It was barely half past nine when she went out with the pendant in her vanity bag, and her best hat on. At half past nine precisely she was going up to the first floor above a shop in South Molton Street. Within a large room, at a mahogany table, were two seated gentlemen, who might have seemed to her like high-class bookmakers if she had known what such were like. She looked at them anxiously, seeking for signs of heartiness. They appeared, at least, to be fresh, and one of them came towards her.
Dinny passed an invisible tongue over her lips.
‘I’m told that you are so good as to lend money on valuable jewellery?’
‘Quite, Madam.’ He was grey, and rather bald, and rather red, with light eyes, and he stood regarding her through a pair of pince-nez which he held in his hand. Placing them on his nose, he drew a chair up to the table, made a motion with one hand, and resumed his seat. Dinny sat down.
‘I want rather a lot, five hundred,’ and she smiled: ‘It was an heirloom, quite nice.’
Both the seated gentlemen bowed slightly.
‘And I want it at once, because I have to make a payment. Here it is!’ And out of her bag she drew the pendant, unwrapped it and pushed it forward on the table. Then, remembering the needed touch of nonchalance, she leaned back and crossed her knees.
Both of them looked at the pendant for a full minute without movement or speech. Then the second gentleman opened a drawer and took out a magnifying glass. While he was examining the pendant, Dinny was conscious that the first gentleman was examining herself. That – she supposed – was the way they divided labour. Which would they decide was the more genuine piece? She felt rather breathless, but kept her eyebrows slightly raised and her eyelids half closed.
‘Your own property, Madam?’ said the first gentleman.
Remembering once more the old proverb, Dinny uttered an emphatic: ‘Yes.’
The second gentleman lowered his glass, and seemed to weigh the pendant in his hand.
‘Very nice,’ he said. ‘Old-fashioned, but very nice. And for how long would you want the money?’
Dinny, who had no idea, said boldly: ‘Six months; but I suppose I could redeem it before?’
‘Oh! yes. Five hundred, did you say?’
‘Please.’
‘If you are satisfied, Mr Bondy,’ said the second gentleman, ‘I am.’
Dinny raised her eyes to Mr Bondy’s face. Was he going to say, ‘No, she’s just told me a lie?’ Instead, he pushed his underlip up over his upper lip, bowed to her and said:
‘Quite!’
‘I wonder,’ she thought, ‘if they always believe what they hear, or never? I suppose it’s the same thing, really – they get the pendant and it’s I who have to trust them – or, rather, it’s Jean.’
The second gentleman now swept up the pendant, and, producing a book, began to write in it. Mr Bondy, on the other hand, went towards a safe.
‘Did you wish for notes, Madam?’
‘Please.’
The second gentleman, who had a moustache and white spats, and whose eyes goggled slightly, passed her the book.
‘Your name and address, Madam.’
As she wrote: ‘Mrs Blore’ and her aunt’s number in Mount Street, the word ‘Help!’ came into her mind, and she cramped her left hand so as to hide what should have been the ringed finger. Her gloves fitted dreadfully well and there was no desirable circular protuberance.
‘Should you require the article, we shall want £550 on the 29th of April next. After that, unless we hear from you, it will be for sale.’
‘Yes, of course. But if I redeem it before?’
‘Then the amount will be according. The interest is at 20 per cent, so in a month, say, from now, we should only require £508 6s 8d.’
‘I see.’
The first gentleman detached a slip of paper and gave it to her.
‘That is the receipt.’
‘Could the pendant be redeemed on payment by anyone with this receipt, in case I can’t come myself?’
‘Yes, Madam.’
Dinny placed the receipt in her vanity bag, together with as much of her left hand as would go in, and listened to Mr Bondy counting notes on the table. He counted beautifully; the notes, too, made a fine crackle, and seemed to be new. She took them with her right hand, inserted them into the bag, and still holding it with her concealed left hand, arose.
‘Thank you very much.’
‘Not at all, Madam, the pleasure is ours. Delighted to be of service. Good-bye!’
Dinny bowed, and made slowly for the door. There, from under her lashes she distinctly saw the first gentleman close one eye.
She went down the stairs rather dreamily, shutting her bag.