"
"Were you ever in America?" asked Durham.
"No."
"I was just thinking," he explained, "that I have known several
American Jews who were quite good fellows."
"Yes?" said Lala, looking up at him naively, "I met one not long
ago. He was not nice at all."
"Oh!" exclaimed Durham, startled by this admission, which he had
not anticipated. "One of your father's customers?"
"Yes, a man named Cohen."
"Cohen?"
"A funny little chap," continued the girl. "He tried to make
love to me." She lowered her lashes roguishly. "I knew all along
he was pretending. He was a thief, I think. I was afraid of
him."
Durham did some rapid thinking, then:
"Did you say his name was Cohen?" he asked.
"That was the name he gave."
"A man named Cohen, an American, was found dead in the river
quite recently."
Lala stopped dead and clutched his arm.
"How do you know?" she demanded.
"There was a paragraph in this morning's paper."
She hesitated, then:
"Did it describe him?" she asked.
"No," replied Durham, "I don't think it did in detail. At least,
the only part of the description which I remember is that he wore
a large and valuable diamond on his left hand."
"Oh!" whispered Lala.
She released her grip of Durham's arm and went on.
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