“What an awful picture of a misspent life!” Charles observed to me afterwards.

And, indeed, the man seemed to care for nothing on earth but the abstract question—­not whether he could make good diamonds or not, but whether he could or could not produce a crystalline form of pure carbon!

On the appointed night Charles went back to Lancaster Gate, as I could not fail to remark, with a strange air of complete and painful preoccupation.  Never before in his life had I seen him so anxious.

The diamonds were produced, with one surface of each slightly scored by the cutters, so as to show the water.  Then a curious result disclosed itself.  Strange to say, each of the three diamonds given to the three diamond kings turned out to be a most inferior and valueless stone; while each of the three intrusted to the care of the scientific investigators turned out to be a fine gem of the purest quality.